"So," the scarred mercenary said, waving an empty tankard around. "You want to hear what it's like fighting Terrans?" He turned and spat on the floor. "Fine, but you'll have to keep the drinks coming. Thirsty work, talking 'bout them, don'tcha know?"
The man across the table, one dressed almost correctly for the locale in a way that made it obvious to any of the pub's actual regulars that they had no business actually being here, nodded and flicked his fingers in an entirely too precisely practised version of the gesture the patrons used to signal for more drinks. The other patrons looked on, quietly shaking their heads in scorn and placing silent bets about which intelligence agency the man actually belonged to.
The drinks arrived and the mercenary's tankard was full. He took a deep, long, loud swig from it and suddenly it was half full at best. "Ahhhh," the merc sighed, then belched, making the other man wince a bit. "That hits the spot. Right, Terrans. You've pro'ly heard a hundred stories 'bout their technology and weapons and how it's completely different from ours and it's all just utter shit."
The man who was obviously not an intelligence agent, perish the thought, frowned in confusion. "They've got technology better than the SLDF's, how does that not matter?"
"Because it's just be'er, not different," the merc answered. "Yeah, they ain't gotta worry much 'bout overheating. So what? Name me a tank that does. Yeah, they've got LAMs, so fucking what? It's an ASF that's also a mech, wha'ever. Ev'n their infantry ain't different, just be'er 'n what we've got."
"They can build forces in the field and-"
The merc swung his tankard angrily, sloshing some of its contents out. "No! Tha's just them always havin' reinforcements! It ain't different, jus' be'er! Even their damn warships ain't different, they're just a hundred ASFs in a- oh what're those things called, the really long coat thingums?"
"Trench coats?"
"Yeah, tha's the bitch," the merc agreed. "A 'undred ASFs in a trench coat." He shrugged. "Well, 'less they decide to bomb ya from orbit, but they ain't really the type to do that, ya know?" The merc took another swig and emptied his mug. He went silent for a bit before pointedly tilting the tankard to show the other man it was empty.
The man sighed and gestured for another round of drinks, still sipping at his own drink that was never meant for such treatment.
The fresh round arrived and the merc grinned. "Thank 'ee kindly," he said in a sarcastic voice. "Now, y're wanting to know what's different 'bout fighting Terrans, right? Well, i's simple: They don't give a damn 'bout salvage."
The other man blinked. "...that's it?"
"That's it?!" the mercenary roared. "Boy, do you know a single goddamn thing 'bout this? The Terrans don't give a shit 'bout salvage. ANY salvage. Your mech? They'll blow it up and not even think twice. Your dropship? They'll blow it up just 'cuz it's yours. Your jumpship? Better raise tha' white flag quick, 'fore it gets turned to space dust. Only reason they won' blow up your shit is if you got something they do care 'bout onboard, slaves or data or shit. Terrans r'lly don't like slavers." He took another swig and belched again.
"That's-"
"I wasn't done, boy," the merc said, running over the other man's half-formed comment. "They don't care 'bout your salvage, and they don't care much 'bout their salvage neither. You ever see a goddamn army deploy from a dropship right in the middle of a battle? No, 'cuz ain't no one gonna risk their dropships like that. Terrans, they don't give a shit. You put a hole in one o' their dropships, they don't give a shit, they'll just patch it up la'er. They care 'bout their people, but ain't none of 'em give a damn 'bout their shit."
"...which means what?" the man asked.
"It means they don't scare, not at all," the merc said, taking another swig. "You look at a base and say it's too expensive t' take, too many 'fenses, ya get me? Terrans, they don't think like that. They start figuring out how t' take it anyways, even if that means they blow the whole damn place to scrap 'fore walking over y'r corpses. Tha's what's different about Terrans, they'll use e'rything just 'cuz they got it, and they'll break all y'r shit just 'cuz it's yours." The merc took another swig, then shook his head. "Bah, I'm wastin' my time. Y' ain't gonna understand what it means 'till you fight them y'rselves, you and whoever y' work for." He gave a dismissive wave with his free hand. "Now get outta here, 'fore someone decides they like a spook in here even less'n I do."