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The door kicked open and Phillipe Alberto swaggered in. He glanced quickly around the room, noting several pilots, soldiers and a handful of regular civilians huddled about the cubicles and on scattered bar stools and tables. The light was dim and a pall of smoke hung above head height, noticeably floating around the light globes.

He made his way to an empty barstool and sat down. The seats certainly hadn't changed. Dirty and faded timber that had been lacquered once, scarred by years of scuffing caused by pilot gear and the occasional knife or blaster fight.


"Alberto"? A voice raised above the background din. He turned to face it.

"Phillipe Alberto?" the voice called again. It was the bartender, making his way towards him, a dirty rag in one hand and an empty glass in the other. "Well! I thought you dead! Alberto you old dog!" A wide grin crossed his face.
Alberto stood up and took offered his hand which the bartender, sliding the glass down on the bar quickly took. "Si Senor, rumours of my demise are just that..."

They laughed and Phillipe sat back down in his stool. The Bartender poured him a shot and slid it towards him. He leaned over the bar "Why, what's it been? Six? Seven years?"
Phillipe took a quick swig from the glass; "Si, si, something like that, I've been planeside, outside capital city, you know on the land, trying to farm what I could."

The Bartender chuckled, "Huh, farm eh? Well... I haven't seen you since... when was it since...?" His expression changed suddenly and his joviality suddenly deflated... "Ah, since.. Elder Laowai..."

Alberto nodded, "Si Senor, since he vanished"... He quickly raised the glass: " To past friends" and rapidly downed its contents. A brief moment of silence hung in the air.


The Bartender quickly filled the glass again and asked "well, what brings you back, farming didn't work out?"

Looking around the room Phillipe shook his head, he smiled and lit a cigarette. "No senor" he answered, "I'm back in the sky and looking for muchachos who want to make some money".

"Well Senor, you are in the place for that, the brotherhood is busy, but there are always houseless muchachos here who can do with some work."

The room was quieter than he remembered it, but there were still people here. The ships would need crew, a lot of crew. Phillipe took another swig from the glass, it had been some time and there had been changes. One thing that hadn't changed however was that there were still poor Corsairs who had families to feed.

As Phillipe settled into his stool, another man came to join him, leaning against the bar. Signalling the bartender for a drink as well, he turns to Phillipe. "Ola Senor, did I hear you're an old Brotherhood hermano?" His drink arrives, a bottle of rum, and he takes a healthy swig. "If so, I could have some work for you." He settles down into a stool, offering his hand across the bar to Phillipe, "The names Alexander. I can never remember my exact job, but I handle a lot of the work Elder Vasquez doesn't have time for- or doesn't want to do" and with that, he chuckles heartily.

Phillipe took the outstretched hand and shook it warmly. "Sit Senor, sit" he gestured beside him.

"Senor Alexander" he said, "Is good to meet you Hermano."

Taking another swig from his glass he took up the man's inquiry. " The Brotherhood, ah, no senor, I did not have that honour. I used to work under the patronage of an ….independent Elder, but for the last few years I have been ah..." He looked down slightly. Most Corsair pilots didn't like to admit it, working "planet-side" instead of actually flying, though many more did it than would let on.

"...Working on the land" he finished.

He glanced about the bar. "So I've come here not so much looking for work for myself but for crew for the vessels I command, but, you may in fact be able to assist me Senor"

Ashing his cigarette he lit another. "You represent Elder... Vasquez you mentioned?" he took a drag from the cigarette. "You could tell him that the gunboat "Outsider" and the Cruiser "Xibanya Nuren" are in service again, and will gladly assist him when needed."

Phillipe leaned in closer. "Senor, one other thing, is there some way I can speak to your Elder, directly I mean, privately?"

He took another sip of his drink, there was nothing in it. His brow crossed, he had been so caught up in the unexpected conversation that he hadn't noticed he had finished it. He quickly motioned for another.

"Ah, I see, hermano, I see" Alexander takes a swig of his rum, savoring the taste a bit more this time. "Well, we can always use more ships in the field these days, every day it feels like there's more Hessian dogs than the last." He turns aside and spits at their mention. "That would have been the Elder Laowai I heard you mention earlier? I don't follow much of the internal politics of the Council- Luciano handles that, so I can't say I know much about him unfortunately. And as for a meeting... " He pulls out his data-pad, "Hm, his schedule says he's got a meeting with the head curator of the Prox Museum tomorrow afternoon, something about a broken exhibit or whatever- if you catch him there after that and, " he whistles for the bartender, "Grab me a bottle of Whiskey, the one that Luciano likes, you know the one?", the Bartender nods and turns around to search through the bars offerings, soon placing an unopened bottle on the counter between them, Alexander turns back to Phillipe, "Bring him this here Whiskey, and you'll get your chat." He stands up out of his seat, "I hope we'll see some good work from you and your crew, Phillipe. We need the support of every pilot we can get out there." He slaps the old Corsair on the back heartily, the last of his rum sloshing around the bottle in his other hand. "Was there anything else I can help you with hermano? If not, I have a hold of Artifacts calling out to be delivered."