Good Old-Fashioned Business

Meltdown Cafe - Level 92: Nar Shaddaa

Spacers, mercenaries, pirates, bounty hunters, traders, smugglers, black market dealers, thieves and a large array of both the galaxy's most dangerous and most wanted fill the smoky confines of Nar Shaddaa's most notorious bar. Stepping into Meltdown Cafe is like a trip to the heart of the galactic fringe - few places anywhere can offer more opportunities and peril. Heads turn slowly from over the tbac covered tables at each newcomer, seasoned pairs of eyes scan others with the most frigid expertise of those seeking opportunity, hardened bodies occupy the many booths. By all standards, this place is just the extension of the Smuggler's Moon, but here it manages to concentrate it all into one chamber. Lights are dim, covering the edges of the bar in constant shadows, the buzz of languages is electric, and the music saunters hypnotically between the walls. Any race can be found here, and some probably never known before. A shadowy cove dominates the area behind the bartender, likely a backroom where unspeakable plans are laid. A haze inhabits the air, where the scent of alcohol competes with the waft of spice, where the clank of money makes the world go round, and where tables and chairs bear scars of disagreements from the past.

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=> Menu Poster

=> Electric Spice Band

Obvious exits:

ut leads to Concourse - Level 92: Nar Shaddaa.

"--and so I say to the guy, 'Up yours'."

The room echoes with raucous laughter and merriment, various intoxicants sloshing about in raised glasses, a good time in general.

"I may have lost a hand, but I left them with a gift they'll never forget." Jaspar grins, and orders another round of drinks for himself and the folks at the bar. He looks up and around, as if sensing someone entering the room. Seeing no one out of the ordinary, he returns to his drink. "In the event of my capture, I don't talk. Carrida taught me that much."

Oppenheimer isn't the man he used to be. He is, but the last decade has been a rough time. The fact that he has stopped wearing lifts probably doesn't help his stature either. . . As Zeak clears the threshold he begins quietly looking around. Even though it has been a decade since he has served in uniform, he still doesn't quite fit into normal society; he is stiff, too formal in nearly everything he does. He has a short list of people to look for, all pilots. Seeing a man who fits the description he begins to move through the room toward the man who just finished the story. As he does his arms seem to naturally fall in behind his back, clasped in way which just screams, 'I've spent a long time in the military.'

As the newcomer approaches, the raucousness dies down to a dull roar, and Jaspar turns around to face him. "Yes?" Jaspar inquires, arching an eyebrow and knocking back a shot of booze. "Can I help you?"

"If you are Jaspar Andromidas, then yes you can," Zeak replies as his eyes pass over each of the other people sitting at the table.

"I see." Jaspar responds, his curiosity clearly piqued. He hops off of his seat at the bar, and makes his way to a table in the far corner of the room, away from overtly prying individuals. "How can I be of service?" He settles in. "Would you care for a drink?"

The offer of a drink stirs a brief memory of the bar near the main space port on Bespin for Zeak, which brings a momentary smirk to his face and a little twinkle to his eyes. "No drink has brought me more trouble than you can imagine," Zeak replies, "but I appreciate the offer."

Zeak pauses a moment as he ponders the various approaches before stiffly choosing the direct route, "Mr. Andromidas, I represent the Etti group, and we would like to hire you to carry a load of food stuffs and medical supplies to Caspar, sell them on the open market, and then use the proceeds to purchase a selection of legal items and bring them Bonadan."

Jaspar nods, gently. "Mhm. I see. I'd love to help you, but I've tried the run to Caspar once already." He raises his arm, showing off the crude stump where a hand once must have been. "Spent a good bit of time in an Imperial cell. I mean, I can do time in a cell standing on my head.. and I gave those Imperials a real 'going-away present'." He proceeds to mime out the act of reeling in a fish, while raising a middle digit. "I'm not particularly inclined to give them a second hand. Besides, I'm already on someone's payroll... You'll want to look up Tritus Vaticus. Nice guy."

"I see," Zeak replies, drawing out the vowels in thought. His eyes squint slight, "I take it you are persona-non-grata where Lord Thel is concerned?"

"If you're implying that I'm not on his list of allies, that's correct." Jaspar nods, taking another sip of his drink.

"I'm not sure he has allies," Zeak replies with a sigh. "Men like him have pawns, and of course recognize other players from time to time. The reason I ask, is I'm not actually asking you to do anything illegal, in fact I'd prefer you get inspected by customs and make a big show of cooperating."

"When do you need it done? As soon as possible?" Jaspar inquires. "I'm still waiting for a few supplies of my own to be delivered, then I should be good to go. That reminds me, I do need to touch base with my supplier."

"Sooner is better," Zeak replies. "The Sarians could use the supplies and I'd hate for the Imperial fleet to miss your visit. It is crucial that you mention the Etti group multiple times as you pass through customs inspections, when you sell the supplies at reasonable rates, when you go to the local pub, and when you use the proceeds to buy non-essential items, preferably toys for Bonadan. The Etti group would like it to be well known who is behind the initiative. Are you interested?"

"Between you and I, yes, I'm interested. Officially, I'll need to run it by my employer, and loop him in. It's a business thing. I'm sure you understand, Mister... I'm sorry, what was your name again?" Jaspar inquires, pursing his lips briefly.

"Oppenhiemer," Zeak replies briefly before quickly passing on to the next question. "Now cost, the Etti group will provide the food and medical supplies, and we will trust you to purchase whatever you deem best for the Caspian economy and non-essential should the situation with the Imperial fleet deteriorate with the proceeds. What will you charge for your services?"

"Five thousand." Jaspar responds, after a brief moment of consideration. "That seems fair, wouldn't you agree?"

"How about three, one thousand upfront," Zeak continues, "and two thousand on delivery of the merchandise to Bonadan -- and the Etti group will throw in reimbursement up to 300 credits for living it up on Caspar, provided you drop the Etti group's name repeatedly."

Jaspar ponders. "Meet me halfway? Half up front, the balance on delivery."

"Two thousand up front, two thousand upon completion of the run," Zeak replies firmly, "I can agree to that, provided you mention the Etti group adequately. How large of a load should I arrange to be delivered to you, and where should it be delivered to?"

"My ship's a Ghtroc 750, room for 135 metric tons of cargo. I'm docked on level 104." Jaspar replies. "I'll mention it as often as the situation allows."

"What is the name of the ship?" Zeak replies as he pulls out a pad to make notes, "I'll have the pallets sent over with the appropriate Caspian customs forms."

"The Hirakiis. You can't miss it. It's the one that looks like it's been through various asteroid fields, and shot at by various space-pests." Jaspar grins, roguishly. "That ship and I go back a good long way. I wouldn't be where I am now without it. I'm almost afraid to put it in for proper repairs... I don't want to break whatever streak of luck is keeping my bucket of bolts together."

"I'll have the supplies delivered," Zeak says as he taps the information in. With that he tucks the pad under his arm and offers his hand to seal the deal, "If your employer decides you should opt out, the Etti group can be reached via its offices on Etti IV. Short of that my assistant will arrange delivery of the supplies with the next standard day; we will wait for you to contact us when you are ready to make delivery on Bonadan."

Jaspar smiles, and accepts the hand, giving a firm, confident shake. "I look forward to working with you, sir. May this be the first of many mutually beneficial endeavors."

"I hope it will," Zeak replies and with that he abruptly begins exiting the bar - never in his career was he ever accused of being a diplomat.

Jaspar calls the bartender over, and orders another round for the house. "Drinks are on me!"

A chorus of huzzahs and appreciative noises erupts.

"I should mention something... I'm ex-Imperial, and my ship is blacklisted. I'm no stranger to Caspia, either." Jaspar raises his hand-stump. "The Imperials weren't exactly pleased that I'd tried to set foot on the planet. I was a guest in one of their fine establishments." He pauses. "Perhaps you heard about a transport being boarded, bound for Kessel?" Jaspar nods, gently.

"The ship I can fix," Zeak replies as he turns around. "I believe I can loan you one of my wife's toys -- provided you bring it back intact." Zeak places an emphasis on wife, as if it might or should have meaning.

"Your wife's... toys?" Jaspar blinks. "But I have no wife of my own." WHOOSH! Right over the man's head.

"I won't mention you said that to her," Zeak replies quite seriously. "I believe she styles herself the Padawan Johanna Siri te Danaan these days, but all that really matters I suppose is that she is at least partly responsible for what happened to Cochran, and while her temper has mellowed, I would not classify her as even keeled. She will likely not be happy if we permanently damage one of her toys." His eyebrow arches, "Still interested?"

"I don't make habits out of damaging things entrusted to me, not unless said damage is inevitable. Life happens, as the saying goes." Jaspar replies. "...And yes, I'm still interested."

"Good, I'll have one of her toys brought over and landed at the main space port," Zeak replies coldly. "I take it you can deal with the issue of your identity when passing through customs?"

"I have someone working on that." Jaspar offers in reply. "I've been meaning to check in on them for an update."

"Very well then," Zeak curtly replies, "My assistant will be in touch with the details. If things don't work out with your documents, do let me know - I may be able to help."

Jaspar nods. "I'll contact you either way. Unless my client prefers not to be contacted until the deed is done, one way or the other, I like to keep my clients in the loop, as I do with my employer. That way we're all on the same page, and everyone is satisfied."

"Very well then," Zeak replies. "Do let us know how you get on with your documents. Once you do, my assistant will be in touch about the vessel. And," here Zeak pauses a second considering his options, "while I appreciate your holding your business relationships in confidence, do remember, the Etti group wants you to tell everyone you can about this. You need not mention any of us by name, but do try to mention the group as often as possible."

"Understood. I shall drop your group's name as often as possible, as the situation allows." Jaspar responds, cordially.

"Very well then, Mr. Andromidas," Zeak replies, "We will be in touch." And with that, Zeak once again abruptly begins to leave--there are other pilots to hire.

"Safe travels." Jaspar replies, turning back to his drink, and disappearing into the unwashed masses.