Jefsa J'Feh

The anything-but sleek TUG-b13 was painted a slick chrome red, the yellow Mid Rim Archeological Exploits logo practically glowed on it’s blunted nose. The ship did not stand out that bad against the myriad of vessels that plowed the lanes about the Sith capital world of Onderon. Still, days spent alone in the cramped interior of the tug with that crate had left the sole pilot twitchy and paranoid. He was used to days and hours of solitude; but in a tug with that secretive crate strapped to the deck that seemed to radiate darkness was enough to drive anyone to the brink of madness. The sooner the crate was off the ship the better, the young dirty-haired blonde thought as he was hailed by air space control. Truthfully, the barely-a-man was nervous, he did not like the Sith Empire anymore than he liked the rebels. He was content being a ship jockey toting archeological finds back and forth from digs to museums to storehouses. It was grunt work, but for an uneducated bumpkin like himself, the pay was nothing to scoff at. So he pushed through the fear that gnawed at the base of his skull and keyed in his manifest, Corellian Artifacts circa the Corellian Revolt against the Rakata, supposedly. The recipient one Dr. Alibasi Zirtani of the Onderon Museum of History. Once the ship was cleared for approach, the boy breathed a sigh of slight relief. He was not sure why, but visiting such a daunting world he was just sure the codes had to be fraudulently obtained or worse; maybe they were waiting to kill him and steal his cargo once he landed. Subconciously, the pilot reached down to feel for the light blaster he carried on his thigh. The weight of the straps ought to have been enough to tell him the gun was still there, but right now, staring down at the hulking Sith throne world, he didn’t trust anything, much less himself, to know the truth. The crate in back was suspiciously humanoid in shape. It had been days earlier when the pilot had first considered the idea that there was some sort of mummified Corellian, or worse Rakatan, king inside. The closer he got to landing. The stronger the idea swarmed his mind. The only difference now is he just knew it was no Corellian or Rakatan, it was a Sith; some long dead Sith lord that they would undoubtedly use his blood to resurrect! By the time the tug settled onto it’s landing pad, the pilot could barely stand as his knees buckled beneath him and his hands twitches uncontrollably. Taking a deep breath, he fumbled with his safety straps for what felt like forever before they clattered to the side of his chair. Pushing himself up, the young man collapsed back into his chair before struggling to his feet. He grasped at the doorframe to keep from falling as he scurried and fell trying to get to the door. The sooner he got rid of the body/coffin/mummy/monster/thing, the better. Of course, he was still pretty sure he was going to die here. As the door hissed open, the boy fell to the deck below. With a gloved hand braced against one of the four hulking motors, the man stood and tried to smooth out his red pilot’s uniform as he surveilled his greeting party. “M.R.A.E. delivery, here with your mommy, er mummy.” He stammered trying in vain to offer what should have been a military salute. And still, the darkness that was inside his ship, whispered to him words of doubt and fear.

Galactic conflict had touched every tendril of the galaxy; even those where combat had not yet erupted or blood flowed in the streets. The hunger and fear permeated world after world until nigh the whole galaxy felt the pull of the void it left in it’s wake. Companies that used to turn a profit based in peace reconfigured their productions for war. Shipping magnate’s adapted to the new normal as routes were secured and defensive measures weighed against the cost of profit. Lives were blinked in and out existence and fortunes made and lost at the turn of the darkness’ whim. Through it all, the core of survival of the fittest persevered. And so it was, even to the farthest fringes of the galaxy. Beneath the murky waters of Taris lurked a sucker-clad being of tendrils and wealth. Far from the galactic turmoil, he, nevertheless, had a front row seat to the atrocities and opportunities that followed in the wake of the Sith and Rebel armadas. Wherever they went, destruction flowed in their path and need and desire sprouted as kindred choking vines to be pruned back. They carried in their bowels destruction; but within the turmoil they also carried the gift of technology. Through the countless hyperbet and holonet relays, along unsecured video feeds and audio transcripts, the cephalopod of opportunity spread his suckered tentacles of power and control. In a vacuum where the monopoly of wealth was a survival mechanism, he reigned an unseen king. Here on Corellia, the one Jefsa J’feh had an even greater advantage. The visage he had built his entire undertaking under claimed to have hailed from this world. In truth, Booster Rann was no more a Corellian than he was an apparition pulled from the darkest depths of the holonet. He was no more real than the truths espoused by either side of the galactic war; but tell that to the countless people who had been generously paid by him. Tell that to those who would swear on the lives of their dearest family members that they had met him. Try to tell any sane beat cop that the myriad of small businesses that spanned the galaxy were coordinated by a aqua-bound orphan from the sewers of Coruscant. You would get the same response regardless. You were crazy and probably needed your meds checked. Still, truth was stranger than fiction and in this web of murky realities verisimilitude carried the day. It had not been long after the dust had settled and the chaos of the battle’s aftermath reigned that enterprising spacers began to descend to the world, peddling their simple survival wares as if they were long lost treasures. Money flowed as locals clamored to buy or trade anything of value for the simplest of things. Nothing was off the table. Slaves were bought, information sold, innocence lost, and priceless heirlooms pawned. It was in this web of wheeling and dealing that the priceless treasures of the war began to float to the surface. Those that did not know what they had, only what they sought, were more than willing to pawn for what they felt a right price the goods abandoned by the war. For once they were out of sight, they were soon forgotten as food was ravaged and homes and lives repaired. All of of these goods, consumed and attained in the names of commerce and consumerism were loaded up and hauled offworld, sold to knowing bidders and investors, released to begin lives anew free from the bonds of servitude, or warehoused until the market called for them at an exponential price. Corellia would begin to heal and the backs that brought healing bore the weight of their good deeds and trickery. Through it all, none felt the creeping tendrils of suckers that popped and clicked with each credit earned manipulating the aftermath to his own advantage; turning away only when the world had returned to a semblance of normal and his pockets were lined with blood and wealth.

Nonchalantly a pair of Delivery-class freighters reverted to realspace above the fledgling crime world of Mon Cal. All four Corellian crewman responsible for the two ships tensed as the azul orb settled into view. The world had been a stronghold of all things right and righteous for too long to assuage fears of a trap. Still, the pay was too good to turn back now; too good to ask too many questions either; too good to be just delivering Gunga-glow to the watery world. The less than upstanding spacers knew better than to ask. They’d been delivering for far too long for the company and had grown accustomed to a certain level of living as they jetset about the galaxy delivering all manner of ‘cosmetics’ to some of the most unusual venues in the galaxy. Clearance with customs went easily and upon landing, quick visual inspections of the ships’ manifests were all the security seemed interested in, half-heartedly so. Truth be told, the guards had long since been paid off to avoid looming too closely; it was a perk of doing business with someone like Nok Morliss. It was a perk of being Jefsa J’feh. Nobody thought to question the reclusive portly Corellian, Booster Rann, the man was due a coronary any day now, and as long as his shipments kept arriving on time, who cared? The man even took a cut of his own profits to help fund humanitarian ventures where they could be found and his company, Gunga-glow, sponsored several exotic beauty pageants for the less fortunate of the galaxy. The winners tended to go on to trans-galactic competitions and do unusually well in competitions. Another perk of doing business with a world-controlling being was that forgery only needed to be skin deep. Inside each box, clearly labelled as cosmetics, were crates full of balo mushrooms and spores. There were no false bottoms, no legitimate crates for too-curious port inspectors. The crewmen practically knew they were smugglers, they did not ask or snoop. Folks who did, usually didn’t last long. The less they knew the better. Soon enough an entourage of local hired help were offloading the ships. Payment had been handled. As soon as the ships were offloaded, all they had to do was leave. The cargo was no longer their concern. Whatever the fish heads wanted with the cosmetics was none of the deliverymen’s concern.

"I hope the delivery is intact." Fuzz oozed with a less-than-trustworthy smile, taking the docket and flipping through it and nodding before taking the Cathar's furred paw in his own cool reptilian hand briefly before pulling it back and surreptitiously wiped it on rag hanging on his leather belt alongside his skin-tight black bantha leather pants. "You are late enough as it is and Booster's customers are anxiously awaiting their delivery." With a wave of his hand, a small army of ASP-series droids grated and squeaked towards the ship to offload the Gunga-Glow; a series of "Affirmative" and "Yes" echoed across the bay's walls. Turning, Fuzz ran his hand over his bald head and down his ponytail, gesturing Chess to fall into step with him. Walking out of the docking bay he continued to speak in his smooth-boarding-on-the-edge-of-sleazy voice, "Now.....about that other business," he whispered as he held out a credit chit to Chess, "For services rendered." Then producing a second chit he looked Chess in the eyes and inclined his head at Chalum's Cantina down the way a short distance, "For futrue services."

ChessRo's datapad dings announcing the arrival of an incoming message scrambled all across the galaxy. last known waypoint: Tatooine.

"Huh?" The heavyset woman turned, her weight spinning her just a fraction to far as she stopped herself facing the Cathar. "Well bread my backside and call me a bantha steak" she responded as a smile spread acors her sweat covered face as her eiyes settled on Chess. "You must be the replacement pilot Booster said was coming? But where are your copilots? Booster said you had a crew of some sort." She craned her head to look past Chess looking for Chess' supposed comrades. Shrugging her shoulders as the last of the packages were loaded up, she slapped her hand on the exterior hull of the ship, "Ship here is full of Gunga-glow. The boss doesn't want anyone sampling it en route. Just take this to Tatooine where you'll be met by someone name Fuzz. You'll get paid once the shipment is there safely." As she spoke the Zabrak began waddling off, clearly intent on being anywhere but the dirty dusty docking bay, "I don't need the stuff personally, she continued wiping a bead of sweat off her forehead, "I'm more of an aw nat-urr-al type of girl after all. Heaven knows you could use some though." before slipping around the corner and out of site leaving Chess as the only sentient standing in the docking bay. Thankfully the ship's codes had been left on a slip of paper taped to the control console of the ship. Having loaded all of the crates aboard, the pit droids stood looking back and forth arguing with each other in a series of indistinguishable beeps and bonks that quickly devolved into one droid chasing the other with a cartoonishly large wrench.

Docking Bay 36 was a simple docking bay, almost identical to the 35 preceding it and the countless afterwards save for the unique patterns of blaster burns that marked a different neogitiation-gone-poorly in almost every single one or the worn and chipped duracrete. THere was a wide yawning opening for moving the larger goods in and out of the bay along a central pathway patrolled by a hodgepodge of miscreant guards, thugs, and criminal-wannabes from all manner of races and affiliations. Undoubtedly many were on the payroll of the Hutt overlords as well as whoever their 'primary' employer' happened to be. Sitting, nestled rather comfortably on the dust and sand covered floor was a stripped down Zeta-cargo shuttle painted with a glaring advertisement for the newest product to hit the market in weeks: Gunga-glow. Undoubtedly that was what the dozen or so pit droids were moving from a duo of grav-sleds into the cavernous interior of the ship's storage areas. With the weapon systems removed the ship had even more room to cram crates of supplies in every nook and cranny. Overseeing the droids and shouting at a particularly clumsy one who had just toppled over and open a crate of the precious liquid, now soaking into the sandy floor, was a disgustingly portly one armed Zabrak woman covered in an array of equally disgusting jiggling blue tattoos. "No you mindless metal miscreant! How hard can it be! Pick up the kriffing box and put it in the ship!! You do not need to show your brainless robo-friends how you can balance it on your head! 'Cause obviously you can't!!" After attempting, and failing at trying to bend over herself to pick up some of the spilled containers, the woman stood back up, hitching her sagging circus-tent like drawers back up, settling for an angry kick in the direction of the offending droid, missing by a wide margin as the spindly droid stepped out of the way to scurry after another crate to load.

Jefsa bubbled the equivilant of an ocotpi smile as he accessed the message. There was no way he would be attending such a thing himself. His entire business had been built under the image of an aged overweight Corellian; one Booster Rann. There was no way that even these Black Sun lackeys knew who he was in truth. Just the way he liked it. Chances were, they did not even know where their message had arrived. Taris = maybe? This watery hole = not likely. Another of Jefsa's innumerable invisible safety measures. Still, this was an opportunity that could not be passed up. Maybe this was a good chance for him to exand his horizons. THere was that Cathar he had been monitoring that was currently on Nal Hutta. More bubbles. The irony was not lost on him, the calamari commanding the cat. Even less reason to suspect an unsuspecting non-humanoid sea creature flitting about Taris' backwaters. Oh yes. I will be present. he thought as he dispatched a highly encrypted comm to one Chess Ro, bouncing it all over the galaxy, specifically Corellia and Tatooine and then another along the same path to the Black Sun Agent: my dealings take me far from Tatooine at the allotted time; but I will have my representative meet you as soon as possible.

A message chimed into Chess' comlink: Having bounced all over Taris from Coruscant to Corellia to Tatooine before arriving at Chess' comlink, tracking it wouold take time. Too much time and effort to find the true master of the con. Anyone that dug deeply enough would find the messages, bank accounts, and any other information all led to an older, heavyset Corellian named Booster Rann - current whereabouts: UNKNOWN.

In one of the countless ruined districts of the planetwide cityscape of Taris, parked beneath an algae covered still body of putrid water, lay the Multi-Environment Vehicle Stillwater Mining, salvaged from a long defunct mining corporation. The name of the ship now the name of the company emblazoned in fading paint across the hull. There really was not much to draw one's attention to the ship that had been setting for who-knew-how-long beneath the still waters. Inside, however, was something completely different. One could be forgiven for thinking the ship was one of any other dozens pieces of wreckage and debris scattered about the ruined district. Inside the ship was just as watery as outside; though inside the water was of a much purer variant; run through several modified purifiers, aerating the otherwise still water within. Inside this hulk of a ship, a strange red-skinned beast skittered across the walls and floor, eight suckered tentacles oozing and popping subtley through the water. Nearby, in a long abandoned structure, the aged computer mainframe still whirred with life. Though no one stood at its controls and no external wiring running off into the shadows. Aside from the power supply, the computer stood alone. Once a sentinel of knowledge, now a forgotten repository. From his watery home, the cephalopod remotely accessed the mainframe, bouncing his signaled message to a series of civilian and military towers and transponders across the planet before sending the message out into the cold depths of space. From there the message bounced from Coruscant to Tatooine and several other planets, ships, and installations between; by the time the message got where it was intended, days would have passed and a trace back here, to this abandoned computer mainframe would be next to impossible.

On holofeeeds across the galaxy, a new advertisement begins playing during the regularly scheduled breaks between daytime talkshows, and at the most inopportune moments during night time dramas. The camera pans over an idyllic swamp-like pond, deep green trees and underbrush stretching high into the sky offscreen. Deep within an ancient world. Guarded by an ancient people. A secret. A deep masculine voice smoothly narrates. The camera pans about the lake to a small wooden dingy where two attractive humans lounge lazily. Their skin positively aglow; the picture definition of beauty. The man and woman are smiling and laughing flirtily clinking drinks together, as their fishing poles stretch out over the water awaiting that ever fateful bite. Until now..... The scene quickly fades out, replaced by a strangely voluptuous attractive Gungan beneath a waterfall. The twinkling music of the advertisement gone as two words splash across the screen with an excited shout: GUNGA - GLOW Guaranteed to smooth away wrinkles and return that healthy attractive glow you crave. the man’s voice returns. Effective in just two treatments. See results IMMEDIATELY! A holonumber flashes at the bottom of the screen along with the price of 29.99 credits. Call today! Two bottles of a creamy pink lotion with the image of the same voluptuous Gungan on them appear on the screen, labelled GUNGA-GLOW Be one of the first 10,000 callers and receive not only your exclusive bottle of Gunga-glow but we’ll throw in a second bottleABSOLUTELY FREE That’s right! Call today and receive not one, but two full bottles of Gunga-glow for the price of one! And today only, shipping is free! GUNGA–GLOW CALL NOW *Not tested on Wookiees, Zeltrons, or desert-dwelling household pets. Has been shown to cause abnormal phosphorescence in users of The Dark Side. For External Use Only. If ingested, contact your nearest medical center immediately.

JEFSA J’FEH’S CHARACTER SHEET IDENTITY Real Name: Jefsa J’feh A.K.A. Booster Rann Homeworld: Coruscant Species: J’feh PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Age: 16 Height: 2 feet Tentacle Length: 6 feet Weight: 195 lbs Eyes: Reddish gray Skin Color: Red Sex: Male Other: Able to breath underwater but not above. EQUIPMENT: Clothing/Armor:None Weaponry: None save for powerful suction cup lined tentacles and a spew of inky black sludge Common Inventory: A cybernetic implant hidden beneath his tentacle folds near his mouth that allows him to remotely access nearby un- or weakly encrypted computer systems. The only signs of any enhancements are the miniature antennae array jutting out of the back of his head about 2 inches. Several mismatched expensive rings and bands spread across his tentacles, scavenged from failed engagement proposals, jewelry lost whilst washing dishes, and other accidents. FACTION INFORMATION: Force User: No Alignment: Neutral Evil Current Faction Affiliation: Black Sun Current Faction Rank: Information Broker/Small Arms Dealer/Fence HISTORY: Force Side: N/A Trained by: None, self-trained via holofilms and the holonet Known Skills: Computer Operations to include some hacking. Swimming (obviously). Interior Decorating. Business/Marketing. BACKGROUND Jefsa J’feh is only known by his chosen name Booster Rann (a Corellian name, because who would ever want to do business with an octopus?). Jefsa was born from an eggsack deep in the bowels of Coruscant. He spent the first several years of his life skirting the waterways of the planet, latching on to any lost piece of technology that made its way down the drains all around the planet – which was surprisingly a lot, though a large percentage did not seem to work anymore. As a young squidling, Jefsa was infatuated with the technology. Over time, he was able to master the art of advertising through countless hours of holonet viewing. When he wasn’t surfing the holoweb, Jefsa was exploring the waterways of Coruscant; which were innumerable. Not fond of the dianoga he occasionally encountered, he still was able to follow their pathways; eventually landing him in a water tank for an outgoing spacecraft. Barely surviving the ordeal, Jefsa eventually was able to escape when the ship made port again; disappearing into the waterways of the much more polluted industrial world of Taris. On Taris, Jefsa was able to begin slowly manipulating unsecured bank accounts, transferring funds, opening accounts, and buying and selling stocks, bonds, and businesses. Eventually, Jefsa found himself in control of a small diverse grouping of businesses majoring in the production of toiletries, mostly. Moving small shipments of illicit materials along with his shipments or helping fugitives (good and bad) get away from justice. To date, no one at any of Jefsa’s shell companies have ever seen him or have even heard his watery gargle of a voice. Instead, they’ve been contacted by one Booster Rann, a Corellian businessman with business all over the outer rim, mostly in scented soaps. A holo-projection of a lightly graying heavyset man and a voiceover were all they ever met; little did they know it was all a clever ruse to allow the decidedly non-human to manipulate his business ventures behind the scenes with little concern for the blatant racism throughout the galaxy. OWNED/CONTROLLED COMPANIES: -Gungaglow -Stillwater Mining -Tri-star Area Secret Shoppers Network -Core Cosmetics -Exotic Twi’ Beautification Enterprises -Alderaan Number Four Four -Mid Rim Archeological Exploits -Desert Beauty -Varl Body Cleanse Napkins - formerly doing business as Hutt Wipes -Dantooine Long-Term Storage Contracts -Quadrant Wars Remediation & Rectification -Fowl Foul Fasers SHIP REGISTRATION Name: Stillwater Mining Class: Multi-Environment Vehicle Model: Space Boat Manufacturer:Sienar Systems Length: 30 meters Armaments: 2 double laser cannons, Tractor Beam Projector Armor: Double Layed Durasteel Plating. Standardized Shielding Anti-Personnel Defenses: None Other: Able to function in space, atmosphere, and underwater. Appearance: Appears almost identical to a Skipray Blastboat, only a bit bulkier to accommodate the ships compliment of Modifications: The interior of the ship is waterproofed, carrying a supply of freshwater inside. The air purifiers have been modified to purify and oxidize the water inside instead. Technical specifications Engine unit(s): 1 - Repulsorlift 1 – Sublight drive Hyperdrive rating: Class 0.5[1] Sensor systems: Energy-wave detector, Radar, Sonar Complement: 2 speeder-rafts, 6 glider-sails Cargo capacity: 150 metric tons