A Corsican's Gift

[Eppy]

Alceste Gaspare set the fifth shot glass down on Alfred's ebony countertop, shimmering in the light filtered from the transparent water-filled floor of the Quasar's upper level. "Alfffred!" he slurred "More!"

"That's quite enough, Flight Lieutenant Gaspare," the elderly bartender chided, removing his last glass and pointedly refraining from replacing it "I really suggest you take a walk back to your quarters and have a cold shower, you're quite smashed."

"Gorrah, fugg you, Alfffrud," he spouted, forcing himself up from the bar and stumbling across the starlit pavilion towards the side door. He'd gather more booze from the more willing bartenders three decks below. It would stop eventually. It always did.

Sarah watched him pass from Mia's old booth. "Who was that? I feel like I've seen his face before."

Claire sipped her ale. "Flight Lieutenant Alceste Gaspare. He made a name for himself in Eta; an ace with 45 kills." She adjusted her blue blazer. "Then he lost his entire wing. Apparently Intelligence sent them into a horde of Gunboats; due to a clerical error they reported them as bombers." She sipped further. "I don't expect that to be quite as common an occurrence from this point on."

"Not a chance," Sarah spat. "I'm not an idiot like Santiani. This damn thing still smells, though. I mean, he just keeled over dead. How often do people's hearts completely fail for no reason?"

"It's unusual, I'll give you that, but it does happen. I know it's your job to be paranoid, but this really looks like an-"

The resounding bang of a pistol discharge rang through the Quasar. The two ran out of the balcony door onto the catwalk above the main hall, to see Gaspare vomiting with a gun in his hand, next to the lifeless, bleeding body of a security officer.

"Speaking of falling over dead..."

"Oh, shut up, Claire."

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Quick comment - we thought that Panzer was the Leader, Swift. -Agmen

Which Dreadnought was that?

One of your nine.