Ord Mantell: Another Man's Trash is Still Junk

[Morgan Evanar]

After two weeks, a hyperdrive for Serena's ship was far from in sight. None of the usual leads like private traders nor any nearby salvage yards had anything in stock or interest in delivering. No one wanted the hull, either. Morgan had put out ads. After a week there had been no responses. Morgan located several brochures from the original manufacturer of the low-end yacht, so he had a good idea of what else to look in.

He'd kept enough "under the mattress" credits to pay for a ticket to Ord Mantell. Ord Mantell was the only likely place to find the same model of hyperdrive, and it was one of the few locations where Morgan could withdraw a large sum of credits and have it go unnoticed. Even the Empire wasn't keen on tracking Ord Mantell's conventional bank activity: the banks operated with a nearly unprecedented degree of independence partly because they were not "investment" banks. They did personal accounts and deposit boxes. It was a strange system, but it worked.

Morgan stepped off the transport and into the hazy sunlight. The left half of his hair stuck up, while the right stuck out, a product of sleeping against his hand. Two days of bristly facial shadow and a blaster let him blend into the crowd. He looked like any random human spacer, just a bit taller. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. With the sun overhead, and bright, he wished he had a set of shades. He trundled away from the landing pad, and toward the center of town.

[I'nu]

I'nu was a mutt.

A mix of Cathar, Zeltron and base-line, he was filled with more culture than could be handle. It was evident too. In the wild of his hazel eyes sat his father side, his hair in a jumbled mix of natural white and black locks. The mixture between Zeltron and Cathar was a rare breed indeed, and few even believed him when he explained the phenomenon.

Below his unusual gaze sat a face fitting of a Zeltron, but skin too brown to truly claim. All the blame was to his mother for such motherly looks. He wasn’t handsome, he was beautiful. It wasn’t the sort of compliment a man liked much.

He couldn’t do much about it, though.

It wasn’t like he had a blaster to shut anyone up. Ever since he was a child he avoided violence. Of course that didn’t mean he couldn’t be, but he disregarded it. He was too lazy for tussling. There was so much more he could do was how he thought about it. His father wouldn’t have that though. The man was well known back on Corellia for his fighting skills. The man wasn’t about to raise his boy to be anybody’s coward.

So, he trained a bit. Even went to the gym with his father from time to time and switched roles on being the punching bag. Honestly, I’nu had a bit of fun with it, but he was into other things like history, music, and all sorts of other junk. Eventually he just quit going.

Little did he know he’d be dealing junk in the end on top of a jewel…sorta.

It was Ord Mantell, and he was a junk dealer. He somehow got locked in a deal with his Uncle who was the head of the business, and was managing the joint while Uncle Lew was dancing his last days away back on Spira. Pretty obvious who got the short end of the stick on that deal.

So, he sat there, rear in a seat at the front of the small hole-in-the-wall, waiting for a customer. He had been waited all week, and not a single person had come. The business wasn’t looking good, especially with a name like Crap Pile.

“How did I get in this,” he pouted, playing one the games on his datapad.

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan's first purchase was a pair of polarized sunshades from a small knick-knack shop a hundred meters from the landing zone. The price was nearly double what it should have been for coated plastic, but it was worth it. He bought two oversweet, overpriced protein bars and ate one as he walked down the main drag. He'd been to Ord Mantell before, but for a slicing job in the banking sector and "the junk zone" was an unknown. After a kilometer of gimmick tourist shops near the passenger port, it gave way to the real business of this part of the planet: the trade of old parts. Ships, droids, speeders, industrial equipment and home appliances alike all made mountains of... junk.

Morgan entered the first establishment. The walls were lined with shelves loaded with smaller parts. A Squib bounced towards him. It was covered in yellow fur with blue-green tufts sticking out from it's ears.

"Hey hey customer welcome to Much Good Junk! Whatcha buying, we've got it, betcha!" A slight smile tugged at Morgan's lips. Squibs were one of the principal sellers of all bits of stuff in the galaxy, and his mother dealt with them a good deal for droid parts.

"Got a KDY model RK-77a hyperdrive casing?" Morgan asked, slighty bemused.

"Sure sure but why you want something so old? We've got a buncha buncha SK-05's." The squib bounced over the counter and settled in what used to be a bar chair. It tapped in the model.

"Got SK-05s." It repeated in a friendly tone. "Whole drive, cheap cheap cheap."

"How much?" Morgan asked. He was willing to play along for a bit.

"Cheap! Two-thou!" It was a good deal, but he knew they'd leave out the power regulator just before the drive, or something similar. Squibs might be friendly, but they were never straightforward.

Morgan shook his head and waived goodbye. "I need a RK-77a."

The squib bounced back over the counter and attempted to slow him down by bouncing in front of him. Morgan knew if he kept walking forward it would give up, and it did.

The experience repeated itself (but less "squibby" as his Dad would have said) as he walked down the road and into the evening. Morgan was surprised. After 30 shops and seven hours, no one had the part.

So, without much hope, he entered the Crap Pile.

"Hi." He said automatically. "I'm looking for a KDY RK-77a hyperdrive casing."

[I'nu]

I'nu sat.

Slumped over in a seat, this was casual. Only a few customers ever came in a day. Even fewer actually bought anything. Somewhere in the muddle of junk heaps, backyards, and trash, Crap Pile found itself in the worst position for good traffic. It was the life of a boy becoming a man, and it wasn't the best life. That was a well known fact.

Old droids dangled from the ceilings, as others were stacked across in a random set of different models, and company orders. Time rusted most of the hulls, while others were half-lit, slighted by charge troubles. Some of the droids didn't even have coverings, but they seemed to more practical models. There was little need for them in the world, and here they stayed - right next to I'nu.

It sort of fit...too well.

I'nu was still meddling with his game on the datapad. Feet up on the counter, his eyes strayed once and a while back at the holo-feed. A list of frequency beacons rolled down the screen under the feed, running the calls he missed and returned. Nearby sat a near archiac projector brought to life some of his ship parts. The back was in black, hidden behind a cloth, and splashed with mechanics of more kind than the droid parts the front of the store was warmed with.

Amidst all the dull, and junk, it was hard for I'nu to ever notice new customers. They were unexpected guest, at least in his eyes, and though his voice was lukewarm, his rasp was a bit unfriendly. Well, just a bit, it was hard to really note when his smile widen.

And so it did, as he shifted his eyes off to the man. He was tall, big, and a tad tired from the looks of things. Most visitors were at this time of day - most went out in early parts of Ord Mantell's day to handle their problems.

'Ooo, hey -- uh, ya wants just that?"

I'nu didn't blink, or think, just clicked. His hands went to work, running a long the buttons. The KDY R-77 casing blurted out from the holo, and I'nu flashed back to his game. He was just about to win.

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan blinked.

"Yes." He looked at the holo, it was the R-77. Perfect. Unfortunately, the proprietor went back to his holopad.

"Do you actually have it?" He asked. I'nu was completely preoccupied. It figured. The one place that had it, and the owner didn't seem to have much interest in sell it. Morgan moved to the counter, and placed his hands on it. He leaned forward and loomed over I'nu.

"I'm very interested in that hyperdrive." Morgan said.

[I'nu]

...very interested...

I'nu lifted his eyes. They lifted slowly. Slipping a long all his features, he finally found the man's eyes with a smile. In the bare silence, only a blink in time, he wondered. This was definately going to be a catch. The only problem was that there had to be a catch to it. I'nu was running low on funds, and he needed to get more for his buck.

Running his legs from the counter to the floor, he bounced into a quick stand. The datapad still was in his grip, but his hands had loosened just as his lips had. He was smiling now. A smile all too clever, yet so innocent that it didn't so much want trust, but demanded it.

"Welluh I got id den. Jus' run ovah 'ere wittme..."

His voice trailed as he spun over the counter, landing next to the man with a nod. Turning about, he slapped the datapad back on the display table. Shuffling his feet over, he roamed through the junk hive to the back door where all the heap of beautiful crap lie.

"C'mon..."

[Morgan Evanar]

He shrugged. He'd met people who were hard to understand before, but this guy was up there. Weird accent, to say the least. That grin, too. Morgan wasn't sure of this guy at all, or maybe he just needed to get out more. He'd met the type before. At least he didn't rub his face on the parts. So far, he hadn't gotten past any of the counters until now. No one had an old hyperdrive that never saw much use to begin with.

He followed I'nu out into the dimming light. Dusk had set upon them, but Morgan was undaunted. He had excellent night vision, and he needed this hyperdrive. He'd find it if it was here, but hopefully he wouldn't have to. Serena told him to focus and think about the now. Morgan thought about the how hungry he was. It wasn't working.

The junk didn't seem to be arranged in a specific, organized manner. At least not one that was apparent to Morgan. I'nu seemed to know where he was going, though.

[I'nu]

I'nu slipped pass the parts, walked over fallen droids, and crouched under some metal. The place looked to be mess, I'nu didn't notice. This was normal for him. He had been through the junkyard far too often, and there wasn't a thought to be had. Each motion was effortless, yet meaningful.

He wanted that money.

Opening the curtain, the world of new, polished, big...junk, was on display. A large field of great, giant starship parts, engines, hulls, and alike were stacked around each other, forming some pathway to a center piece off in the distance. I'nu's uncle had managed to bundle enough credits to buy a decent plot of land, and it was useful.

Especially for customers on the move. They needed good parts, and good parts he sort of had.

Sort of.

"Ova' 'ere...down that way. Right there, check it out."

He pointed only a few feet away. He wasn't interested in walking over. I'nu rather the man inspect, than slowly, creep up, and smirk away at the merchandise. Then, and only then, would he throw in his side-notes, and possibly some quotes on the well-tuned item.

Pull them in, and then snatch them up!

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan had made himself quite familiar with the R-77 series hyperdrive in the vain hope that he might find another Now that he had one staring at him, he wasn't quite sure where to begin. It was mostly protected from the elements by a subframe of some freighter. Morgan removed a scanner designed for hyperdrive diagnostics and inspection. He crouched down and systematically waved it over the drive casing. If there were any flaws in the structure, the device would have squawked loudly.

The service access panel was even intact, complete with the requisite etchings of ideal performance and calibration parameters. Morgan pulled a screwdriver from his pocket and removed the plate. He let loose a low whistle. It was mint. He'd just hoped for the casing, but everything was here. Power relays, drive core. It wasn't even dusty. He plugged the scan tool into controller and rubbed his jaw. The damn thing had less than a thousand hours on it. Something bad must've happened to the ship, but considering that the R77 hadn't been manufactured for over a hundred years, he'd probably never know.

"I'll give you 1700 for it." It was, put mildly, a lowball figure.

[I'nu]

The hazel balls of joy shutter like a holovid with frequency problems. After a display of interest, intrigue, and studious observation, the man was trying to haggle. The day had been long, boring, and controlled - he didn't expect this. For one extra second he sat there. Motionless he was, nulling over a possible, clever, decent response. I'nu was not dumbfound. He was never dumbfound. But he didn't know what to say.

Finally, he gave in. Letting a sigh drive the moment away, his head drooped down. Eyes closed, and lips pressed to his cheeks, he smiled knowingly as he slipped his hands in his pockets. Sweeping over the earth like a gust, he moved smoothly over to the man, waving his hand up in absent defeat.

"Now y'kno' dat aint gunna work...raise dat."

He finally said, his slick tongue running over the rasp deeply rooted in his accent. I'nu was going to get enough to pay for his workless day. Not a single customer had stayed longer than this fellow had all day, much less shown any true interest. So far, from the review sheet, it wasn't looking too good for the Crap Pile.

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan raised an eyebrow. He'd stumped the junk trader for a moment. In his less ethical days, Morgan might have considered trying to sell the mutt his own pants. I'nu wasn't a natural salesman, but at least he knew when he was being lowballed. Morgan knew how to sell things if he needed to, and definitely knew how to haggle. Not haggling on Nar Shadda was financial suicide.

"No ship has used these things in a hundred years, and the run wasn't that big to begin with. 1775." His counter-offer was too low, but he needed to figure out what I'nu's price was. Fact of the matter was he'd spend up to 4000 credits if he absolutely had to, but that would be for a modern CEC drive with the needed equipment to make it work with the KDY wiring and power. Morgan wasn't exactly a starship mechanic, but he knew how to wire and convert power systems in his sleep.

[I'nu]

I'nu's head tilt. Then, his eyes sharpened. Then, he was silent. He stared for a moment. Took in the bare seconds, naked of lies, and full of tension. Before he allowed himself to blink, his left brow raised. The look was at the least comical. I'nu wasn't serious. He was never serious. Yet, the fact that he found comedy in this man's attempt had nearly the same effect.

Drooping his head, the flock of hair trickled over. Black and white strands hanged over as he thought. It was all under the time of his favorite swoop highlights, but the moment seem longer. Silence was an intense thing.

"Aiite--aiite, y'must think I aint bumped into uh few Squibs o' somethin...

Bluhd - its higher. Start swinging at 2500 o' somethin. If y'gunna do it, do it wright."

I'nu shook his head, smile smeared across his lips. He was delighted at the try. Customers could be very amusing, very entertaining.

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan snorted, playing along.

"2050." He'd see if he'd play for a few extra credits or not. It was much larger jump than his last offer. This was the game, the race to the middle. He bored a stare into the junk trader, squarely putting the ball in his court. His face was emotionless.

[I'nu]

"2050?"

I'nu laughed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He shook his head. There was no words necessary; he was amused. This ping-pong match was going somewhere, but not fast enough. I'nu wanted what he wanted - and fast. It was true he didn't have anywhere to go to, or anything to do really, but this was business. Whenever business came in, it had to be handled hastily, and orderly.

This was a junk establishment, but it was his junk establishmet.

He worked fast, and ended early. Thats how he liked his days, and thats what he'd get.

"Y'crazy right? I woulda swo' I said 2500--not 2050. Betta' raise that number, mista."

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan sighed. It was not a dramatic sigh. It was the sigh of frustration and tired from a day of walking through junk yards. He was getting hungry again.

"For 4k I can walk out of here and buy the conversion parts to run a Corellian drive, along with the drive itself."

"Twenty-two fifty."

[I'nu]

"2500."

I'nu didn't blink.

He was always stubborn. Maybe it was a good business tactic, but he wasn't thinking tactic anymore. Matter fact, I'nu wasn't thinking at all. Emotions had taken pilot, and he had no want to stop it. Any other time he might be cool, distant, and collected, but as he had repeated over and over in his head: he wanted what he wanted.

And, of course, the spoiled little brat meant to get it.

[Morgan Evanar]

Fine. Fine fine fine. But curiosity had struck him. Why 2500? It wasn't really worth it. The drive was, frankly, unpopular. It's rarity didn't make it any more valuable. Most of the still space-worthy vessels that had the KDY model RK-77a had long ago ditched it for something from CEC or a newer KDY hyperdrive. It wasn't particularly efficient or fast, nor was it known for exceptional durability.

Morgan stood for the first time in fifteen minutes. He folded his arms over his chest.

"What makes it worth 2500?"

[I'nu]

I'nu was on the winning team. He knew that much. The man's question didn't deserve a straight answer, neither. I'nu never gave straight answers in the first place. He was artful in his approach, always. Whether it was subtle, nearly meaningless, or as important as 2,500 credits he was artful. It was how he was. It was how he moved.

"In the bucket fee," he said, a smirk running a long his lip like a fish down-stream.

Then, with tactful carefulness, and calmness, he walked off. Passing Morgan on his steady step, he hunched over to detect the goods. All was in order as the customer wanted.

This was a good purchase, at least for I'nu. A good, decent pay for the day, if he would say so. Yet, he wouldn't - at least not until Morgan was long gone and he had someone to brag to.

[Morgan Evanar]

It was another term for "I'm bending you over the bucket." Delightful. Morgan was getting frustrated. No one liked being bent over the barrel. Doubly so after trudging around, looking for a rare, unwanted model of hyperdrive because you're stuck in an unplanned place. He stopped himself from grinding his teeth or, worse, growling. Mom growled, and would be if she was here. He took a deep breath. He felt too unsettled. A greedy trader shouldn't rattle him at all, but something about the smug smirk pushed his buttons.

"Twenty-five and a pair of zeros." Morgan fanned the three chits out between his thumb and forefinger. A pair of thousand credit and a five-hundred. I'nu's hand came forward, and he dropped them the inch it needed to go.

"I've got a lift..." I'nu began. Morgan picked up the eighty kilo hyperdrive with a grunt. It was deep dusk, and he wanted to go. Precariously, he pulled the unit around his torso and onto his back. The weigh rested mostly on his hands, but also against his shoulders.

"Unless you're giving it to me, I'm not interested." Morgan said, and started back to the entrance.

[I'nu]

"Give it to ya?!!"

The words blew through the junk yard. His voice echoed in a bellow, outraged, and confused. Struggling to comprehend, he stumbled into a full on dash before skidding across the hard soil by Morgan.

In a sudden stop, his hands flipped up, holding out a ward, trying to stop the man. Not a name had been given yet, but it didn't matter. This man had become important. Right when I'nu felt he had him, he was taking leave. It wasn't looking good. Seconds ago, he was winning, and all was well - but now it was an empty pocket affair and that was worse than any nightmare he might have tonight.

And that might was stressed in his mind, because sleeping was very unlikely if he didn't get these credits. Rent was coming up soon, and he'd have to work his network to grab in enough to place in the bucket. This shop wouldn't hold up any longer than his credits did, and that was a fact.

"Wait-wait-wait--watcha talk'n, silly. Y'kno' y'can get it fo' dat o' price y'said. I was jus mess'n witcha--y'kno--jus mess'n."

"2050, right, right?