Charlemagne was sitting in one of the many lousy bars located close to one of the many the loading docks of Freeport 11. There was nothing remarkable about the bar itself. A score of cargo pilots, several unsavory existences, alcohol menu that was mostly crossed out with only watery beer and some sort of mysteriously named local bootleg spirit remaining. Charlemagne did not order anything. For one, they did not feel like going on an adventure of alcohol poisoning. The other reason being that Charlemagne was donning a spacesuit helmet with the visor shut.

This whole thing smelled like a trap. Marinenachrichtendiensts trap to be precise. Yet the order was given and Charlemagne listened. It was another less-than-legal job that was assigned to them. This one just had the perk of rotting in a federal jail for the remainder of Charlemagne's life. They reached for a pack of cigarettes in their pocket and then stopped. Smoking would require opening the visor and revealing the face of the person waiting for the trap to be sprung. Charlemagne felt their blaster instead. Not that it would help much when a full squad of marines storms the bar. Charlemagne did pay the local security operator a hefty sum to give them a warning if they spot something resembling a squad but the operator's allegiance could easily be swayed by even more money. Or a gunpoint. The lack of jurisdiction at a Freeport would hardly matter if the MND wanted to kidnap someone.

Charlemagne checked out the whole bar for an umpteen time. Nothing changed. Then their wristpad beeped.

"I'm here. Meetup?"

Charlemagne's heartbeat quickened. They thought about just standing up and walking away. Once the location is given, the life-sentence might as well be handed out. After a moment they sighed and typed in the location of the meeting place. Then added a short message.

Come alone

Charlemagne gazed at the person in front of them. Light-brown skin. Seemingly young. Pretty. Charlemagne did not like the combination of the latter two. Young and pretty usually spelled trouble.

Charlemagne beckoned the newcomer to sit down and then placed a small device on the table. Portable jammer which would scramble the image all potential electronics pointing at the couple. This toy was a present that Kelsen gave them before their departure. Cost a fortune. There were no cameras in the bar as far as they knew but if the MND or someone tried to record their meeting, this gadget should ensure all that would be recorded was a whole lot of static. In theory. Apparently the device was a prototype and had quite a high failure rate. None of that reassured Charlemagne very much.

"Before we begin, you might want to lift that helmet, it's too outstanding. You either want to hide yourself, or depressurize the station for free beers, and I'll roll with the latter, because it sounds way more unbelievable."

Charlemagne unbuckled their helmet and a few strands of curly hair fell out at first.


She placed the helmet at the seat next to her and looked at the "fixer".

"I am alone. Now who in the hell are you?"

At last being able to satisfy her urge, Charlemagne reached for the pack of cigarettes in her pocket and took one out. She rolled the prefabricated cigarette between her fingers for a second and then lit up with her lighter. She dragged from it, getting a tiny sliver of ease from indulging her nicotine addiction. Studying Daniels for a moment she exhaled the smoke.

"You contacted us first and you showed interest in certain things related to one of the Houses. Mentioned a few politicians. A few other names. I don't think you have THAT many contracts going on for you not to guess.

She did not like this at all. Charlemagne never tried to understand His games, the ones He was constantly playing, the never-ending chessboard moves, the trade-offs, the political calculations. But He always did right by her. She wondered how He would react if she got busted by the Buro. Would He try to save her? Was she just a pawn in yet another chess game? She pondered the thought. Should she feel manipulated? Used?

But the thing was, she enjoyed this. The adrenaline rush, living in the moment, the feeling of mischief when she was doing something illegal. Does that make her a criminal? she wondered. Does that make Him a criminal? Does it matter at all?

She snapped her attention back to the person sitting in front of her.

Charlemagne did not appreciate Kelsen's name dropped. It set of a whole array of alarm bells.

"Sounds very mysterious. Pan-sector organization with a vested interest of peace in the Omegas. Very... altruistic. She did not bother hiding the slight irony in her voice.

"Hypothetically speaking, what would your organisation expect in return for such favors?

...

And who is Kelsen? She raised her eyebrow.

Charlemagne felt a slight hint of cockiness from the stranger. Cockiness was good.

"Yes. It's a jammer. So if you have left any presents around for me they will be of no use to you." she gave the box a quick glance and wished she was actually right about that statement."Look, I am going to be frank with you. You might be good but I have exactly zero reason to trust you. There's currently a lot of vultures circling around just waiting to take a bite. Or more precisely, go for the jugular. And out of nowhere, you appear, with your promises of shadowy friends, material, intel, help. You are like a handsome, smart, kind date that pays for the dinner. Probably too good to be true. So you better give me one reason why I should not just stand up and leave you here sipping your cola.