In a corner of the bar a man sits at a table sorting through several datapads. The top half of his face is obscured by an elaborate mask and he sips a glass of wine as he mumbles to himself.
"Now what did I do with that juicy nugget," he mutters to himself as he reaches for a datapad of foriegn Sirian design and begins tapping commands into the interface.
He sips on his wine and smiles as a list of files comes up on screen. The rather aged pad had been purchased for a crate of cheap Gallian wine from a rather foolish Sirian freelancer who did not know the merits of deleting the pads data cashe. Now all of the freelancers personal files and dossiers dating back ten years, including some rather classified data on one 'Alaska' system, were property of The Pimpernel. Without a doubt, the classified files would fetch a good price from the right buyer. The other information was probably worth less but it was not uncommon to find gems among the generic data.
The Pimpernel sits back in his chair and places his feet on the table as he begins to pore over the rest of the freelancer's files in search of information gold...
Quote:Dublin Miner: I am Gallic admiral earning money in Bretonia.
