Cigarette smoke hung in the air, mingled with the smell of stale beer and the low mumble of conversation. I noticed Arco as he entered the bar, but made no attempt to get his attention, and enjoyed the solitude while I still could. In a few minutes he’d found me, procured a drink and taken up a seat on the other side of the table.

“Long time,” he said, taking a sip of his brandy. I nodded. He reached into his pocket, producing a pack of cigarettes. Real tobacco. Taking one for himself he slid the pack across the table toward me.

“How’ve you been?” I took two cigarettes out of the pack, placed one on the table and the other between my lips. I put the rest of the pack into my dress pocket, and slid the lone cigarette back across the table. Arco shook his head, and smiled.

“You have a light?” I asked, and took a deep drag. Savoring the silence, and the expensive gallente organic tobacco. “What do you want?” I finally asked, the annoyance in my voice masked by the smoke and and a healthy amount of self-discipline.

“Do I need a reason to check in on an old friend?,” he said calmly, “Still running security for some no-name Gallente corp?”

I nodded, “They’re doing quite well acutally. I find the work rewarding.”

“Hmm,” he took another drink. “Hows the pay?”

“Fine,” my irritation beginning to show, “What do you want?”

Arco leaned back and took a drag off of his cigarette, the smoke framing his small face. He was tall for a Caldari, but still six inches shorter than me. He looked like a child as he slouched in the large chair.

“I have an offer for you,” he said bluntly, “I’m sure you’ve heard about the war?’

I gave no response.

“Well, in any case,” he continued, “it has gone well for us. Sure, there’s still a lot of fighting going on, but that’s good for business. But the war,” he leaned forward, “the war is over. The Gallente barely put up a fight.”

He leaned back, and took another sip of his brandy. “The petitions are already underway to allow us to take more space. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was another Caldari titan in Luminare by the end of the year.”

“Congratulations,” I responded, “what does that have to do with me?”

“Well,” his face becoming more serious, more businesslike, “what if I told you we could get you a decent paid rank in the Amarr navy. Higher than you were before,” he paused, “before the incident. What do you say? You’d be back doing what you do best, and you’d be paid well for your efforts.”

“No,” I replied immediately, “that life is over. But what I want to know,” I said leaning toward him menacingly, “is why you want me to do this.”

He sat back, his serious face melting back into the comforting friendly face, the marketer face. “Well, to be honest we thought you’d like a chance to get back into the game.”

I stared him down, “Bullshit.”

Arco laughed and took another sip of his brandy, “That’s why I’ve always liked you Ghenna. Blunt and to the point. Okay,” he sat his drink and cigarette down and folded his hands on the table, “the Gallente are useless, there is perhaps some small chance they might mount a decent resistance but it’s not very likely. Democracy looks good on paper, but when it comes to war, well. Too many people involved in making decisions, far too slow, and of course,” he smiled, “everyone important values Jita too much.”

He took a last drag off of his cigarette and then put it out in the ashtray on the table. “The Minmatar, on the other hand, could be a problem. We’d like them out of the picture.”

I understood, if the minmatar joined to assist the Gallente things might go very badly for the Caldari war machine. Keep them occupied in their conflict with the Amarr and the Caldari would have free reign. I remembered how much I hated politics.

“No,” I responded again, “I have no issues with the Minmatar.”

Arco laughed increduously, “they’re killing your people,” he said, “or hadn’t you heard.”

“The theocracy is killing our people,” I responded, getting looks from several adjacent tables, “for refusing to enter into diplomatic talks,” I got off my soap box, remembering I was a guest in an Amarr station. “Besides, the matari are killing soldiers. That’s what you sign up for, it’s expected. They have clones.”

“You also have clones,” Arco replied, his voice revealing his irritation, “I dont’ need to remind you who made that possible for you. You owe us. You owe me.” He produced a datasheet from his briefcase and slid it across the table.

I smiled, he was out of tricks, “You’ll make it out of Amarr space with your pod,” I responded, “and we’ll call it even.”

Arco finished his brandy and stood up, “consider the offer, we’re only going to make it once.” He turned to leave, “eventually we will all have to pick a side, just make sure it’s the right one.”

With that he collected his briefcase and left the bar, I was alone again.

I picked up the lone cigarette, still on the table, and lit it with with the last burning ember of mine. I perused the datasheet, it was a good offer. Entry into the 24th as a Major, a hangar full of ships and a steady paycheck. I crumpled the digital paper and spent the next two hours burning holes in it with Arco’s cigarettes, and drinking myself into oblivion.

I stumbled back to my quarters in the corporate hangar and crashed into my bunk. The corp was doing well, and while the pay was actually very good, the need for a full time security officer was somewhat dubious. I had been offered a sabbatical when I joined, and had been considering the option strongly.

I reached over to my desk, and shuffled drunkenly through a stack of datasheets, eventually succeeding in retrieving the correct one and littering the floor with the majority of the others. It was a recruitment advertisment for the Federal Defense Union.

Arco was right about one thing, eventually we would all have to pick a side.