Once the ship had been placed in the spaceport, Davish, who used the name Hayde Omas at the moment, set out to find an assignment. This was Corellia, the world of opportunities, so he had to find something. Trotting down the streets of the capital of Coronet, Davish knew that searching the financial districts wasn’t going to bring him a lot of cash. He needed to, without a doubt, seek out the more shady areas of the city.
Davish made his way down the Blue Sky Boulevard into the infamous Blue Sector. Despite its reputation, this sector was a gathering point for just about anyone. Most off-worlders stationed themselves near or in the area, and even most Corellians paid the sector a visit now and then – if for no other reason than to shop in the Treasure Ship Row. If there ever were a place designed for jobs to get, this was it.
The would-be smuggler made his way through the endless rows of stalls and shops at the bazaar. He took the time to look through some merchandise. Most of it was legitimate goods, everything from clothes to household equipment and food, to vehicles and weapons and more. But Davish had seen a lot during his travels earlier in life and knew that a considerable quantity of the goods here was illicit. But this was The Treasure Ship Row, one of – if not the – largest markets in the Galaxy. People flocked the area, and all the rows couldn’t be counted. CorSec neither had the resources, nor time, to check every one of them.
”You gonna buy that?” Davish looked down at the device he had been fiddling with while thinking about what to do.
”How much?” A homing device could come in handy at some point or other.
”500 creds,” the shopkeeper said. It was more than Davish could handle at the moment.
”Sorry. Too much. Have a nice day,” Davish put down the device. The shopkeeper instantly snatched it and checked it for damage.
”Whatever. Get lost,” he snarled.
Continuing deeper into the market area, Davish looked around for a cantina or bar. Surely he would find someone in need of transport – either for themselves or their goods. Looking around the crowded area, he spotted Mynock's Haven, a cantina. Making his way through the masses, Davish entered the cantina.
The Mynock’s Haven wasn’t overtly crowded inside, but there were still quite a few guests there nevertheless. It had a fairly calm atmosphere. A band was playing some music in the background, and a couple of droids were serving the guests. It was easily a place were off-worlders and others could relax from shopping, but at the same time a place that managed to gather a few more shadier characters as well.
Walking up to the bar disk, Davish ordered a meal and had a seat a little to the side.
”I’ll have some of that fried nerf with Corellian Potatoes,” Davish said as the barkeep came over to him.
”Anything else? Something to drink?”
”Yes, I’d like a glass of Cooler,” Davish had gotten rather thirsty after walking around. Something to sooth his throat and body would be nice.
The barkeep returned some minutes later with the food and drink. ”That’ll be 10 credits, sir,” he said.
”Sure thing,” Davish said and placed 10 credits on the disk. ”Say,” Davish continued before the barkeep had the chance to even reach for the credits ”I’m looking for a job. You wouldn’t know of anyone in need of a transport?” he asked and handed the man another 10 credits. ”I’ll be seated at the end of the bar disk there in case you hear anything or direct someone to me. I’ll even hand you another 10’er if you do.”
OOC: So this is where I’ll stop for now. Not sure how much freedom I have in terms of assignments and such, so I’d like some input or preferably another post before carrying on. Oh, and I’ve checked the prices for meals. 10 credits is a fair price for an average meal. Davish sat patiently at the bar while slowly finishing his meal and waiting for any word to get his way from the bartender. While he could easily get a job from one of the job terminals in one of the larger spaceports or cantinas, doing so on Corellia posed a risk to him, or at least Davish imagined so.
And as he waited, he was rewarded. This was Coronet City, in time anything could happen. The bartender came over to Davish, asking him if he wanted anything else while at the same time tilting his head towards a man on the other end of the bar disk.
”No thanks,” Davish replied, before adding ”what’s the deal?”
”An elderly man, said his name was Alter, and his granddaughter need passage to Coruscant,” the barkeep said in a hushed tone while cleaning a glass.
”Pay?”
”500 plus expenses,” the barkeep said.
”Alright.” Davish placed another 10 credits on the table.
”Ah! Splendid!” suddenly bursted the barkeeper ”That’s an old teacher of yours? I’ll bring an ale over right away.” The barkeeper poured another ale, while Davish walked over to the man.
The man was probably somewhere in his sixties, had grey hair without any signs of baldness, wore a once expensive suit that probably was out of fashion three decades ago, and nipped at a Corellian Brandy.
”You Alter?” said Davish as he took a seat. The barkeep brought Davish the ale. At just a couple of credits per pint, the barkeep had earned his share from Davish.
”Aye, who’s asking?”
”Your pilot.” The man lightened up as he said so. Davish found it all a little peculiar, how a man and his granddaughter sought out a pilot when there were lots of public shuttles. There had to be more to it.
”Does my pilot have a name?” The man asked.
”In due time, he might. What’s the catch?” Davish turned the tables and started asking the questions.
”I beg your pardon?”
”If you need transport, I’m jumping you to Coruscant, but I need to know why an old man and his granddaughter can’t take a shuttle,” he simply stated.
”Alright,” said the man, ”there are certain… complications. We also need to transport some more, let me say, ah, delicate equipment.”
”Such as?”
”Nothing illegal, not per se, but we want to avoid risking any taxes,” the man explained.
”You’re transporting weapons for someone?” Davish assumed. It wasn’t very uncommon to smuggle items such as weapons for a salesman in order to avoid customs.
”Weapons? No, no, no. Medical equipment.”
”Even better,” said Davish, sarcastic. The rules were just as harsh, if not more so, when it came to medical equipment.
”Pay half up front when you show up tomorrow tomorrow morning, dock 74. If you’re transporting something hot, I need to make some arrangements.” Davish held out his hand. The old man hesitated for a moment, but shook it.
”Deal.”
With the deal sealed, Davish returned to the space port. With some tools that came with the ship, and some spare parts that lay scattered around the space port, Davish worked all night. His ship was small, and because of that there wasn’t much space that hadn’t been put to use, but he managed to open up a few electrical panels and wall and floor sections here and there in order to make a handful of secret compartments. The compartments would withstand close scrutiny, but Davish doubted they would withstand a sensor sweep. Of course, if anyone performed such a sweep, it would likely be too late anyway.
The man and the girl appeared an hour or two and a quick meal after he was done. They had several bags and crates with them. Davish helped store the equipment. The mundane items either fitted in the cargo hold, or in the small cabin Alter and his granddaughter, a blond girl who looked like she was around 12, had gotten. Her name was Tira.
The medical equipment, on the other hand, was safely – or as safe as could be – locked away in the secret compartments Davish had molded.
30-minutes or so later, the ship was clear of Corellia’s gravitational sphere and Davish was making his last Hyperspace calculations when Alter entered the cockpit and strapped in. Tira was in the main room.
”Say, kid, what’s your bird called?”
”Haven’t named her yet,” Davish answered
”Oh? You should. It’s bad luck not to.”
”We’ll see about that,” replied Davish. He was not the superstitious kind. But it was a point nevertheless. ”I’ll name her on Coruscant,” he said and pulled the Hyperspace switch.
The swirling white of Hyperspace soon surrounded them.