Doors, where was a good one when you needed it? Arren Karai cast a furious glare at the panel as it swished closed behind him. In a fit of rage, he turned to take a swing at it, only to have it slide open with a hiss at his proximity. Why did everything have to be so damned automated? All he needed was one good door to slam to cool himself, or at least vent. With a frustrated shout, he spun on his heel and stormed back into the cabin, the door panel behind him hissing closed arrogantly.
War had torn his old haunt out in the Pure Blind Regions out of his grasp, and with some amount of disdain, he had loaded up his haulers, packed away the mining lasers, and made the jump back to high security space.
'High security,' he snorted. 'Now there's a joke.'
Supposedly, CONCORD would protect him and his assets while he would work in the more civilized areas of the galaxy. Of course, that protection only extended until someone paid them off and "Declared War" on your corporation. He had been back in hisec for no less than forty eight hours, and here he was, stuck in a station, watching the mining workhorse known as a Hulk idly sit in the hangar outside his balcony. Of course, the crew onboard wouldn't be privy to this information outright, it kept crews from ditching the moment the war was declared, and leaving a Pod Pilot without his crew. Still, it would only be fair to warn them that he would be keeping their ISK earner in dock for the next week. He knew most pilots would simply shoot off a message to their executive officer, informing them of the change, but Arren was much more of a face to face kind of person, at least when he wasn't plugged in.
His implants contacted Aura, the AI onboard his ship, and quickly relayed the location of his XO to his ocular implant, giving him a map to follow through the station, and a feed from one of the security cameras from the establishment.
"At least they're enjoying themselves right now," he muttered, checking himself in the mirror. His dark brown hair was kept shaved short enough not to be an issue, his lean build showing a tightly muscled frame beneath his shirt. Without a second thought, he stepped aggressively towards the door, hoping to get that swing in, and growling as it once more evaded him.
The Gallentean station was a piece of art…or nature…maybe both. There wasn't an angle to be seen, everything bending and curving to its destination. Even intersections within the station came together with rounded corners. The open biodome in the center served both to augment the station's oxygen scrubbers, and provide a place to relax under flora from local and traditional Gallentean selections. Along the curved edge, brightly lit signs advertised their respective places of business. Markets and offices displayed by professionally crafted pieces, while bright neons beckoned to the more hedonistic side. It was towards one of the neon lit establishments that his implants were guiding him, Aura whispering information about the business into his neural implant.
The bouncer at the door stopped him with a firm hand on his chest, his opposite hand pointing to the sidearm strapped to Arren's leg. The pilot simply tapped the input at the back of his neck, and dropped a handful of hard ISK into the man's hand. The entire exchange was over in a second, and he was let through without as much as another glance. Inside, the stench of cigarettes and alcohol assaulted his senses. A quick few commands through his implants tuned the thundering, bass heavy music down to an acceptable level, and he glanced to the security feed of his XO to find him amongst the crowd. On the stage, a lithe, half dressed female was wrapping herself around a chrome pole, enticing the crowd with her motions. His XO, a burly, dark skinned Minmatar by the name of Mukiri "Mook" Rakshad, was not difficult to pick out amongst the patrons. His shoulders took up an entire corner booth, while a good portion of the crew crowded around, listening to some story or another he was spinning up.
"Mook," Arren addressed his XO. The moment he opened his mouth, however, it seemed the rest of the strip club instinctively quieted down. It wasn't very often a Capsuleer made his way to these decks, much less into the "seedy" establishments such as this. Most, when seeking an evening's fling, just hired out a call girl or four and stayed within their own sections of the station.
Pearly white teeth met Arren's gaze, and a chair was immediately vacated next to the lead miner. "You dun show up unless there's bad news, Cap',"
"We've been war-decced," he said, cutting straight to the point. "I'm keeping my Hulk docked up for the next week, no point in risking assets that don't need to be risked."
A collective groan was heard around the table, but they knew better than to open their mouths.
"I know," Arren continued, "We all expected to return to higher security regions, take a bit of a pay cut from it, but be able to continue to work. Turns out the same Alliance that chased us out of our old home has it out for us. We're going to be sitting tight and ride this out, hopefully without getting any results, they will grow tired of dishing out ISK to keep this war going, and head back to their own regions. Now, does anyone have any questions?"
"Do we still get paid?" The question came from Allen, a greenhorn on the crew who had only signed up when East Lonetrek Trading had returned to Empire controlled space. There was a resounding smack as the XO's solid hand connected with the back of his head.
"No, we don't get paid," Mukiri scolded. "We are miners. We don't bring in ore, we don't get paid. Cap'n is no different than the rest of us, if that Hulk ain't flyin', he's got no income either."
Allen looked over sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, we…what, sign on with another mining crew?"
"Let me tell you something about us pilots," Arren said, looking pointedly towards the greenhorn. "We are not a trusting lot. If there's a crew member that jumps ship and runs to a different corporation every time a war is declared, said crew member is going to have a very hard time finding a job. You might be able to sign on with a fresh capsuleer running a frigate with a mining laser on it, but that's about it."
A few of the crew looked into their drinks, trying to hide the fact that they were thinking the same thing.
"I'll tell you what, let me at least make the night worth it for you guys," Arren announced, standing up and turning around to face three of the dancers who had slid up behind him. "Can one of you darlings get me the owner?"
The three dancers looked back and forth to one another, not quite sure how to respond to the request. Nobody walked into a strip club and just asked for the owner, not without a month long waiting list to see him, it seemed.
"He's, uh…" one of the three stammered. "He's quite a busy man. I don't even know if he is here tonight."
Arren rolled his eyes, "Well, he can either show up here, or I'll take my ISK elsewhere."
All three turned and hurried off, trying to figure out how to break get hold of their elusive owner. Five minutes later, one of the bouncers showed up, wearing a frown and glaring at the jacks on Arren's back. "You the one who wanted to see the boss?"
The capsuleer stood and turned, looking straight into the chest of the much larger man. His eyes travelled lazily up to his face, the infamous pod pilot look of superiority masking his features. "Yeah," he answered simply.
"No one talks to the boss without an appointment."
"Tell your boss I shouldn't need one, although if he insists on making this rough, I'll just take my overabundance of ISK, and show my boys a good time at another such fine establishment."
The bouncer crossed his solid arms, glaring. "Any business you have with the club, I can deal with."
"No offense, but I'd rather deal with your owner."
With a grumble, the bouncer turned and spoke quietly to an implant in his wrist, before motioning for Arren to follow him. He was led through a door behind the bar, down a plain hallway, to where a heavy, true wood door was standing. There was a guard at the door that pretty much ignored the two as they made their way inside. The owner was a tall, good looking man dressed in a professional looking suit. His eyes shone with confidence, but there was a feeling of distrust the pilot felt in his gut. In that moment, his idea changed.
"I was told you needed to speak with me, capsuleer?" the owner said, barely looking up from the paperwork in front of him.
Arren held out his hand, offering the greeting. "Arren Karai, since I'm looking at a business transaction, I thought we might get to know one another's names before we proceed."
Still, the owner never bothered to look up. "I'm a very busy man, Mister Karai. Now if you could please tell me why you so rudely interrupted me, I would like to get back to my work."
Arren thought for a long minute about his next words, then said simply, "I'm going to buy this establishment."
That got his attention.
"You want to…buy my club?" He asked.
A lopsided, cocky grin made its way to Arren's face. "Not want to, going to. I am about to make you an offer, and you are going to take it, transfer the ownership to my name, and walk quietly out that door."
"Are you threatening me, Mister Karai?" The dark haired man leaned forward, just far enough for his suit jacket fall far enough forward and let the handle of a small hold out pistol be seen in a shoulder holster.
Not balking at the man's approach, Arren tapped the back of his neck. "You shoot me, I wake up in five minutes in a clone bay, and you can trust that you won't want to see me when I walk back in here after that. But no, I am not threatening you. I'm offering you three and a half million ISK for this dive. If any of the feedback I'm getting from my implants is correct, that's more profit than this thing makes in a full year."
After a moment of stunned silence, the man opposite of the pilot reached into the desk, pulled out a transparent piece of flimsiplast, and set it on the desk, pressing his thumb against it. A faint blue line ran down his thumb, and he passed the title to the business across the desk. Arren's Ocular Implant instantly recorded the entire thing, informing him that it was indeed a true deed, and he mimicked the other's movement, pressing his own thumb down on it. This time, when his hand was offered, it was taken and the transaction wordlessly finalized. The previous owner simply stood up, closed the folders on his desk, tucked them under his arm, and headed towards the door.
"Edward," he said. "Edward Le'Fay. It was a pleasure doing business with you."
Arren nodded towards the previous owner, and stepped around to the other side of the desk, sinking into the overstuffed, leather chair. He had come in with no intention of buying a strip club, but for what amounted to small change for a Capsuleer, he had purchased something he had no intention other than to rent for the night. Well, maybe if he let it sit, it would expand on his investment. Even a trickle of ISK, when combined with several more, becomes a flood.
The big bouncer from before walked through the door, a confused look on his face, "Boss said you're the new boss?"
Arren nodded, which only caused the bouncer's eyebrow to raise that much more. "Would you be so kind as to see the patrons out for the night. I would like to speak with the staff and the dancers."
The bouncer nodded, and turned to head out, before Arren called after him. "The crew of the Silver Sun is allowed to stay as well. Tell them I'll be back with them in a few minutes."
Twenty minutes later, Arren returned to a confused looking crew. "I bought the place," He responded to their questioning looks. "The girls have been paid, and everything is on the house tonight. Enjoy yourselves, and I'll see you in the Hangar tomorrow afternoon to get some maintenance done."