Wearing a baseball cap and a worn leather jacket, Alvin Katz didn't look the imposing symbol of the Coalition he had become. A few grey hairs poking out from under the cap, a few fine lines and wrinkles around his eyes, and the weight of the Worker's struggle for Sirius weighing down upon him.
He was the leader of the Coalition now, Premier and Party Chairman, the visionary that guided the SCRA and the Coalition.
The Storm class gunboat powered down, having made the unobserved trip, slipping through Bretonia undetected and unobserved. The elements of his personal bodyguard fanning out around the docking bay at Shasta Sky hook.
They were equally out of uniform, but the heavy SMGs they carried, along with their dark sunglasses, marked them as Spetznas, nothing was going to happen to the Premier on their watch.
Katz inclined his head as he led the way through the station, flashing his diplomatic papers to the dockmaster, who just about spat his coffee across the deck when he realized who was on the station.
"Sir... I mean... welcome... errr...."
Katz's bodyguards gently pushed the man out of the way as Katz entered the elevator, his guards following to secure the path to the bar.
Once inside the rather strange place, Katz twisted his lip a little.
"Mendel..." he said turning to the short bespectacled man following beside him smoking a cigarette and wearing a huge greatcoat.
"Just ignore the decadance, get the meeting over with and get out of here," Medel advised.
Katz selected a booth and ordered a cup of coffee, his men making a screen discretely around the bar, watching the crowd.
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