Junker's Prosperity

[Groshyr]

30th November 826 A.S.

Antoine was not happy to hear what this policeman or whoever he was, said to him. Delacroix has always hated the bureaucracy of Gallia. Within Sirius space, the situation was not better.

The man takes a deep breath before giving an order. "Dock us with the orbital terminal, its time to visit those teabags", - It was a short command directed towards the pilot, whom was also the navigator. The crew of his ship was few in number and so every member had to fill multiple roles.

"Aye-aye, Captain," - a short answer; from a pretty old woman with brown hair and blue eyes. Her name's Armel Dubois: she was born on Orleans and that was actually all that the crew knew about her. She is a good pilot and a pretty nice navigator. With her help, they survived for a long time in Tau space, avoiding routes of well-armed patrols and raiding the weaker ones. She was really good at her job but was not too good at social things, and so she was mostly lonely.

Once the ship docked with orbital terminal, Antoine left the ship alone. He took all necessary documents, most of which were just a forgery, but made him appear good enough to allow him to operate in Liberty without issues with the police. He still uses his gallic name, but now he's a refugee of war, not a former Gallic Junker. Such a pity that he is really a refugee.

The man had leased a shuttle to Saint Mary's Island. In less than an hour, he was there. The island itself was a big piece of land, with a big city on it and a few small towns around. The planet had a pretty warmth climate. Antoine liked this planet but was not sure about the habitants of it. Years of war with Sirius and the following propaganda have made a lot of Gallic people xenophobic and suspended from Sirians. Centuries should pass before Gauls can trust Sirians if they ever would.

From a spaceport, he took a taxi to the address which the Bretonian told him. The city itself greeted him with well-groomed lawns, green trees, bird's songs and other specific for late spring things. "Like war was never here" - he thought while walking towards the building with a number two in Rowthorne on Prince Charles Street.