After getting through a few private security checkpoints where Tachon's openly-carried blaster was confiscated, he finally made it to the meeting place. It turned out that the location was the courtyard of a private residential community on this city, where some of the more wealthy individuals could live in relative seclusion. It was in the middle of the delicately constructed domiciles that a man came out with a repulsor-lift-driven trolley with a limp droid perched atop it. The Iridonian frowned at the sight. He had been told that the droid was in good condition. This looked, well, serviceable at best.
"Tachon, I presume?" the man asked, breaking the train of thought.
"Yes," Tachon answered, "You're Remmill?" he asked.
"I am." came the answer. Zur-Ksi nodded.
Remmill Trask was a middle-aged-looking human, with a few tattoos visible from under the collar of his shirt. He had tan skin and dark hair, with brown eyes and a perplexingly friendly frown. He looked like the kind of individual who had seen his fair share of the universe and just wanted to live out the rest of his life in some semblance of peace. He dressed well, in sturdy pants, polished militaristic boots, a satiny fitted shirt, a shoulder cape that draped over his right arm and down as far as his hip, and finally fingerless dress gloves. The outfit, combined with his physical appearance, said ex-bounty hunter, ex-soldier, or a treasure hunter who got lucky for a long time.
"So you're interested in Tee-Eighty-Six, correct?" Remmill asked plainly.
"Yes, I've been looking for a droid to fill a certain role, and you made this one seem ideal," Tachon trailed off and his eyes flicked back toward the inoperable, somewhat rusted droid.
The concerned expression that played across the Iridonian's features brought an amused laugh from the older human, and then he broached the foot or two between them to clap the alien on the shoulder.
"Don't know much about old droids, do you, kid?" he asked rhetorically, then went on to explain, "T-series droids are ancient. This thing won't even plug into modern computer ports. It's in good shape, amazing even, for what it is," he patted the droid's 'head', "But if you want it running, then you have a project on your hands. Won't be any droid like it these days, I can guarantee you that." he looked the Iridonian up and down.
Tachon was, for lack of a better term, conflicted. On one hand, he had wholly expected an operational droid in need of a few parts updates and a programming upgrade. Instead he was faced with a droid that was who-knows-how-old, and would need to essentially be rebuilt. On the other, he had all the framework and shell he needed to get things started. With the personal investment he would have in this droid, it would likely be loyal to him like no other, and he could make sure of what went into it instead of taking the chance of some sleazy merchant ripping him off for credits and a lousy or disloyal machine. He frowned harder, then met the eyes of the human.
"How much?" he asked.
"Two hundred and fifty thousand, no negotiations." Remmill answered immediately.
The Iridonian tapped his thumb on his leg. That would eat away at half of what he had gotten from his encounter with Halcyon. He had been saving that money for something he needed. This droid could be that. Was it worth the risk?
"Done." Tachon answered, then tapped his datapad. The funds were wired to Trask, and the Iridonian moved to take the handle of the trolley.
"It's been a pleasure, enjoy the droid and you can keep the cart." the human said, then turned away and returned to his home, leaving Tachon significantly poorer and with a new pet project in his hands.
When Zur-Ksi returned to the Night Avril, night had fallen on Bespin and he felt the exhaustion of space travel and planetary travel weigh on him. He parked the inactive droid off to the side and locked his ship up tight, then fell into his cot for some restful sleep.
