To: Jean Leclerc <> From: "Gas.Gas.GAAS"

[Perfect Gentleman]

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Whoever this Jean Leclerc was, but as he commanded the flight path of his airliner en route to New Berlin, he suddenly discovered an incoming message on his personal ID. The sender's name seemed very ridiculous for a man born in a culturally prosperous House of Gallia. It was obvious, however, that this was not a spam attack from the Sirians he'd had the honor of meeting while landing in the snowy expanse of the Rheinland capital planet - New Berlin.

A stranger? Who is he? Some GNI agent interested in his activities in Rheinland? Maybe a hidden identity who's only pretending to be a fool, but actually wants to give him an important Unione assignment? No, wait a minute... That pirate they met in Zurich. That, uh, what's his name? The one who offered to make a deal! He also asked for Jean's personal id. Well, what if..?

Pressing a button, a man appeared on the screen, sitting in front of the camera, looking rather lethargic for a pirate. It was as if he had had to tighten his belt very tightly just to get through the hard times, and now he had a chance to scramble for. Anonymous looked quite good even for such a state, but still, it left a lot to be desired.

The room itself looked rather filthy for a man who had been given the honor of piloting a spaceship. Amidst the scattered belongings and clothes, the lonely case of beer and food looked too out of place. Their brightly colored packaging and other items that made them stand out against the gray background only proved what had been said about the Sirians back in the days of the Kingdom.

One thing that was of interest in the overall picture: the background of the room, facing directly onto the Cologne system. At least, that's what the first Gallic pioneers who set foot on this land would have said, daring to venture beyond the borders of their home.

Well, that was predictable. Making no effort to take up Jean's time, the stranger got straight to the point.

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"You're Jean, right? Jean Leclerc. Long story short, I'm going through some tough times right now, so you're lucky I contacted you and agreed to work with you in the first place. Did you offer a payment of 100,000 credits for anyone who bothers you? On the condition that my involvement with you remain anonymous."

Even though he was a typical representative of Sirius Independent pirates, one could tell that he either had a good memory or had the sense to open the black box and listen to the tapes of the conversations. One more feature almost escaped: this guy, although he was tired looking himself, but his clothes were quite clean for a member of such a lower class. It was some sort of Bretonian jacket that would have instantly disgusted any self-respecting citizen of the Northwestern Sirius House.

"Look, here's what we're gonna do. I'm not a dog to answer your every call, so just tell me who you dislike the most, and I'll deal with them. And by the way, are you okay with me not working alone? Then you'll be paying not only me, but whoever I call to do the job.

In short, the way it would work is: I show up in space myself, I fly somewhere myself, I find people you don't like myself, I arrange for their merry slicing myself."

He leaned back in his chair, looking off to the side and thinking about something of his own. A short pause was interrupted by another part of his speech.

"Is there anything else I need to know before I get started? Let me know when you get online."

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At that short phrase, he calmly reached over to the camera and turned it off. The video recording was interrupted, and Jean was left alone with his thoughts about this stranger. Wasn't that conversation in Zurich enough for him to know his place? This Sirian is an upstart and has no right to question his task, which is incredibly simple, and it is not for him to set conditions. On the other hand, if such force is properly applied, then... There is profit to be made from it.

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