Kessendra

The 'Spear' descended toward the Kessendra spaceport, coming to rest on an available platform. Fel powers down the ship, and gears up, meeting Melia in the cargo bay. Ready? he asks, the look on his face an honest mixture of inquiry and concern. You're an asshole is the simple, matter-of-fact reply, and Mel punches the landing ramp / airlock release. They are met with bitter cold and a foggy, overcast day that the landing lights cut a swath through, illuminating the landing pad. A group of five Ugnaughts scurried over to greet the offworlders and press their deck services upon them, but Fel shooed them away, buttoning up the ship. Let's see the dock master, pay our fee, and see about hiring some muscle. Fair? Melia cast a sideways glance at the pilot, and fell in step with him. Her silence was deafening.

Fel looked from the silver-haired being before him, to Melia a few paces behind, and to his left, and then craned his neck around the corner of the doorway to see what he could see, which wasn't much. Nodding to the woman before him, he 'scused himself as he made his way into the small, cramped office, made even more cramped by the presence of the gesticulating Rodian. Fel caught an arm in mid-wild-swing and gave the Rodian a mirthless smile. Easy there, my man. Don't want this thing taking out passer-by... You don't mind if I just... indicating the dock master, a beleaguered grey-furred Bothan wearing his beard in a short, severe, gathered ponytail of sorts, while letting go the Rodian's appendage, patting it for good measure... Bay thirty-eight. Let me know when that runs out. Get your swabbies to fuel her, and no questions. Fel tossed a cred-disc loaded with C2500 onto the dock master's desk, and as the Bothan was about to speak, or object, or ask questions, Fel turned to the Rodian You were saying?

The Rodian exploded into a tirade (one can only guess the same subject as the prior matter) as Fel slinked back out the way he had entered. To Melia We're good. To the woman who had offered warnings upon their arrival Thanks for the heads-up.

Fel and Melia had moved off as the pilot checked a portable terminal. It had been a long time since paying Srecko a visit, and truth be told, he'd never done so of his own, free will. As he scanned his contacts, finding what he was after, he was reminded that if his crew were here, this would never fly. Not even as a cover. Not even as a bad joke. Maybe he was losing it. Maybe it was an inspired choice. The look Melia was giving him said otherwise. He activated the mini holo-cam, and began the call with his sometime-client. The Devaronian's stoic face materialized before him, and Fel began the act.

Srecko! Been a long time. Look -- I'm in a bit of a bind here. I've got paperwork from Mr. Bateman to pick up a small load of, ahem, 'live' cargo, if you know what I mean -- yeah, ten total. They need to be spice-proficient, so I'm supposed to clear the movement with First Order chain of command. Bateman says the necessary "channels" are in place for that. Can we send you credits in exchange for live bodies from the mines?

The image wavered, and Srecko looked off-camera for a moment, likely getting confirmation of who it was he was speaking to from an underling, before returning his gaze to the camera. Fel. Galdaart Fel. You look like hell, spacer. It has been a long while. Seven years by my count. Thought you were dead. You say you have paperwork from Bateman? You be a dear, and send that over now. ...hmm... Mine-savvy slaves are precious cargo, and the amount we pay out to the First Order is exorbitant. He thought for a moment, almost long enough that Fel was beginning to imagine the gig was up. C5000 a head, and they're yours. I'll arrange it with my contact at the base. You'll be good for pick-up tomorrow morning. There are only three landing pads at the mine encampment. Use pad #3. One of my contacts there is the Ramp attendant. Pay him. Hard credits. No cred discs.

Fel smiled his most winning smile, which stretched the scar at the corner of his mouth into an abstract expressionist crevasse on his cheek. Thanks, Srecko. No problem. Mr. Bateman said he needed the best. I said -- talk to Srecko! Nobody else. If Srecko doesn't have what you need, nobody does. That's what I sa--

Fel? Don't cross me. Or I'll make you a stain. The image disappeared, and Galdaart closed the emitter, stashing it back in his bag.

See? No problem. There's our ticket in. Let's get a drink... my stomach is killing me.

Melia countered, deadpan. And just where are we going to get C50,000 in hard Creds?

Huh? Oh, I dunno. I just found us a way in. I didn't say anything about sticking to the plan once we're there. Next task -- find some muscle. Now... can we get a drink?

Melia just about snapped the stock of her rifle in two out of sheer frustration.

Silver-hair. From a moment ago. Wearing beskar'gam. Could be the sort we need on this gig. Absolutely. Let's find a table to share. Melia coiled, but the pilot shot her a look that silenced her and made her back down. Fel didn't care much for Kessel. He'd been here under duress, recently, and he'd have preferred if the contract for Mr. Lavender was anywhere but here. But here they were. Best get it done. The bar didn't matter. (neither did the cleanliness of the glass, or it's contents, for that matter -- as long as it was strong.) And thankfully, in a place as soul-crushing as Kessel, finding a place to drown your sorrows was never difficult. The first place they passed was a hole-in-the-wall called 'Killing Naga,' and Fel steered them to a darkened corner, and motioned for service. They ranged themselves around the table, and Fel did an uncharacteristically charitable thing. He placed his DL-22 on the table, in a show of trust that was rare for any smuggler.

Moments later, a Twi'lek slave appeared to take their orders. Whiskey, was the reply, almost in unison, from Fel and Melia. Once orders were given and the Twi moved off, Fel relaxed a little, putting his boots up on the fourth, unoccupied chair at the table.

I'm Galdaart Fel. This is Mel Tervho. We're here on a job. I s'ppose, for lack of a better term, it's a prison-break. Single passenger, unknown destination, high risk. Could use a third pair of eyes, and another gun.

The drinks arrived. Fel produced a small device that looked something like a thermometer, and unceremoniously dropped it into the drink. Hey -- Brain-tails. I said Whiskey, not engine degreaser. Bring the good stuff. to the other two at the table don't drink that. Fel's comm unit beeped, and he excused himself briefly to type a single-word response to the sender: "Varonat."

"I'm assuming you have a plan..." To this, Melia nearly shot Whiskey out her nose from laughing too hard. Oh, this aught to be good. Yeah. Tell Ellie your plan, Fel... Mel took another swig, but it didn't take a force sensitive to realize that much of the anger was gone from her voice. She eyed Elle curiously, while Fel flipped a coaster at her playfully, which she caught without breaking eye with their new friend. Certainly, Mel was wound a little differently than most. The spacer downed the last of his drink and clapped it on the table, signalling for another, before answering, as best he could.

Mel and I had, er... occasion to have a contract from Juvex Industries awhile back. Always pays to keep scans of the records. By the way -- I don't recommend working for Juvex, if you can avoid it. Anyway. I falsified a document from Bateman, their honcho, requesting 10 slaves proficient in handling spice. That means they've gotta come from the mine, where our Mark is doing a stint. Recent arrival, I understand, so likely he'll be able to leave under his own steam. the new round of drinks arrives, Fel takes a pull on the amber liquid So, I sent this fake document to Srecko Knezevic, who runs the slave trade here, and who deals with the FO on the regular. Bribes are in place for this sort of thing, because the First Order wouldn't typically love dealing with Hutts. So, he has arranged for the transfer of ten prisoners. WHICH ten, has not been made clear. Our fare has purple hair, and a medium build. Humanoid. That's about all I know. But it should make him easy to spot.

Fel sips at his whiskey again, before adding, almost like it was forgotten, Oh, and the slaves are supposed to be C5000 a head, which we don't have. It's all basically a bluff. What we do have is permission to land a stone's throw from the mine. So, I've got us an 'in.' I don't quite have us an 'out' yet. Aside from some mighty fine flying, which can be counted on. Ideas?

Melia has, over the duration of this speech, leaned back, lacing her fingers behind her raven-haired head. Her hair is pulled up into a messy ponytail, and dirt smears around where her goggles have been positioned on her face, now dangling necklace-like around her collarbone. In a rare display of femininity, she is wearing only a tank top and her bandoliers on top, and though the garment is dirty, she looks good. Calculating. Dangerous. Like a big cat at rest. She shakes her head at Fel. Damn, but he's a cocky, arrogant asshole. If he wasn't good enough to back it up, she'd have killed him long ago.

We can play the prisoner transfer game... she offers. Might get us deeper inside. Mebbe stipulate that you need to see the purchases before paying, so that the Hutt knows he's getting good merchandise?

*Ellie thought about the plan for a minute. There were a lot of unknowns and what ifs.
Unfortunately though, they knew what was going on a lot more then she did.* "Well, I guess it's better than nothing. Finding them sounds easy enough. Pays definitely better." *She took another swig of her drink and set the glass down.* "When do we start?"

*Ellie finished her drink and stood up. So they were jumping straight into the job,
she likes that.* "I think I'll take you up on that offer." *She picked up her blaster and holstered it. There was still one weapon hiden on her though. Her lightsaber was stashed safely from view inside a pouch on her belt.*

*Ellie scanned the ship over.
The hull told stories of its past, all the hardships and victories it had seen. Her attention turned back to Fel when he spoke of sleeping arangments. Sleep wasn't exactly on her mind, she'd make do with meditation just fine. That, and she would be able to get a read on everyone through the force.* "Thank you. I'll be fine with just some sleep is all."

*Ellie dropped down onto the bed and closed her eyes. Letting her mind sink into the force. Her mind entered a relaxed state causing the stress to drift away from her body. Reaching out,
she could gather the feelings of every occupant in the ship. She couldn't sense any ill will, and if they did she would sense it coming before they reached her. For now, at least, she would focus on preparing herself mentally for the task at hand.*