Kyle Setup

Ren Arnassis enters the docks from the customs station. Ren Arnassis has arrived. Ren Arnassis steps out onto the landing pad and begins prowling through the rows of ships parked there. Kyle Connire is sitting on a small crate under the shadows of a much larger stack of crates, and a ship's hull above. He sits with one arm resting across his knee, and opposite hand flat on the crate upon which he is poised. His head is lowered, with eyes foxused on the ground in contemplation; he is framed completely shadow, and difficult to see for anyone not specifically moving around decesively searching.

Ren Arnassis's path will soon take him past Kyle as he stalks between rows of ships.

Ren Arnassis' footsteps briefly catch Kyle's attention, causing the former Captain to raise his gaze and peer out across the hangar, watching the newcomer.

It's as if Ren can feel eyes on him. He turns, hand dipping down near his hip, and his gaze fixes on Kyle.

The former captain's reflexes are sharp, too. The moment Ren's hand begins to move to his hip, Kyle's free hand is already behind his back, resting on the handle of the knife his is carrying. His head tilts lower, obscuring his visage beneath his hair. He doesn't say anything just yet. His posture is still quite relaxed, though, so he doesn't appear as if making any sort of aggressive move.

"Hidin' in the shadows ain' the bes' way to make friends," Ren observes, his hand hovering over the holster to a small pistol. After a moment, he straightens. "I've seen you afore."

Kyle Connire's eyes rise to observe the other man more closely. "That may be true, but I don't seem to recall having business with you." He pauses. "If you've ever been to Rockhopper's you've probably seen me there."

Ren Arnassis shakes his head. "No. I don' think we ever had business." He looks the man over. "You some kinda ship type?"

Kyle Connire doesn't budge. Even slightly. "Depends on what you're shopping for. And how much you're paying. If you're not looking, I'm a nobody. And you can get lost."

Ren Arnassis smirks. "I'm lookin'. Fee negotiable. But it ain' the kinda job you'd pick up in the want ads."

"You've got my attention. Let's see if you can keep it," the rogue answers in a wry tone. He leans backwards, revealing his hidden hand (empty) and resting it on his left knee.

Ren Arnassis looks left and right, then to Kyle. "Bit open fer a business discussion, doncha think?"

"If you've got a place in mind," he responds simply. "I usually conduct business in a bar or aboard a starship, depending on the proposition. I'll leave that detail up to you."

"Got enough money to hire ya, if'n you c'n do what I want you to. S'pose I got enough money to buy ya a beer in the bargain anyhow." Ren jerks his head towards customs. "C'mon."

Kyle Connire climbs to his feet, stretching his back. "If you're buyin', I'm drinking." He gathers up his coat and throws it around his shoulders, fitting into it quickly. He produces an unlit cigarette just as quickly. "You got a light?" he asks, following directly behind Ren.

"Sorry." Ren passes into Customs. "Don't smoke."

Opening the double doors, you enter the inspction station.

Import Inspection Station  Crafted from smooth hewn stones of the Rock, the customs inspection station is a combination of rugged mining crafts and high technology. Longer that it is wide, the inspection station has a high ribbed vaults crossing the ceiling, with soft light drifts down from recessed coves. On either side of each door a pair of sturdy columns stretch to the ceiling, the first three meters a mirror black surface, with perhaps a hint of red sparkling deep within. Just beyond the entrance doors the customs workstation awaits, keeping watch on all who enter from the docks. Built of stone and composite surfacing, the long counter stretches towards the city, a    series of checkpoints and inspection stations along its length. Behind the counter, set within its sculpted form is a practical collection of computer display and sensor repeaters, manned by    both customs officials and specialists of the Ungstiri Militia. At the far end of the room a pair of heavy steel doors lead out to Resilience. Near the room's entrance a second doorway leads to the custom station offices.

Passing through the heavy steel doors you enter the city of Resilience.

City Commons  Carved from the ancient rock of this planetary chunk, this chamber is about sixty yards in    diameter with a domed ceiling that is one hundred feet tall at its highest point. In contrast to the spaceport facility, which glows as if illuminated by a supernova thanks to   high-powered lamps, this commons is more subtly lit. Shadows fill much of the higher reaches of     the dome, while soft bluish-white lights provide a twilight glow to the rest of the chamber. Archways lead to the spaceport via the customs station, a tavern, and the planetoid's    commercial and residential districts.

You head into Rockhopper's Haven .

Rockhopper's Haven  This cavernous chamber in the natural rock of the Ungstir planetoid appears to be some kind of converted mining operation facility, with large, rusty ore grinders, separation platforms and storage silos arrayed throughout. Automated ore-hauling bots - still functional despite age - whir and clunk overhead, following tracks set into the ceiling that weave around the antiquated mining equipment. Metal-seated stools border a semicircular bar counter which is about one hundred feet long from end to end. The bartender is usually clad in mining gear - complete with hardhat and overalls - and it    doesn't always appear to be just for purposes of keeping in theme. The Rockhopper's Haven has a reputation as a rough spot among rough spots, with fisticuffs and gunfights erupting on a fairly regular basis - thus keeping the civilian constabulary on    their toes (when they aren't actually involved in the fights themselves).

Kyle Connire looks around wtih a detached expression. "Same as it always were," he comments, walking down into the tavern floor and drifting towards the bar.

Ren Arnassis grunts darkly. "Hate this fuckin' rock," he growls under his breath, leading Kyle towards a corner of the bar. "Two beers," he demands of Ivan, then looks sidelong at Kyle. "You work with any names I migh' know?"

Kyle Connire signals Ivan to return to the counter where they sit. "Change mine to Brandy." He half-turns, giving Ren some of his attention, but never looks directly at him. "I currently operate under the alias Draven. I'm trying to lay low after some run-ins that made me a few new 'friends', if you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean," Ren says. "Recently a guy I thought was a frien' ... introduced ... me to a coupla people." His expression turns dark. "He'n I go way back. But I still need to pay him a visit." Lower, Ren adds, "An' when I'm done, I'm gon' need someone to fly the ship usedta be his."

Kyle Connire chuckles "Revenge makes the world travel in circles, my friend." He recieves his drink, wrapping a hand around the glass.

Ren Arnassis nods. "That part of the job I expect to be easy. But after that, ifn' I like you, I'd be willin' to keep you on as part of a crew. You int'rested?"

Kyle Connire stokes his jaw vacantly, rubbing the stubble growing there. "My situation is somewhat undecided at this time. I'm actually looking to get a new ship, myself. You see, I've been captain of two ships thus far. And I'm not one to quit while I'm down."

"I can't fly," Ren says. "But I c'n shoot. An' I c'n git us a ship." His eyes narrow. "But one god-damn things fer sure, an' that's I ain' takin' orders from anybody, shitheel or fuckin' samurai, from here to the Parallax. You go in wit' me on this, I git the ship's registry information changed, but no ship like that c'n pretend it's still on the up'n up. Lucrative, but dangerous, you git me?"

"My last major expidenture was of that sort." He looks down upon the bar counter.

"An aquaintence of mine was starting a similar venture. I will be needing to check in on her progress, before I can commit to anything, really."

Ren Arnassis arches an eyebrow. "Trip into Parallax territory?" He asks, as if confirming a pre held suspicion.

Kyle Connire smirks. "I'm crazy, but I ain't crazy." And that's all he has to say, concentrating on his drink after saying such.

Ren Arnassis grunts. "Look. I ain' gon' wait aroun' for somebody who wants to sit on the fence. I'll offer you 2000 for the acquisition, half before, half after. Take it or leave it, I hate fuckin' negotiating, its a waste of time. After that, you c'n choose to stay on an' take an even cut of the ship's profits from that poin' on, you got a ladyfrien' coul' use some help, fine. Call it part of the bargain."

Kyle Connire grins. "See, that's how you negotiate." He takes the final sip of his drink. "I truest you already have your plan of operation, and have prepared all the supplies you need for this task?"

"I'm a straightforward guy," Ren says, continuing to speak quietly. "I like to do things in uncomplicated ways. Guy lives alone on the ship wit' his wife. Won't be too much of a problem if you c'n work quick."

Kyle Connire rubs his jaw again. "What is the timeframe? And I'll need more specifics about the mission profile before I commit." His eyes survey the scenery in the bar. Some miners quarreling.

"Soon. Tomorrow or the nex' day if possible," Ren says. "Like I said, simple, smash'n grab, physical job. Main problem is trackin' down the guy, he ain' on Ungstir at the moment. I won' tell you more until you commit."

Kyle Connire thanks Ivan as he refills his glass. "How do you intend to have the owner of the vessel handled? And will it be on Ungstir?"

"Stunned, tied up, an' kicked off the ramp somewhere outta the way. Triple Niner meb', meb' elsewhere. An' if he's on Ungstir, then yes. If he ain', that depends on my discretion. Ain' gon' do it on a landin' pad where this kinda thing is unheard of."

Kyle Connire nods. "Just as long as you've thought it through. Something like that'd be easy enough to execute at a place like U-999, for sure. You pay as promised, and I'll lend my expertise."

"The day of, you'll git your money half before an' half after," Ren says. "You c'n call me Stonebridge. Where c'n I reach you?"

The pilot slides a datapad over to counter towards Ren. "This is my contact information. You can reach me here."

Ren Arnassis looks at the pad, copying the information onto a datacard on his own pad. "Keep it on," he says. "You go by Draven, y'said?"

"That is my current handle, correct," Kyle replies, retrieving his pad.

"I'll fin' you," Ren says, finishing his beer and rising.

Kyle Connire nods in affirmation. "Until we meet again."

Ren Arnassis turns to leave.