It is a fact of the galaxy that once removed from the inner circles of civilization, culture degrades at a predictable rate. All too often it is seen on the far away outposts on worlds seldom visited by any regular trade. Once removed from the sensibilities of what one would consider civilized society, especially once a new generation is born in such circumstance, the elegance and propriety of modern men and women is left aside in favor of a simpler, agrarian lifestyle. A certain marked regression is noticed, the degradation of speech and mannerism unwelcome and unfamiliar to any not of the displaced community. It goes without saying, then, that the outside element is rarely received favorably.
While I have a great many years left in me, I am not a young man, and years of contact with various far-removed cultures has hardened me to such receptions. And so I harbored no ill will to the citizens of Kangi Crossing when they gave me a wide berth and more than a few unfavorable glances as I made my way through the colony. I made my way through the colony to the foreman's lodge, where I was to procure such boarding that might be available. My initial appraisal of the village drew out no favorable prospects on that front, as I was met with the sound of hastily drawn window shutters and closed doors as I passed by.
The sun was high in the sky by this point, and the temperature was warmer than I was accustomed to. My coat was drawn tight around me still, but I allowed my hood to fall to cool my head. My intention was to allow those peering eyes from behind closed doors to see my countenance for themselves in vain hope that I might disarm hostility towards me. I thought that by revealing that I was, in fact, merely a weary visitor and nothing more I might ease future interactions with the villagers. I carried my pack with me in my left hand, and the walking stick I found myself leaning on more and more in recent months traveled with me at my right. I felt no surprise when I made it all the way from one end of the village to the other without anyone offering to help an old man with his luggage.
The foreman's lodge was little more than a crudely constructed shelter, leaning back and forth in the wind. One could hear the creaking of old metal as it shifted with a painful grinding. I winced at the sound, as my own aching joints were often inclined to creak with similarity I did not care for. For the first time, I began to wonder if taking on such a strenuous endeavor in my advanced age was appropriate. Such thoughts were quickly banished with distaste as I made my way up to the entrance to the lodge.
I did not make it far, as I was quickly approached by two large and disheveled men as I passed through the door. I say that they were both large, and while accurate it is a misleading statement. It implies a degree of similarity. However, the two men that came to meet me were very unlike in appearance. One man was large in the way a beast might be considered large, towering a full head above my own frame and comprised almost entirely of bulk. The other man was large in the way only a man might be considered large, a full head shorter than I and yet as wide as I was tall. He shifted side to side heavily as he trod, and his steps invoked that hideous creaking sound once again.
"Mister Volaro?" The tall man spoke first, his voice thick with a deep accent, one that gave me the impression that education had never been a priority here at Kangi Crossing. "Mister Volaro, that you?"
"Of course it is, Lug, ain't no other outsiders we expectin', after all." The wide man spit on the floor and grinned up at me. "Name's Nutt," he declared, shoving a flabby thumb into his chest. "I'm the foreman 'round here. We're gonna make sure that your review goes all safe and quick-like, fella."
The tall man nodded. "Yes sir. Quick and safe. Yes sir."
One can imagine my reassurance.
