"Indeed, madam. Though you had better bring your tanker with you, for I fear most of our supply is being consumed to keep our side... amicable." He gave a short, formal nod to Olga and went back to his side.
The security team gave Tiff some rather incredulous looks as Eric and Dwer plopped her down on the sofa in the security room. Portable stations linked to cameras all over the dance hall and building perimeter, feeding data through the main router and into the Sari network. Tiff's locator beeped the playboy's location in the men's lavatory, relieving himself of the excess fluids he had consumed. The feedback on the audio bug left something to be desired, the mixture of water pops and deep sighs of relief provided for a less than ideal listening experience.
The security chief approached the trio. "Well, not exactly the most orthodox way to break up a confrontation, but effective enough. We've got team two cycling into the hallway to make sure Miss Instigation doesn't cause any more fuss."
The next hour was uneventful. Olga returned to the staging area for the full sized members of the group. Eric went out to talk to here regarding the incident, though mostly it seemed unnecessary. About that time another one of the Jagerkin arrived, bearing a message that General Breull was looking for her and had a rather large container of dark alcohol waiting on the northern terrace. Supposedly he was already three tankards in and seemed no sign of slowing.
Meals had begun in earnest, with so-called 'mixer' tables seating planetary diplomats with yakuza and zentreadi delegates. The kitchen staff was dutifully carrying out trays of food as the patrons ate, the hustle and bustle somewhat impeding the observations of the security in the backroom, but leaving the main floor relatively the same as before. Most of the security team took this time to grab refreshments of their own. Eric brought back an arm full of plates for Tiff and Dwer, plopping down in a chair and digging in to a makeshift sandwich. The food was good, better than what they were used to on board the DR.
"Sir?" one of the security observers called to his chief "Table 14." He pointed to a screen as one of the cameras zoomed in. Two of the patrons there, one yakuza, one zentreadi, seemed to be in a heated argument. The zentreadi soldier was pounding the table, and the yakuza seemed to be making dismissive gestures. Eric walked over to watch the screen. "Where's our coverage at?"
The Sari network brought up an overlay of the concert hall. Most of the teams had gone upstairs to watch the extra seating, trusting the main room to cover the main floor. Eric grimaced. "This is going to turn ugly. Tiff, come on, I think we're going to need a woman's touch on this."
They weren't even half way out the door before the alert blared across the network. By the time the duo made the dance floor the Yakuza was on top of the Zentreadi and was raining blows down. Friends on both sides got to their feet and eyed the opposition, daring the other side to make a move, and CCS was right in the middle.