Notable Skills: Testing demonstrates Caesar as an adept marksman (light arms); a proficient pilot of light fighters and freighters; with a desire to learn to fly combat viable craft. He possesses a solid memory for trade lanes and a good grasp of three-dimensional navigation. A keen sense of self-preservation ensures that any start-up funding will not be squandered on replacement vessels.
Why TBH?: "I'm fed up with the petty houses ignoring their peoples. I'm tired of watching drugs flow like water. I'm done with cleaning up outcast collateral damage. The police can't bring a better life to Sirius: you can."
History: Caesar is direct descendant of the original Corsairs of Crete; and therefore the sleepers aboard the Hispania. As a young man he was a lanky fellow who studied with the intent to enter business proper; which in Corsair space had few options asides from the nation's great shipworks. With proper education and effort he was able to secure a position at such a place, a cushy desk job staring out a window at a great dry dock.
There it was natural for a man of entrepreneurial spirit to be swept up by the majesty of the vessels produced just over the lip of his desk. It took scant few months to secure a small freighter and put his finances in order; and shortly thereafter to depart. He left with a full hold in the small ship, and a dozen net messages sent out to relations and friends telling them that he would be back-- much later.
He left looking for a fortune more than the thrill of combat but, of course, there is no way to earn one in Sirius without suffering the trials of the other. After a brash start of runs through risky sectors Caesar calmed himself and took an opportunity to look at the great cities he was passing through; to speak to their peoples and eat their nutrient-paste. Business may not have been significantly different in Kusari than it was on the Southern rim of Sirius, but its practitioners certainly were.
Of less gentle bent were pirates and law enforcement alike, and Caesar quickly learned to dislike many of the factions that spoke of the most altruistic goals-- even if he couldn't see their dirt, it took only a cursory examination of their actions to see that they were deluded or fooling themselves.
He knew who the real crusaders of this galaxy were, and they weren't flying the colors of a Queen or Emperor, in dress uniform, or even wearing 10-gallons hats and a duster. They were popularly dubbed Pirates, because popularity was controlled by an elite class who weren't worth serving.
It was time to go home, and time to make a difference.
