Foreshadowing: The Criminal Kingpin

[Raif]

Royston Spektor stood on the deck of his personal ship, The Doppelgänger, staring out of the observation port and into the vast blackness of empty space. He missed the lavish comfort of his estate on Kinyen, but there was something to be said for the austere silence of space to help focus your mind. Plus, he'd been so busy recently he'd hardly spent more than a day at a time at his adopted home.

There were thing to be done - very important things - and Royston was the only being who could do them.

At least, he was the only being...for now. He needed support in this endeavor, more than any other scheme or plot he'd ever attempted before. And due to the nature of his work, he couldn't exactly 'call up the gang' and ask for assistance.

No, the Spymaster needed to go outside his usual...social circle. He needed someone who would be able to immediately grasp his vision, however unorthodox it may be, and realize the potential profit and success there was to be had.

He could hardly believe he was thinking this, since he'd only recently met the man in person, but he needed...

Jack Tamblyn.

Roy turned from the viewport, strode quickly to the state-of-the-art holonet transceiver, and quickly tapped in Jack's information from memory. Within a few seconds the line had been connected and Roy heard the soft ringing coinciding with the static-filled holo feed to show that the call hadn't yet been answered on the other end.

Given that it was going to Mr. Tamblyn's personal line as an 'Unidentified Number' just might mean the Cartel bigwig was a bit hesitant to answer, after all.

 

[Cassanova]

The Nelletta-class freighter was a marvel in its own right, and truthfully, it worked perfectly as an office for Jack Tamblyn in the meantime. Admittedly, he was in an out of it, but after having some creative disagreements with one of the smaller companies he had hired, Jack found himself on the holo all morning, dealing with calls to and from all sorts of companies, calling in favours, threatening, blackmailing, essentially getting what he wanted at the lowest possible cost, however he could. Naturally all this business manoeuvring was tiring on Jack, so he decided to treat himself to yet another whiskey from his private stores. Nothing so grand as a hundred year old Corellian, mind you, just a gentle thirty year Hapan.

Settled into a weighty glass, the whiskey settled in at Jack assumed a commanding position at the forefront of the floor-to-ceiling cockpit looking out over the works that were taking place on Rishi. This little private Paradise he was building was forming nicely. Jack, however, was never satisfied with 'nicely', and wished the project would move along at a more lively pace.

With a heavy hearted sigh, Jack found himself considering the days of old, the days of the Retrade, when he would arrange for things to be built behind a slew of phantom companies, ghost aliases, and the constructions themselves be so riddled with misdirect that any six copies of the blueprints would be useless. He missed the sense of gargantuan purpose that came with trying to accomplish the seemingly impossible; destabilising the entire galaxy. He missed that ability to screw with absolutely everyone's plans in order to further yours. Then again, Jack reminded himself that he had succeeded beyond measure at that task. He had destabilised nearly every government in the galaxy all in the name of sef-indulgent profit. Jack wasn't one of the richest men in the galaxy for being pretty.

Jack was pulled from his nostalgia by the gentle beep of his communications system. A quick tap on the floor-to-ceiling interactive glass infront of him prompted the onboard computer;

"Incoming call, Mister Tamblyn. Unknown frequency. Unknown origin," Jack shrugged, placing his whiskey down as the computer connected the call on his command. Unknown calls were commonplace for Jack. It was a security measure that he tolerated for many of his non-Cartel associates. After all, it would be hardly sporting if the galaxy knew exactly how many pies Jack had his fingers in. Jedi Councillors, Sith Lords, Mandalorian clan Leaders, Imperial Marshalls. All in all it was a dangerous game Jack played by not only knowing, but communicating and, on occasion, even helping all these individuals. It was the closest thing that Jack could get to the old days, and he was, after all, so good at it no one ever thought that he would dare deceieve anyone. He had been doign this for nearly twenty years, and there were few in the galaxy who were better at it than he.

Turning to the holoprojector Jack simply smiled at the holo, when he realised it was a fellow businessman, Dexter Royston, the man responsible for a very imperative part of his construction project. Remebering Dexter's instruction from a meeting they had held a few weeks earlier, Jack greeted the man "Roy! So good to hear from you." Jack gave a gentle gesture of respect - not one so deep as to acknowledge a superior, but one that acknowledged another's status and achievements. "What can a man like myself do for you today?"

 

[Raif]

Roy was of course very, very good at hiding or showing whatever sort of emotion of 'face' he so chose. So when the holoprojector came to life, the image that was beamed to Jack Tamblyn showed none of the deep, nervous apprehension that the Spymaster was dealing with in truth.

Instead, it was just Roy's usual handsome, charming face, grinning back at his new 'friend' and business partner across the cosmos.

"Jack, I'm glad I was able to catch a busy man like you. I have a hot business proposition for you, and it couldn't wait. Can I get a little face time? Maybe I can check out the progress at Paradise while I'm at it - I'm in the neighborhood, hypothetically speaking of course."

Roy made sure to put just the right amount of energy in his speech, speeding his words up a hair to come across as exactly what he wanted to be: Dexter Royston, the reclusive, eccentric businessman in charge of the galaxy's premier luxury speeder supplier.

Now, 99% of business-savvy beings in this galaxy would scoff at the idea of taking investment advice from such a character. That being said, 99% of the beings in the galaxy weren't Jack Tamblyn. Though 'Roy' may seem a bit...wired...he was still a very successful, and very wealthy man. He had to have gotten to that point by doing something right.

And Jack would know that.

 

[Cassanova]

"Jack, I'm glad I was able to catch a busy man like you. I have a hot business proposition for you, and it couldn't wait. Can I get a little face time? Maybe I can check out the progress at Paradise while I'm at it - I'm in the neighborhood, hypothetically speaking of course." The transmission came through clear as day. Jack, as a point of habit, quickly attempted a trace on the call - not so much to expect duplicity, but more just so he knew where his friends were at all times. Information was more valuable than credits, even when it was on your friends. With it, you could protect them. Or, if their behaviour was unseemly, throw them to the gundarks.

With nothing more than a friendly smile, Jack replied, "You're more than welcome head my way, Roy!" Jack quickly transmitted some coordinates to a spacious section of flat beach near where Jack had parked his vessel, "I've just transmitted you some landing coordinates. Don't mind the security escort that will come down with you. These Hutts, paranoid that their investment is going to get blown to smithereens." Jack, on the Hutt Council's request had arranged for the security teams to be onsite already, and four of the six J-15B Aethersprites were already performing various aerial patrols; low sweeps, high altitude, and even two of them performing a high orbit scout. The Council didn't want this to go to waste - it was, after all, an opportunity for the Cartel to change its image to the galaxy.

Jack let out a hearty laugh, knowing full well that the seven or eight billion credits required to build this complex would have been earned again in a week through various Cartel assets - minus the fact that Jack had actually insured the complex through legitimate means - so it wouldn't even be a problem if it did get blown crater-deep. "Nonetheless, you're welcome to head in whenever. How long will it be until I can expect you, my friend? I'll make sure the ice is ready, and the glasses are clean!"

 

[Raif]

Roy received the coordinates from Jack and immediately sent them to his pilot droid awaiting commands in the cockpit. The Doppelgänger was coming about and preparing for the jump to lightspeed before the Cartel gangster had even finished speaking.

Roy was wasting no time.

"That's perfect, Jack, just perfect! I'll be there in, oh..."

Roy made a show of checking the pocket-chrono dangling from a chain on his waistcoat, but in actuality his impressive intellectual capacities had already figured out his travel time.

"...a little under six hours, sound good?"

The Spymaster hadn't been kidding when he said he was in the neighborhood.

---

Exactly five hours and forty eight minutes later, The Doppelgänger touched down on the pristine sand of Paradise Island, not far from Jack's own grounded ship. Before the landing struts were even fully settled into the beach, the ramp was beginning to lower and 'Dexter Royston' was walking purposefully toward wherever Jack was at the moment.

The Spymaster was looking dapper as ever, having chosen a cream-colored three-piece suit, sky-blue shirt and bright gold tie, topped off with exquisitely crafted Chandrilan leather wing-tips on his feet and his serpent-headed walking stick tucked into the crook of his arm.

"Jack, my friend! Things are really coming along swimmingly here, it's obvious even from entry. Maybe I can get a look around, see how things look on ground level?"

Roy didn't care that asking for a tour - after calling a last-minute, face-to-face meeting because of urgent business - may seem a bit odd. He couldn't shake his training, though, and one of the first things you learned as a field agent was to dictate the environment of your meetings wherever possible.

And while this planet as a whole was Jack's domain, and thus gave him a great deal of power, Roy wasn't going to play into his hand quite so much as to just march right up into his office/ship, which would invariably be crawling with recording devices. It just wasn't in his nature to throw out the rule book totally, despite the completely unorthodox nature of much of his work recently.

"Come on, I've always wanted to wear a hard hat like one of the Big Bosses in the holodramas."

The other reason for suggesting the tour was...rather embarrassing, to be truthful. Royston Spektor, Intergalactic Man of Mystery and Spymaster of the Imperium, was a bit nervous.

He was walking directly into the Hutt's Den, both literally and metaphorically speaking, and he had nothing but his gut instincts to make him believe this meeting would be anything but bloody.

 

[Cassanova]

Jack had made special effort over the last six hours to ensure that the construction site was as clean and efficiently operating as possible. Dexter Royston may have been only providing a small part of the complex, but he carried more weight than Jack would be prepared to admit publically. Royston had the power to pull. If Royston stayed at the Paradise, others would too. Admittedly it was a business concern, and one that Jack had in mind, but ultimately it wasn't something Jack would lose sleep over. As it stood, Royston was coming, and Jack had to capitalise on that presence. Dress to impress, walk the talk, and above all else, don't kriff it up.

When the Corellian saw the speeder mogul approaching, Jack thanked his lucky stars that he had changed his own attire away from his usual white three piece suit, instead opting for a black three piece suit over an unbuttoned red silk shirt. Comparitively, Jack and Royston appeared to be chalk and cheese. The saviour and the sinner. How interesting it was that despite their differences and origins and what they knew of one another, that they were probably the two most like minded individuals in the galaxy.

"Jack, my friend! Things are really coming along swimmingly here, it's obvious even from entry. Maybe I can get a look around, see how things look on ground level?" Jack merely smiled and mentally altered his plan. While Jack didn't have recording devices, he knew the game, and the tell-tale signs of someone playing the very same game that Tamblyn played ten years ago, began to emerge. Hot business propositions as a foundation for an impromptu meeting? Putting off the meeting for a tour? Jack began to suspect a ruse. With nothing to lose at this point, Jack simply nodded in agreement.

"Of course, Roy!" Jack smiled, and motioned towards the foreman's building. "I couldn't deny you the privaledge of seeing what you're a part of!"
"Come on, I've always wanted to wear a hard hat like one of the Big Bosses in the holodramas."

Jack couldn't restrain his laughter and let out an earnest guttral laugh that was indisputably honest. With a smile, Jack quickly tapped onto the foreman's door, and was promptly given a datapad into which Jack signed himself and Dexter in as site guests under the reason for a visit of; Progress Inpsection. Upon returning the datapad, Jack was issued two less-than-stylish hard hats, and offered the white one that seemed to match Roy's outfit better to the Spymaster. Keeping the red one for himself, Jack led the way.

"The primary excavation for the tunnels are complete - all that's left to do are widen and brace, and we'll be ready to install the sub-terranian transport system," Jack motioned to the wide, ovalline entrance to a seemingly endless tunnel that was bored through the Island's volcanic bedrock. It was a short walk up the beach to a scaffold operated elevator that ran up to the plateau where the main complex would be built. However, the view out over the azure-watered bay was simply to die for, even with the construction equipment everywhere.

"Construction on the bungalows actually starts early next week, but we've begun on installing the infrastructure anyway. Access roads, power conduits, water filtration units and some rudimentary walking paths are all being worked on at the moment." Jack smiled as the elevator shuddered to a stop. Turning around first, Jack simply smiled at Roy, knowing the sight that was unfolding on the plateau. The permacrete slabs were already in place, and the main structural supports of the buildings were being hover-lifted into place. The very skeletons of the Lobby, Casino and Hotel were beginning to take shape infront of them amongst a flurry of workers.

Despite all this activity, Jack kept one eye on Royston, feigning the search for approval on his face. In truth, Jack was watching for any signs of 'the game'. It was the little things that had the Corellian become suspicious. This meeting. A passing smile at the illusion created by Geist Weiss. The seemingly unrestricted and unfettered access to and from Imperial Space, where all signs of Rolls Royston seemed to be located. And, of course, the seemingly convenient proximity that Royston had held while asking for a quick meeting - far too close for coincidence."So, Roy," Jack smiled confidently, knowing that the construction noise surrounding them would loosen the tongue of anyone fearful of recording devices, "I bet you can't wait to see how things look on the penthouse level?"

 

[Raif]

Roy happily accepted his hard hat and quickly donned it, showing no concern for that fact that the safety gear would ruffle his perfectly-coiffed hair. He nodded along in rapt attention as Jack detailed the tunnel excavation, the engineering-focused side of his mind taking over for the time being.

Roy wasn't the least bit surprised when his own mental calculations for completion rate so closely matched up to what Jack was now presenting - it meant that Royston had been correct again in one of his many 'educated guesses' regarding Jack Tamblyn. If nothing else, the man had now been shown to not be nearly stupid enough to try and bullshit and present a prettier picture of the progress than was actually there.

As the two men entered the lift, Roy regretted the fact that they hadn't been able to grab drinks thanks to his hurry to start the tour. Thankfully, though, the Spymaster was a man never far from his own supplies, and he reached into his breast pocket to produce a surprisingly-plain looking leather-wrapped flask. The outside may look ordinary, but as Jack would find out once the vessel had been passed over, it was damned-good Corellian Whiskey.

After sharing a drink the lift stopped and Roy raised his eyebrows in appreciation at the marvelous view. He was a man who could have easily grown jaded over the course of his long and well-traveled career, but instead was still lucky enough to appreciate beauty of this nature whenever he was lucky enough to see it.

Taking a step off the lift, and adjusting quickly to the cacophony generated by the nearby construction equipment, Roy couldn't help but grin at Jack as the other man began speaking - it was awful kind of him to play along with the program and facilitate matters in this manner.

"I've seen plenty of penthouse views in my day, Jack. Believe it or not, but it's actually this stuff that interests me more; the foundation, the details, the down-and-dirty that no ones sees but everyone benefits from..."

Spymaster caught himself waxing poetic and broke off, taking another sip from his flask to fill the space. Finally, he looked back at Jack, the smile still on his face as it had been previously. Only, now it didn't quite seem to reach his eyes, which were now intently focused on the Cartel boss.

"This will do fine for our little chat, I think. Thanks for playing along so well, I know your curiosity must be killing you by now. I need to discuss something with you. You see, Dexter Royston isn't my real name."

Roy grinned mischievously at Jack.

"At least, it's not my only name - in fact, it's not even the name I really consider 'mine.' That name would be Royston Spektor."

Roy showed no physical sign of it, but as he said his name to Jack, the Sith Lord was analyzing the other man as intently as possible with all of his many methods of observation. He wanted to know if 'Royson Spektor' rang any bells with this man.

"It wouldn't surprise me at all if you had already surmised much of that - or something similar - on your own. In fact, if that weren't the case I'd start to wonder whether I had the right guy. Anyway, as we both are aware , the name 'Royston Spektor' doesn't lead you to much more interesting information in terms of the traditional 'who, what, where' sort of thing."

Roy hesitated, again drinking from his whiskey before he spoke again.

"I have a title, though, that may provide a bit more illumination:

I am Darth Tarak, Spymaster of the New Sith Imperium."

The words burst forth from Royston's mouth with a sense of relief about them; these were obviously words that were rarely spoken aloud. Now that he'd said it, Roy felt surprisingly at ease, as if the proverbial weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He slouched casually on a nearby railing, holding his flask out to the other man as if he'd just announced something mundane like "I think I'll get a haircut tomorrow."

"Oh, hey, you remember that favor I asked from you? I think I'll cash that in now: if you could not order some group of thugs to now try and kill me, that would be great. First of all, that would mean I was wrong about you, and that would make me very sad; but more importantly, I just had this suit dry-cleaned, and I will be livid if your or one of your 'boys' gets your blood or brain matter stained on the fabric."

This was not a threat intended to intimidate or impress; it was just a declaration of fact, more an effort to save time than anything else.

 

[Cassanova]

Jack took the sip of whiskey with undisputed fervour. The flavours danced around his mouth. Jack, a connoisseur of whiskeys, especially those from Corellia, quickly ascertained it was a very high class, and sought after label. But he also noted it's age. It tasted fresh compared to the Corellian whiskeys Jack had at his disposal, as though it were bought from Corellia in the past few months. It only added to the building concept that Dexter Royston was hardly the man he portrayed.

"...Royston Spektor..."

The name jogged something in the back of Jack's mind, but at such short notice, Jack couldn't make the connection. It all was connected through Imperial Space, of that, Jack was certain. Roy was, of course, entirely right. It didn't really give any closure to the cloud of ambiguity surrounding the Speeder Salesman.

"Darth Tarak, Spymaster of the New Sith Imperium."

Jack listened intently, unsurprised by the revelations. The Corellian, after all, had done some rather spectacular things in his time. Been honoured by the Chiss Ascendancy, dined with the Queen of Hapes, shared whiskey with the Jedi's Grandmaster and, more topically, had high tea with the previous Dark Lord of the Sith, Arcturus. To be honest, it was almost a relief. There were so many worse individuals in the galaxy than a Sith Spymaster playing spies in your pocket. Hell, it wouldn't even bother Jack. Hell. It didn't bother Jack.

Letting the construction machinery reverberate his ears a little more, allowing this Spymaster's proclomation come to light. Jack let the lingering taste of the whiskey settle on his tongue before his mind cashed in on the conversation. A Spymaster, who wasn't removing Jack's head told the Cartel Captain there was more to a great deal than he originally thought. In truth, Jack admired the truth, and thought that a favour returned would not go astray.

"Well now you've confused me," Jack shrugged nonchalantly, "I don't know how to address you now. Roy, Royston, Spektor, My Lord, Spymaster." Jack reached into his pocket pulling a small case out, removing a cigarra from it, offering one to roy, followed by a lighter if he had accepted. Jack took a moment to light his own cigarra, turning away from the construction site, and leaning on the railing overlooking the bay.

Jack took a deep, inhaled drag, followed by a look to his fellow subversive deviant, "I'm sure that probably felt good to get off your chest, Spymaster." Jack flicked a small ash from the end of his cigarra. "So, I'll respect your wishes and not have my guys foolishly attempt to remove your head. Probably do neither of us any good at this point."

Truly at peace, as though he was told that it was going to be yet another tropically sunny day here on Rishi, Jack took the information in stride, completely unphased by the information that would have sent any Hutt into a paranoid spin of posturing and pompous ordering. Jack was no such thing, and knew there was more to the story. "Look, I'm certain there will be more to this than just you sharing with me your actual identity, so I'll have to ask you. What is it, exactly, you wa--"

Jack frowned at his holocommunications device and looked to his guest, "I'll pay you double for those trains if you can guess what this call is about..."

 

[Raif]

Roy laughed, letting out a bit of nervous energy as Jack passed over the cigarras. The Spymaster waved off the lighter, though, igniting the end of his cigar with a snap of his fingers and a brief flash of pyrokinesis.

"I meant what I said before - my friends call me Roy."

He grinned at the man standing next to him, taking a few puffs and savoring the taste of the smoke. No big surprise, the cigarras were very, very delicious. When Jack agreed that a violent response was not in anyone's best interests, Roy nodded his head and breathed a mock sigh of relief - although, in truth, he was quite relieved. He really didn't want to have to kill Jack if he could avoid it.

The Sith Lord raised one eyebrow in curiosity as Jack began driving more toward the heart of the matter, but the Cartel boss was distracted by a call.

One which Roy had been anticipating. In fact, it was the reason he had been 'in the neighborhood' in the first place. One of his other 'friends' in the Cartel had been a bit too...zealous, to say it nicely, and Roy had anticipated that any fall out would find its way to Jack Tamblyn. The man was a fixer, after all, and recent activities on Rishii sure needed fixing.

Royston let out a put-upon sigh as Jack asked him if he could predict what the call was about, a slightly guilty look on his face.

"I won't take your money, Jack - it wouldn't be fair. Since I know exactly what that call is about."

Roy took another puff of the cigarra, blowing out a smoke ring that slowly morphed into the symbol of the Imperium before dissipating on the wind.

"You see, you're not the first Cartel representative I've had this little chat with - well, a similar chat, anyway. Nor'baal, the subject of your call there, first met me as a vintner by the name of Cauthon before I approached him to work with me. But whether it's Cauthon or Dexter Royston, it doesn't really matter."

"What he was supposed to do was work with me on a long game, slowly and subtly building up a power base that I could utilize to destabilize the head of your little organization."

Roy took a sip of his whiskey again, enjoying the way the flavors of the alcohol and tabac mixed together on his palette.

"What our cephalopodic friend actually did, though...well, if you don't know the details already, I'm guessing that call there will fill you in perfectly."

The spy tapped his cigarra gently, watching as the ash gently floated to the ground. He then looked up at Jack, waving the cigarra-holding hand toward his host.

"By all means, take the call; I won't be offended. Business is business, after all."

 

[Cassanova]

Jack listened with the patience of a saint to the Spymaster's explanations, all the while the commlink beeping softly in his hand. It seemed that Royston had been working to great lengths, and a wave of jealousy momentarily swept over Jack. Roy approached Nor'baal first, which suggested to Jack that there was a gap of information that the Spymaster had access to. This meeting, however, was evidence to suggest that the gap had been filled. Nonetheless, the commlink was still buzzing after all.

With a nod, Jack placed the commlink's earpiece into his ear and connected the call, "Tamblyn. Go ahead." With each passing second Jack's face contorted into the same face that someone might get when they finally realised the difficult plot twists of a Intelligent Action Thriller involving the layers of the subconcious mind. As the call continued, Jack's eyes settled upon Royston, as he finally gave his response. "Right. Put him on a kiltirin-class as the only inmate. Charter the ship for Hutta. I'll be there later this afternoon."

Jack took a drag from his cigarra, finishing it up. Before speaking to Royston again, Jack removed the case that they came from, smothered its embers and placed the butt away into the container - it seemed Jack took this whole enironmentally sustainable thing a little more seriously than just a gimmick for a resort. "So you're telling me that the New Sith Imperium - or at least agents in its service - in an attempt to destabilise the Hutt Cartel over a given period of time enlisted the services of Nor'baal Vesajilc Diori to act as an embedded sleeper agent?"

A guttral laugh escaped him for a moment. "Roy, you must've been damn desperate."

Jack nodded back down to the ships by way of offering to return to them. By now there'd be no needs for secrets or recording devices between these two, but to drive home that point, Jack decided it best to lay some information on the table that even the Spymaster may not have. "Ten years ago I had the distinct honour of sitting at the table of the Dark Lord of the Sith, Arcturus Wolfgang, and enjoying high tea with him. Since then I've been honoured by the Chiss Ascendancy, and wined and wined the Queen of Hapes," Jack smiled and continued, "But what will probably interest you most is that I know that Franka Bagnale is nothing more than the emphatic apparition created by this galaxy's most skilled illusionist."

Jack turned once more, looking out over the bay. "So, before we start braiding each other's hair, Roy, let me ask you - Why come to me? And why now? - other than the obvious part about Nor'baal being a poor choice to help with whatever your planning."

"What exactly are you trying to accomplish here?"

 

[Raif]

Royston laughed along with Jack when he made his comment about desperation, then nodded his head as Jack revealed his 'secrets.'

"I knew all that, or at least most of it, but up until recently you'd been keeping a bit of a low profile. Honestly, I thought you were out of the game, gone fully legit - and I've never been happier to be wrong."

Roy took one last drag on his own cigarra, then disposed of it in a rather unique, albeit green manner of his own: he held his palm out, the stubby remnants of the cigarra floating above it for a moment. Then, bringing his hand into a fist, the cigarra just...disappeared, crushed to dust and fine ash in a split second.

"With you apparently 'off-limits,' I seized upon our friend the Hutt as a target of opportunity, really a chance encounter through a mutual friend more than anything else. I could tell he was disgusted with the manner in which your fellows has given up Thyferra, and I saw...perhaps not a diamond in the rough, exactly, but at least what could turn out to be a very nice ruby or emerald one day. The potential was there, so I grabbed it. It's what I do."

Roy sloshed his flask, making an unhappy face at the sounds of emptiness that greeted him. He tucked it back in his breast pocket, looking slightly defeated, but consoled himself with a long drink of the second flask he'd just pulled from his back trouser pocket.

"You see, Jack - and here's where it gets particularly interesting for you - I am perhaps one of the only Sith in the galaxy, let alone the decision-making levels of government, that sees Hutt Space, and the Cartel as a whole, as anything more than an obstacle to be quickly and decisively eradicated.

Just like with Nor'baal, I see opportunity here, but only if parties on both sides of this growing conflict make the right decisions."

Roy held out the flask - this one cheap silver with an engraving of an ewok making a rude gesture - for his companion to sample as he continued speaking, feeling the familiar rush that came with discussing grand plans with someone who could truly understand them. Come to think of it, that feeling had been all-too-rare in large portions of his life.

"Picture if you will, Jacky Boy, a cooperative relationship between the Cartel and the Imperium. Cohabitation, if you will. The Cartel would maintain semi-autonomous control of most your current territory, which coincidentally enough would be set up as a Special Economic Zone within the Imperium and run by someone...well, someone like me.

Drugs, gambling, prostitution: all of the galaxy's vices, conveniently located in one little corner of the Imperium. Crime across the Imperium would dwindle as folks are allowed to freely pursue even their most unethical and carnal desires - in a controlled environment. An environment controlled by me and you."

Roy watched Jack as he spoke, hoping to see the shine in the other man's eye that would show he could see the true potential on offer. He paused for a minute or two before he burst the bubble.

"Unfortunately, however, those with more power within my government would never agree to such a plan; they want blood, and will settle for nothing less than the complete eradication of your entire little merry band of outlaws and ne'er do wells. And I have the distinct feeling that something very similar could be said about Vero and the rest of his ilk."

Here's the kicker, the moment that all of this had been building up to. Roy felt almost giddy.

"Which is why, Mr. Jack Tamblyn, I am proposing a...change in management. For both of our respective organizations."

And there Roy stopped, waiting to see what Jack's reaction would be.

 

[Cassanova]

Jack nodded, listening intently. The plan was sound, a bit do or die for Jack's tastes. It seemed inflexible, not accounting for variables in any way. Jack knew this because he made the same mistakes twenty years ago when he began his rise to power. Nothing that a bit of coaching wouldn't allow for. Tambly was, after all, the season expert at destabilising the galaxy.

"A decent plan, Roy," Jack nodded, but offered an apologetic shrug, "But its flawed. Narrow minded. The level of control you seek only applies to those with money and ability to relocate to Hutt Space. Better still, is that the Imperium allows the Cartel into their borders to eradicate all non-approved crime. Cartel pays the Imperium's Crime Liason..." Jack politely gestured to the spymaster, "This is you, for this plan - the cartel pays you a tax on all these crimes - the type and variety of which are solely your decision to dictate."

Jack paused, knowing he was about to tread on incomparibly hallowed ground, "But I disagree that the managements need to be changed outright. Andraste, the psychotic woman - she-- she needs to go. She hasn't seen reason for the better part of fifteen years, and the only reason we are where we are now is for the more intelligent convincings by the likes of Arcturus and Vereor. They've been the only thing keeping her insanity at bay."

The Corellian, of course, had his own opinions about the Cartel also, but weren't quite so drastic, "The problem with the Cartel isn't that Vero is a bad leader, is that he lacks the business sense required to sit down and negotiate for mutual profit. Other Hutts on the Council do. Borga, a Hutt who I helped get where he is, would be a more than suitable replacement. Even without a change of role, I have more than enough grunt within the Cartel to nudge things onto the correct course." Jack nodded, matter-of-factly.

"My biggest hope for these things, Roy, are that we can accomplish mutual benefit without undue bloodshed. If the past ten years has shown us anything, its that more than enough people have paid with their lives to line our pockets," Jack felt a small pang of guilt for the destruction of Coruscant, but knew it was a necessary step to get where everyone was today.

Jack took a moment and tapped the elevator, drawing the two men back down towards the beach. Jack was thirsty, and it would not be quenched by the small nightcaps contained within a few hip flasks. "Let's not forget that you've not even touched on the now-scattering Jedi Order, who have an idiotic persistance for aggravating the galaxy, and making poor accomodation choices. The Rebellion, it may be small now, but it has more sway than you might think. They're making alot of friends - some of the remaining Mandalorian clans are nuzzling up to them."

A sigh escaped the Corellian's mouth as he motioned for Roy to follow him towards his ship for a much needed drink, "Even with an elongated timeline, we can't just annex Cartel space as a moneymaker for the Imperium. We don't even need to have puppets in the top seats, we need people who want the same things. Less blood, and more money."

Jack paused at the base of the loading ramp for the Nelletta-class freighter, motioning for Roy to go first, "Please, after you, Roy. I assure you that its a perfectly secure vessel. I'm certain that your abilities would tell you as much. I daren't have prying ears listening in on my activities. Least of all the private conversations of two businessmen such as ourselves."

A slight chuckle emerged from Jack's mouth as he recalled a certain bottle of lost-to-space-and-recovered hundred and fifty year old whiskey that he had bought, "I have a bottle of whiskey onboard that I'm certain you'll be interested in sampling..."

 

[Raif]

Royston followed Jack, nodding along as the man spoke and keeping his face completely impassive. In truth, though, there were a few moments where he almost burst out with laughter, but he didn't really think that would be the right tack to take for this conversation.

The Sith Lord bowed graciously as Jack showed him aboard his ship, casting out instinctively with the Force to check for hidden dangers, reinforcements, or listening devices. He didn't pause his stride, though, and to someone without the gift of the Force it would appear as if he walked in as confident as could be, no hesitation at all.

Roy waited for the liquor to be poured, but began speaking before taking a drink.

"First of all, my new friend, what makes you think that Ihaven't 'touched upon' the Jedi, as you so eloquently put it."

The Spymaster smiled mysteriously, bringing the glass to his lips finally and tasting the whiskey.

"Oh my...how expensive is this glass I'm holding, I wonder?"

Roy grinned as he asked the rhetorical question, confident that the value of just the amount of whiskey in his glass alone was well into the thousands of credits range.

"Secondly, while I appreciate your advice - that is, in no small part, why I'm here - I hope you take no offense when I say this: if you think I'm going to give the Cartel a free pass to operate with the Imperium's borders, you've lost your mind Jack Tamblyn."

Roy smiled broadly, hoping to take any potential sting out of his words.

"That being said, as is the case with everything in this galaxy, the specific details of our little arrangement are subject to a bit of negotiation."

Roy took another sip of the whiskey, visibly reacting to its exquisite taste. Once the serious business talk was over with, he would be sure to find out where Jack had purchased the bottle and buy the entire distillery. Once could never own too many alcohol-producing businesses, after all.

"One thing that is not so easily negotiated, at least as things stand now, is this: for this to work, there would have to be a serious shake up amongst your 'management team.' Vero's head on a platter is just about the only message that will be understood and accepted by many of my...peers. If Borga steps into the vacancy, more power to him.

But that is not something that we have to delve too deeply into just now. So at least in terms of the basics, you know what my plan. This...alliance...do you think it is something you can get behind?"

Before Jack could answer, Roy turned to the nearest bulkhead, holding his hands up as if he were framing some distant vista.

"Just picture it now: Spektor, Tamblyn & Associates, your one-stop-shop for Galactic Conquest."

 

[Cassanova]

The whiskey Jack had selected was one of eight that he had purchased off a Prospect Hutt's majordomo for a handsome fee. The whiskey had been onboard a cargo vessel when it was lost to some ambiguous disaster, and while the majority of the cargo was lost, nine bottles survived. The majordomo, in the interest of pleasing his idiot Hutt master, kept one bottle, but sold the remainder to Jack for, what he considered, a bargain. The whiskey, a Corellian limited batch, was distilled in the later years of 850ABY, was without word of a lie worth its weight in gold, enriched radioactive matter, and spice combined.

The occasion called for nothing less, of course.

Jack listened carefully to the Spymaster's plans and intents. There were differences of opinion about the correct procedure to accomplish things, but the endgame was there. Jack never shyed from profit, and found himself wanting to participate, if only to be involved in something more than setting up businesses for basic revenue streams to keep the Hutts fat, and the guns loaded. Jack knew that Royston may have assumed that Jack had grown bored in his success, and most likely tailored his speech to accomodate that, but beyond that - Jack knew things had to change, and he was only making waves inside the Cartel.

All this time Jack had remained dutifully silent, listening to the Spymaster deliver his seemingly well-rehearsed speech. Jack had plans to utilise his connections and business sense to avoid killing any of the Hutts who occupied the seats on the Council, so the quip about removing Vero's head would be dealt with on Jack's time at a later date, and the action would be far less drastic. At the end of the day, it seemed Roy and Jack were of the same mind, with similar motives and similar outcomes - as far as the Corellian could tell, anyway.

Nodding thoughtfully, Jack took a few steps towards a cabinet, and gently removed a second bottle, identical to the one he and Roy had been drinking from for these past few minutes. The Corellian Mogul took a moment to fashion a small bowtie out of a bar serviette that he stored next to the glasses (which cost 299c​ each, for Roy's benefit). Turning his attention back to the Spymaster, Jack walked slowly to him, to the small table that formed the center of the space. Gently placing down the bottle, and the bow infront of it, Jack then quietly extended an offer for a handshake.

"So who else is in this little band of duplicitous bastards of ours?"

 

[Raif]

When Jack turned and walked to the liquor cabinet, Roy seized the moment to let his mind dwell on a piece of just-delivered information which he hadn't allowed himself to react to just yet:

Jack Tamblyn, a man who was extraordinarily well-connected and thus a reasonably reliable source, just alluded in passing to the existence of a Rebellion against the Imperium.

The Royston Spektor of just weeks ago would have taken that piece of information and almost immediately run scurrying to deliver it to her. It would be instinctual, something that he'd been doing for so long that he wouldn't even think before heading for Bastion or Coruscant or wherever that crazy bitch was currently located.

But the Royston Spektor of this week, and this day...well, he wasn't in much of a scurrying mood anymore. And so Royston decided right then and there that word of the Rebellion's existence, as far as he was concerned, would pass no further.

For now, at least.

He finished ruminating on these thoughts as Jack placed the liquor bottle in front of him, bow tie and all.

"Jack, this is too much, you shouldn't have."

Roy acted humble and embarrassed for a moment longer, before shaking Jack's hand firmly. He then snatched up the bottle to give it a closer look while mulling over Jack's question.

He then paused his inspection of the label to look at Jack more closely.

"Is this one of the 850 Eight? That was you that bought them up? By the Force...I'm basically holding a star cruiser in my hands right now. I am impressed, Mr. Tamblyn"

Roy then set the bottle back down, giving Jack a raised eyebrow.

"The roster's privileged information, Jacky boy; if I told you, I'd have to kill you. And that would be detrimental to our cause, after all.

However, what I can tell you is that this little shindig is just getting started, so if you know any trustworthy individuals that can be helpful and reliable, well by all means let me meet them. The more the merrier, as long as people keep their mouths shut."

Of course, Roy didn't really mean exactly that; he'd been running and participating intelligence operations for long enough to know that the more mouths there were to start whispering secrets, the greater the chance for calamity.

However, he had to weigh that knowledge by the fact that, as it stood, he and his Coterie were woefully outnumbered.

 

[Cassanova]

Jack chuckled at Roy's awareness of the particularly sought after bottles of Corellian whiskey. Down to six and a half, Jack reminded himself. Roy and Jack were toasting left right and gentle with a bottle, and he had given one as a gesture of good faith to his new friend - hopefully a price not too high. This band of duplicitious intent that the Spymaster was brewing was dangerous indeed, not only to those who signed on, but even moreso who remained oblivious and ignorant of the kind of power that it could brew. Jack knew, even with just he and Roy working together, that the galaxy was in for a shakedown. With the other members that Royston was pulling in, presumably all with equally impressive contributions to be made, it was likely to be more dangerous for those who opposed this group. It was a comforting notion.

Roy's quip about the roster being privaledged information stung Jack's pride a little, but he knew better than most the cost of these games, and secrecy was utmost. Not only would Jack need to prove his worth to the cause, but those other members would too - long before any group therapy sessions started occurring. With a nod, understanding his place in this ubiquitous scheme, Jack continued, "I've got one or two people who may be of use for this operation..." Jack shifted his weight, a way to pause while his mind ran through situations, "...I'll need to vet them more thoroughly than I usually would, before I even put their name to the table, though."

He knew it was too sensitive to throw names about willy nilly, especially when such recommendations could prove to strengthen Jack as a member of the Spymasters little 'crew', or spin the spotlight around onto Jack as a liability. He wasn't about to do something as green as put his neck out for someone when the stakes were this high. There was more than just a paycheck riding on this now.

Shaking off the importance of what he had just signed onto, Jack turned his attention back to Roy, lifting his glass in a toast, "To profit, success, and governments who do what we want."

 

[Raif]

"Here, here!"

Roy raised his own glass to return the toast before taking a sip of the extraordinarily good - and expensive - liquor. He had no doubt that should Jack suggest any personnel additions to their operation they would be top-notch; if he had learned nothing else from the Corellian in their short - but hopefully very lucrative - time together, it was that he didn't skimp on anything.

The Sith smiled at Jack, verbalizing a train of thought that had been bouncing around his mind for a short while.

"I have to tell you, Jack - and I apologize in advance for waxing poetic - but I am amazed to have found in you someone so eerily similar to my own sensibilities. When I think at how successful we have each separately been in our own fields, the potential that we can achieve while teamed up like this...well, it almost seems a bit unfair for our opposition.

Not that I'm complaining, of course. As you know just as well as I, there's no such thing as a sure deal - but if you can stack the odds in your favor a bit, why not?"

Roy took another sip, feeling himself relax a bit. It was odd, looking back, at just how normal and mundane the moment had been. Shouldn't there have been some sort of epic crack of lighting to celebrate the joining of two such powerful forces?