The Ferengi world had a way of making every conversation feel like a negotiation, even before anyone sat down at the table. The promenade below the café windows was full of traders, brokers, contract clerks, and people who had learned not to ask too many questions about cargo that arrived without a proper manifest.

It was exactly the kind of place where a capable person could disappear into the crowd, or be found by someone who knew what they were looking for.

Zedd had taken a table in a quiet upper-level café overlooking the docking lanes, far enough from the main traffic that the only sounds reaching him were the muted thrum of commerce and the occasional scrape of a chair across the floor.

A PADD rested untouched beside his drink, holding the brief file he had received on Betes Hunt. Zedd had read it twice. It told him enough to justify the meeting, but not enough to offer a position without hearing the man speak for himself. Records could list experience. They did not reveal whether someone could keep a crew focused when a job turned dangerous, whether they knew when to press an advantage, or when to pull people back before a bad situation became a fatal one.

The Dutchman needed a Combat Chief. Not just another person who could carry a weapon, but someone who could take ownership of security, weapons readiness, boarding response, and the disciplined preparation that prevented a crew from improvising at the worst possible moment.

Zedd took another measured drink of coffee and glanced once toward the entrance.

He had left the PADD face down. There would be time for terms, shares, and obligations after he had decided whether Betes Hunt was the right fit for his ship.

For now, he waited.

Betes Hunt entered the cafe, suspiciously looking around the room. In his line of work, you never knew who was setting you up for something you did or didn't do in the past. Prior to entering, he had checked the perimeter several times. Moving towards the counter, he ordered a drink while scanning the room. Spotting his contact at one of the tables, he walked over. "Captain Zedd Sykes."

While Zedd was nervous as to whom may be listening, he didn't show it. Only one person knew to look for him here. "Betes Hunt, I presume. Why don't you take a seat and join me? I'm glad you made it."

The Captain motioned to the chair across from him and then looked past to make sure no one had followed the other man in. The place was busy for sure but that was a good thing, enough noise and activity to allow for distractions of those wanting to potentially eavesdrop.

Sitting across from Zedd, the younger man allowed himself to smile. It was nice to know that the man across from him was just as cautious. Which meant that this typically wasn't a trap. "My contact tells me that you're in need of a Combat Chief."

"I do" Zedd said. "I need someone with an edge, experience, someone willing to fight in situations we find ourselves that may exist in more... gray areas shall we say. Contracts where we may have to look the other way when there's enough latinum to justify. Except for anything involving any form of slavery or trafficking of humanoids. That I don't do."

The Captain took another sip of coffee before continuing "Why don't you tell me your background and how you feel about all that."

Hunt nodded in approval to what the Captain explained. "I have no issues crossing into gray areas. Like yourself, I don't involve myself in slavery or trafficking, unless I am helping free those individuals."

Thinking for a minute about how much he really wanted a man who was still very much a stranger to know about him. Figured it wouldn't hurt to give out basic information that anyone could find out, if they paid enough in latinum. "Grew up on Temek Labor Camp on Amleth Prime with my family. Bajoran Resistance eventually freed us and sent my brother and I to live on Earth. A few years, later, I realized that Paradise just wasn't for me, so I sought to live on a world that ended up in the Demilitarized Zone. Followed by a short-lived career in the Maquis, thanks to the Dominion and our good friends the Cardassians."

Betes went quiet as the male waiter approached the table, handing him the drink he had ordered a few minutes prior. "Thank you." Sipping the drink, he smiled and gave the waiter a satisfying nod. Now that they were alone again, Hunt continued. "As much as I couldn't stand Starfleet, the Dominion I hated a lot more. So, I enlisted in the war with the Dominion. Actually, earned a couple of commendations. But when things came to an end with the war, so did my Starfleet career. Since then, I've been floating around doing smuggling jobs here and there."

While Zedd hadn't spent much time involved in the politics of the Federation or knowing alot about the war with the Dominion, he was certainly aware of the Maquis. His career as a pirate had exposed him to alot of other avenues in the underworld. "It sounds like you've cut your teeth plenty, and I do have a couple other former Federation members a port of the crew. But no one holds true to their ideologies very much, except maybe our Chief Engineer. But he's too good at fixing things to be caught up in alot of the nitty gritty crap as it is. And having a smuggler around never hurts. Being on the run is my game. All thins considered, we can make sure you're well paid. Everything is based on share percentage so the more we make, the more you get paid. As a Chief, you'll have your own quarters as well."

Having his own quarters sounded good to Betes. In the past, he found himself sharing a space with people he seriously considered shoving out of an airlock. "Are you looking for someone on a permanent or temporary basis? And what percentage are we talking?"