It was the fifth cantina he had visited that day. Two levels below the Coruscant upper levels, here one can walk amongst the scum without the threat of being mugged or murdered by them. Loki had spent the last two days moving from bar to bar, in civillian disguise, carrying posters. He was tired and fancied a drink, so after having word with the bartender of The Nabooian Queen, he nailed his poster to the notice board and took a seat at the bar.

"I'll have a Bellorian Ale, please." He said, leaning forward, hands clasped.

"You'll have nothin' until you get rid of that hood, mystery man." The bartender replied, running a cloth around the inside of a large glass.

"Apologies." Loki pulled back his hood and watched the grubby man, his eyes narrowed and for a moment he stared at the youngster.

"Heh!" He threw the cloth over his bulging shoulder and put the glass down. "You're a young one, especially for these parts. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt but I don't got any Bellorian stuff. Blue Ale?"

"Yeah, that will do."

"So-" He began pouring Loki's drink, it was milky blue and had a thick creamy head of foam. "What sort of job are you offering on that poster of your's? It's quite er... secretive."

"I'm just looking for a good pilot who has time to kill."

"Ha! C'mon bucko! Are you kidding me?" The large glass of ale hit the bar with a thud. The bartender held out his open hand; huge rough palms, hairy knuckles.

"You and I both know that there's no such thing as a good pilot down here! Ha-ha! C'mon, what are you after?"

"A quiet drink." Loki gave the bartender a reprimanding stare, dropped a couple of credits in his hand, stood and headed over to the table below his poster. He took a seat and looked up. It read:

Wanted: An able pilot with ship for a week's work. Handsome pay.