Log:A Hitch or Credits Credits Credits
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A RolePlay Log by | |
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Title |
A Hitch or Credits Credits Credits |
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Date |
Mon 23/Jan/2018 |
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IC Date |
Atunda 22/Kelona/1158 |
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Location |
Nar Shaddaa |
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Appearing |
Rear Admiral Gren Delede Captain Adhar Gann |
A meeting in the Undercity of Nar Shaddaa that doesn't go particularly well, or remain particularly civil.
So it's Captain Gann, apparently. Again. The smuggler sits on a crate on a landing deep in the underlevels beneath the Gearhead District, a hundred layers down in this vast, crumbling layer cake. Down here, the lights are still sputtering, holosigns from a thousand years ago still glow - somehow - as if driven by the will of the bad old moon itself. Down here there are the poor and the scum and the monsters. Adhar is none of the above...well. Maybe the last, a little, but at least he's got a heart that isn't yet stained black.
He holds a rifle in his hands as he waits for the man he's meant to meet, an Imperial E-11 that looks as though it were merged with a turbolaser in some Arkanian experiment. Giant visual scope, heavy barrel, a tank mounted onto the frame over the power cell socket. Waiting, in his heavy coat and spacer's coverall.
Gren, for his part, is just wearing an old green flightsuit over-topped with a jacket. He doesn't seem particularly ill at ease in the depths. He's armed with his usual pair of blaster pistols, and likely backup somewhere, all things considered. As he nears the coordinates, his footsteps slow, and he pauses and to check out the general vicinity, before finally approaching Adhar. "Lovely place, isn't it?" The Coruscanti's greeting is tinged with obvious sarcasm.
"March of progress," Adhar says, nodding at you as you arrive; he slides the rifle into its leather holster on his left thigh, Stormtrooper style. On his left he has a pistol that looks like it game from the same lab. "Weird to think that a few thousand years ago, this place was actually a hub of trade in the Republic? Things change...hyperlanes shift..." He shakes his head. "Some things stay the same. Didn't get your name when the General said she'd send you. I'm Adhar Gann, of course."
"Gren Delede. We met...briefly, when I returned to this shithole." Gren replies quietly, leaning against a nearby wall, and likely getting some muck and old slime on the back of his jacket. His face remains neutral, though. And he doesn't seem as if he's here to wax philosophical on the past of Nar Shaddaa. "We appreciated the donation. The message didn't say what this is about? What did you need to discuss?" All business.
"Oh, right," says Adhar, blinking faintly. "You're Sar's friend." Adhar chuckles. "Sorry, it was a...rough night after you left. Guy threw a grenade into the bar." That said, he taps his lips. "So...the idea was to strategize with you on how to procure resources for the Resistance, from a naval perspective. Now, though, there's a bit of a hitch. At least where direct action is concerned."R
The idea of a grenade in a bar draws a nod. "Aye, those things do tend to happen around here." Gren replies. He hitches his thumb behind his belt, and tilts his head slightly. He allows the moment to breathe, as he measures his response, before finally moving forward with..."A hitch. I understand the difficulty of these things. So, please. Explain this hitch. I'm positive that I can assist with unhitching it." His face has hardened slightly, as he waits.
"Not in this case," Adhar says. "It's internal. We are a council of captains. I don't run the whole show." He clears his throat. "So the group has voted for now to remain...apolitical. None of them like the Order, but they don't have faith that the Resistance can do more than take donations. Want to wait until you lot rebuild and get into a better financial position." He looks vaguely embarrassed by that. "I saw the writing on the wall. That's why the Spot was given to you before the vote."
"The Resistance destroyed the weapon that destroyed Hosnia. The Resistance continues to engage the First Order wherever we can." Gren replies is not quick to come, and where is face was neutral before, it is stone. His voice, and his eyes match that stone. "You follow the Senate to their doom, Gann. They voted to ignore the threat until it is too late, and now they are dead and gone." A snort, and the man's earlier reserved manner has been replaced. "The First Order is hunting smugglers, and the cowards that you call a council choose to sit on the sidelines and join the queue of the dead or imprisoned." There is brief shake of his head. "I expected as much from criminals." Another beat, and finally. "You have resources. People. If you were any sort of man, you would eliminate or leave the dissenters behind and join the fight directly."
"Settle down," Adhar says with a grunt. "If I weren't any kind of man you wouldn't have what you do already, Gren. So take a deep breath and calm the kriff down." Stone on his end, too. "They're smugglers. They're here for profit. I was raised by my uncle, and he ran cargo for the Rebellion. I grew up knowing what could go down, so save your judgment for others, all right? My crew isn't the same sort." He shakes his head. "Hell, one of my top pilots just came to me from your ranks. You think I'd take her if I wasn't on your side? I'd had sold her off as bounty."
"I wouldn't have taken her. She bloody deserted a just cause to make some coin." Gren's reply is simple enough. He's clearly very black and white when it comes to fighting the First Order. "We have a ship, which while appreciated, we accept as our due for avenging Hosnia Prime, and hopefully, keeping another system from suffering the same fate." He purses his lips, and tightens his jaw for a moment. "You run with cowards. It is your job to inspire them to action, or cut them loose if they won't act, if you truly believe in fighting the Order. Credits aren't much use if you're next in line for the chopping block."
Adhar draws a deep breath. "She left because she couldn't handle the same structure," he says. "And only stayed with me because she knows I support your people. Now look, Gren...these people I lead, they're /people/. Not soldiers. Apolitical. They need to be convinced, not ordered - that's why it's a /council/, not a military." He shakes his head. "The oldest person in my group was a child when the Empire fell. They lived with the New Republic, not the shadow of the Empire. People like Hazar Jast aren't the norm, not yet."
Adhar shakes his head. "So yeah, maybe they're being cowards. But I'm not. And by the by, don't tell me about what your 'due' is, when I just gave you a ship worth almost four million credits when I barely have enough fluid cash to buy my own people gear, all right?" That line is delivered like a lead blade, but the next is lighter. "...listen. I'm not your enemy here. I'm in, but I have to be...quiet about it. I have to smuggle around smugglers right now, and that's not easy. So withold your judgements, please, and let's get to work, all right? They don't even know who Wilhuff Tarkin /was/, much less know anything about the Doctrine. Fortune knows the Order apparently is made up entirely of his bloody fanclub, and that's why they'll fail."
"Credits, credits credits." Gren says after a moment of silence. He repeats the word with disgust, each time. "This goes beyond credits, and this goes beyond -history-." The Resistance officer's disgust is palpable, though it doesn't seem directed, at the moment. Not entirely. "They destroyed the Republic, Gann. Tarkin was vile, but he's not important. Not particularly." He straightens up, away from the wall. "There is a military order conquering its way across the known galaxy, A military order beginning a bloody pogram on people just like you and yours. And yet...they aren't willing to fight. They witnessed the destruction of an entire star system. Of the Republic. And yet, they aren't willing to fight." A wave of his right hand, a slash through the air as he speaks. "We'll continue to fight for people like you. For drug runners, and smugglers. For thieves." He looks at Adhar, and narrows his eyes. "You will continue to profit, hand over fist, while I send the young men and women who -do- see what must be done to fight, and die for all of the people of the galaxy. The First Order -will- fall, correct. All things fall. It's about hastening that failure." A sigh, and his voice softens. "You dishonor yourself and your uncle by allowing the fear of lost profits to hold you back. Join the Resistance. You could make a -real- difference there."
"I'm not joining the Resistance. Because I'm not military, either, and you people don't give me much of a reason to do so the more you talk about your 'due' and look down on me and mine." Adhar's eyes slit. "So let's stop talking shavit here. Because I AM willing. Are you not listening to /anything/ I'm telling you? About how they might be cowardly now, but I was willing to stick my neck out for you? I've survived torture by Kylo bloody /Ren/ and managed not to tell him anything about you people!" He's not /shouting/, but his words are hard, angry. Durasteel blocks wrapped in a thin velvet coating.
Adhar takes a deep breath. "Listen to me. We aren't getting anywhere by you passing judgement. You want help. I'm willing to offer it within the parameters given to me at this moment. If you aren't willing to talk to me about /help/, then I will talk to Amber instead. Or the General, whenever she gets back. She'll listen to me."
"You were willing to stick your neck, but seem to have allowed others to sway you toward inaction, Gann." The angry words cause Gren's hand to twitch down around his gunbelt, but mostly he just continues to look salty. "I'm not sure that you would receive the reception that you think from General Organa or Ambrosia, Gann. Your focus on profits from a drug business over actually fighting the Order did not win hearts and minds." There is a moment of quiet, and then he adds. "I am always willing to listen to offers of help, regardless of the source. But, as of yet, I've heard excuses."
"Because you're too busy talking shit," Adhar points out. "So shut it already, please, and let's talk business." Adhar's voice changes, turning into a hard, but neutral flow of words. "Now. The 'drug' thing was clarified with the General. I'm selling the synthesized formula to a pharmaceutical company, who will in turn provide me with a untraceable reward, likely a lot of medical supplies that will probably mysteriously fall off a speeder. Those go to you. That's the start of it."
There is a roll of blue eyes at being accused of shit talking, but Gren nods at the mention of medical supplies. "Any donation of medical supplies is appreciated, to be sure. We do a lot of bleeding." Was there snark in that? Quite likely. He tilts his head, though. "Wouldn't your Council rather just get a fat load of credits for the formula?"
"They will," he says with a shrug. "I'll pay them out of my own money, and they'll never be the wiser. Don't worry about that. Now, since the First Order has taken Thyferra, I'll have to find a different place to get healing agents from, or maybe...if I can get through the blockades, I'll try and get more bacta. Didn't they used to use something else before bacta was invented?"
"I'd assume they did. But, I'm not a bloody historian." Delede replies with a shrug, and a frown. He doesn't make further comment on Thyferra. There might be a reason for that, or there might not be. He pauses, and adds..""Do you have any rivals on Nar Shaddaa...or, elsewhere, really...that might be sitting on supplies that need liberated?"
"Not that I'm aware of," Adhar says with a shake of his head. "We're in a war with a much larger syndicate, but they're ready to sue for peace. I was going to use the drug formula for that, but you people need it more, so it's going to a legitimate outlet." He purses his lips. "How much money do you have in accounts right now? I know, not nearly enough, but if ou can give me a general idea, I can come up with a list of resources that we can purchase for you, likely at a good discount. Or starships. I can keep an eye on availability."
There is a chirp from Gren's belt, and the man frowns. "That's time up. I've got a flight." There is a pause, and he nods. "As you said. Not enough. Come up with a basic list, with some general prices, and I can see what we can scrape up. Our accounts are spread about, and I'm not an accountant. I doubt even the General could give you a proper accounting if she wanted to. But, we've other donors willing help with the purchase of vessels, if the price is right. So, the list would be helpful." He pushes away from the wall, and half-turns. "Contact us through appropriate channels when you can."
"I understand," Adhar says with a nod - and then he pauses. "Oh," he says, "Before you go." Adhar pauses, reaching into his coat and producing a long plastic box, about the size of a Whitmans' sampler. "Fourteen power cells for a Tenloss DX-series disintegrator. These go to Sar. Tell him not to worry about the money."
"I'm sure he'll kill some bucketheads with these." Gren replies after taking the box, and tucking it under his arm. "I'm sure he'll appreciate it." Not that he'll be getting them for a while, alas. With a final nod, he disappears into the shadows, and heads for whatever meeting he has upcoming.
