A Guy That Knows a Guy

[Grym Kandle]

*Approximately a month after the Battle of Endor*

Grym sat in a booth at the crowded bar, Alderaan's Bliss, as he waited for his contact to arrive. The majority race on Nar Shadda could never be determined but it was clear that it was not humans as Grym surveyed the bar. Not that he minded the variety, too many humans meant the Empire was not too far behind, them or the Correllian Security. Neither a preferred group in Grym's taste.

Grym was wrapped loosely in his cloak, lounging with one white gloved hand out on the table. His mask was secured over his face and the breathing could be heard as it filtered the air for him to breath. This was one of many rooms in the bar that was saturated with a gas found pleasing to most races, poisonous to most humans. His other hand rested at the ready within the folds of his cloak. Aliens distasted humans wondering into places where they shouldn't normally be and Grym accepted that. The Empire played by those kind of rules too just vice versa.

After rejecting another offer of something to drink from a scantily clad Devaronian, Grym took another glance around the room and finally noticed his contact just arriving. The Gran took a deep breath of the rich gas and gave the expression of a smile as he saw noticed Grym as well. He hurried over to the booth, his stocky form sliding into the seat across the table.

"Ah, I found it, Master Kandle. But you know how we work."

This was of course in Triklops, as he called himself, native tongue which was deciphered by the module in Grym's mask. When Grym answered, his voice was altered and projected back in the Gran language.

"Yes, I know how we work, Triklops, but I don't belong to any syndicate anymore and the rules have changed a little. My word hasn't changed."

Triklops looked frustrated at first and then locked his stubby fingers together.

"My word hasn't changed either, Master Kandle. I haven't doublecrossed you in our dealings and I won't fail you now in that respect. I ran through too many contacts to find this pod racer for you and our bets has proven successful for both of us but I'd like to continue as we have before without problems. Now let us not deviate from protocol."

Grym clenched his teeth as he reached to his side and withdrew a small black case. Sliding it across the table quickly.

"Enough for you and five others. This guy better be worth it. And you know the only reason I'm going to him is because you failed to keep me up to date on my favorite pod racer. There might've been more to that if this wasn't the case, Triklops."

Yarrock was a good intoxicating spice, allowing a moment of clarity like glitterstim but you were more aware of just how blind you were without yarrock than glitterstim, thus a more drastic addiction. Grym had been supplying Triklops with yarrock and information therein concerning it while the Gran did likewise for him concerning glitterstim. An effective relationship paying off better than usual now.

The Gran quickly snatched the case up and slid it into the cheap flight suit he was wearing before he leaned across the table. Grym moved closer to make sure he did not miss anything.

"This is how you get there..."

* * *

*Approximately a week later...*

Grym sat in a different bar now. This time the air was clean and he had no need for his ventilator but for general purposes the mask was still on. His cloak draped about him in its normal fashion as he sat in the booth with one foot up on the seat and his back to the side wall so he was looking out of the booth. He had sent the note to the fence like Triklops had indicated and had given them the time and date he would be awaiting. He had not gotten a confirmation but that was generally expected. The only downside is that Grym might have wasted time on a party that might not show at all. Triklops had not bothered with any descriptions of this Evanar individual either. How helpful. But then again, when information like that passes down the grapevine like the Gran's line of contacts, Grym was sure he could have been expecting a mynock in a flight suit by the end of it.

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan nursed his sorrows with a liter of bitter, which tasted mighty fine but did nothing intoxicating for the slicer. He placed the mug down, and rested his head on his folded arms. The world looked red-brown through his beer-filter. His stocks looked red-brown too. Since escaping from Star’s End, KYD has jumped ahead in the market again, making his hedge bets on the stock worthless. He lost good equipment in the Corporate Sector, too, and now was back to second rate tools. Somehow, though, he had made it back to Nar Shadda with his cache of backup goodies in one piece while he had been stuck in the CSA. Nar Shadda was the most and least secure world in the galaxy.

The fact of the matter is that Morgan could use extra money. He wasn’t broke, but replacing his lost equipment would be costly and time consuming. Absentminded, he tapped on the mug and watched the liquid recoil, and watched the rest of the room. He was supposed to meet someone here for a job. Triklops and Evanar had an uncomfortable relationship. Triklops didn’t particularly like humans and Morgan didn’t trust stim junkies. Triklops said the job would pay well, though, and it stayed local. Morgan knew Nar Shadda as well as anyone of 22 years could.

So where was this guy? In the Gran’s addled/sharpened state, he failed to mention any details that would be helpful in finding this client. They had different definitions of important information.

Morgan looked around the bar again. He wasn’t a regular, but it was obvious who was. The guy in the mask wasn’t. He was too… the slicer couldn’t decide. If the masked man was still here when he came back, Morgan would find out for certain. He went to the fresher and relived himself, and mask was still in his seat, scanning the room.

“You look like you could use a drink.”

[Grym Kandle]

The mask slowly turned to face the newcomer, Grym smiling beneath it at the mention of a drink. He had not had any sort of meal in a public place for quite some time and he did not feel like changing the routine, regardless of the offer. Grym felt a mild hope that this might be Evanar and the wait had come to an end. Then again this could just be some slummy that had other intentions.

"No, but you can take a seat if you'd like."

Grym's voice came out as a mechanical drone, a comfortable safeguard from anyone who might try to track him later. He motioned with his gloved hand to the seat across the table as Grym sat up from his lounged position. He wasn't sure what to make of the man though, his disposition spoke of something at a loss. As if he'd just lost a race through the Kessel run and his ship shortly after.

"Do you enjoy pod races? I've been looking for someone who might know a thing or two about them that most people don't. Surprisingly, here on Nar Shadda, its hard to believe when a human is recommended."

If this was indeed Evanar, Grym was sure that the slicer would pick up on the almost too easily hidden message.

[Morgan Evanar]

Grym used a voice modulator. It was a tool for the paranoid. The paranoid weren’t regulars anywhere if they could help it.

“I’m more of a swoop aficionado, but I respect the pod jockeys and teams. Give me a little footage and I do alright. I understand the system. Most humans have a hard time connecting to any of the racers. I think the last one that had any success was 50 years ago?” He said, after settling into his seat. This was the guy.

Morgan relaxed into the seat and took a slow swallow of his drink. The mask he had was a custom job, and it was unnerving. Stormtroopers helms were just brainbuckets with filters. This thing had purpose. But the being behind it had to have some credits.

“So what kind of race are we looking at?”

[Grym Kandle]

Withdrawing a datapad from within his cloak, Grym slid it across the table to Morgan.

"Its a long race, key pilots, and I'm expecting a large return from this one. There are some notable rivals present and even then a few more I'm not sure about. Hopefully your talents are capable enough."

The display was of a random pod racer but the description below it held the true message. Grym was interested in tracking down any and all glitterstim transactions, legal and otherwise. Of course the Hutts would have their stubby fingers in the trade but there were some smugglers who did it for freelance. Grym wanted to know which routes belonged to the Hutts so he knew which ones to stay away from. He also wanted to know what companies were investing in the trade under the table. Grym was asking for a lot, not a lot as far as security went, but a lot of information. He didn't expect the man to be able to come up with all of it either but at least it would give Evanar a wide area of options to start with.

"I understand that it will take some time for you to become acquainted with the race then? In the meantime, I'm sure an advance will lock the agreement?"

Below the job description on the datapad was a credit account and authorization number. And below that was the amount Grym was offering. An advance of 92,000 credits and 308,000 credits on completion that would be spread out over a three week period as all the information was insured and examined for accuracy. Grym looked somewhat as if he could toss such an amount of credits around recklessly but the truth was that those 400, 000 credits had belonged to Breft'Kel, former small time syndicate boss who was not amongst the living anymore to lay claim to his credits or his account.

Grym had decided that a strong investment would make a good start. He had seen it done before, he'd been part of the process, just never been the one with the credits to get it going. Not that he planned to run a syndicate, he merely desired for his line of business to continue. Fortunately for his part, he had discovered that it was possible to manage a glitterstim trade by oneself, just that one was not allowed to become lazy. Like the Hutts.

"Is this acceptable?"

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan read the text three times to soak the details.

“Hmmmm.” He said, rubbing his chin. 92k would replace a few important pieces of equipment that would make this job easier. This guy was serious bussiness. Grym wanted an astounding amount of information, and a lot of it would be tricky to get, especially with so many undocumented landing spots. The company operated terminals would be a bit easier, and the Hutts weren’t exactly quiet about which ships they owned. It was a deterrent to pirates who operated out of Nar Shadda. Grabbing a Hutt load was a nice way to get every bounty hunter in any Hutt operated sector on you.

“I can do your legwork for you on this, but it’s going to be time consuming. I’ll have to pick a batch races every few days or so. I’ll do my best to let you know who flies dirty and who doesn’t. Give me three days for the first race?”

[Grym Kandle]

Grym had expected such a time schedule and mulled it over for a moment. He knew it would take Evanar some time and had planned for it, allowing error and more than a possible hold up but if the man said three days...

"Three days it is then. You made the time and I expect no more than it."

If the whole ordeal took long enough, with no results whatsoever, it was possible for Grym to actually get behind in the business as things tended to change. If he knew where they were to start with, he could track the pattern with ease. Grym only needed partial information to do this so the first delivery on Morgan's part could be crucial.

"My contact information is on that pad as well to prevent us from having to waste our time with our mutual associates once more. I cannot risk this racer data in the open due to the heated competition. The advance is already waiting as agreed. I look forward to your results."

[Morgan Evanar]

He nodded, popping the data card and pocketing it. Morgan knew he could do it in three days because he had accidentally fallen in on a spice shipment once. He knew what to look for, and had some ideas of where to look.

“Three days. If there are any complications I’ll inform you.” He said and got up. The slicer left a 5 credit chit on the bar for his pint and departed.

Morgan climbed into his airspeeder, a somewhat rare Mobquet G-90 dual seat model. It was a solidly built, extremely well balanced speeder that took well to informed modifications. It looked vaguely like a more exotic Mandalmotors speeder, but curvier. He slid the key in and pressed the ignition while he put the five point harness on. A low hum emitted from the repulsor drive while he backed it out, and raised in pitch when he eased it out of the lot.

He had work to do. Nar Shadda was perpetually traffic filled, but if it was all you knew, it was no big deal. Morgan expertly wove the gunmetal speeder through traffic. He frequently checked his rear-view. The last thing he needed was someone following him to his equipment stash. He worked the G-90 around the next corner, decelerating in with a smooth application of airbrakes and throttle manipulation, and smoothly back out again. The rear view stayed clear. Once level with the dock, he pulled the right air brake and released it, sliding sideways to a stop, with the back of the speeder a meter from the warehouse. He unfolded his frame from the snug cabin, and rolled his head before he grabbed a backpack from the front storage compartment. Morgan owned a tiny parcel of warehouse space. He kept what many would consider junk, but mixed in was some valuable slicing equipment. Unfortunately, it was second rate compared to what he lost in the Corporate Sector, but it would be more than adequate for hacking freight terminals. He had a “haphazard” organization system that let him know if anything had been touched.

After making sure there was no foul play, he pulled out a multispectrum monocular, a codebreaker, a VT-7 interface, a small fusion cutter, a small soldering iron, and an older but highly modified datapad, which all fit neatly into the padded backpack.

Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.

[Grym Kandle]

* * * Three days later * * *

Grym sat in the chair, leaning back gently as he relaxed. The location this time was a bit more luxurious and Grym had pulled a favor to get it. It was one of those atmosphere lounges, each room was a simulated environment with only a few tables in them. The room of Grym's choice was a simulation of what used to be the planet Alderaan. One of the most peaceful planets in the world, that ironically no longer existed. A paradise that only a few can say have enjoyed its carefree atmosphere. Actually, Grym found the place rather boring and prison like. Too many rules and regulations. And no spice.

Grym was enjoying it nonetheless. The room was empty but for him, the owner owed him quite a bit and had evened it out by renting the whole room out for him. Simulated speeders flew overhead in the simulated blue sky and the green grass blew with a simulated wind. Grym had been there for two hours already and enjoyed a glass of jawa juice and a stimstick by himself. He'd arrived early intentionally, Morgan was not to show for another half an hour, allowing Grym to don his mask well before his guest arrived and still be relaxed.

He truly wished that the slicer could come through. This foothold in the business would decide how fast Grym got into it and what to do from there. This secure location also gave them the privacy to speak more or less freely. There was another job already resting on Grym's cracked lips. If Evanar was good, Grym might be needing his services a bit more than two jobs though.

[Morgan Evanar]

There were many privately held terminals on Nar Shadda. Morgan just happened to know who owned several of them. Being a member of a street gang years prior, he had unloaded his share of cargo for higher-ups. A little extra money to make extra ends meet, a little extra information that he had used now and again. Fnrah’s Landing was technically owned by a grumpy Bothan, but he was a Hutt pawn who sometimes ran other cargo anyway. Fnrah had enough legitimate cargo roll through that the Imperials didn’t inspect him often.

Morgan drove past and glanced over casually. There were several empty berths, which left less eyes and less chances of being seen. He parked a few blocks away, familiar enough with Frnah’s to work his way in through the back. He grabbed the backpack and and popped open the front storage compartment, extracting a hidden sound suppression field generator. The slicer flicked it on, and then jumped up and down experimentally. Silence greeted his impacts.

The back fence was a four meter metal mesh affair with quite a bit of current running through it. Morgan could high jump four meters with height to spare. He landed off balance and rolled a few times. It was very early morning. The cheap cameras that “secured” the yard yielded terrible results in the twilight. Morgan moved casually, his choice of dark grays making him nearly invisible against the dirty permacrete. He moved quickly across the yard, hugging the wall. At this hour, there was no one in the docking control tower. Morgan tested the door with a gloved hand. It was locked, but only for another minute.

Old sugary breakfast food dotted the small room. The slicer wrinkled his nose, and the bugs wagged their antennae.

“Yuck.” He said, but it was swallowed by the suppressor. The VT-7 droid maintenance interface was chained to the codebreaker and the modified datapad. The port was conveniently below the console. After the datapad identified the system model and language, it instructed the codebreaker to work. Even though the codebreaker was an older model, it still worked fine on an older system like Frnah’s. The scripting system Morgan had set up was simple and efficient. He glanced at his new chrono, and back at the datapad.

The logs were only natively encrypted. If you had hard access and the passwords, you had the logs. Morgan dumped them into the datapad and left the way he came.

The tricky part would be the glitterstim transactions.

Back home, Morgan combed the logs and manifests, and nearly fell to the floor laughing when he found a load of glitterstim written in one of the manifests. In Huttenese, backwards. But still! After searching for similar terms, he discovered that the Hutts regularly ran three ships, but old grumpy Frnah had the captain of the Ymgling Pearl run spice too. This was more than enough data for a first “race.” There were more shipyards to slice, but for now, this would do nicely.


Evanar arrived precisely on time.

"Partly cloudy with a high chance of meteor showers. I used to want to visit Alderaan." He tossed a datacard onto the table, which detailed the routes and owners of the four ships and their "interesting" cargos.

[Grym Kandle]

Grym leisurely reached across the table and grasped the datacard between his fingers. Sliding the card into the port of his datapad, Grym scanned over the information quickly, his mask shifting its gaze from the screen to Evanar.

"I'll verify the information shortly after this and once that is concluded, the next installment of your payment will appear in the account."

Grym gave Evanar enough trust in his business as anyone should and he was not about to accept any bogus information. From what little Grym had seen though, if it were all true, he could already begin to see parts of the puzzle fall into place. Idly scanning the screen, he waited a few moments before speaking again to the slicer.

"Evanar, I'll throw in an extra 2,000 credits if you can find me a solid contact with Black Sun."

Grym wanted back into the syndicate world and to do that he needed a syndicate to start with. He figured, at the age of 29, he was more than ready to step up to it. But if Morgan was not willing, Grym would not blame him. Sometimes organizations like Black Sun did not like people tracking down their street contacts.

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan merely blinked, and his eyes dilated slightly. Black Sun? It was a dangerous request at best.

“If something turns up, I’ll let you know, but…” the slicer shook his head.

“Black Sun is something I’d rather not deal with.” He leaned back in the chair. All crime organizations had a degree of brutality involved, but Black Sun was known by their secrecy and efficiency. There were rumors and theories, but they had more pull than any organization short of Sienar or Kuat Drive. There were rumors that they were in bed with MandalMotors, but Morgan wasn’t about to turn over rocks with lethal critters underneath.

Grym, even through the mask, didn’t seem disappointed. It was unsurprising.

“I should have a larger drop ready in five days.”

[Grym Kandle]

Receiving an expected answer from Evanar, Grym moved on. No sense in wasting time on something that carried that much risk.

"Five days it is then. Morgan, the food and drink is free for the next four hours. You're welcome to stay for a time if you like. I, on the other hand, am departing. An encrypted message will be waiting inside the account five days from now containing the information on where we will meet next."

Grym stood and gazed upwards at the simulated sky. Silently, he adjusted his dark blue cloak about his shoulders and departed. He exited the room and shook hands with the twi'lek that had owed him the favor. The favor was returned and now they were even. Grym expected to never have to see the pathetic scum again.

Withdrawing his Ikas-Adno 22-B Nightfalcon speeder bike from the garage, he slid onto the seat and revved the engine to get the thing warmed up. It was used and old, not worth much but got Grym from point A to point B for the time being.

He got back to the docking bay, entering through the bay itself. Withdrawing his datapad, he snapped in a datacard and opened up his ship's control module. The ship's cargo loading ramp dropped shortly afterwards in which the bike was put. Grym signed the ship out of the bay once he had prepped to leave and jumped to another docking pad some sectors away. He was not worried about being followed, the ship was rigged enough at the moment to not have to worry about intruders.

In the sleeping quarters, Grym had changed to more comfortable robes, his mask hanging from a post. His black case sat beside the bed, unlocked and ready for Grym to use once he was finished with the task before him. It was always a good incentive.

Grym pulled up Evanar's information in the ship's console. Opening several clean slates for him to use, he began to process the information. As he doled through the logs, he made notes of specific ships, anything suspicious. If smugglers would ship one thing, they'd generally ship anything else. Spice was a nuisance though, as their was no good excuse for it to appear in a customs check. Light arms and the like were easy to file under merchandise; ship parts and droids were similar.

Several hours later, Grym, had found seven ships for sure that shipped spices, three hutt claims and four freelancers. There were more that Grym could guess on but four was good enough for him to begin with. He saved all of it into a datacard and hid his equipment.

Leaning back against the cold walls, he breathed in deeply. Breft'Kel had liked the colors orange, yellow, and gold. It was easily discernible as nearly everything had been painted to some degree in these shades. It reminded Grym more than anything of rust and scrap. He wanted to see the Alderaan sky again, not simulated, but the real thing. He felt like he had taken granted of the planet's "peace." Yes, it was a self-righteous planet, bent on control just in a passive aggressive form, but Grym remembered the peaceful inducing calmness parts of the planet had given him. An ocean, what a wonderful thing, like staring out into space but without the multitude of risks behind it.

The syringe slipped easily beneath Grym's wrist. He had so many permenant streak marks on his body, he figured he could take some extra credits to get a plug installed. It would save time and credits in the long run on regeneration pills and the like. But for now... Grym prepared another shot, it was bad when it took this long to settle in. He pulled one leg up on the bed. Once the next injection was ready, he slid the needle beneath the prevalent vein near his hamstrings. Pushing the button, the green liquid flushed into his blood stream. Grym breathed deeply, allowing his blood to optimize on the oxygen levels as he felt the spice start to take its effect.

Alderaan. He was back on Alderaan. But something was in the sky. A moon. No. It. The Deathstar. It was there. No one paid attention to it seemingly. No one cared. The Empire's new toy was in the sky and that huge hemisherical crater in the side of it must be some huge satellite unit. No. No. No. Everyone was going to die. Grym knew it. He remembered. They blew it up. They killed everyone. But why did he care? He killed. He didn't care who died and who didn't. It was his job. The Empire killed Alderaan because that was its job. A green laser connected in the crater-like dish... FLASH... Screams echoed in space where screams couldn't be heard.

...Bambi Maddox...

In a cold sweat, Grym snapped out of the drug induced dream. He could go back if he wanted. But he didn't. Bambi. He hadn't seen her in a year and half or so? Where had that come from?He made a mental note to go see her. (http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?s=&threadid=38612)

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan stayed, devouring most everything human-compatible on the menu, and experimented briefly with a few things that weren’t. He didn’t realize how hungry had he had been. Free food was something the slicer never passed up on. There were certain commodities that were cheap on Nar Shadda, and food wasn’t one of them. It wasn’t impossibly expensive, but the moon was less than a bounty when it came to agriculture. Morgan thought about what the moon did produce: scum. It produced flexible, desensitized scum in all shapes and sizes. While Morgan wasn’t small, or exceptionally thin, the waiting staff seemed to be astounded.

Three days later:
Another day, another brake in. Morgan had been systematically slicing various shipping terminals for the past four days, hitting most in the twilight hours. Surprisingly, one of the docks had been totally dry. It was a legitimate operation. Even the local Imperials were not reputable. Morgan suspected something very dangerous was lurking at Drennar Docks. The logical thing would be to stay far, far away.

Morgan didn’t stay far, far away. He went eighty blocks west to Drennar’s sister operation, Knifik Shipping Systems. The sweet smell of success wafted up as soon as he accessed the droid port. There was so much dirt here he needed a customized earth moving rig. He kept himself focused, working his way through the manifests when something started to sing. The slicer paused. This system had an audible indicator that would complain if unusual things happened. He was putting too much traffic on the network too quickly. If there was an active droid on the system and he did a full dump, the whole place would scream and the system would be shut down. Morgan checked his chrono: 445. Someone would likely be here in an hour or so.

His fingers hovered above the pad, wondering if he should slow it down or speed it up. The system was modern, if need be, he could do the whole dump in less than 30 seconds. He checked his chrono again. 456. Oy.

“What’s that noise?” There was someone else here. Frell. Frell frell frell frell. Morgan told the pad to just grab the entire thing. The audible sang a loud, whiny twang that made Morgan wince. Silence followed. He scrambled, unplugging his equipment and fed it into his backpack. The maintenance point he picked was a bit off the building’s beaten path. It was near the fresher, actually.

So fresh, so clean.
The slicer snuck down the hall, his soft shoes allowing him a surprising amount of speed and a minimal amount of noise. And then the Gammorean guard rounded the corner, blocking his immediate exit. He squealed, raised his axe, and charged, axe held high.
So frelled.

Morgan held to one side of the corridor, and the pig faced alien reacted predictably enough, slicing toward the wall. He jerked back, letting the vibroaxe dig into soft gypsum. Wide-eyed, he ran past while the Gammorean squealed, working the weapon out of the wall. He sailed through the exit, kicking it open like he was doing hurdles. Morgan swung himself over the railing, skipping the story-tall stairs altogether. A moment later, blaster bolts whizzed by: the gate guard had apparently been informed and was emptying his E-11 at the zig-zagging slicer. He stopped a moment later, which meant he was calling for back up. Not good. Morgan hurdled the three meter fence, and went into a dead run for his G-90 speeder.

Morgan fought the adrenaline down as he eased the craft down the block. If he just flew reasonably, no one should notice the gunmetal two-seater. But they had. A retired police cruiser came screaming around the corner he had just rounded, and the air filled with rifle fire. The adrenaline had returned in full force. He mashed the accelerator to the floor, and the G-90 shot forward with a high pitched repulsor-scream. The distance between them rapidly grew. Stock, the G-90 did not have blistering straight line speed. Morgan’s was very far from stock. He set the speeder up for the corner. Slower in, smooth out, accelerate. Perfect but pointless. His pursuers knew a shortcut, and nearly broadsided the little speeder. Only Morgan’s reflexes saved him. Red blasts were everywhere, but none had hit the speeder. The road began to turn into a wide sweeper. Morgan kept the throttle down and yanked the airfoils to match the turn. The G-90 was sliding sideways. He reached under his seat, and pulled out his blaster. The slide was smooth, easy. He unloaded, having the advantage of not fighting the wind or working around the windscreen. Coolant hissed in his rear-view while he straightened his line and accelerated again.

It had all been worth it. Knifik Shipping was a hub for several spice runners, but he would have to lay low for a while. After a break in, everyone involved would be paranoid. Grym might be upset, but he had so much data it might not matter.

[Grym Kandle]

Grym leaned back in the hammock, his arms resting in the slings languidly. His mask was on, of course, his cloak covered his body like a blanket, and his hood covered enough to appear as if he were seeking shade. From where he rested, his view was down and below, a massive vantage point of Nar Shadda. It was not anything to relish other than the false sense of an elevated position in the galaxy, above the scum below.

The yacht was one of many franchise casinos that offered the slightest get away from the beehive of life upon and under the surface. Yet, it was not necessarily calming to see the endless traffic and sludge of an atmosphere. Enclosed speeders and the like could make it to the yacht with ease, so Morgan wouldn't have too much trouble finding his way here.

Bambi would be arriving soon as well. Grym had given her the time of the meeting upon their arrival to the yacht. She had went to look around, and in the meantime, Grym had asked her to watch her back and stay aware of her surroundings. He did not want to expect anything but of course, things happened, and scum crawled out of the woodwork in this system.

Along the grapevine, Grym had heard some of some interesting occurences, a chase by port security after a group or individual that was supposedly trying to make a grand theft hijack off the planet. An interesting story as it was, and good to tell over drinks, but Grym was too accustomed to reading between the lines. Hopefully, Morgan had nothing to do with it. He would be here soon enough and Grym would make it a wonderful place to start on.

[Bambi Maddox]

Luxurious was the perfect word to describe her current surroundings. The yacht was fabulous and Bambi found herself easily adjusting to the pampered atmosphere.

The casino employees were attentive and anticipated their guests needs and were more than happy to explain, direct or demonstrate anything, no matter how miniscule, their guests may have need of.

The vessel itself was furnished elaborately, with an obvious emphasis on 'no expense spared'. It was quite a contrast to Breft'kel's Treasure, Grym's ship, which they had arrived on.

She said as much as she lowered herself into a chair beside the hammock Grym was lounging in.


"Well, aint this a peach" she said with a grin. "You look like you were born to this life."

She rubbed her hands together, something she sometimes did when she wasn't smoking. It was a "tell" of sorts. When Bambi was nervous, bored or excited she found it hard to keep her hands still. Without a smoke in her hand to occupy her, the rubbing was a dead giveaway. Her next question, however, didn't really enlighten Grym as to which of these frames of mind she was in at this moment, altough he felt he could safely rule out "bored."

"So...you spotted our guy, yet?"

[Grym Kandle]

"Maybe I was. And no, he should be here soon."

Grym shifted in the hammock to face her. They'd been friends for a long time but they had not really delved into each others past much before the time they had met years ago. Grym didn't feel compelled to elaborate now, not that Bambi had asked either. Her comment had just struck him other than intended.

"You alright? You look like you want to steal something."

Grinning beneath his mask, he withdrew his small black box from within his cloak and opened it, setting it on the table. Within were his best stimstiks. Bambi had not asked but Grym figured whatever had her, stimstiks were just relaxing on a number of levels.

[Morgan Evanar]

The slicer didn’t like casino ships very much. The security procedures and controls didn’t make for escapes. You were also truly a guest of the people running the casino. There wasn’t too much you could do to prevent a concerted effort of being vented out an airlock.

Morgan spotted the nervous blonde at the table which Grym was supposed to meet him at. While suspicious, Grym had paid him a solid amount of money. He approached with a degree of caution, only relaxing slightly when he caught a glimpse of the mask and the build of the man behind it.

“I’ve got a nearly complete analysis of the entire speeder and swoop season right here.” Morgan slid the card across the table as he took a seat.

[Bambi Maddox]

As Morgan took his seat, Bambi selected a stim from the box and lit it, squinting slightly as the acrid smoke drifted to her eyes.

Wordless, she leaned back in her chair - her hands stilled now - and sized up Evanar as he adressed Grym, sliding the data card toward him.

Goodlooking. With a maverick-ish air about him. He looked intelligent enough. He wasn't one for small talk - that much was obvious, as he cut straight to the chase -- as they say. Whatever that means. Cut straight to the point made more sense to her, but wasn't the catch-phrase the other was..

Pay attention.

She took a slow drag and refocused.

He had a capable air about him. And he seemed relaxed, which Bambi interpreted as confidence. He was good at what he did, Grym had told her so.

We'll see.

She waited for Grym's response. Like ever, since her and Grym's reunion, Maddox watched - and learned.

[Grym Kandle]

"Exceptional, I look forward to reviewing your analysis. Same thing as before, your amount will forwarded to the same remote account. Your help with these races is much appreciated. I just don't seem able to distinguish the talent anymore, it gets too cluttered with pit crew politics. In fact, I heard there had been some trouble at the races recently involving the authorities and a possible grand theft situation. Fortunately, the authorities scared the culprit off before any harm was done. Did you hear about any of this?"

Grym did not skip a beat as he spoke, sitting up to better face Morgan. The digital voice emitted by Grym's mask had a stretch of conversation in it, though, at this proximity, it was clearly a cautious question of confirmation. Kandle needed to know whether or not it had been Morgan, whether or not Morgan had compromised Grym's plans in any way.

A white, gloved hand grasped the datacard from Evanar between two fingers before sliding it beneath the folds of his cloak into one of many open pockets. Through the corner of his peripheral vision, he could see Bambi watching the scenario play out before her. Good, Grym wanted her to learn as much as possible and for a good reason. Bambi was sociable; Grym, to almost every extent, was not. Of course she would not negotiate like he did, but they'd get there eventually. She would most likely end up being far more effective than he was at it. A definite plus to a partnership.

[Bambi Maddox]

It didn't take a genius to hear the question Grym wasn't asking.

The answer would say alot about Morgan. If it was him, and he owned up to it, would that make him smart or just honest?

Bambi had met alot of smart men in her time. But very few honest ones.

She found herself wanting Morgan to be both. She always was a sucker for a pretty face. Or maybe it was just that Evanar had ignored her since sitting - something few males ever did. He had piqued her interest and it would be a shame to have it cut short due to bad business.

She had been staring with a curious smile when she realised Grym had turned to look at her. The smile vanished and she smoked her stim in silence.

[Morgan Evanar]

Grym’s blonde compatriot felt like a young owl, watching every movement, hearing every sound and learning where the mice lived.

Morgan raised an eyebrow.

“I read that report, it doesn’t line up to the other rumors, or the rumored facts, but if you skew it a certain way it could be taken as… a minor risk. But the details are unknown. Lost in the she-he-they-it said. What really happened in the report is a big unknown, but I heard there was a chase. That’s consistent.”

Everyone had a bit of bad luck, right?

[Grym Kandle]

"A chase and nothing more... Again, a relief nothing serious was in consequence from it. I would hate if the races had been ruined because of one occurence. Let's hope it doesn't happen again.

Well, seeing how we've gotten past our humble business and the races, I'd like you to meet my business partner."

Grym stood from the cot and held a hand out to assist Bambi in standing.

"Morgan Evanar, this is Bambi Maddox."

Grym considered for a moment the relief it might be for Bambi to deal with someone who wasn't constantly hiding behind a mask or didn't look like a science experiment without it. But he continued on.

"I understand you're a busy individual, Mr. Evanar, but if you'd like, this room is available for your uses for a couple more hours. Bambi and I will be here for a little bit longer to gather our things before leaving."

Grym was actually more than eager to disect the new load of information.

[Bambi Maddox]

They were leaving so soon?

Grym's rising, and, concordantly, her own, was a clear indication the meeting was about to be over despite the introductions.


Oh-kay. Well, that was short.

"Morgan Evanar, this is Bambi Maddox."

Bambi could only smile her hello, Grym stalling any comment from her by continuing quickly on.


"I understand you're a busy individual, Mr. Evanar, but if you'd like, this room is available for your uses for a couple more hours. Bambi and I will be here for a little bit longer to gather our things before leaving."

She felt somewhat like window-dressing, which, in effect she was for this present meeting. Still...it was not a role the blonde was used to. Or comfortable with. She liked the spotlight. Craved it, even. But this was not her gig, and she would just have to wait her turn.

She bent toward the still seated Evanar, butting out her stim in the potted orchid which was centrepeice to the low-slung table, and then straightened once more.

"T'was nice to meetchya, Mister Evanar" she said, stepping aside and out from the table.

[Morgan Evanar]

“There is a huge statistics list to get through. You might not need anything else.”

Morgan waved goodbye at the pair and let his body conform to the soft booth. Hopefully he wouldn’t need to do another run for Grym. There was so much information, and aside from a chase, he left no trace.

He didn’t want to do too much more work, not because it was difficult, but because he didn’t want anything to do with Blacksun.

[Grym Kandle]

Grym smiled wryly beneath the mask. What a luxury it would be to not need anything else after this. Hopefully this was the case as Grym led Bambi away by the arm, holding the datacard up in the other hand. A huge list then? Grym's near OCD desires to get down to business were already stressed with what he had to handle, sifting through another large load of information would be a daunting task with the time given. If anything under the Hutt's glazed over gaze caught a notion of Grym's actions, he and Bambi would be in another system of a trouble. Regardless, Bambi was here and he couldn't keep her in the small freighter forever. Slightly tilting his head to the side so he didn't have to speak up as he spoke to her.

"Anything you'd like to do before we leave?"