Smuggler's Folly (Part 1)

Cockpit - Hirakiis

The cockpit of the Sardakh 750 class freighter is comfortable and well furnished. In the middle of the cockpit is a solitary black leather seat surrounded by consoles. Sensor readings and ship status lights blink and flash on those very consoles, detailing everything the pilot needs to know. Behind the pilot's console, set back against the bulkhead near the exit are two black leather seats to accomodate the copilot and the navigator.

Another day, another dollar, so the saying goes. Not for Jaspar... he's still looking for that big score, the one that'll help him make up the payday he would have otherwise had, had a certain pirate not taken, as payment for retrieving his ship, the item which he'd been in the process of bringing to one of his many business contacts to settle a rather large debt. Ah well. Some day all debts will be settled, he'll have more money than he'll know how to spend, and peace will reign throughout the the galaxy. In any case, Jaspar's hanging out aboard his ship, the Hirakiis, poking through the 'dark net', trolling for clients, information, a bit of anything.

Call it fate, call it luck, call it wonders of the dark net. Whatever force of the galaxy be responsible, a sudden blip of contact from the outside world illuminates the Hirakiis' Holo unit controls to announce an incoming transmission. Could it be opportunity for riches, or self destruction? A single touch of the finger (or syllable, on the pricier terminals) can accept the transmission and discover who the heck is interrupting Jaspar's "brain off" routine.

Jaspar snaps to a state of wakeful attentiveness. He briefly pauses to consider thin--wait, nah, push the button. Call accepted. "Andromidas Galaxy Logistics. How may we be of service?" He smiles to himself, putting on a rather businesslike tone.

From the terminal pad, a small, hazy figure arises. It appears to be a slender woman, clothed in seemingly neutral attire - knit top, utility vest, slacks, and boots that appear more comfortable than stylish. Quickly, the image shifts, panning and enlarging to focus on her face.

A pair of sharp eyes lock target to make eye contact with what presumably, on her end, is a similar effigy of

"Mr. Andromidas, I presume?" Though her visage be unsmiling, there is a softer note to her voice - smooth, polite. "I'm so very glad this communication line was open. I hear you're rather good at your job."

"One must be, in this line of work. What can I do for you?" Jaspar responds, nodding and offering a polite smile. He might be a smuggler, an outlaw, any manner of things, but something he most definitely is not is impolite, period.

"It's more a question of what you can do to slip an Imperial Blockade." Bam. Not one to fuss with overdone formalities before getting to her point, Ambrosia quirks her lips into a sly smile. "I am Ambassador Delgard, and I represent the New Republic, 'Captain' Andromidas. In this particular instance, I am making an appeal for the Caspia system, where I am presently stationed, and, where the Empire currently has more or less shut down the shipping lanes. As you can imagine, this makes life difficult for the native - and touring - inhabitants. We'd like to lighten some of that pressure, but the funny thing about Republic-Empire relations is, well," she scoffs, "'s a bit explosive."

Jaspar nods, gently. "I see." He rises from his chair, and wanders around the bridge of his ship, cramped it may be. "Slipping past an Imperial blockade is no easy task." He says, pausing to stare into the viewer. "You want me to risk getting my ship blown to bits, and myself being tossed down a deep dark hole. I may be good at what I do, but... even so, there are wheels that need greasing, and those things take time. I'm not saying it's entirely impossible, but it's damned difficult."

The ambassador nods her understanding, eyes shifting to and fro to track her target's movements, stare losing just a tad of that fierce intensity. "We know. As things stand, our Navy has virtually no chance at passing through undetected. Small, independent vessels do. Usually." Quirking a brow, she does some moving of her own and drops a bit from view, maybe sitting. The machine adjusts accordingly.

"Rest assured, IF you and your crew accept...I will give you some grease out of my own pocket. A good faith deposit, if you'd like. The following reimbursements per run will likely range from 3-5k standard galactic cred, cargo type pending, and will be coming from the Navy's pocket." Tilting her head aside, she narrows her eyes studiously. "So tell me, Mr. Andromidas, what's the going rate for grease, these days?"

"The going rate for grease? Depends on the kind of grease-job you're looking for. For a quick in-and-out, base cost would be in the range of fifty thousand." Jaspar responds, swiveling his chair to face away from the screen, straddling the armrests of his chair, folding his arms across the headrest, and gazing into the screen. A smile plays across his lips. Boyish charms engage!

Ambrosia says, "Ah! My joints are in need of a good treatment, Ambassador! I am glad to see you've found a merchant so soon to replentish the embassy stock!" Chirps a too-perfect-to-be-human voice from somewhere off view, before a protocol droid tottles into the frame, a chrome bit of breastplate gleaming from behind her right ear.

Lids lowered to cast a more-than-annoyed glare aside to the droid, Ambrosia replies "Shut up," and turns her attention back to the attempted contract. "Excuse that. Somebody let her wander from the front desk, I see."

"On the contrary, I-"

The ambassador abruptly stands, turns her back to the frame, and gives her overly-animated, inanimate aid a solid thumping between the shoulder blades. Clang, beep...and silence.

"And again," she sighs, rubbing her hand over her left temple. "Definitely a quick in-and-out. As many times as you're willing." Smirking, she shakes her head. "Forty-five thousand, to you. If you can recruit another one or two 'associates' in possession of their own smuggle-worthy vessels, I will offer them thirty-five thousand for greasing, but same rate per run. Runs might include food and water, medical supplies, and possibly ammunitions, but supplying arms to one of our biggest arms supplier is just...silly. Ahead of each run, I will scout out the terrain between cities, find locations with minimal security. I will be informing the Presav of the CDU of any arrangement, so you won't be receiving 'friendly' fire, at least. Aside from their embassy occupants, the Empire hasn't sent any land patrols yet...that I know of.""

"So, just to summarize, again: I'll be heading in and out of hostile territory, ferrying food, water, medical supplies, weapons and ammunition. I'll be relying on your scouts to provide me with accurate maps of the terrain, troop locations, and a safe-zone for landing. The Presav of the CDU will be aware of our little agreement, so their troops will be looking for me once I get past the Imperial blockade. Am I on track so far?" Jaspar leans toward the screen, slightly, and raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, yes, to the best of our ability, and yes. It is our hope that reception of supplies will help calm the citizens enough with a sense of stability and hope...enough to stand on their feet and reject the Empire's advances, at least." Expression grim, tired, she admits "It's going to be a very rough ride around here. I'll be sending you a few different holoterm coordinates to connect to, in the event that I am suddenly...no longer here. My presence is no secret, and after tonight's broadcast, I suspect some fool from above may contract yet another assassin. Wouldn't be the first time. Captain Rasi Praddhan Cen may be in touch with you - i will be including his contact for you within the list. If the Embassy channels go down, you may be able to reach me through him. Now..." Taking a deep breath, she extends a symbolic hand towards the viewer. "If we have a deal, I'll need a routing number from you to transfer funds."

A hand is raised in return. "May this new alliance bear mutual fruit," Jaspar replies. "Transmitting details now." He punches in a series of codes, bringing up the relevant details on the other end of the call.

A blend of satisfaction and relief softens Ambrosia's features and she slowly lowers her hand back to her side. "Prepare to the best of your ability, Mr. Andromidas, and there could be much fruit, indeed. Caspar will owe you a mighty thanks, if we succeed. And a thanks anyway, if we don't." Pausing to fidget with a nearby gadget, she glances a couple times to the numbers arriving on her end. The view pans out, continuing to track her and in the background, there's suddenly a smaller version of the Ambassador, hair a shade darker, standing silently in the generic, conference space behind her. The child turns her head, hesitantly, to look at the holoterm, before shying away.

As promised, Forty-five thousand creds beam through across time and space to deposit into the specified account, and Ambrosia hastens to block the girl from view and leans her face in closely. "May the Force be with you, and whatever else you find solace in. Notify me at...this number - " she sends it through "when you, or any others, are ready. We will direct you from there to stock your cargo. Good day." Lifting two fingers in a vague salute, she prepares to sign off.

"Good day. Until we next meet." Jaspar replies, nodding, and terminating the call. He then slumps back into his chair, and begins going over the mental preparations for the task ahead. "This.. might just be the best decision I've made yet." He smiles to himself. "Time to get to work."