Gentleman or Gentle Junker?

[Stefan]

Planet New London, day 1.

The Bretonian officer held firmly the holographic display on his hands, pondering. Strong, fluid clouds of smoke raised from his mouth, as his lungs contracted and the cigar was absorbed.

- Stefano S. Walker. Who would've imagined you would turn out this way.

The sudden crack of the door made him put down the image, officer Carla walked in, carrying two data files.

- The report you asked on the gaians that were aprehended last week, sir.
- Thank you, Carla, you can leave them on the table.

Silence for a brief moment as she walked on the room, her boots colliding on the floor sounding firmly.

- Is everything alright, sir?
- Yes... Yes it is.

He was awful quiet. Brimwall was usually talkative and friendly, but today his stare was empty, missing something. There was a sad air about him that made Carla stay.

- Who is him, sir?
- Him? - said the officer, looking at the display. He layed down the cigar. - An old student of mine.
- I thought you had stopped teaching at the Academy.
- I did. About fifteen years ago, in fact.

The pauses on his speech were unlike him. Carla was avoiding leaving the room or interrupting, but she wasn't used to this bedside manner.

- Sir, pardon my bluntness, but you usually say bad memories are like badly crafted firearms, once they decide to fire it's unclear whom they are going to harm. Please, if there's anything I can do...

Brimwall left a smile go.

- Yes, I most certainly do say that. - He took a deep, clear breath before raising up to the window. - He was a promising young man. Joined the academy at early age, with many carreer goals on his mind. He had the correct interests, a knack for engine tuning and weapon manifacture, the optimistic nature, the cold demeanor needed to reason with problems... He was a favorite of mine. - He turned back to the table, grabbing the display with his large fingers. - It hit the wall when the Kusari attacked.

- Stefano never understood wars. He could see the weakness of the enemy or his fleet, understand orders in quick grasp and just as quick debate possible answers and solutions, anything you could ask for an officer. But he didn't understand the nature of war. - He let the display hit the table once again, turning to face Carla. - To the end, a pacifist.
- Sir? - Carla wondered if the subject in question wasn't grief.

- 814 A.S. The Kusari push against Bretonia. 816 A.S. Harris holds, and we go soft. 817 A.S. Leeds is invaded. - He continues. - On that year, Stefano lost his entire family. With the indiscriminate labor disorganisation, his father, already at old age, suffers an accident on a smelter in Planet Leeds. Stefano was on the front lines that day and only got word of the occurrence three days later. By that day, his mother had already tried to leave the Planet with his siblings.

Carla was silent, trying not only to make sense from her superior words, but to find the emotions needed to understand why he was so upset.

- Sinclair Walker died that night, alongside her two daughters. Shot down by Kusari military whom had allegedly "mistaken the scans for military cargo". - Brimwall does a pause long enough to turn back to the skies outside his office. - Stefano followed when he learned of what had happened. He resigned from the forces without a moments notice, leaving Bretonia behind.

A large transport moving outside makes the office sound like a train station for a few seconds. By the end of it, Brimwall had already gotten a data disk from his desk and readied his computer.

- And now, three years later, we receive this. - He presses enter. As the image flashes and take place on his computer, several text displays lighten up, raising points of interest.

- This is image scan of the Astraea, taken on a docking station at Scarborough Station. The ship manifest is quite interesting: Stefano is the captain. - Brimwall stops.
- But the ship is tagged as Junker. - Carla reads.
- Exactly. Keep reading.

The screen continues to flash.

- Is that... Is that a Slave Liner?
- Yes. The model is exactly that, but do you see the modifications?
- Tri-polarized alloy hull, ion resistant scanners, doubled Thruster strength, iridium reinforced cargo-hold, redirected life support systems... If this scans are right, so many modifications must have costed an enormous ammount. It's nearly another vessel entirely... For a Bretonian officer you'd have to assume he wouldn't have access to this funds or knowledge.
- It doesn't stop there, Carla. I have combed many of the faction reports that came in as of late and what I've seen is... curious, at best.
- What do you mean, "curious"?
- He seems to have gained quite a reputation. Zoners, the Libertonians, Freelancers... Three years on the cold and then, when he's back, he comes with the money to buy players on every society? It doesn't add up.
- Yes... I see that but... As far as it seems, sir, we have nothing to do with it. As long as he stays on line I don't see why we should spend time being interested by it.

Brimwall chuckled as he made up his mind.

- Then I think it's better you start being interested by your own.
- Sir?
- I said it's better you start being interested. - Brimwall turned off the screen. - Because you are going to meet him.

[Stefan]

Planet New London, day 4.

Carla sat quietly on the bench near the fueling stations.

Without her uniform she looked like any other common Londoner - quiet, simple, stubborn. The long jeans, accompanied by a straight leather jacket, helped to endure the rain, the green stained cap was an addition of her own - she wanted to be sure her cover would not be blown away by simple details. The idea was to present herself as the one responsible for recharging ships with the usual - fuel, oxygen, food, and so on - and fish for information. She had also been instructed into offering him a shady deal, so to speak, to see how into the mud he would try to go.

It was about four on the morning when the civil transport came down, transporting the crewmen from ships parked on the moonrings. She had assumed he'd come down alone, but about ten blue-jackets came down from the transport - mostly men - before she had a chance to see him. Stefano wasn't so much as the photos Brimwall had showed her. He looked... happier, somehow. He packed much less as well - she figured he didn't hit the 6 feet, and weighted pretty less than the average Bretonian, despite how large his clothes were. His hair quickly soaked by the rain as he walked to the fuel station - with nothing more than a smirk he quickly started business.

- Good morning. Am I to assume you are the lady in charge?
- Indeed. You are... - She slid a data pad from her left pocket. - Stefano, captain of... The Astraea, if I'm correct?

He smiled.

- She's in the need of three hundred and fifty nanobot packages and about hundred shield batteries. - Taking the time to take off his blue gloves as he spoke, he had lit a cigarrette right there, under the rain and all. - You can leave the crates nearby, my crew will come by to pick them up soon.
- Would you like to come inside? You can check the product and the rain shan't stop soon...
- That would be best, thank you.

It seemed as if he really had no clue.

- Bad weather is the default here in London. You come often? - She asked.
- Hm-m. - Long clouds of smoke puffed away from him. - Only when business calls, unfortunately, but I don't actually mind the rain much.
- I suppose people get used to it. - "Small talk" she thought to herself. "Seriously, Carla?" - So... Where you plan on going to?
- Oh, nowhere important, really, I wouldn't want to bore you with Nav-Mapping.
- Really? - Her screen flashed as the supplies were being computed. - I saw your Id. I know how well you guys move around.
- Hum... You sure?
- Try me. - She smirked.
- All right. If you can keep a secret then, I heard there was a shipment of light arms coming this way, so I thought I should drop by and take it... Well, I don't know, somewhere it might be useful.

Her heart skipped a beat. Would it be this easy?

- Really? - She stared from behind the counter. - It would certainly make things go bad if the police found out, wouldn't it?
- Ah, yes, I assume it would. - He chuckled.

His silence was getting into her. She needed to do something, fast.

- What if I told you... There's actually a more profitable way to make money here? - Using one of her hands to take off the cap and the other to fix her hair, she let her looks alongside a smile do the work.
- Really? - Smoking stopped. - And what would that be?
- Well, if you can keep a secret... There's a smuggler docked two blocks from here, he has a full cargo of black'munitions. He's dying to throw that another way, since the police is on him. I can make the contact if you'd like.
- That desperate? For how much do you think he'd part ways with that cargo?
- I heard he was selling each piece for as low as three hundred credits. All I ask is a little cut, since I'm doing the link and all.
- Huh. - Chuckles. - I do believe that's fair, how does five percent sounds?
- Five? Make that ten, and it's done.
- Alright, you got me.

That was it, she had him.

- Sir, we're ready. - Sounded his comm.
- Thank you Ricardo, I'm on my way.
- On your...? I thought we had a deal.

Carla complaint was only met with a small laugh, as he put out his cigarrete.

- Nice boots.

She looked down to her feet:
Standart bretonian military edition, actually.