Five days later Prudii shakes Gregor's hand and walks away headed for the space-port and his ship. He doesn't wish Gregor luck, go over any last minute details or bother with a verbal goodbye of any kind. That's simply not how Prudii works.
They'd hit Kirvella yesterday with an apartment and equipment already paid for and step up. Gregor wonders which of the Nulls is responsible for that since the landlady recognizes him and waves from her first floor unit the first time Prudii sends him to the building to check it out.
Prudii'd opted for the much more traditionally dramatic Null style of entrance; rappelling in down the back and climbing in a window. His armor barely fit in said window but the reasoning behind his decision to drag himself through it was sound. Best not to advertise that there were several identical looking men wandering around lest someone put two and two together and get clone.
Once inside Prudii'd done one, last mission brief with Gregor, going back over the general plan, names of the key targets and running through the structure of Mer-Son on Kirvella at about half the speed of light. This mission had been the only thing Prudii was willing to talk to Gregor about in their four day's transit. Gregor knew better than to ask him what else was on his mind, where he'd rather be than here. Had it been Kom'rk or Jaing he might have tried to tease about a hot date or something but Prudii was entirely more forbidding. His mood had only gotten worse as he and Gregor had approached the planet; clearly impatient to be in and out as quick as possible. He'd even refused Gregor's offer of a meal before he left.
Now, as he watches Prudii all but sprint back toward the ship, Gregor's starting to wonder whether it's really that the Null's got somewhere to go. Or if this job's going to be worse than he's been led to believe. He shakes his head. That's pessimism talking. He's got his mission parameters and a job to do. He's been trained for this, by the best in the business. Even if he wasn't the first choice he's stuck in now and he'll manage. He turns and trudges back to his new apartment, shoulders hunched in his, new grey jacket against the starting drizzle.
The landlady's huddled outside under his porch desultorily tending her half dead plants and smoking a cigarette. She looks up at the sound of his boots on the cracked pavement and smiles. Gregor smiles back, hoping she doesn't expect him to remember her name. Prudii'd neglected to tell him that and Gregor, having never had a landlord who actually wanted to speak to him, hadn't thought to ask. Despite his misgivings his feet stop him in front of the door. The land lady stubs out the cigarette and reaches her hand out.
"Marla Lenko. I think my son rented you the place. I was in the hospital, bad knees. How are you liking it? Here to work at the factory?"
Gregor takes her hand. He's not wholly sure which question he's supposed to answer first. Happily, Mrs. Lenko is essentially Too-Bee the waitress droid's biological counterpart. She's well able to keep her conversation going all on her own.
In short order he's heard about her youngest son, who she loves but who's a lay-about. Her daughter, who should call more now that there's grandkids. As well as the general state of the building, bad, the local economy, good, and the weather, very bad for the knees.
Gregor almost offers to help her oil her joints before he remembers she's not Too-Bee. He lets her follow him upstairs but remembers not to let her into the place yet. There's still about five cubic yards of recording and tracking equipment on the floor as well as his armor in a mesh sack. Also he's got no couch or, come to think of it, bed. He's got great curtains, thick and all the way down to the floor, look like they were stolen from a theatre set or something. He's got the equipment and a mattress on the floor of the back room and that's it. Spartan is the word Prudii'd used to describe it approvingly. Suddenly an idea strikes Gregor; a recon opportunity and cover detail rolled into one.
"Say, Mrs. Lenko?"
"Yes?"
"Do you know where I could find some stuff for the apartment. I...uh..."
"You just moved here for the work right dear? I know, half the block is that way. So many places dried up because of the war but we're doing so well. It almost makes you feel guilty."
"Er..."
There's no real need for him to respond though.
"Yes, a real shame but you're here now. Oh I don't quite know where a young man would go for furniture but why don't you let me call Jarris, my youngest. He'll know just where to go. He's a bit of a…well I've told you but he's a good boy. Why don't you let me call him?"
"I'd appreciate that ma'am."
She giggles and blushes and he sees the young woman she'd been. He smiles as she wanders back to her plants talking to herself about nice young men with manners, from a good family obviously. If she only knew. He turns and unlocks the door to his new home.
It's two days before he hears from Mrs. Lenko about Jarris. In that time he's managed to do both pretty well and terribly at the same time. He hasn't realized that combination was possible until now.
He's hauled all of the bulkier recording and processing rig Prudii dumped off with him into the "office" which really seems to be a large closet across from the bathroom but it's got a door with a lock. The little stuff, the small transponders, the bead-coms, the button cameras he's tucked away in the "bedroom." He's only got two sets of clothes, one of which he's already carefully wired so there's no point in using those until he's got a reason to. He'll only use the rest of the little stuff once he's actually got a job. Until then he keeps them carefully tied up in a blue and green transper-silk scarf he'd picked up two missions back. He's going to give it to Thena when he sees her again but for now it's serving a more practical purpose.
Once he's finished he realizes how empty the place really is. He realizes it bothers him, more than he thinks it should. He's got two plates, one pot and a flat griddle thing that appears to be about as old as the building as well as an assortment of mismatched cooking utensils. He doesn't need more than two towels really and the mattress isn't bad. But the sheer amount of space on the floor gets to him, makes him jerk awake at every strange sound. It looks like a mildly advanced droid lives here. One that doesn't need to sit down at all. He wants a chair or something. Maybe a couch and a table to stick in front of the built in vid-screen. It's not like he's planning on putting down roots but he finds wants this place to look like a human habitation.
To take his mind off the depressing lack of seating he hones his persona. He's still Gregor, nobody but fellow clones and residents of Abafar know him as that so he feels safe enough using it. Better to stick close to the truth on his first time out. He picks the surname Tahy in honor of old his old sergeant Wad'e, where-ever he is. He messes with the spelling so it's nondescript, forgettable.
Prudii told him he's to pose as a clever shift grunt. Someone who's reliable and smart enough to be trusted to make and test prototypes but more genial than genius. There's a couple of openings in the local proto-type test department that he's been instructed to apply to. The Nulls are convinced the leaks coming from that part of the company and want him as their fly on the wall.
He's not sure what to do about his accent so he decides to just tell everyone he grew up on Concordia, worked in the ship yards there until they shut down when the New Mandalorians declared neutrality and were cut off from legally trading with either the Republic or the Separatists.
No, not the Separatists, the Confederation of Independent Systems that's what they call themselves, he has to remember that. He's got to have no visible politics, except that he thinks neutrality is a damned bad idea, economically speaking. His family died when he was a boy and he's been working ever since. Not too far off the truth, just different in some of the details.
Prudii had told him to slouch more, try to take up less space, look less like a soldier. Gregor can do that, though he struggles not to slip into his meek dish-washer guise. Even if he's trying to be nondescript he needs to be personable enough to build his network. He stops shaving, starts letting his hair grow out; doesn't slick it back as much. He rehearses everything ; from his back story, to the way he walks over and over until, by the time Mrs. Lenko calls to see if he's free tomorrow afternoon to meet her Jarris, he's pretty confident. He agrees to come down to her place for tea the next afternoon.
Mrs. Lenko obviously wishes to be thought of, or maybe to think of herself, as the kind of woman who regularly has people to her home for tea. Unfortunately for her, as well as her guests, her main touchstone for how one has tea with guests appears to be decades old vids. Thus Gregor, Jarris; who looks just a sloppy as his mother described but is indeed a friendly young man, and Mrs. Lenko all sit down at a round table in the center of the apartment's main room. It's been laid with a delicate, flowery teapot, equally flimsy floral print cups and a tray of iced cakes and elderly looking finger sandwiches.
The tea is scalding and already sweetened. Gregor likes it well enough, though he wishes it were a bit stronger and came in a bigger, sturdier mug. Mrs. Lenko obviously bought the food in anticipation of company, probably some time ago. Gregor tries a cake, rock hard now, and gives up after a moment when he can't come up with a polite way to dunk it into his tea and hold it there until it softens enough to be edible. Jarris plows stolidly through four sandwiches while Mrs. Lenko beams and tries to bustle around in a matronly way. She has some trouble there too since the room in which they're sitting was obviously hastily rearranged to fit the table and there's very little room to maneuver.
Mrs. Lenko dominates the conversation, asking inane questions about Gregor's background, how he finds Kirvella and so on with hardly a pause for him to answer. It's so bad that Gregor's starting to wonder if she wrote all of these conversational gambits down before hand and has been practicing them. He smiles ruefully into his tea cup at the thought as he's been doing much the same upstairs. Finally he and Jarris succeed in draining the teapot, which holds far more liquid than one would think looking at it. Mrs. Lenko races off to the kitchen to get more.
Jarris leans back, sighs and pulls out a brown cigarette. He doesn't offer one to Gregor.
"Sorry about all this." He drawls, lighting up and taking a long drag.
"She's not really sure what to do with herself now that she's retired."
"She worked for Mer-Son?"
Jarris nods, pulling on the cigarette until the tobacco sparks and breathing out a dense cloud of smoke when he answers. It distantly reminds Gregor of tough guys on holo-vids; it's probably supposed to.
"Pretty much everyone here works for Mer-Son or one of the preferred contractors. I hear it's different in the southern hemisphere but here it's all Mother."
"Mother?"
"Sorry, yeah. Mer-Son, everybody calls it Mother. Don't ask me why, it started before my time."
"When did she retire?"
"Oh last year, though she works part time for Soveil, one of the contractors. She was the assistant to the Deputy Head of Research for like forty years but he died a while ago and it was time for her to go out to pasture anyway. Say are you really from Concordia?"
Gregor tries not to shift uncomfortably as he lies.
"Yeah."
"See any Mandalorians while you were there? I mean the proper ones in armor?"
If only you knew thinks Gregor. He says.
"No, those ones don't really come around to the colonies I think. Why, have you seen any?"
Jarris laughs.
"No not me. I've heard about it. One or two of the guys on the line swear blind they've seen one."
"Around here?"
"No way. Nothing ever happens around here."
He sounds disappointed. Gregor feels relieved. A quiet post for his first solo mission sounds exactly right.
"But I thought this was the research sector? That's why I came. I heard there was good work on some cutting edge stuff. I've always wanted to do that. Aren't you involved with proto-type testing?"
It was a ridiculously obvious cast for information. But Gregor's still new to this. He's never actually built a network himself and, he reasons, it's probably better for him to come off as naive than cunning right now. The gamble pays off. Jarris shakes his head.
"Force man, you sound like Hui, the floor super on my shift. He is convinced that we're doing the most important, fascinating things in the galaxy. Mostly it's testing the same five parts about a hundred times over and writing down results."
"Beats what I was doing." Gregor answers, trying to keep the conversation going.
"What was that?"
"I worked in a diner for about a year after I left Concordia. Worst job I've ever had."
"Must have been if you want to be a test cog here. I wonder why they don't just use droids."
"Because droids are incapable of the careful reasoning that a sentient is." Mrs. Lenko answers smoothly as she glides back into the room with the freshly refilled teapot.
"Droids are also inherently untrustworthy. They can be hacked. You can't."
Jarris shrugs.
"I don't use my higher reasoning skills on the job much mother."
Mrs. Lenko is too polite to say something nasty back to her son in front of company but the reprimand's clear in her eyes. Gregor grabs a sandwich and crams it into his mouth to keep from smiling. He regrets his impulsive move a moment later when Mrs. Lenko speaks to him.
"Gregor, did I hear you were planning on joining Testing?"
Gregor nearly chokes on the stale sandwich trying to answer.
"Uh, I mean. Yes ma'am that's why I settled in this sector."
"Well why don't you wave me your CV dear. I've still got some contacts in the company. Maybe I can help you get a position."
Jarris smiles fondly at his mother.
"She got me one after all," he adds.
Mrs Lenko rolls her eyes and hands him a cake.
"Jarris I think poor Gregor's traveling light. Why don't you take him around and help him get furniture?"
"Oh no, that's not necessary ma'am." Gregor interjects.
Jarris seems like a dead-end and he doesn't need him tagging along on area recon.
"I'm sure Jarris has other responsibilities." He continues, trying to cover his discomfort. "But I wouldn't say no to a listing of places where I might find some reasonably priced goods."
Jarris smiles, looking relieved. He clearly wasn't relishing the idea of squiring around his mother's new neighbor. Mrs. Lenko frowns momentarily but eventually remembers that she's supposed to be the unflappable hostess and titters.
"Of course, of course. Jarris you can do that can't you? I 'm sure I wouldn't know where to find a stick of furniture that's not covered in chintz."
Jarris nods dutifully and Gregor tries not to smile too hard as he notes her elegant bantha hide sofa and sleekly chromed lamps rammed against the walls.
Jarris is actually more than helpful with the list of shops. He even draws an appallingly scaled map of the district and highlights where they are with bright hash marks. Gregor carefully marks them on his own scrupulously accurate, Prudii-provided map of the area.
He stops in at the second hand shop nearest his new home and picks up an elderly sofa and matching chair in an indeterminate shade of spotty green, mainly because they smell clean. He also purchases a folding table and chairs, flimsy but good enough to eat off of. He thinks about a bed but opts for a simple low pallet instead. It's cheaper and there's something that feels oddly permanent about a bed frame to him. He's not ready for permanent yet.
He signs off on delivery forms for all of his purchases, assuring the suspicious looking salesbeing, a very formidable Duros matron, that he will certainly be at home tomorrow between nine in the morning and three in the afternoon to take the furniture. She eyes him ferociously but eventually gives in when he offers her five percent more than the usual delivery fee.
He wanders back out into the tentative sunshine and starts to stroll. He's feeling better; barely wanting to check behind him every ten feet. He plays a game with himself to keep his good mood going; trying to note down the location of likely cafes, com kiosks and refuse bins for meetings and dead drops without seeming to do so.
This sector of Kirvella's been reaping the benefits of the industrial boom, obviously. He can't recall ever seeing so many clean shops, doors flung wide, windows bright and full of a dizzying array of goods. There are cafes and restaurants and taverns and diners and cantinas all with patios out of which smells of cooking some enticing, others alien run.
And people. There are dozens of people. Gregor's been to Nar Shadda now, he's seen Ixos Ri and the Shadow Port. All were choked with sentient creatures of every description in every state of dress and cleanliness. He hasn't ever seen flocks like this though. Clumps of people, a few couples, some groups but mostly individuals who stroll along amongst each other but never touch or jostle. No one shoves or shouts or runs. There's no street peddlers or whores or thieves out that he can see, just clean, shiny people strolling and chatting.
Prudii'd warned him that some of these near-industrial sectors were like this, kept small and quaint seeming to make the workforce feel better off than they were. Still, it was another thing entirely to hear about it and then to see it for oneself. His unease creeps back in as he realizes he's out of place. There are few single males in sight. He supposes they must work during the day. These are the hours for the partners and children and the pensioners. A number of the women smile at him. He glances at his boots and feels his ears go hot. More of them smile at him after that. Some of the greeters in front of the eateries wave at him, calling out special discounts for new comers.
So that's what I look like. He thinks. It's that obvious. It doesn't matter he tells himself. In fact it was probably a good thing. New arrivals were obviously expected, given the booming plants at the edges of the sector that exhaled vapor into the air to filter the sunlight. So he'll only be a novelty for a little while and then someone else would come and be the fresh arrival. Reassured, he decides to take advantage while he can.
He pauses in front of a ruffle curtained shop that appears to sell nothing but painted china urns and odd water colors. The matronly woman sitting in a vast wicker chair in front of the door smiles at him.
"Can I help you?"
"Yes ma'am. I'm new in town." He rubs the back of his neck to give himself a moment to collect his thoughts. "I haven't started at Testing yet and I was trying to see...that is...is there a park nearby?"
"It's a bit warm out on the street isn't it?" She asks sagely. Gregor hasn't noticed really. His body still remembers the convection oven temperature on Abafar. He nods though.
"If you go down two more blocks and turn to the left there's Hiro Park at the end of the lane. You can't miss it. See those trees?" She motions vaguely behind her and to her right.
Gregor follows the sketched trajectory, see's a dark green mass rising through the soft smog. He nods.
"Yes ma'am."
"There it is. It's not as fashionable as it was but so green."
"Thank you ma'am."
He bows a little before he can stop himself. The woman winks at him. He feels his ears heat again and walks away as quickly as he can without seeming rude.
He understands what the woman meant when she said it was green. In truth the park is slightly overgrown. He suspects it's probably because the factory stacks are so close. The CO2 does great things for plants but the smell of the rest of the fumes isn't exactly nice. There are probably parks on the east side of town, away from the factories that are more populated. He thinks he saw a number of women with buggies and small children in tow heading down that way. He'll look into it later maybe, good to know where the locals go.
For now Hiro Park is just what he wants. Small, dark with the trees and creepers, and backed right into the south wall of the main factory, the one very Jarris and his mother are supposed to be putting in a good word for him with the shift supervisor right now. There's even a door on the other side of a locked gate leading into the building. He pulls out his 'pad, checks around surreptitiously for anyone else in the place, cameras or maintenance droids; there's nothing. He pulls up Prudii's map and marks Hiro as his dead-drop.
He wanders around for half an hour longer, getting to know some of the trails, idly wondering what to do next. Worrying a little that Jarris will flake out on him. His com goes off. He stops and thumbs it on.
-Ma came through. Come in tomorrow, end of shift. Ask for Hui.
-J
Gregor grins and suddenly feels both light and very tired. End of shift is around five so he'll still be able to meet the delivery crew before that hopefully. He needs to get his gear together and be tip top tomorrow. He needs into Testing or this mission's going to run very short.
But that's tomorrow. Today all he wants is sleep. He hasn't had much since he and Prudii banged out of Murkhana. Once he's rested then maybe he'll head back out and get something to eat. He wanders home by a different route, trying to note the shops and landmarks along the way. By the time he drags himself up the stairs to his flat his eyelids are actually drooping. He almost forgets to lock the door. The mattress on the floor in his dark little bedroom is heavenly.
