An Unscrupulous Undertaking: Deal With the Devil

The Casino is busy, thronged with aliens and humans, although being located in the Corellian sector on Nar Shaddaa the makeup is titled toward sons and daughters of that planet. For once Corellian drowns out Basic. Nastaran Zohreh, her casual clothes almost making her stand out in the swanky establishment, is stood leaning on a low rail around a sabbac table that is designed to keep onlookers out. She leans with her wrists crossed over each other and she holds a glass containing a measure of golden drink with her fingertips. She has her weight on her right foot, her left foot resting on the tip of her boot. She watches a group of rough looking types in bright clothes, other pirates perhaps, losing big at the sabbacc table without caring.

"You don't strike me as someone's good luck charm. I'm surprised your not playing." A shady, refined voice fills Nastaran's ear and quietly pierces the surrounding din. "I'd wager your not unfamiliar with a little gamble."

Nastaran reacts quickly to the voice suddenly appearing in her ear. She jumps, then whips around with anger on her face, and with a flick of her wrist throws the contents of her glass toward Elias' face. It's Corellian whisky. Nastaran scowls. "Who the frick do you think you are, creeping up like that?" She demands and shakes her empty glass at him. "You have made me waste my good whisky on you!"

Elias, unfazed, removes a small pocket handkerchief, wipes the whiskey off his face, and dabs at his expensive shirt. With the same kerchief he flags down a cocktail waitress. "Dear, someone is trying to poison my friend with this cheap swill. This whiskey's not even old enough to pilot a speeder. Would you bring us something from the Old Republic era? Thank you dear." He slips a very generous credit chit between the girl's breasts and sends her on her way.

"To answer your previous question Miss Zohreh," He says as he finishes dabbing at his clothes and returns the handkerchief to it's hiding place. "I think I am the man with the opportunity to make you quite wealthy."

"Drop the Miss Zohreh nonsense, it's getting old fast," Nastaran orders him quietly and pulls a grimace that belies her disgust with how Elias treats the waitress. Nastaran runs a hand through her hair, tucks a lock behind her ear, and leans low over the rail again. She rests her forearms on the padded red velvet top of the rail, and picks skin from the side of her thumbnail. "It'd have to be, because you're not giving me much interest in working with you, Elias," she informs him quietly. The group in front of her jeer loudly as one of their number loses badly.

"Oh, I think you'll be plenty interested in what I have to offer, Miss Zohreh." He practically oozes confidence as he joins her at the railing. He leans as well, but still manages to look stiff and formal. Lights blink softly on the small plate that houses the circuits connecting his spinal implant to his brainstem. It makes him look like a droid wearing some poor soul's skin as he watches the card game with disinterest. "But, unfortunately, we cannot discuss business without drinks. We must be patient until the girl returns."

"Nastaran," she corrects him with a hint of exasperation. Her gaze wanders to the back of Elias' neck. "What is going on with your neck? Implants?"

"How observant." the man says, rising to turn his attention back to the approaching waitress. He takes the drinks, and holds one out for Nastaran. It is a rich amber color, and smells strong and smokey. "The fine work of a talented surgeon on Ithor." Elias brings his own glass to his lips, inhales deeply, and follows it with a sip. His face doesn't tighten like the usual response to a straight hard liquor. It relaxes, and finishes in a sincere smile "Ahhhh divinely smooth."

Nastaran reaches out and takes the offered glass. She inhales then takes a sip, and nods to herself, impressed. "What sort of implants?" Nastaran asks with mild curiosity, slowly swirling the glass so that the amber liquid sloshes against the glass.

"Severed spine," he offers casually. He takes another sip of whiskey before he continues. "I am paralyzed from the waste down. It was a quite complex procedure. Spinal grafts. Artificial nerve connections. Brain stem interface to restore motor function." He allows this knowledge to sink in before continuing. "But we are not here to talk about me. It is my understanding that you are an enterprising young woman. One who is no stranger to medical expenses herself. My employers take quite good care of their employees. They arranged for my procedure after all." He takes another slow sip and savors the rich taste. After a long pause he continues again. "I am here to offer you a job that will alleviate those expenses, and go a long way to making you independently wealthy as well."

Nastaran blinks and frowns. She shakes her head and takes another sip of her whisky. "Uh, I've... never needed hospital treatment..." She says slowly, confusion on her face. She stands up straighter and shifts her weight away from Elias, "I've no idea what you're talking about, if you're offering us a job, offer us a job, Elias. I mean, who do you work for anyway?"

"Perhaps I should be a little more straight forward." The strange man leans in closer. "My employers have a shipment of cargo that needs to be moved from Trandosha to Nar Shadda, and another shipment returned. The ship and crew have been acquired, but our previous skipper has proven…unreliable. It is a short, uneventful trip. Pirates are the only trouble that may arise, but I'm quite sure that is no worry for you. In compensation we are prepared to offer you 10,000 credits for the round trip. As a bonus, should you accomplish this simple task for us, my employers will arrange for your mother to be under the care of the foremost specialists in the private sector...All expenses paid. No simple medical droids. Real doctors." His pitch made, Elias returns to his upright posture and drains his remaining whiskey.

Nastaran exhales and brings her head up. Her eyes stare into the distance and she takes another sip of her whisky. She holds it in her mouth, then visible swallows it. Her expression is neutral, as is her voice when she speaks but she doesn't look at Elias. "How did you find out about about my mother? No-one knows about her."

Elias shrugs dramatically. It's a surprisingly natural gesture coming from him. "I am merely the messenger." he sets his empty glass on the railing. "It is a quite generous offer, and I'm sure you have many questions. I will do my best to answer each of them. This one, however, I cannot.”

Nastaran shakes her head in a sharp, violent motion. "Nothing you are saying makes any sense. You are as dodgy as all out. I half expect you to have a slipped a tranq into my drink," she mutters. She clenches her jaw and looks away as a wave of tension grips her body. "Why are you hiring a pirate to do a smuggler's job?"

"To taint whiskey this good would be an atrocity not even the Empire would dare. But you pose a fair question." The man studies her intently, he's clearly struck the nerve he was looking for. "We are not 'smuggling' anything per say, but there is a heavy pirate presence in this sector. Who better to navigate such space?"

Nastaran turns and stares at Elias. "You know," she says slowly, "normal people would deny it because that's an abhorrent thing to do, not because it ruins good whisky?" She takes a deep breath in and lets it out noisily, blowing her cheeks out. "So you'll pay for all of my mother's care for the rest of her life?" Nastaran asks with an upraised eyebrows. She turns to him again and crosses her arms over her chest, looking up into the taller human's face. "Elias, that's hundreds of thousands of creds."

"My dear, it is far more than that. You underestimate the quality of care." He pauses, analyzing her defensive posture, considering his next words carefully. "That is the offer. There IS however a catch, as they say." Elias turns back to the Sabacc game giving it the same interest as before. "It is a moral quandary of sorts. Though given the general ethics of your usual business practices, it is one I think you can find a way to overcome...Given the circumstances."

Nastaran bites her top lip, takes a breath and lets it out noisily through her nose. She takes another sip of her whisky, not bothering to savour the liquid. "Lay it out, then," she says flatly.

"Of course. Another drink?" Elias signals the waitress for two more as he asks. "This first shipment, will contain Wookie slaves. While not illegal in this sector, many rightly find this kind of work objectionable." The waitress arrives and another credit chit is produced as he receives the drinks. He sets Nastaran's on the flat top of the rail. "The shipping manifest will officially read 'mining equipment' but that is for the benefit of most of the crew, and the public. It will be delivered to a Faleen who is currently running the Hutt's interests on Nar Shadda. One Nasiri Gejalli." He stops to allow her to process this information while he begins his fresh drink.

Nastaran listens, then, as Elias elaborates her face takes on a flatly patient look. "Slaves?" she says quietly, shakes her head, drops her gaze. "No deal," she tells him and turns on her heel and begins to walk away through the crowds on the Casino floor with her head down and hands shoved in the pockets of her trousers.

"You look just like her." He says loud enough to be heard as she walks away. "She could make a full recovery, you know...With the right care."

Nastaran turns and comes stalking toward Elias, stiff-legged with anger and with her hands balled into fists. Reaching him, she glares at him and points her index finger into his gaunt face. "Shut. Up." She says through gritted teeth. "I have no idea who you work for, what you really want, but I am not shipping slaves, no matter what you offer, what you say. Is. That. Clear?"

Elias looks down at her calmly. Ignoring the finger hovering inches from his nose he studies her eyes. The pain there tells him all he needs to know. "That, of course, is your decision. Regrettable as it may be for all parties involved." He takes another sip of his whiskey beneath the accusatory appendage. "It is a shame those medical droids aren't more reliable. There have been so many cases of patients lost because a faulty wire, or programming glitch caused the wrong medication to be administered. I would imagine it would be hard to live with yourself knowing you could have prevented it."

Nastaran's olive-skin pales to a sallow grey. She searches his face with her gaze for any sign of a falsehood or lie. "What..." she breathes as horror slowly creeps over her. She's so close he can smell her perfume, a hint of exotic woods. "There are hundreds of people who will ship slaves with no problems. I can give you names," she says, backing up and trying to bargain now.

The strange man smiles now, looking ever more like some conjured nightmarish apparition. "My dear, you have been specially selected for this task. My employer has no interest in other parties." His cold steel eyes burn from beneath boney brows. The sunken cavities from which they gaze appear to deepen with each word. "You are, of course, free to turn down my offer if you'd like to try your luck with the droids."

"Why." Nastaran says quietly. "Tell me why and who you work for," she demands.

"My employers will be revealed in due time, as will their intentions." Elias produces another credit chip from his coat. "In the mean time, if you except, here is a deposit of 2,000 credits. It should be ample to make whatever arrangements you must." He takes Nastaran's hand in his free one, turns it over and places the money in her palm. His silk gloved grip is unsettlingly strong. His fingers feel like steel through the smooth cloth. "In a few days a ship will enter orbit. A repurposed Dreadnaught. You will command this ship to Trandosha where the cargo will be loaded. Return it here. Nasiri will be expecting you. A few days later you will be contacted again for the return trip. This time carrying weapons. When this second shipment is delivered, you will receive the remaining 8,000 and arrangements will be made for your mother. Do you understand the terms, and all that they imply?"

Nastaran physically shudders when Elias takes her hand and tries to pull away. She tugs, and when she cannot escape she places the glass on the rail beside them and tries to prize his fingers off her hand with her free hand. Her teeth are gritted and lips bared. "Let go," she mutters. "Let go, let go." She tugs at the silk glove, then back at his fingers, trying to dig her nails under them and lever them off. "My mother's care will be paid up front," she orders him.

"As you wish." He closes her fingers around the credits before releasing her suddenly. "You have made a wise decision Miss Zohreh. I will contact you again when you're new ship is in orbit." Elias picks his drink off the rail, where he placed it a moment ago. He drains it in a single gulp and turns to walk away.

Nastaran slips the cred chip into the pocket on her pants. "I haven't made a decision at all," she contradicts him with quiet anger. "You've given me no choice."