The Ballad of Tusken Cruel-Sea
Posted on Wed Dec 26th, 2018 @ 4:06pm by Kalen "Rex" Vickers & Reave & Mentis
Edited on on Thu Oct 3rd, 2019 @ 11:30pm
4,861 words; about a 24 minute read
Chapter:
Chapter V: Unbound
Location: Janna, Dock, Nar Shaddaa
Timeline: Evening, following up on the "Smuggler's Promise" (but a bit before the Raptor's arrival on Korriban)
OLD
His eyes then grew wide, and he raised two flat palms, as he so often did. "Not that I would ever want to, though! Sheesh." Rex blew some air between his teeth in slight exasperation. "Can't think of anything worse. But you know what? I like you. I'll do it. But I get to leave right away, right? And no blasting or fighting, yeah? Getting in a Jedi brawl isn't worth all the credits this side of the Hydian."
Mentis was both pleased to have struck the deal he had hoped for and also relieved that Rex would see him through to what would hopefully be another safe haven for him.
“I promise that your hide will not be at risk from any Jedi conflict,” he smiled and added, “Or my name isn't Mantis.”
NEW
The smell.
It was always the smell that struck Rex first when he stepped in, usually doing a fine job of washing away his uncertainties and the labours of the day just passed. That was unless, of course, the Cartel smuggler was panting, his lungs working overtime to recover all of the lost breath he had been robbed off following a hasty escape from dissatisfied customers, rivals, jilted lovers, beatenpazaak opponents, or even any other from an assortment of sentients seeking to cut short Rex's life.
Today was not one of those days, Rex was pleased to declare, as he inhaled deeply that tell-tale aroma that he knew was found only on his beloved Kuat Systems-built, Wrightsguild-approved, tan-and-grey Crosswave patroller. Previous guests (fleeting as their tenure as was as being part of Rex's 'crew') had also noted the smell, declaring it to be very typical of a Human adolescent boy's unkempt room. Rex, however, knew the smell to be home.
Unlike all other abodes he had maintained or made use of over the years, with the obvious exception of his dad's Tatooine mech-shop in the heart of Mos Entha, Rex actually cared for the Janna, his own personal travelling fortress - albeit one that only berthed up to four people, and even that was at a push, what with the numerous alternative purposes Rex had made of the so-called space).
Ushering Brick away, the odd hodgepodge of components which served to form his (mostly) G4-series astromech droid, Rex settled himself into one of the two forward-facing chairs in the cockpit, ignoring the series of mismatched and toneless warbles being gargled by Brick behind him. At the rate he was jangling, the droid would runs its outdated power cells dry quite quickly. There was also a stool embedded into the floor behind the two primary chairs, tarnished and jagged in its corners as it was, but it served for whenever Rex deigned to have more than just Reave and Brick aboard his ship - for days like today.
Running a hand over the various dials and switches, most of which were last-minute replacements or self-taught repair jobs, Rex lovingly caressed the primary power activation buttons and thought of the coveted activation codes, closely-guarded and known only to Rex and Reave, that allowed his second-hand beauty to soar through the skies of the galaxy's many planets.
The clunking and clattering of falling and scraping objects drew his attention behind him, further down into the vessel and near the entry-hatch. "You okay back there?" Rex called, only inclining his head slightly back to the newcomer, his eyes instead looking out to the array of jagged buildings and platforms that was his only current view from the Janna's cockpit, any semblance of sky or ground entirely obscured by the ancient Nar Shaddaa planet-city.
After a couple of moments, a very disgruntled Rattataki appeared in the cockpit, “Just a storage compartment emptying out just above my head!” Mentis growled, “Are you sure this piece of junk will even breach the atmosphere?”
Rex gave his new friend an incredulous look, a genuinely offended expression playing across his usually-mirthful face. "This 'piece of junk', as you call it, has made the Peragus run thirty-fi-" The Human then threw his hands up, disturbed with Mentis' lack of faith in him. "Have I led you wrong so far, huh?" He challenged rhetorically, turning away from the pale man to start entering commands into the console.
Not satisfied with the answer but familiar enough now with the man not to push the subject, Mentis plonked himself firmly down into one of the rear seats, behind the captain’s chair. He tugged at the seat belt to his right but found it jammed so released it angrily. This journey would certainly be a test of his restraint.
There had already been a greater delay than he would have liked between Rex agreeing to take him to Korriban and them actually getting to this point. There were no lack of “loose ends” that needed tidying up before Vickers felt comfortable leaving the Smuggler’s Moon. The man kept far too many plates spinning for Mentis’ liking but, to his credit, he had an innate talent for keeping track of all his dealings, particularly the ones with the greatest pay-out.
The former cultist leaned forwards, “So, are we finally ready to depart or am I going to have to spend another moment on this suffocating rock?”
"This 'suffocating rock' happens to be home to many millions of fine, and perhaps less fine, people," Rex said, matter-of-factly, his feelings still hurt from Mentis' earlier challenge. "And a kriffing good number of business opportunities, as I ever-so-kindly made you a partner in, don't you forget!"
Not that I'm exactly gonna miss it myself, Rex secretly thought, deciding not to let Mentis escape with his constant derision of his (two) home(s). Although, he then reasoned, it might be a fine bit safer than marauding off to Korrimoribund, the back-o-beyond dust-ball holding only appeal for twisted space cultists and their fetish for demonic totems.
The Human visibly shivered, second-guessing his decision to keep his end of his bargain with Mentis. Fortunately, Rex was saved from any further immediate cowardly thoughts by the timely appearance of Reave, who, based on the warbles and high-pitched shrills that had heralded his imminent arrival just seconds before, had just finished berating Brick about some imagined slight.
His two golden eyes, glaring from beneath his wide-brimmed hat, examined Mentis carefully, his concealed dark face clearly looking the Rattataki up and down, seemingly searching for some cause to lose his temper with him, albeit some grudging approval had appeared over recent days from the Jawa towards the newcomer, which was really quite out-of-character for the diminutive Tatooinian.
"Took me months..." Rex grumbled under his breath, powering the Janna up as Reave continued examining Mentis.
Seeming to conclude his unique form of assessment, Reave actually gave a little satisfied nod of his heavily-hatted head to Mentis before taking his own seat. Inwardly, Rex had hoped Mentis would have claimed the co-pilot's chair. That would have been funnier.
Without any further comment from any of the mismatched trio, the ship shuddered to life, its engines and various systems all powering themselves up into a spaceworthy state. As was its norm, the internal lighting of the Janna flickered dimly with the full activation of the sublight engines, accompanied by a deep groaning that could be heard reverberating from some unknown compartment within the ship.
Having anticipated the take-off, but not the extent of the shaking the ship underwent as it groaned itself off the landing platform, Mentis quickly bolted his hands to the edge of the seat, “Bleedin’ gully rats!” he exclaimed, his accent slipping once again, “Did they never install stabilisers in this ship?”
"Psh," Rex waved a dismissive hand as the vessel dragged itself up from the dock platform, the gravity within the ship shifting and pulling its crew around within the cockpit. "It ain't always smooth, but I didn't want the competition, anyway," he said, at the very least amusing himself with his comment.
Beyond the viewscreen, the sights of towering buildings gave way to the light-polluted dark sky above, numerous other vessels of varying shapes, sizes and origins careening this way and that, both to and from the Hutt moon for whatever nature of business they were engaged in or, as was often the case, escaping from.
"Ahh." Rex released a long and self-satisfied sigh as the ship, shaking and rumbling unhealthily as it was, broke through Nar Shaddaa's atmosphere, the smoky blue miasma of the moon's sky giving way to the eternal darkness of outer space. For the first time since he had returned to Nar Shaddaa, the trio were finally treated with the view of countless stars twinkling within the void stretching out before them.
Even since as a young boy staring up at the twin suns and triplet moons of his homeworld, the views of the heavens beyond never ceased to amaze and captivate Rex Vickers, his spine tingling with the excitement of both being out in space, and of what what was to come next.
He eyed the tarnished red metal lever on the controls with unbridled adoration. Without exception, the smuggler made a point of watching the miracle of hyperspace every opportunity he could. Reave insisted it would eventually blind him. Rex insisted that Reave's glitterstim fancy would cripple him, so the pair had left it at that.
"Utinni?" Rex asked the Jawa, his hand already resting on the fabled lever.
Reave simply swore at Rex before placing his own gloved hand upon the device, and the pair pushed forwards.
With that, Mentis finally left the suffocating rock of Nar Shaddaa behind.
Some hours later, in hyperspace
After the rattle of the initial hyperspace activation had settled, Mentis quickly excused himself to rest by himself in the back of the ship. He had settled down near the sealed exit ramp, initially intending to sleep but found himself only fiddling with the loose leather on his lightsaber hilt as he often found himself doing when idle.
After a little while, he re-emerged, finding, to his surprise, that he actually rather missed the company when in the cold dead of space. The area just behind the cockpit had some minor amenities and the Rattataki found Rex and Reave sitting at a small playing table. They were both staring incredibly intently at several cards in their hand: it was the kind of concentration that Mentis had thought was reserved for powerful Force-users trying to master some powerful ability, not for two laser-brained criminals playing cards.
He stood there for a moment watching them, waiting for the spell to break but they seemed to be within their own worlds, “Is there some art to this that I am missing or do the pair of you both have terrible hands?”
Rex's eyebrows twitched, barely visible as he glowered over his raised cards, eyes flicking over to Mentis and then back to the concealed selection arrayed before him. Although it was uncommon for Mentis to get a true read on the Human's thoughts and feelings, there was a decided garble of numbers and quick-fire words that meant nothing to the Dark Jedi being flung out from the man's oddly-complicated mind.
Reave, however, was almost completely inaccessible - perhaps a Jawa trait? - but he was the first to answer the Rattataki's questions with a few sharp Jawaese babbles.
"Heh," Rex huffed, placing his cards face down and looking to the two Non-Humans. "You're right!" He laughed, apparently at Mentis' expense and whatever snide remark Reave had made, not that he decided to share the comment with the target. The humour soon gave way to a more serious and mildly-thoughtful expression on the man's face, however, as he pulled a cigarra from inside his sleeve.
As if on cue, Reave leaned forward, which more or less amounted to climbing across the scarred metal table they were playing at, and lit the Human's smoke. Whilst a frowning Rex immediately set about protecting his nearly-exposed cards, he did produce another cigarra for the Jawa to smoke, who rapidly seized it from Rex and returned to his chair, lighting it up and dragging into the darkness beneath his unnecessarily large hat. Even as the small figure took a satisfied drag on the narcotic, the glow of the cigarra did nothing to reveal his true and concealed face within.
"Y'know," Rex went on between puffs, chewing on the end of his cigarra and pulling a few rogue pieces of dried vegetation from his teeth, "I ain't seen you smile once since we got you off of Nar Shaddaa, given you were so karkin' keen to get outta the place. Somebody'd be forgiven for thinking you don't really wanna be going. Hells, I don't wanna go and I don't really know nothing about this nest of gundarks you're so keen on shaking up!"
Drawing closer and waving a hand around to waft away some polluted air, Mentis pulled up a stool and sat at the table, “Oh, I’m sorry,” the pale humanoid said mockingly, “I didn’t realise your ship ran on happiness and good cheer. Perhaps that is why it is such a bumpy ride.”
He did, however, bare his teeth in an exaggerated smile before adding, “Does that work, or do I need to smile directly at the Navicomputer?”
Even a false smile was a rare sight on the former cultist’s face and he wondered what had compelled him to do so. Perhaps it was the relaxed environment that the smuggler and his companion bred that made him better-able to take a joke than when he had met the human some weeks ago in the Sarlacc Pit.
It did, however, not detract from the fact that he still felt the icy tug of Axion upon his being; it was what compelled him to carry on running, even if it meant leaving behind the little comforts he had earned.
“Honestly, though, Rex… and, uh, Reave…” Mentis became slightly more insular again. Reave tipped his hat in response. “You know why I must carry on. Axion is not some crime boss who’s vengeance only goes as far as is profitable; he will never let me go… he is more powerful than anyone in the galaxy knows…”
Rex blasted a few rings of smoke from his mouth as he listened to Mentis' words, although the self-satisfied expression that seemed to accompany his little trick vaguely undermined any levity that may have been due. "Yeah? And no one's had their heart broken like me, or... no one's had a dad as bad as my old sweetheart's, or had a debt as big as Reave's!"
The Jawa grumbled hatefully from behind his cigarra at Rex's comment, glowing eyes slanting at his partner-in-crime. Rex maintained eye contact with Mentis regardless, noting his mock-comparisons to the former cultist's drama was not being warmly-received.
"Look, kid," the Human sighed between puffs, leaning forward on his chair with a genuine shade of concern creasing his dark features. "I'm... well, what I'm try'na say is... Hey, you know anything about Tusken Raiders?" He asked, stumbling to find his words. "You know; the Sand People of Tatooine?"
Mentis concern was replaced all-of-a-sudden with confusion. Rex’s magic of conversation was a mystery to his Force-wielding passenger, “I… yes, I know a bit about sand people, Rex…” he stated, straightening himself up and throwing a quick glance towards Reave, as though his masked facial features could tell him anything about the sudden shift in conversation.
“Some warriors on Rattatak used to talk about heading to Tatooine to face them in combat but, from what I gathered, they are some kind of uncivilised tribal folk that were a pest to farmers.”
“Heh,” another of Rex’s huffs escaped him as the Cartel man pushed himself back into his former leaning position, a trail of smoke following the cigarra’s tip as he did. “’Pest’ is right, but to say they are uncivilised is to suggest they don’t know what they’re doing. They’re a brutal people, for sure, but they sure as Chaos are a people. They think, feel, love… hate.”
Reave interrupted Rex with a series of sharp Jawa squeaks, clearly objecting to the traits the Human was attributing to his own people’s racial rivals, but Rex seemed to pay him no mind, even with the aggressive puffing from the Jawa.
“More than anything, though, they love Tatooine. It’s everything to them. Sacred, even,” Rex went on, gesticulating with his hands as he spoke. “Every few cycles or so, they’ll raid some moisture farmers, maybe even mosey into Mos This or Mos That, and wreak havoc, kidnapping women and kids, making them into slaves or worse... Then the settlers strike back, setting up their little militias or lynch mobs or whatever, hop in their speeders and go gun down some Sand People, glassing the Dune Sea and smearing the canyons red with blood as they do so. Sometimes the Tuskens come out on top, sometimes the settlers do. Things quieten down for a while until the next little turf war breaks out. The way of the desert.”
Rex said the last phrase with more than a hint of irony, apparently unimpressed with the terminology of his fellow Tatooinians. “Well, some years back, back when I was still rummaging around Jawa sandcrawlers for a processor or servo to lift for my old man’s shop, there was some bigshot Tusken chieftain – a warlord, even – marauding around the local territories. He gave real meaning to the word ‘raider’, you know what I mean? Now, he was one of the meanest Tuskens we’d seen in some time. The settlers took to calling him Tusken Cruel-Sea, on account of his violence and his Dune Sea home. It’s clever, right?” The Human shrugged, but quickly flicked his wrist and stood up, exclaiming in pain.
Whilst he had been talking, Rex had neglected to keep watch over his cigarra, which had burnt away into a small stub, taking a small slither of Rex’s calloused skin with it. Naturally, Reave was warbling a Jawa chuckle at the man’s error.
“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, rat-boy!” Rex picked up the discarded stub and flicked it at Reave, who stood up in disgust and outrage at his friend, but Rex, surprisingly, stared him down (with a very angled head).
“Anyway,” Rex went on, hands on his hips as he turned his head back to Mentis, “as I was saying; Cruel-Sea was the maddest and meanest Raider that had been seen on the Mesric Plateau in generations, or so I was told, wielding two gaffi sticks and with all sorts of bones slung over his robes. Never saw the guy myself, what with being a kid at the time. My old man definitely loved using Cruel-Sea to scare the kriff outta me each night, though. Y’know, the whole, ‘Do your chores, or old Cruel-Sea’ll come an’ eat your eyes’ sort of kriff.”
The man settled himself back into his chair and began preparing another cigarra. “Cruel-Sea got bold, as time went on, ranging further and more Tuskens joining his tribe. Must have been half a dozen farms swept away and entire Jawa clans destroyed. Trade was hit and everyone was scared to go out. Mos Espa, Mos Eisley… they didn’t bother sending anyone out. It got desperate. Finally, one man, a wealthy landowner by the name of Osric Sanchester, decided enough was enough. Took it upon himself to end Cruel-Sea. He got together a well-armed posse, went out into the wastes, and took the fight to the tribe. He failed, of course; the whole lotta them got themselves killed, or so everyone thought. Good Mister Sanchester was taken captive, forced into kark-knows-what labour for kind old Cruel-Sea and his band of Tuskens. Months passed, more fighting. And then,” Rex leaned forward conspiratorially, “Sanchester rolls back into town.”
Rex flicked his eyebrows a couple of times before lighting up his second cigarra and jamming it between his lips. This time, however, Reave did not rush to light it, and Rex stretched his arms out in exaggerated exasperation. When that failed to convince Reave to light it, Rex lit it himself, muttering at the scowling Jawa dismissively.
“He’s all scuffed up, thin and scarred,” the Human went on between puffs, now fiddling with his sleeve as he spoke, “but alive. And determined. Like a man possessed. He gets the whole town behind him, telling great tales of his escape and knowing where Cruel-Sea is holding up in the nearby canyons. He gets together a new group, with more guns and a better game plan, learning from before. They attack Cruel-Sea’s tribe very successfully, wiping out nearly the whole lot of ‘em and ending the threat, scattering the stragglers all about the place. Thing is, Cruel-Sea escapes to fight another day.”
Rex shifted slightly, watching Mentis intermittently. He continued, “No one cares, mind; everyone’s happy. The tribe is beaten, they save some captives, help some Jawas and pretty much fix all the problems they have. There’s a big party in Mos Entha and Sanchester is hailed as the conquering hero. But it ain’t enough. Ol’ Sanchester won’t be happy – not until Cruel-Sea’s head is impaled on his own gaffi stick. As I said; a man possessed. Problem he finds is that no one has any stomach for it any more. The tribe’s gone and no one hears from Cruel-Sea or any Tuskens - but Sanchester still ain’t happy.”
Mentis had not yet spoken, having been quickly drawn into the tale. It had been a long time since he had simply sat and listened to a story. The last person to speak with him in such a way had been his former Master: when Mentis was younger, he had often spun some cruel analogies about his training to spur on Nala and himself. The moral of most of his stories was ‘only the strong will survive’. Mentis often wondered if he hoped that one of his young disciples would murder the other; perhaps he still hoped for such a thing.
But the way Rex relayed the Ballad of Tusken Cruel-Sea was not like any tale Axion had ever told and left the Rattataki actually curious about the world of Tatooine and its peoples, rather than painting everyone as some lesser being or foe.
“He wanted to finish what he started,” Mentis concluded out loud, “so, what did he do?”
Rex answered, “Well, Mister Sanchester starts splashing his money left, right and centre. He goes to all the local militias, ports and even the gangsters, dragging together as many armed men as he can. He buys up skiffs and speeders, rifles and grenades – anything he can. In the end, he has a little army of his own, scouring the Dune Sea for any trace of the Tusken that tortured him. Eventually, he ran out of money and friends; his wife and kids barely see him and even the mercenaries began to abandon him, all with no trace of darling Cruel-Sea. Finally, though, Sanchester gets a lead that a Tusken covered in bones has been seen up in Beggar’s Canyon, not far from his own homestead. Naturally, the mad old bastard wastes no time in marching out there. Eventually, he finds what he’s looking for.”
The Human shifted in his chair. Even Reave appeared to be listening intently, his glowing eyes wider than Mentis had seen them before, malice dwindling away. “You see, he finds Cruel-Sea up there,” the smuggler went on, now being more mindful of his cigarra, “and by all accounts, he’s in a state. Robes tatty, no other Tuskens with him, camped up all on his lonesome, but Sanchester ain’t taking any chances. Cruel-Sea’s a slippery bastard, after all, always sliding away without so much as a scratch or blaster-burn. This time, Sanchester sets up explosives all about the canyon, rigged so that Cruel-Sea has no chance of getting out of there alive. The exact story from there ain’t totally clear, but I know Sanchester set the bombs off, bringing down a huge chunk of that part of the canyon, collapsing thousands of years of rock formations atop of poor Cruel-Sea, finally killing the crafty old Tusken – a whole new meaning to the word ‘overkill’.”
Pondering for a moment on the described scenario, Mentis added, “We don’t know what Cruel-Sea and his Tuskens put Sanchester through. Perhaps he had good reason for wanting him dead, whatever state he was in.”
He looked to Reave to get some sign of agreement but found none so allowed Rex to conclude the tale.
“The whole place remains a jaggedy mess of rocks, completely impassable,” Rex continued explaining. “They even call it Osric’s Folly now, or so I hear. Y’know, that usual Tatooine humour. But that isn’t the point of the story. You see, Tusken Raiders aren’t the worst that Tatooine has to offer in terms of beautiful ways to hunt and kill you. There is,” the Human went on, now jamming his hand under his shirt, tongue stuck out unceremoniously as he rummaged about for something, finally producing a long tooth hanging from a fabric necklace that he held up before Mentis. “There is also this bad boy. Know what this is, Mantis?”
For once, the former cultist did know what the Tatooine-bred smuggler was referring to. A beast known throughout the galaxy, not just for their ferocity, but also for the immeasurably valuable pearls found within their digestive system, which could only be obtained by killing and gutting them, “A Krayt Dragon,” he replied.
“You got it. And know where they live? Well, they’re pretty fond of canyons – and not of loud noises,” Rex said. “It seems that Sanchester’s little explosion served as a wake-up call for a slumbering krayt. Now, krayts have a ferocious appetite, and they’ll range a long way for their supper. And the nearest thing to Osric’s Folly? Osric’s homestead… and Osric’s family.” Once again, Rex shrugged, taking two big puffs of his narcotic as he tucked the tooth away and leaned back again. “Well, I think you get where this story goes.”
Mentis sat back, absorbing the ending of the story. Up until that point, he had hoped that Sanchester would finally claim his revenge against his tormenter and, once again, become a hero to his people. But the unfortunate end placed a different view on the whole tale. Rather than being a tale of defeating the villain, it instead became about the personal struggle of a man; a man who had suffered, firstly, by the Tuskens and then, perhaps more so, by his own need for revenge.
After watching the Rattataki for a prolonged moment from his backwards-leaning seated position, Rex finally threw himself up, jumping firmly onto both feet and passing his half-finished cigarra to Reave, who casually took over the puffing from his Human friend.
"Well," Rex began, stretching and letting out an exaggerated sigh as he began to pace past Mentis, "I think that's me for the day, fellas." As he began to walk by his guest, he patted his shoulder and squeezed it briefly with a surprisingly firm grip. "Just think about what I told ya, Mantis. There's a lot worth livin' for in this life, but vengeance ain't one of 'em. You'll just get yourself eaten by a krayt dragon."
And with those final words, Rex paced out of the room to seek out his bunk, stained as he was with the lingering stench of cheap cigarras, leaving Mentis alone with his thoughts and an incredibly volatile little Jawa.
Watching Rex head off and giving him a brief nod goodnight, Mentis reset to his position of thought; sitting in silence while Reave still watched him from his relaxed position, exhaling the last few puffs of his cigarra before the Rattataki.
When his trance was broken, Mentis shook his head subtly and turned towards the Jawa, “And what do you think? Do you fight for revenge, Reave?”
Not entirely unexpectedly, Reave said nothing. Instead, he simply flicked the butt of the finished cigarra at Mentis.
The Rattataki grimaced slightly as the discarded cigarra butt bounced off Mentis' pale hairless skull and down into his lap but, rather than being angry, the former cultist simply smirked and lifted the butt telekinetically and placed it softly down onto the table, subtly reminding Reave of his abilities.
He then slapped both hands on his knees and got up from the stool before heading back out towards his spot near the exit hatch to hunker down for a while.
His restless sleep was sprinkled with thoughts of a sandy world and the ballad of Tusken Cruel-Sea.
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