Governor of Dantooine
Nar Shaddaa, the so-called "smuggler's moon", was a fantastic place for TC-SC 1050 to begin to search for work. The infiltration droid knew very well that relations between the Sith, the Hutts and the Techno Union were quickly eroding. All three had been engaged in a sort of "cold war" for quite some time, and it was only within the last three years that there had been any overt action on the part of any faction. The political atmosphere could not have been any better for business, and business was damned good. 1050 had secured several major contracts, most of them through an independent basis. The joy of splicing into a computer to find all of the governments' juicy secrets was unmatched. The sheer ecstacy of shooting at the "bad guys"--it was what organics called "adrenaline". It was during the contracts that 1050 truly had a sensation that he was fulfilling his programming and his proper destiny. That was why it was so important, at this moment, to find a contract. Something new. Something adventurous.
TC-SC's choice of location wasn't ideal, as many bars in this part of the planet seemed to discriminate against customers who happened to be droids. He could have easily blasted them into tiny pieces, but 1050 thought better of it. He couldn't jeopardize his conspicuous nature. Not yet.
And so he had chosen one of the most backwater, dirty nightclubs that he could find; one of the few that accepted droid customers. "Asylum", they called it. The outside of the club had a sign that was only half-working, and there was barely a lineup outside...though it was packed on the inside. It was a frenzy of dazzling lights, space drugs, spice and various types of liquor. Patrons of all shapes, sizes, races and persuasions were gathered on Asylum's rather cramped dance floor, grinding and smashing together in a manner that 1050 found to be rather savage. There was a bar to the left, bathrooms at the back of the nightclub and a VIP area to his right, which stood on a raised platform. Three bartenders struggled to get drinks (and occasionally space drugs, 1050 noticed) out to the patrons. 1050 made his way towards the bar, knowing that the bartender always held the juiciest secrets.
It was dark, and several people bumped into TC-SC as he walked through the club. At this time of night, it was packed--however, hiding in plain sight was a tactic the droid employed constantly. Approaching the bar, 1050 rapped twice on the bar counter to get the bartender's attention. The bartender was a human male, about four feet tall. TC-SC scanned his facial expression through his basic psychological analyser, and it blinked on his HUD.
<Threat Level: Minimal. Subject is occupied. Subject is unarmed.>
Good, 1050 thought. This will make things easier.
"Pardon", 1050 began. "This Unit is searching for the owner of this establishment".
"Really", the bartender said stone-faced. He grabbed a glass and began pouring some Mandalorian ale for a parched, husky male Mandalorian eagerly waiting. "Why is that?"
"This Unit seeks employment", 1050 said simply.
The bartender looked annoyed, still concentrating on pouring the drink. "We don't give contracts to droids, and we don't want 'em working in here. "
"You would stand in violation of Clause 12 on the Intergalactic Treaty on Discriminatory Workplace Practices?" 1050 enjoyed the smugness of his statement for a moment. He knew he had only made up the law, but the bartender seemed to have believed him.
The bartender swore, slammed the finished ale in front of the Mandalorian and glared at 1050, as if to say "Try something, Punk". 10-50 simply stared back, queuing up his shoulder-mounted blasters to spring up if the man made a move. Thankfully for 10-50, he did not.
"This Unit would like to hear from the owner", said 10-50. "Not one of his paid goons."
The bartender grunted one more time and stomped off to 10-50's left, towards the VIP area. He approached the table of a male Twi'Lek surrounded with three attractive, female Twi'Lek dancers and pointed in 10-50's direction.
10-50 simply waited, looking around the nightclub for other persons of interest. Someone else seemed to be entering the bar and heading in his direction, but he couldn't make out who it was through the thick fog created by the laser lightshow. He hoped that, whoever it was, their intentions were positive.
[member="HK-666"]
