Docked at Mora; let the Commerce Commense!

"So you jump back to Fornice. That is fortunate for me. I will keep the stateroom, then. I may find clues there, but I am thinking so far that I should get to 'Palique' as soon as I can. If you are willing, I may take a fast-liner from Fornice; and perhaps you can rendezvous with me there. Or I may leave a message for you..."

CONTACT: "Birstag Foshba" plus a comm number, no address.

Back at Miss Fortune, Tamm calls the contact he's been given.

"Hello, I am Tamm. Is this Birstag Foshba?" Assuming Tamm has reached Foshba, Tamm is direct and to the point.
"Someone told me that you have some cargo that needs transport. Let us work out an agreement that will benefit both of us."

Scene: The Rusty Ring – Deck -2 Highport, Evening

The door sighed shut behind the courier as she cut across the room like someone chasing the last shuttle out. Behemoth Leather jacket shimmering under the rusty neon, silver stars embroidered along the shoulders like merit badges from a life mismanaged.

LC stood as she approached, smoothing his jacket with one hand and offering a smile that looked genuine enough to pass inspection.

LC (with warmth without the usual sarcasm):
"Miss Ting, I gather? Word travels quickly in these parts — especially when it's shared over a bottle and a grudge. Oberlindes left you stranded, did they? Shocking. They used to strand me too — usually at the bar tab."

[He gestures toward a cracked booth with just enough cushioning to pass for civility.]

"Please. Sit. Let’s see if Miss Fortune can do better by you."

[Once she's seated, he leans in — not aggressively, but like someone willing to listen.]

"We’re bound for Fornice, and you’re in luck — we’re still taking passengers. Since You board tonight, you’re guaranteed a stateroom and decent coffee.

Standard High Passage fare — 10,000 credits. Early boarding, given your...time sensitivity, adds 1,000 credits."

[He taps gently at his dataslab, then looks up again — not stern now, but curious, thoughtful.]

"You strike me as someone used to moving quickly — or someone with good reason to.

Which is it, Miss Ting? If we’re going to break routine for you, I’d just like to know… are we helping you get somewhere?

Or helping you leave something behind?"

[He lets that hang a beat — soft, not accusatory — just the kind of question someone like LC would ask to gauge risk… or trouble worth helping. Then, back to business.]

"If you’re traveling as yourself, no problem. But should you wish to alter the paperwork — no judgment — we offer two options:

Alias Registration with proper chipwork and departure log rekeying — 2,500 credits.
Or just a simple manifest alias — 750 credits. Name shuffle only, no forgeries involved."

[He flashes a lopsided smile — part empathy, part salesmanship.]

"We’re not Oberlindes, Miss Ting. We’re a little rougher on the trim, but we don’t lose passengers in waiting lounges."

[Then, with a look toward his companions:]

"Bronz — or Said-Ma — one of you mind escorting Miss Ting back to the ship? Let the crew know she’s a high-passage berth. And maybe have someone clear out Stateroom Four — again."

[He raises his glass slightly toward Thessa as if to toast her decision, then settles back, datapad in hand, ready to log the transaction and whatever tale she offers.]
------------
Later after the interaction with Miss Ting
LC to Miss Brinley — in person, later that evening, back at the Velvet Cell lounge nook:

Rains enters quietly, tipping his head toward Brinley with a tired but genuine smile.

LC:
"Evening, Brin. Got a name for you: Thessa Ting. Looks like a stick figure with synthskin, wearing enough Behemoth Leather to fund a patrol corvette. Got that cyber-bag with the blue pulse light too — like she wants to be noticed by a Naval inspection drone.

She’s booked passage with me — but something’s twitching. The legal sensors in my gut are chirping like they smell a sealed indictment nearby. You hear anything about her? Anyone she’s run from — or run over?"

(If Miss Ting selected to pursue a cover name then the below on actions to procure credentials)
[He slides a data chit across the table — nothing overt, just a tiny file packet. Then, quieter:]

"If she needs travel under a different name, I might need your stable’s help — forged papers, new chip, a wink from port security. As always — discretion compensated."

[LC leans back, folds his hands behind his head, and watches her eyes for the real answer.]

---------
Later in response to "Shaky" and Mr. LeFrontaine:

📡 Outbound Passenger Confirmations: Miss Fortune – Fornice Run
TO: "Shaky"
VIA: Secure Link (Olle's Relay Proxy)

Shaky,

Middle Passage acknowledged and reserved. One berth, one standard luggage unit. No questions asked beyond airlock integrity and galley etiquette.

Departure window opens within 36 hours. Be at Dock G-12 no later than one hour prior to flight prep. Bring your ID. If it doesn’t match your voice, I’ll pretend I didn’t notice — unless you give me a reason to notice.

— L.C. Rains
Captain, Miss Fortune
---------

TO: Monsieur Theo LeFrontaine
VIA: Encrypted Comm, Brinley Circuit

Monsieur LeFrontaine,

High Passage for two — granted and logged. Staterooms 1 and 2 will be yours for the duration. I’ll see to it that the stewards do not embarrass themselves, and I’ve made the ship’s accommodations to your specifications.

Expect private boarding ramp access and non-intrusive customs handling. Your stated gratuity is appreciated, and your discretion is assumed.

Boarding begins the evening of the 19th. Dock G-12, private lane. Ask for Rains — they’ll point to the man with the drink in hand and the regret in his eyes.

— L.C. Rains
Captain, Miss Fortune
----------

LC then sends a ship encrypted comms to Said-Ma and Kayla about the passengers, who they are, their expectations, and to use the ships funds for adding a bit to the stores (Liquor, Champaign and chocolates).

LC works on the boards to procure the following goods and have them loaded NLT the 18th.

Manifest Lockdown – Cargo Acquisition for Fornice Run

LC stepped out of the Rusty Ring and keyed up the local trade terminal outside Olle’s. The screen flickered with the Highport Commercial Exchange seal — flickered again — then finally settled into a grimy login prompt that smelled of ozone and bureaucratic compromise.

He inserted his ID wafer, passed the retina check (after wiping the lens), and keyed in the Miss Fortune’s active cargo capacity.

With a half-empty tumbler in hand and a growing headache behind his left eye, he began stamping offers like a man paying overdue taxes:

→ PURCHASE: Mixed Lot – Kaffe, Tea, & Brewables (15 dTons @ 6,000 Cr/ton)

Status: Confirmed, Six Containers (2.5 tons each)

Terms: Full payment, bonded manifest

Comments: "Sealed containers, ideally no smell leaks. Bronz hates the Earl Grey."

Total: Cr 90,000

→ PURCHASE: Mixed Lot – Natural Dyes & Colorants (10 dTons @ 7,000 Cr/ton)

Status: Confirmed, 10 Pallets

Terms: Palletized with QR manifest tags

Comments: "Label as ‘Textile Chemicals’ if Customs gets twitchy."

Total: Cr 70,000

→ PURCHASE: Frozen ‘Gourmet’ Seafood (35 dTons @ 7,500 Cr/ton)

Status: Confirmed, 7'sealed' Reefers (5 tons each)

Terms: Includes cryo-hold stabilization and temp monitoring system link to ship core

Comments: "Tell the cook it’s not for immediate consumption. I don’t want another pufferfish incident."

Total: Cr 262,500

LC confirmed the purchase orders, locked in payment disbursements, and set pick-up for Dock G-12 within the next 12 standard hours. Each lot would be loaded by port haulers with biometric verification upon container seal.

Final Tally: Cr 422,500 — Fully Paid.


He closed the slate, muttered something profane about seafood handling permits, and started the walk back toward Miss Brinley’s — still enough time to pick up one last rumor before the reefer trucks arrived.

I think I owe a streetwise roll for the credential change for Miss Thessa Ting? LC will front up to 500 Cr to start the process knowing it can go much, much higher. All fees will be passed onto Ms. Ting.

[LC Rains straightens his cuffs, eyes narrowing just a fraction as he regards Thessa Ting with a blend of professional courtesy and the faintest shade of amused calculation.]

"Ah, Courier. That does somewhat recontextualize your... presence. I assumed from your reticence you were either fleeing a wedding or smuggling the groom. My apologies — or congratulations, as applicable."

[He tilts his head slightly, gaze briefly flicking to the reinforced chain on her jacket.]

"Let the record reflect that Ms. Ting may, in fact, be carrying both a legitimate cargo and an unofficial jawline. I trust the augmentist was paid in full, regardless of results."

[He taps a few keys on a slate.]

"Given your disclosure and our new understanding, I’m prepared to accept the 300 credits per night, retroactive to your arrival date. That covers lodging-class berth rights, early access, and storage prep if needed. I will, however, require verbal confirmation that departure on the 20th of May is acceptable. That date is hard-burned — we've already filed jump plans with Mora Star Port Authority and paid for our slot at the outbound vector. Moving it would involve either bribery or ritual sacrifice. I’m disinclined to either. Will we have any problem with the documentation on your passport? I don't want any hold ups when I submit my passenger list and crew passports for Fornice."

LC pauses for a moment then adds;
"I will have to do some quick work for the Imperial Quarantine Form 137-A: Starship Health and Biosecurity Declaration (SHBD)."

[He raises his eyes again, voice dry.]

"And as for your destination and clientele — rest assured, Miss Ting, I’ve cross-examined senators with fewer secrets than you wear on your jacket. You keep yours; I’ll keep the ship flying straight."

[He offers a sardonic half-smile.]

"Just know that if the decorative chain starts speaking, I reserve the right to renegotiate."

Previously: You go to Fornice. We have shipment for that destination. You must deliver to household of Count Frederick Santanocheev. Direct ship, no intermediaries. Pay 5x standard freight. 5,000cr, 1 ton goods. Direct delivery only. Can do?"

"Yes, can do. Tamm will contact the Fortune to see when we can take delivery."

Tamm contacts LC directly. Tamm informs the seller LC's plan to load during a 3rd shift, hoping the seller agrees. Tamm tells LC the rest of the plan in person. If there are issues about the money, Tamm will use his personal funds.

Tamm is hoping to take advantage of Leilani's title when it's time to deliver the goods.

At the mention of showing Miss Tang to the ship and her stateroom, Bronz stared back at LC, offering nothing more than a raised eyebrow at the idea of playing steward. Otherwise, his face remained unreadable.

Once the payment was settled, he did as asked and escorted Miss Tang back to Miss Fortune with the same quiet efficiency he brought to everything else. He spoke only when necessary, offering just enough conversation to meet the expectations of the role but not a word more.

UPDATED
When Tamm brings this to LC;
[LC Rains stands with arms folded, datapad idle at his side, voice calm but pointed.]

"Tamm... I appreciate the initiative. (smile) I truly do. Lucrative, high-demand contraband — sorry, luxury neurotech interface modules — and we’ve got an aristocrat buyer lined up with enough clout to buy silence or immunity. That’s the kind of personal venture that keeps this ship in the black and the crew drinking solvent-grade liquor instead of bootwash."

------------UPDATED Add----------
LC hesitates and then adds
"I appreciate the initiative to front your own funds, but that is unnecessary. I appreciate the gesture, but the Miss Fortune has the funds for this."
-------------------

[He glances toward the portside cargo bay, expression cooling.]

"But I need to be clear: I’m not letting us shoulder the customs heat. If this Count’s synth-voiced lackey wants goods on the move, then they make the delivery — past port security, into our cargo hold, without triggering every alarm between here and the bonded freight vault. If they can’t do that, they’re not ready for export work."

[He flicks a finger on the datapad, pulling up port operations schedules.]

"Now, as for timing: third shift may sound clever, but I’ve worked starport enforcement, and that’s the time when customs compensates for low staff with maximum surveillance. Cameras, AI behavior profiling, passive motion tracking — and worst of all, the rookies on graveyard shifts with something to prove."

[He taps the datapad once more, highlighting midday operations in bold.]

"Busy is better. When loaders are screaming at each other, customs is half-asleep, and scanners are five manifests behind — that’s when you move your crate. One mislabelled box in a sea of mislabelled boxes. That’s when mistakes don’t matter."

[He looks up, tone final but not unfriendly.]

"So, you tell your synth-throated friend this: if they want our jump vector and transponder tied to their black-bag delivery, they take the risk. They get it to our ramp, clean and unflagged, during peak-hour chaos. We’re not running hot just to be clever. We’re running smart."

[He nods slightly in a positive manner.]

"And if they balk, we walk. Plenty of barons want forbidden toys delivered. Not all of them expect us to do the smuggling and the shipping."

[LC Rains doesn’t look up from the datapad as Bronz returns, but the corner of his mouth twitches into what might generously be called a smirk.]

"Efficient as ever, Mr. Bronz. I noted the eyebrow — subtle, yet expressive. Had we been in a courtroom, I’d have logged it as a formal objection."

[He finally glances up, eyes sharp but amused.]

"Consider it noted: your steward rotation remains purely honorary. I’d assign Kayla, but the last time she escorted a passenger we lost three stateroom towels and gained a religious pamphlet."

[He shifts tone slightly, more sincere beneath the sarcasm.]

"Thanks for handling it. Miss Ting’s not your typical berth-filler. She’s got more secrets than luggage and better posture than a Zhodani diplomat. Your quiet watchfulness will either reassure her... or confirm her worst suspicions. Either suits me."

[He returns to his slate, adding one final comment with a dry chuckle.]

"If she tries to access engineering, feel free to raise both eyebrows, or escort her to the nearest airlock...."

LC then moves a glass of expensive dry whiskey that Bronz would recognize is known on Mora for it's smoky quality that it is known for without overpowering the other elements of its robust flavor profile.
"I hope this compensation is acceptable for the task."

[LC Rains, standing beside a crate half-labeled and twice argued over, glances up from his datapad as Tharrok passes.]

"Much appreciated, Tharrok. Those Low Berths wouldn’t know discipline if it bit them, so having someone who understands grav vector drift and sarcasm handling the pickup is a relief."

[He watches the Vargr walk away, ears a touch low, tail not quite wagging.]

"…And for what it’s worth? Efficiency is a team act, mate. You flew us in clean, held orbit while I sweet-talked customs into believing our ‘vintage textiles’ weren’t coded for export embargo, and didn’t even snarl when the Port Warden called our ship a ‘well-aged tub.’"

[LC pauses, then calls out with just enough volume to carry.]

"Oh, and Tharrok? That Jokotre wine lead—good catch. Next time we route back, you’re co-lead on the deal. I want those churchy bottles in noble hands and your claws in the profit margin."

[He smiles faintly, returning to his paperwork.]
"Enjoy the sonic. Just don’t hog all the hot ions."

Before Tharrok heads off to the showers,
"Please file the flight plan to Fornice filed under our standard freight priority routing. Declare us as a bonded courier carrying sensitive sealed cargo—reference clause 3.7(b) of the Deneb Port Manual if anyone starts flapping about manifests. Use the sidereal schedule out of Emerald if possible; Fornice likes their arrivals quiet and timely."

To: Tamm
"The ‘special cargo’ arrives dockside sometime between third and fourth bell—no name, just a crate with more paperwork than sense. I want two layers of security: pick crew members you need on perimeter detail and I’ll need you personally to verify the biometric seals on-site. If anything looks out of spec, lock it down and page me before you even blink. We’re walking the line with this one."

[He pauses, then adds dryly.]
"If anyone from Port Authority asks too many questions, tell them it's agricultural. Everyone hates checking vegetables. "