Smuggling & Sleuthing Part I

One Year Later

Just outside of Coruscant's manufacturing capitol, at a small inconspicuous diner a man sits alone in a booth. Taking one last bite of his sandwich he drops his napkin on the plate. Clack, clack, clack. He hears the splash of fresh caf pouring into his mug. He looks up at the girl with a warm smile.

"Thank you."
"No problem hun, can I get you anything else?"
"No, just the check is fine."

She pulls out a small card and taps it against her datapad.

"There you are hun," setting it on the table. "Have a great day."
"You as well."

Clack, clack, clack, she walks away. Sipping his caf the man steals a glance at his watch. He exhales slowly. Plenty of time, but he can't afford to be the least bit late. One last sip. The warm bittersweet liquid rolls over his tongue. He wraps his fingers tightly around the mug feeling its warmth. Now or never.

Standing up he loads 15 credits onto the holocard. Fastens his jacket and presses his palm against the cold metal door headlong into a rush of cold, dingy air. His shoes tap quietly against the composite floor of the balcony as he approaches the edge. The man stands there for a moment watching the cars zip by, listening to the rush of air. To the left is a bright yellow one driving slower than the others. He whistles and raises his arm.

"Driver!" he shouts.

The car pulls up to the balcony, hovering for a moment while he opens the door and steps in. He's greeted by a dank, smoky smell and an older fellow with a thick bushy beard,

"How can I help you today friend?" The driver asks with a smile.
"I'm headed to 33rd and 21 prime, ground level."

The driver frowns, "Sorry bud I try to stay clear of that part a'town." He strokes his beard, "Best I could do is 33rd and 20, but not on the ground."
The man raises his eyebrow, questioningly, "Sure that's fine, I could use a little exercise."
"Yes sir."

Gliding away from the balcony, the car speeds off into the cityscape. Settling himself into the cushy seat, the man leans his head back.

"Here we are my friend," says the driver.
Cracking his eyes open the man rubs his face, must have dozed off.

The car smoothly comes to a halt on the ground level of an old building. Two floors of it are covered in a beautiful, mosaic-like brick facade. Various shades of red and brown swirling in currents.

"Always have enjoyed the architecture here," the driver recalls, "Used to play sabac with an old man on that corner over there. Figured the nostalgia'd be worth the risk."
He smiled at his passenger, who smiled warmly back, "I appreciate it very much."
The driver sneaks a glance at the meter, "That'll be 8 credits today."
The man happily hands him 30, "I appreciate the lift have a good day."
"You as well my friend, stay safe!"

The man pulls on the handle and steps out, shutting the door. He straightens his jacket and breathes in. The same dingy air. With perhaps just a tinge of illicit substances. Taking one look around and a quick glance at his watch, he begins walking toward his destination.

10 minutes later he arrives at a well kept storefront, much different than the brick building. It has textured metal accents, brightly painted walls, and a thick glass door. Pushing it open the man is struck by the wide open space and the soft, creamy lighting. He turns right and is greeted by a young Twi'Lek girl sitting behind a black desk. She smiles as he approaches.

"How are you doing today?"
"Just fine, thanks." He replies, "I'm here for an appointment with Mr. Caragille."
"May I get your name?"
"Jet Pohta."
She glances at her screen and back up at him, then taps her terminal, "Alright you can go on in, he's just finishing a call."
"Thank you."

To the left of the desk a wooden door slides open.

He walks through the doorway and takes a seat at the edge of a darkened room. As his eyes adjust he notices a blue holographic figure on a desk across from him, with a brightly clothed man standing over it looking down.

"That is not what I meant." Says the man impatiently, "The life support issue isn't a problem. Since when do you need oxygen to keep droids alive? You listen very carefully Raz, if that damned ship isn't in the air before I finish my meeting," he glances at Pohta, "You'll be hard pressed to find anyone on this planet that wants to do business with you."
Click.

Stepping out from behind the desk the businessman walks purposefully towards his guest, extending his hand.
"I apologize for making you wait," they shake hands.
"I'm sure you're a busy man"
Caragille grins, "I'm afraid it's one of the perks of the job. But enough about me, what can I do for you today Mr. Pohta?"
"I'm looking for a one way ticket to the outer rim."
"I see. Any particular reason you don't want to rely on more conventional transportation methods?"
"A clean break from the Republic. Maybe I'm just a paranoid guy, but their authoritarian nature this past decade has a lot of smart people feeling nervous. I'd prefer to be outside their reach when their machine starts to break down."
Caragille pulls up a chair and sits down facing Pohta, "Well sir I'm impressed, not many would think about putting money on a bet like that."
He rubbed his upper lip for a moment, thinking, "It would require you to charter one of my ships, that won't be cheap."
"How much?"
"It'll start at 5,000 credits per day of travel."
Pohta whistled, "How long would it take to get to the Anoat sector?"
"That is a good question," the businessman stood up and plucked a datapad from his desk.
After a few taps, "about 8 days, 6 if you use a smaller scout-class ship of mine."
Now it was Pohta's turn to think, "I would like to set a date for maybe 6 weeks out, but there are some financial considerations that have to be made before I can commit."
"Oh I understand. There isn't anything on the books for the next week, take your time, go home and think it over. In the meantime," Caragille reached a hand into his pocket and retrieved what looked like a small, milky glass marble,
"Take this and look it over, there's some good intel here on the Outer Rims."
Pohta picked up the data-sphere, "Thank you very much."
"Now if you'll excuse me I've got an employee to berate," with a smile Caragille shook Pohta's hand and turned back toward his desk as the wooden door opened.

Back on the grimy street, Pohta stands watching the dense fog begin to settle into the street. Strands of a plan had begun to form in his mind. Perhaps this could work after all, tomorrow he will see.