Gentleman or Gentle Junker?

[Stefan]

Planet New London, day 4.

Carla sat quietly on the bench near the fueling stations.

Without her uniform she looked like any other common Londoner - quiet, simple, stubborn. The long jeans, accompanied by a straight leather jacket, helped to endure the rain, the green stained cap was an addition of her own - she wanted to be sure her cover would not be blown away by simple details. The idea was to present herself as the one responsible for recharging ships with the usual - fuel, oxygen, food, and so on - and fish for information. She had also been instructed into offering him a shady deal, so to speak, to see how into the mud he would try to go.

It was about four on the morning when the civil transport came down, transporting the crewmen from ships parked on the moonrings. She had assumed he'd come down alone, but about ten blue-jackets came down from the transport - mostly men - before she had a chance to see him. Stefano wasn't so much as the photos Brimwall had showed her. He looked... happier, somehow. He packed much less as well - she figured he didn't hit the 6 feet, and weighted pretty less than the average Bretonian, despite how large his clothes were. His hair quickly soaked by the rain as he walked to the fuel station - with nothing more than a smirk he quickly started business.

- Good morning. Am I to assume you are the lady in charge?
- Indeed. You are... - She slid a data pad from her left pocket. - Stefano, captain of... The Astraea, if I'm correct?

He smiled.

- She's in the need of three hundred and fifty nanobot packages and about hundred shield batteries. - Taking the time to take off his blue gloves as he spoke, he had lit a cigarrette right there, under the rain and all. - You can leave the crates nearby, my crew will come by to pick them up soon.
- Would you like to come inside? You can check the product and the rain shan't stop soon...
- That would be best, thank you.

It seemed as if he really had no clue.

- Bad weather is the default here in London. You come often? - She asked.
- Hm-m. - Long clouds of smoke puffed away from him. - Only when business calls, unfortunately, but I don't actually mind the rain much.
- I suppose people get used to it. - "Small talk" she thought to herself. "Seriously, Carla?" - So... Where you plan on going to?
- Oh, nowhere important, really, I wouldn't want to bore you with Nav-Mapping.
- Really? - Her screen flashed as the supplies were being computed. - I saw your Id. I know how well you guys move around.
- Hum... You sure?
- Try me. - She smirked.
- All right. If you can keep a secret then, I heard there was a shipment of light arms coming this way, so I thought I should drop by and take it... Well, I don't know, somewhere it might be useful.

Her heart skipped a beat. Would it be this easy?

- Really? - She stared from behind the counter. - It would certainly make things go bad if the police found out, wouldn't it?
- Ah, yes, I assume it would. - He chuckled.

His silence was getting into her. She needed to do something, fast.

- What if I told you... There's actually a more profitable way to make money here? - Using one of her hands to take off the cap and the other to fix her hair, she let her looks alongside a smile do the work.
- Really? - Smoking stopped. - And what would that be?
- Well, if you can keep a secret... There's a smuggler docked two blocks from here, he has a full cargo of black'munitions. He's dying to throw that another way, since the police is on him. I can make the contact if you'd like.
- That desperate? For how much do you think he'd part ways with that cargo?
- I heard he was selling each piece for as low as three hundred credits. All I ask is a little cut, since I'm doing the link and all.
- Huh. - Chuckles. - I do believe that's fair, how does five percent sounds?
- Five? Make that ten, and it's done.
- Alright, you got me.

That was it, she had him.

- Sir, we're ready. - Sounded his comm.
- Thank you Ricardo, I'm on my way.
- On your...? I thought we had a deal.

Carla complaint was only met with a small laugh, as he put out his cigarrete.

- Nice boots.

She looked down to her feet:
Standart bretonian military edition, actually.