The Common Man, Part Two

Posted on Mon Nov 22nd, 2021 @ 10:48am by Kalen "Rex" Vickers & Mentis

3,329 words; about a 17 minute read

Chapter: Chapter VI: The Last Bastion
Location: The Baron's Arms, Pallaeon Main Street, Ravelin, Bastion
Timeline: Afternoon (Day Three, Week Four)

OLD

“Sure, just don’t get into any of the usual trouble,” Mentis waved his hand in the air as though to cast Rex away before setting his sights on the table of foreign labourers the barkeep had mentioned.

The Rattataki’s target group was sitting seemingly slightly removed from the main throng of the other patrons by an aged wooden pillar that was probably unnecessary in the building’s construction but added to the classic feel of the establishment. They seemed quite content in their corner, chattering away indistinctly. They were perhaps slightly less animated than the rest, but not considerably. They did, however, cease their conversation the moment Mentis’ boot stepped past the pillar and into their space.

Under a firm brow, one of the Human labourers asked him, "You lost, mate?"

NEW

A good start, Mentis thought ironically to himself, But you have dealt with worse before.

"I'm hoping I'm in just the right place, actually," Mentis replied, nodding and raising his glass in greeting to the rest of the group, "I just shuttled into Bastion last night and was looking to go to the employment office today. Didn't realise it would all be shut down for the big day. I should have realised of course, but I thought instead I might use today to find some fellow off-worlders today to see what kind of projects are looking for work at the moment. I don't want to stumble in blindly and get assigned to some graveyard shift at the spaceport. What do you chaps work on, if you don't mind me asking?"

The Zabrak in the mixed-race party that they had spotted a few minutes before gave a few suspicious and knowing glances to the others at the table. He held his cup between both of his hands on the table, licked his lips a bit awkwardly, looked down at his beverage and then back up at Mentis.

"Most of us are Bescanites," he finally said, his clipped accent the same as the Human's that had welcomed Mentis, and not dissimilar to the soldiers and citizens he had interacted with so far on Bastion, albeit the vowels sounded a little more extended.

Like the others, he wore an Imperial jumpsuit, but instead of the official logo of the Bastion state depicted within the hexagonal crest sewn into the breast of the outfit, they wore a symbol of an upturned incomplete triangle, with two lines jutting out from either side of the lower-point diagonally. The jumpsuits of the gathered group were grimy and covered in dust, and their hands and nails were equally dirty, the skin calloused or sore.

"We heard there was good work on Bastion, but mostly in Imperial bonds, worth a lot more in the long-run than anything you'd get working the docks or ports," the Zabrak continued. "Lot of recruiters from the capital been appearing on Bescane offering up the deal, but not in any of the employment centres. It was one outside my old ore factory that got me the free ticket here just a few months back."

"It's hard work," said a female Near-Human, whose skin was faintly green. Her voice had a degree of cockiness to it as she spied Mentis over her drink. "Not for the faint-hearted, but we're already building up a little retirement pot on it." There was a glint in her eye as she began to raise her cup to her mouth. "And they're only interested in professionals."

The Zabrak glared at the woman, clearly trying to express something to her without actually speaking, before he looked back to Mentis a little sheepishly. "What's your trade then? You aren't from Bescane."

The clear recognition that Mentis was not from Bescane was disappointing as it scuppered any thought of him trying to pretend he was one of them but he hoped his meagre knowledge of the local systems would be enough for him to pass muster with the assorted labourers. He also needed to tease a bit more information about what kind of ‘professionals’ were being recruited.

“Yeah,” Mentis waved a hand in the air trying to project an air of casual dismissal regarding the question, “I don’t tend to be able to call any place home for long. Tends to be that way when you spend your childhood on a station like Rimcee: I joined the Navy just to get out of there but didn’t spend long in service but another former naval buddy managed to get me some work in ore refinery like you guys.”

He swung in a bit closer to the female who had volunteered the information before, seemingly a weak link in their group, rather than addressing the more cautious Zabrak, “Say, maybe our paths have crossed before. What were you refining mostly?”

The Near-Human grinned at Mentis, almost flirtatiously. "I doubt it, friend. Professional, remember?" She laughed a little, and the Zabrak could be seen shaking his head again, not impressed by his colleague's behaviour, although he did nothing to immediately stop it. "I'm a chemical metallurgist by training, but you've got to be willing to get your hands dirty in this trade to make any headway - and twice as dirty if your genome isn't Core-perfect."

The Zabrak scoffed, now actually showing a little more willing and interest. "Isn't that the truth."

Another, this time a Human in the group, spoke. "They talk big about not caring if you're non-Human, but most of the Moffs haven't forgotten who started this Empire. Give as many spikes and horns as you like captaincies in the fleet, but it doesn't change the issues on the ground."

The others nodded both sagely and glumly, but the Near-Human woman did not lose any of her mirth.

"But it's always good to meet another shipper," she said, shoving Mentis playfully. It was then that Mentis was able to spy the burn marks running up from the back of her hand to her arm. Seeing that her scar was noticed, she grinned again. "A souvenir from the last Mando sortie. That's when I got my first taste of Mandalorian iron. I'm older than I look."

As she winked with the final comment, the Zabrak kicked her in the shin under the chair, causing her to shunt forwards onto the table, a dark frown in his patterned face.

Mentis smiled slyly as the Zabrak’s reaction meant he was clearly pinching the right nerves. Their sympathy for a fellow non-human granted a unique weakness he could exploit if he could continue stretching his knowledge just enough.

“I don’t mind a good scar, particularly if you got it taking on those dratted Mandos,” he pointed it his own wound across his face, using it as an excuse to squeeze in closer, “Look at this beauty. Got this from some karking particle rifle during my service. Needless to say, I didn’t fancy taking another one of those for the Moffs upstairs, which is when refining suddenly seemed a lot more appealing.”

This drew a few more nods and murmurs of sympathy from the group but the Rattataki realised he would need to take a leap in order to get the information he needed. He thought back to what the Rift Jedi Theon had mentioned when they had first signed up to come here: Beskar metal was going missing from across Bastion space supposedly towards some kind of secret Imperial-GalactaWerks project, but one that even the Grand Moff was being kept in the dark about. It was entirely possible they would be looking for professional metallurgists for such a project.

He took the leap and announced, “I tell you though: that Mandalorian Iron is tough stuff to work with. Can’t say I regret it at all though. Every ingot refined feels like a big middle finger to that Mandalore of theirs.”

He gestured between the near-Human and his own face, “It won’t heal any scars, mind you, but it makes me feel more a part of this Empire than I did as cannon fodder out there on the border.”

The Zabrak looked a little shocked, the expression replacing his previous nervous one. He glanced to his companions briefly. "You've worked with beskar?" He asked, not quite letting anything loose, albeit a few rogue sensations were being loosed from his wavering concentration, which Mentis could detect through the Force.

"'Course he has!" The Near-Human said, her enthusiasm towards Mentis growing, in spite of the recent shunt from the Zabrak, and she shoved the Rattataki again with enthusiasm. "This here is a working man's Imp. Calloused palms and the scars of war, eh?"

The frown worn by the Zabrak matched the smile of his female colleague, but he was definitely giving a lot more consideration to the pale-skinned newcomer.

"Had a friend once," a softly-spoken voice then said, belonging to one of the other Near-Humans in the group, who took a quick sip of his drink before continuing to speak at Mentis. "Used to say a lot of big words and say them loudly. Any event, any chance... he was always the one talking loudest, bragging about what he was up to. Jobs, parties, girls - it didn't matter. Everyone got to know about it."

The Near-Human rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath to Mentis. "Just ignore him."

"None of us took him too seriously. Bret was just that kind of guy," the man continued. "You took a shit, he'd done one bigger. You saw an albino mynock munching on your power lines, he'd seen two. And he always went on like this, bragging and goading everyone. He had a few fights, and certainly plenty of arguments. We never said much about anything too him, but he always good the new guys swinging for him or telling them all about their lives - but they'd never hang about for long after. They'd never stay on a job with us, or would never come back for drinks the next day. We just assumed Bret upset them enough. Then, one day, someone really did Bret some harm. They carved him up, really mangling him, taking off one of his hands. We never saw him again."

The man paused to take a final sip of his drink. "Until a few weeks later, when I got myself dragged into some cells for something I didn't do, that is. I spent a good few hours in utter darkness, until the door opened and they shone this light on me. All in black, three Ubiqtorate agents came in and questioned me about stuff I didn't understand. I figured they'd got me mixed up with another man - another 'alien-lover', or something. Between the darkness and the beatings, none of it made much sense to me, but... but I recognised one of the voices, you know... Really recognised it. Although, it was the metal hand that threw me back out onto the street that really gave it away."

The tone and mood of the table had plummeted with the man's story, and the Near-Human woman's expression had taken a sour expression of its own, as she shook at her head at him. "He sees Brets everywhere, does our Ollopvo. Every loudmouth is an agent in his little head, and every camera is watching him, to see which arse cheek he scratches next."

"You can laugh," Ollopvo replied, thrusting a finger towards Mentis. "But you're the ones making friends with the stranger with the foreign accent." The man tsked and rose from the table. "You make your own decisions. You risk everything over a drunken pub chat." He zipped up his jumpsuit and cleared his throat. "I don't give a kark, but you keep my name out of it, stranger. I've always been loyal." And with that, he left the group and marched towards the exit, where the sounds of the parade outside could now be heard building.

The Near-Human kept a reassuring hand on Mentis' shoulder. "He's middle-aged and paranoid," she said. "Too many bedtime stories about Old Man Palpatine and the ancient purges."

Even the Zabrak now nodded. "Don't take it personally. He walks out during most drinks. He's... well, I get it. It's a big deal. He's worried. This, uhh, well," he glanced around a little at their fellow customers. "If you've got the hand for bending Mandalorian iron," he said, leaning in a little closer to Mentis, "then there's work going. Big work."

The Near-Human nodded. "They're recruiting by the shuttle-load, but it's not something they're publicly broadcasting. A few sites have cropped up here and there. Specialist units being run by military types, it seems. Very hush-hush. Only the right people. Massive project, we reckon. And, if you're good - like me - you'll get shipped off somewhere else within just a few weeks."

"If you were any good, Jancy, you'd already have gone," the Zabrak retorted. "But she's right; if you've got the skills, you don't seem to stick around for long. You seem the right sort - they'll probably chuck more bonds our way for doing the recruiters' jobs for them - but it's a commitment." He shook his head to punctuate the point. "This'll be your life for the foreseeable. A trip to the pub's a luxury."

Sparing a glance at Ollopvo, Mentis caught his stern gaze of suspicion and quickly turned back to the Zabrak, “Sounds like a job worth sacrificing a few trips to the pub for, I’d say. As I said before, I’m here for work and don’t want to just be stuck in something with no prospects or decent compensation. If you can give me the details of your contact, I look forward to working with you folks.”

He raised his glass, with most of the others joining him in his toast, before taking a hearty swig.

They chatted for a while longer, with Mentis doing his best to imitate his best beskar refiner talk and keep up with the slightly uncomfortable pokes and prods from the Near-Human woman beside him. They continued chatting until the Empire Day parade was due to pass by, at which point they all shuffled along with everyone else to catch a brief glimpse.

Over the many heads in the way, they saw only a few glimpses of troopers and officers in their ceremonial attire, but got a good view of the towering silver AT-AW that stomped by, leaning its head-like cockpit from side to side like a great beast inspecting its territory. Once the main bulk of the parade had slipped past, Mentis managed to fade back into the crowd and away from the metalworkers. He backed up slightly and found himself bumping into a Human’s back.

“Oh, I am sorr…”, He turned to apologise, only to see the familiar dark sideburns of Rex, “Oh, it’s just you.”

"Oh?" Rex repeated, eyes widening as he leaned in towards Mentis, the smell of beer quite thick on his breath. "'Oh', it's just me?" The smuggler gripped Mentis by the arm and pulled him across and away from the main throng of people, as if he had nothing to fear from the superior strength and power of his Force-wielding companion.

"So?" His companion began, placing his hands on his hips and looking at the Rattataki a little disapprovingly, which seemed a somewhat odd stance for the man to take, given his usual encouragement of Mentis getting more involved in this sort of pastime and work. "What have you found out? You seemed awfully chummy with your new Imp pals over there. Going native already?"

“Wh-?” Mentis began a brief protest at his treatment before straightening himself up, “I thought you’d be happy that I managed to worm myself in amongst the common folk. I’ll have you know it was quite a fruitful endeavour. Certainly more fruitful than that lifeless ‘Bastion Bitter’.”

"I never took you for the smarmy type, boy," Rex retorted, tsking at Mentis. "Or the gullible type. A couple of beers and a girl making eyes at you, and you're like wet bantha butter in their Impy hands."

Mentis frowned some more at Rex’s attitude but was at least somewhat smug that he held the cards for once, “Well, what if I told you that there is a secret project involving Mandalorian Iron that includes recruiting promising metal-workers away from Bastion space? Wouldn’t seem particularly ‘patriotic’ to be robbing the Empire of one of its best material resources, now would it? You might even say this was the work of another very-materialistic party.”

Rex stiffened up a little at the explanation, and then made a couple of discreet glances around the others, who mostly still seemed interested in the last elements of the parade. A number of stern-looking Imperial officers and stormtroopers lined the streets, their eyes not seeming to deviate from fixed points, but they either paid no mind to Rex and Mentis, or were doing a fine job of making it look like they were paying no mind to them.

"You serious?" Rex prompted, and then he did a quick double-take of his friend's expression, nodding a little. "Of course you are. Well, it ain't anything concrete, but that's gotta be what the Big Moff was harking about, or at least a part of it. This place is run tighter than a Toydarian brothel - there's no way one of those stiff bastards doesn't know what's going on." The smuggler looked back over his shoulder, spying one of the group Mentis had been with previously. "Reckon you can get out of here without them thinking you suspicious?"

"Of course," Mentis frowned, "I don't think any of them saw me leave."

As if on cue, the Near-Human woman squeezed past a couple of patrons and her eyes widened in recognition as she spotted Mentis.

"Ah, there you are!" she smiled warmly, "I wondered where you slipped off to. A bunch of us are heading out to grab a bite to eat. The ale here's good but I trust the kitchen here any more than old Ollopvo trusts... well, anyone. Want to come with?"

"Oh, right..." the Ratattaki lost his composure at her sudden appearance with Rex present as well, "Thank you, but we... I mean 'I' have to be somewhere else."

He was trying desperately hard not to allow his eyes to flick over to Rex, who he could only presume was smirking away. It obviously showed in his face.

"You alright?" she asked, "You're gettin' some colour in your cheeks. Had a little too much bitter?"

With an exaggerated exhale Mentis feigned agreement, "Yes, yes. I think so; I always take it a bit far on Empire Day but I'll be fine. I'll see you folks again, so you hurry along."

"Gotta love a patriot," she said jovially, apparently falling for Mentis' little show, and she winked at him as she reached her hand out and squeezed his upper arm with obvious affection. The smell of the beer was pretty thick on her breath now. "Don't be a stranger, friend; we're back on the iron in the morning, but we'll be back on the beer tomorrow night."

With an extra wink, the woman turned away and made her way back towards The Baron's Arms.

As Mentis looked on at the departing Near-Human, certainly with a certain degree of confusion, his attention was brought back quite suddenly by a sharp dig in his ribs.

"Ha-ha!" Came the booming laugh of Rex, who now swung his arm around to rest on the Rattataki's shoulder so that he could lean on him, his eyes also watching as the miner moved off. "Mantis, man... I didn't know you had it in you! You pulled."

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