SithLore

Aridus had not been improved much by its liberation, Baurzhan decided. He'd only visited the place once, during his time with the Rebellion to drop off some resistance advisers. But liberation had only improved the economy so far. The dark, dirty spacer's bar he now sat in was upgraded from 'deadly' to 'dangerous'. In terms of drinks, that was. The criminal element was just as weak as the economy. Places like this made Baurzhan grateful for his heritage; here he was just one more hairy alien. Humans only blended in if they were ugly and dirty.

It was the exact place he'd predicted he'd end up when the mercenary team had left him with the card. How to get in touch, they'd said. A droid had answered, and simply gave him a location and time. Any minute now, a representative of Blue Star would walk through that door, and sit on the other side of the booth. With any luck, Baurzhan could find a way forward through the mess he found himself in.

He'd taken a few yerars to work on it, to be sure, but Baurzahn managed not to jump at his new tablemate. Quietly, he reached for the hold-out on his belt, and listened. As the Ithorian spoke, his hand eased off the grip of his blaster. It was about being ready for the surprise, not to never be surprised. Which was just as well, because his contact's approach was a bit unpredictable.

"I'm pretty sure you're mistaken," corrected Buarzhan, "I think I know your friend, but we're not really that close. We merely did some business, and I'm here to settle the arrangement, discuss the futures. Not to be cliche, but I think I might need to talk to your supervisor."

"If you'd like to meet with a supervisor, you are certainly in the correct board room," Harbuk offered with a deep chuckle that did not transfer through his vocoder but registered as deep chortles from the sides of his mouth. His voice was a wholesome suburban Core World setting, somewhat nasally and somewhat monotone, but pleasant - the vocal template of a holomovie everyman filtered through Ithorese. Floating her tray over the heads of the patrons, a green waitress handed a pint of bright foaming beer to the Ithorian. He accepted it graciously and gingerly sipped through his left mouth hole. "Would you like something?"

Swallowing, he paused to size up the man across from him and bask in the awkward silence of someone who did not know what was about to happen next. Then he continued: "You are in luck, Mr. Baurzhan. Many people in your position spend years looking over their shoulder, cradling their fortunes as if applying pressure to a stab wound. Generally speaking, the life expectancy of a business like yours, kissed by such hostile circumstances... is not long. That is not a threat, that is a statistic."

With his long fingers, the Ithorian produced a small turquoise ring. With another move of his digits, the ring vanished. "Fortunately, we got to you before the situation escalated beyond our control. Before we discuss the terms, do you have any questions?"[/color][/color]

Caution was the word of the day, then. Baurzhan's tablemate seemed to be informed enough of the situation, despite initial appearances. They just had to go through the normal 'pleasantries' that defined the world of clandestine operations, first. He waved away the offer of a drink, the half-drank watered ale was cover enough. The Ithorian spoke, and Baurzhan listened as the other described the situation at hand. He described it well, and his assertions were accurate. The situation was common, especially in a galaxy embroiled by war for decades. The wrinkle, of course, was always in the players. They could jump in unexpected ways.

"You are correct; the galaxy is a dangerous place for folks like mine," Baurzhan started, beginning his own surprising hop, "But I'm a bit too old for the usual Q&A. Allow me to present a counter-offer. I won't be a raider, no matter how lucrative. What I offer, instead, is a refuge. There are openings that can be exploited. If your supervisor would agree to it, they could become a shadow investor in the company. It's rather common in the Rim, and with the war on, the admins don't much mind as long as you pay their taxes. You, and your friends, could come to mine in times of need; medical emergencies, mostly. Six decades worth of tactical and strategic advice. A fair cut of new opportunities and windfalls, of course. Perhaps more importantly, a quiet retreat. Yours is a profession of the young; the few that manage to outlive their youth often find themselves trapped in the lifestyle. I can offer a happy medium, a working retirement that keeps loyalties intact."

Baurzahn paused to sip his ale, as much to allow his tablemate to absorb what he had said before he finished, "You know as well as I do that such an arrangement would perish if it were exposed. So all I ask in return is discretion, and a bit of an edge in the short term. I don't have to defeat my enemies todayj just make myself not worth eating. A handful of old fighters and a crate of blasters is all I truly need; I have some old friends who would jump at the chance to use 'em. After that, well, that's the future, isn't it?"

Harbuk nodded along with the man, slow and steady. He talked good sense, and that would make the next part all the more easier. He also had some ideas about the Blue Stars that were comforting in their quaintness. Standing before the Ithorian was a battle-worn operator who had seen more than his fair share of corporate skullduggery - his resources were threadbare, and he liked it that way. Harbuk wondered to himself if the man would balk at the truth of their scale. He put down his beer and countered to Baurzhan:

"Your fundamental understanding of BSP is, on the surface, good for us. When people whisper the stories of the Blue Star Pirates, that's all it is -- whispers. We are perceived as a fringe element of the so-called 'underworld'. The idea of Ryustlore is -- to those tho haven't involved themselves with us -- just an idea. But the truth of the Blue Star Pirates is so much bigger than the myth."

With that, he produced the turquoise ring once more, this time sliding it onto his right ring finger. Holding it up, a silence fell upon the bar. It was as if all conversation trailed off, all heads turned their way, and all the attention was on the two men.

"This is what is on the table for you, Mr. Baurzhan," Harbuk said. "The Blue Star is not some Outer Rim campfire tale. Ryustlore is not some dimestore adventure novel. We exist in the deep thread of the galaxy at large. You can find us wherever you look - no doubt, there were some in your previous arrangement that worked well under your nose. We are not out to control. Raiding is our spectacle, and intelligence is our currency. But humanitarianism is a tenet. Look at the tapestry of war around us. When the Galactic Alliance decides to liberate a planet, what do they do? Drop some bombs, send some fighters, nod their heads and run off? Who do you think remains to aid the bystanders at risk of falling through the cracks?"

Removing the ring, the room returned to its natural, raucous state.

"What you're offering is very generous, and my supervisors will take it under advisement."

The ring captured Baurzhan's attention, for a moment. Harluk had to have set up the room, and its 'patrons' in advance, he decided. Or at least the location was chosen with such a purpose in mind. It was a strange trend with deep-cover types; when they actually did draw attention to themselves it was always with tremendous showmanship. Not that there were many examples, but it was so common Baurzhan was fairly sure it had more to do with relieving certain social stresses than any sort of ego. The show spoke volumes to Baurzhan. He was becoming a bit jaded, probably, but it was nice to know these folks knew how to put something like this together. It spoke of a competence he preferred when he had to rely on someone.

"I hope your people think fast, and speak quickly," Baurzhan said, "I have just under two weeks to return with something to show for my efforts. If not, the company likely dissolves and its assets take to the wind. Myself included. Blood is in the water, and the predators close quickly. I'd rather not be eaten."

"Move over," came a voice from the side of the booth where Harbuk was presiding. "You got to do your show, now it's my turn."

At the side of the booth was a Chadra-fan, female, four-toed barefoot, and dressed in aqua coveralls with jewelry about her neck. She nudged herself into the booth beside Harbuk, dropping a heavy sack on the table. Situating herself, she proceeded to remove the sack off the table and use it as a booster seat to better greet Baurzhan. Harbuk shook his head and waved off his companion's brazen interruption.

"Ryssa Delman. I see my associate got to do his famous ring trick. It was not rehearsed, I assure you. We're just a popular establishment for those looking to take a load off, and those looking to take a load off happen to be..." she trailed off and gestured to the two of them. "No put ons. Here you go."

Reaching into the cleavage of her jumpsuit, she proceeded to drop two datadisks on the table. She pointed at them with two fingers. "This one's got all the information on how your company will proceed. Names of your future board members - they're our people, so you can expect no reprisals, and they will be operating with our best interests in mind. Yours and mine. I'm sure my associate mentioned we aren't into thuggery, so don't be a jerk and we should be fine. The second one is, what we'll just say, the fun one. This has dirt on every single standing board member. Use it at your discretion. Heck, use it to decide which ones are best manipulated and which ones need to go. Somewhere in either file is the information on whom you will report to at the end of the quarter. We could use a fellow like you, Baurzhan. You've got a calloused but function-ably decent heart. But you could use us just as well."