Brotherhood Bar-Talks

[Laowai]

The room stank of sweat, alcohol and oddly enough blaster fire....

"Must've got a little rowdy" he thought, as he took his usual seat alone in the darkened corner of the bar. They had installed lights there once, but they kept seeming to disappear - he didn't mind, the half light suited him. He liked to sit alone, the shadows hiding his half Kusari features. Not that his background bothered him, his mother, born on New Tokyo had been a strong woman, as noble and proud as any woman born on Crete. And married to a Corsair, she had learned how to deal with rough justice, a trait she had past onto her children, along with a healthy sense of rebellion and a deep mistrust of the Corsair "elite".
At 55 years of age, Ben had endured a lifetime of ostracism from the more conservative Corsair's, mistrustful of his family, his Kusari features, and his irreverent , sometimes short tempered nature. His father had been killed when Ben was 8, his fighter disintegrating in a glorious fireball in the skies of Malta itself and Ben had, along with his mother and sister, fought every single day since then to survive.

So he sat in the shadows, as usual, not out of shame or fear, but because he didn't want to have to put a blaster bolt into the leg of another foolish young hothead son of a noble Corsair, high on alcohol looking to prove his manlihood by challenging the "Kusari" corsair.


"ID confirmed, Ben Laowai, pilot, Corsair Titan class registered Old_Laowai" the communicator spoke as he entered his personal Id number... He checked the balance of his account after his dealings with Bjorn and the "PR" run he had made to the Texas system. It was up on yesterday. He Smiled.

"Baijiu" he called to the barkeep - He unslung his holster belt and clunked it onto the table loudly. All around him in the bar he could feel a sense of unease, even the drunken hurrahs from the other side of the room seemed... desperate. " I don't know how you can drink that rubbish" said the barman, handing him a small green bottle filled with the clear liquid, "Kusari swill, no wonder they are all mad out there". Ben scowled, noting the atmosphere around him he chuckled darkly "and we're not mad down here"?. The barman lingered, unsure of how to take his comment, Ben spoke, rowsing him from his discomfort.

"what's going on anyway"?

The barman looked around nervously, as if he didnt want to be heard "It's all that trouble between the Brotherhood and the Benitez.." he said hurriedly, "they were having some kind of big meeting, and they've all been in and out of here, everyone thinks it might get messy".

Ben chuckled, "messy?" he took another swig from the bottle.

"Yeah".. the barman said "Messy like the Benitez's are talkin' of leavin, and the Brotherhoods going every which way, and them SCRA people are in it some how as well"

Shaking his head Ben looked at the barman from the shadows... "listen to me son, there have always been Corsairs on Crete, and there will always be Corsairs on Crete, politics is politics, the clans are always on about some kind of rubbish". He sat back into the chair, turning off his communicator.
The barman looked at him nervously and Ben continued; "Do you know how many of us there are up there?" He said, pointing upwards, to the ceiling, the clouds, and space beyond that; "how many of us up there that have nothing to do with those argumentative so and so's? but in the end son, we're all Corsairs, and if i see a Benitez, or a brotherhood ship taking fire from an enemy, i will kill the enemy, and i expect they will do the same, we're all Corsairs son, thats what we do".

The barman shook his head "it's not that simple, it's not that....

Ben cut him off; "it is to me, all this politics, it's just power games son, useless talk while the rest of us get on with the business of bringing in the food, the water, and killing those who would kill us, it's that simple"


The barman shook his head again, he took the empty bottle, "you want another?" he asked. "yeah why not" Ben said, it had been good hunting today, he decided he was going to get drunk that night.


It would be a shame if the clans did split, he thought to himself, less guns in space could only mean more Corsairs will die at the hands of their enemies, and Crete could only suffer for it. But so be it, there would still be fighting to do, plunder to take, and if there were more days like today, then the days ahead would be glorious days indeed.

He stood up in his seat "VIVA LOS CORSAIRS!" he shouted, "VIVA" came an echoed chorus from random drinkers... he threw his bottle down onto the floor shattering it, "more Baijiu!" he called out.....

Tonight he would drink, tomorrow would be as today, he would go into space, and kill those who would be the enemies of his people.

"politics be damned" he muttered to himself

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