Chapter 20: A Sin:
Several kilometers later Jarek and Karst found themselves in a farming settlement surrounded by kelp paddies. To make up time and distance Jarek had pushed the brittle vehicle far harder than he should've. With a spark and billow of smoke, the aged power inverter overheated bringing their journey to a halt. With the last of their credits sitting in Sona's garage, they couldn't afford a replacement. Other than his tattered beskar'gam they had nothing to trade for supplies much less pay for repairs.
Until it cooled they were stuck sitting on the side of the street looking like a pair of vagabonds. Hours on the road had not been kind to their clothing and hygiene. "Next time you steal a speeder," Karst commented as they sank to the ground in defeat, "makes sure its newer model T-15."
Destitute and stranded a bitterness was beginning to take root in Jarek's mind. The guilt of the speeder theft and the ever-present ache of his still-healing body didn't blend well with the twisted emotions surrounding the Death Watch. Fear and anger warred with his sense of self-preservation forcing him to accept the stark reality of his present situation. He was wounded, weak, and alone; what other option did he have than to flee.
"Easier to run when you have a speeder," he growled to himself.
As people passed by Jarek noted that amid the curious and leery gazes were a fair number of sympathetic glances. Between their road-weary expressions and decrepit speeder, they must've really looked the part of a pair of homeless refugees. Karst also noticed the looks they received and in the spirit of a true entrepreneur took advantage of the situation. Adopting the most downtrodden expression he could the old mando doffed his hat and held it out to a passerby.
"Spare some credits for weary refugees?" he implored in as raspy a tone as he could muster. The man looked from Karst to Jarek, eyeing the bandages that peeked out from beneath the youth's clothing. Grimacing the young man covered them as best he could. Smiling sadly the stranger dropped some change. It wasn't even enough for a meal. As pleased as Karst appeared Jarek was equal parts disgusted and embarrassed.
"This is humiliating," he hissed under his breath as another person dropped some spare coins into Karst's upturned hat. Not even when he wore animal hides as a child had he felt the need to ask for a handout. "We're warriors. We shouldn't be begging in the gutter." Jarek winced as another local presented Karst with a bit of cash. Despite his mounting irritation Jarek's hunger and desperation wouldn't allow his pride to turn away the donations.
"Really?" Karts quipped looking graciously upon the meager pile of low currency. "How'd your hunting trip go?" Jarek grumbled at the memory of his failed expedition earlier that day. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but when it came to hunting this world was not Kalevala. Without knowing a thing about the local flora and fauna an injured Jarek was a failure at producing any food.
A young woman, a bit older than Sona, ambled by. "Spare change for a hungry old man?" The woman nodded amicably and dropped a credit. "The coin is appreciated," Karst growled in a smooth tone, "but not as much as your smile." The woman giggled before continuing her stroll. Face flushed with embarrassment, Jarek rolled his eyes at Karst's attempt at...flirtation.
Before the youth could reprimand Karst rather creepy behavior a man in the trapping of a pilot and carrying a pair of blaster pistols happened by. His nose wrinkled at their haggard appearance. He made as if to ignore them when he paused abruptly. Smirking he said, "How about some entertainment in exchange for…" He held up a stack of credits. Their high value glittering in the sunlight.
Something about the man's smarmy expression reminded Jarek of Gaegan. It was either the arrogant smile or the self-important attitude. He couldn't decide which. "We're not performers," Jarek hissed staring hatefully at the unwanted guest. He'd hoped the man would take the hint and get lost, but Karst didn't seem to care.
"Not professional anyway," Karst amended hastily. Before Jarek could stop him the old man stood and launched into a heavily accented tavern song. Groaning Jarek did his best to ignore the thespian display by pulling his own hat as low as possible.
Sing for the lost, for eternal affairs
Sing to raise our spirits in great despair
Through the ashes of oblivion
Quick and unseen like the dragon's offspring
For we owe no debts and bow to no king
Every war has its costs and we've paid
Won by the bond of the party we've made
As he drew more and more attention from other sentients Jarek wanted nothing more than to disappear. Even as he tried to ignore them Jarek couldn't help but notice some people were smiling and clapping along with the tune. While not a musical hit, the song was popular amongst the spacers that frequented the cantinas and bars around ports.
Warn with a call that the battle starts now
As the demons listen we strike them down
Fighting back the rifts of blood
Sent from the sky lies an angel in need
Give him muse to strengthen and words to heed
Heaven's doused and set alight
We're knocking on the gates of hell tonight
If it wasn't for his gravelly voice Jarek might've admitted Karst could carry a tune. The only one besides Jarek who didn't seem amused by the performance was its requestor.
"C'mon, where's my money's worth?" the man demanded in annoyance. Jarek's eyes widened and a pair of blasters cleared their holsters and took aim at Karst's feet. Their mussels barked causing people to cry out in alarm. Dirt exploded all around forcing Karst to leap and dodge or risk being hit. The crowd gasped and a few even ran away. Several of them just look on in disapproval but did nothing to stop the man's behavior.
Broken swords and dragon's bones
Scattered on the way back home
Beating to the sound of clashing steel-
"-Stang!"
Karst barely managing to get a handful of verses out before crashing painfully on his backside. Jarek rushed to the old man's side but was waived off. The mando sat up gingerly rubbing his lower back. Fortunately, he seemed more humiliated than hurt.
The man pointed and laughed heartily at Karst's expense earning yet more derisive stares from the small group of onlookers. None said anything to stop him or even moved to Karst's aid. Jarek's knuckles whitened as his jaw ached from gritting so hard.
Still laughing the smuggler holstered his weapons. "Nothing like a fat man singing for his supper," he crowed before holding up the promised credits. Karst moved to take them with a grateful smile when the man intentionally dropped them on the ground. The money scattered in the dirt forcing Karst to dive for them. The laughter increased in volume as the old man scrambled for the fleeing currency amongst the dust. He took no notice of the hate-filled eyes staring at him from beneath Jarek's wide-brimmed hat. The pilot's conceitedness continued to echo off the buildings long after he departed.
Karst raked in the money commenting they now had enough for a few decent meals. His words fell on deaf ears. As the man wandered off Jarek's glare drilled into his back taking in every detail. The young man's fists clenched so hard his arms shook. A slight red haze drifted around the edges of his vision.
Night fell over the settlement in a gentle wave heralded by a faint illumination from a few residences. Only the town's saloon and cantina remained bright and active as the twin moons reached their zenith.
Bidding his fellow inebriated patrons farewell a man wearing pilots gear armed with two pistols staggered home for the night. Despite his slurred speech he managed to mumble a few words of that song the fat man had sung earlier. Recalling how the old cuss had danced before his blasters caused him to giggle.
Tripping over his own two feet the pilot caught himself on drainage pipe. He patted the metal affectionately before heading down the alley that would lead to the room he rented. He was sure to feel the three pints of Aborrian Ale in the morning, but at that moment he didn't care. The sum from his latest haul had been substantial and he stood to garner even more with the next.
"My…even pay fer an encore," he slurred jovially. His departure wasn't too early so he'd be able to sleep some of his escapades off. A stim and some tap-caf in the morning and he'd be good to fly. He just needed to find the blasted Inn first.
Through his drunken haze, he detected movement and out of reflex drew one of his blasters. He chuckled in relief when a bogwig scurried out from its hiding place. "Yeah, you…better-hic-run." Holstering his weapon, getting it on the third try, he turned to amble onward. "Oof!" He ran right into something akin to a droid chassis but as firm as a bulkhead. He stumbled backward; the alley walls the only thing keeping him upright. Rubbing at his nose he felt moisture. The sight of the warm liquid coating his fingers combined with the pain was remarkably sobering.
"Who's there?" he demanded
A humanoid form loomed over him fists clenched at its sides. Squared shoulders rose and fell as the silhouette took deep rumbling breaths. The dim light of the moons glared off of tarnished steel body-armor but was reflected in the 'T' shaped visor of the assailant's helmet.
Fear pierced through the last vestiges of his drunkenness as he realized what he was looking at. In a panic, he went for his pistols. "You're a kriffing-" he began to cry out but before the words could leave his mouth an armored fist shut it. Both the pilot and his blasters crumbled to the ground. The man's vision swam. Amidst the fresh wave of pain, he could just barely make out the silhouette reaching for him. He offered a token resistance as he was relieved of his holsters and what remained of his day's profits.
"The stang you doing, slag!" he managed to say through his already swelling lips. The visor regarded him with an utter blankness. The indifference was more infuriating than any insult, but it was also more terrifying.
The pilot yelped in alarm as the armored hulk hauled him bodily to his feet. He tried to push away but his mind still spun from the earlier punishment. He watched in bewilderment as his attacker produced a single credit, its low worth glinted in the starlight. The next yell was muffled by the man shoving the currency into his mouth and the scream of outrage was cut off by the armored glove slamming upward. Stars not unlike those twinkling high above exploded before his eyes. The taste of copper filled his mouth as his teeth shattered on the unforgiving surface of the credit.
The silhouette stepped back allowing the man to collapse to his hands and knees. A gout of blood poured from his ruined mouth along with bits of cracked enamel. The credit, blemished only by the crimson liquid, hit the ground with a dull metallic 'thunk.' The man joined it there as blackness claimed him. His last image before drifting into unconsciousness was of the silhouette striding away with his weapons and his credits.
"Kriff you…Mandalorian…"