Brooding on the battlements is supposed to make you feel better, right?
Anyone who's anyone in the brooding business does it. Hamlet did it, and he... well, he went mad, killed some people then died. Batman does it, and... he dresses up in a bat suit to fight crime. Angel does it, and... he's a bloodsucking demon-fiend. Hell, even Luke Skywalker gets into the battlement action, and... he's Farmboy.
On second thoughts, brooding on the battlements is probably pretty unhealthy. Seemed like a good idea at the time, though. The icy wind, the smell of the sea, the glow of the now-vanished sunset - seems like an ideal place to sit down and try to get my head straight.
Pity it keeps going around in circles.
I mean, I stuffed it yesterday with the droid, I really did. I mean, sure, the armour meant he wouldn't be able to zap me or anything, but I went a little overboard, especially tromping through the Palace like that. Overboard. Story of my life, lately.
Went overboard in Paris, went too far without thought of concealment, and got shot.
Went overboard on Star's ship, didn't stop to think of security measures, and got hung out to dry.
Went overboard with the droid, and now I'm a bully and a slaver.
Hell, my best friend is worried enough about my sanity to drag me up here and give me a little pep talk about the importance of our noble cause. Trying to cheer me up. Probably figures I'm on the verge of losing it completely.
And in the win
column, I'm still alive. Yay me.
What am I even doing here? A couple of years ago, I was just a guy who worked at a servo and came home to a flat full of drugged but rampaging stone-age furballs. So, short of the self-defense skills, I was just an average bloke.
And now I'm a member of a top-secret paramilitary organisation, I've got accesss to technology beyond James Bond's wildest wet dreams, my flatmate exports stuff beyond the stars, and I own a smegging lightsabre. A real one.
And my only real talents lie in the area of getting hurt and killing people. All too often, both at once. I don't have superpowers, like Vickie, the Evil Josh or even Brad. I can't even speak other languages, like Becki and Vickie and... the Evil Josh. Or at least, no Terran ones. I speak a mean Ewok, and I suspect my Wookiee isn't fit for polite society, but when it comes to Earth, it's English or it's charades. And I can't fly a starfighter the way Emily or Vickie or... yes, him again, as well, can.
I'm just another set of hands, another weapon, and someone else for the enemy to shoot at.
I'm expendable.
So in the space of two years, I've gone from being someone who may have had a future, to being someone with an irrelevant future. But I'm still alive. Woo.
I can see my future, too. It's all mapped out for me. I'll get more and more hurt until I end up dying in some remote part of the planet, and no-one must ever know. Sure, my friends here'll mourn for me, but to everyone else I've ever known I'll just vanish. At least that way they won't have to see my brains spattered all over the inside of someone's secret hideaway.
Yeah, the battlements are definitely a bad idea. I need a drink.
"I tell ye, no-one noticed 'im when first he came into the tavern. He was just like another one'a them nameless sailors, you know the type, run from home to lose themselves in the waves, but keep finding 'emselves every time they come ashore. So I can't tell ye when he came in, fer I didn't rightly see myself. Didn't pay him no mind, neither - if I'd not learned that long ago, I'd be missing more than me eye today, I can tell ye.
"We had a mixed crowd that night, must've been sailors from all over the world crammed tightly in the Shrieking Virgin. And she was shriekin' in many different languages that night, she was. Aye, there were Russians loudly laughing between shots'f their grog, some Peruvians singing 'Livin' La Vida Loca' amidst their ales, even some lads from somewhere on the African coast, drinkin' - oh, it's not important what they was drinkin', the point is, they was gettin' in their cups, just like me an' everyone else in the tavern.
"Aye, I suppose he was drinkin' too - come to think of it, he would have stood out like smoke at sea had he not. So aye, he was drinkin', I was drinkin', everyone in the tavern was drinkin', even the dogs that had strayed in from the street. And, of course, that's when the night decided to turn ugly. Not only turn ugly, mind, but wrap, package and bottle the ugly into five of the biggest brutes ever to tread the land. I almost wished I had me a photograph, so when youngsters ask me why I ever went to sea, I could show 'em that photo and they'd understand.
"The Docklands Enforcers had decided to pay the Shrieking Virgin a visit."
If I'd worn my uniform, I don't think there would have been a classy establishment on the island that would have kicked me out. But somehow, I wasn't in the mood for polite deference, sophisticated manners and people calling me 'sir'. I wasn't in the mood for a quiet piano or string quartet playing while people talked politics and maneuvered for social standing. I wanted to go somewhere with lots of people, loud music, whether it annoyed me or not, and staff that'd serve alcohol until you couldn't lift the glass. Or at least your wallet.
In short, I was in a beer mood, not a wine one.
So I grabbed a cloak from the general wardrobe - for some reason, I wasn't surprised that a hooded cloak was fairly standard garb for Mendellia - and headed down into the city. I wandered into a couple of the nightclubs that had started up recently, but there's only so much Destiny's Child I can tolerate before I want to set off a thermal detonator. In my mouth.
So I wandered, lighter a few Dars, heavier a few drinks, 'Survivor' stuck in my head and annoyed because of it. I don't know if it's tradition to leave a lone hooded walker alone on the streets of Mendel City, but people definitely stayed out of my way. A good thing, too, since I'd not brought so much as a vibroblade with me. I didn't know what the night would bring, and the last thing I needed it to bring was a report on how I'd lost some GFFA equipment while unconscious in a gutter. Regardless of how I'd gotten there.
I'm not sure when the bitumen changed to cobblestones. I wasn't even aware Mendel City had anywhere that was still cobbled, but it appeared that down near the docks a lot of relics of times past were still around. Some were more recent than others - over there were three buildings side-by-side had been gutted by an explosion during Thayer's coup, though whether it was caused a stray shot from a starfighter, a thermal detonator or more conventional explosives, I couldn't tell. In other places, there were faded and peeling propaganda posters with Eugor Atner's smiling face on them - some had been defaced, others had been plastered over with similar posters of Thayer.
A woman called out an intimate invitation from the balcony of a nearby building, and when I looked up she was looking towards me. The backwash from the red lanterns hanging from the balcony gave her a look of hellish desperation, and her tone of voice was bored and resigned. I looked away and kept walking, and she called out again in the same flat tone, apparently to someone else this time.
I passed a number of bars, none of which caught my fancy. Most of them were quiet and dark, and the looks of the people around the door were none too friendly. One wiry fellow pointedly flicked out the blade on a butterfly-knife and began picking under his nails with it as I approached, so I took the hint and walked on by.
Finally, I came upon a place that seemed bright, relatively cheery and not too crowded. I looked up at the nameplate hanging outside, and it bore the image of a voluptuous woman wrapped in a sheet trying to ward off the amorous advances of a man with a noose around his neck. The name underneath read, "The Shrieking Virgin", which for this part of town was fairly tame.
I shrugged, went inside, found a corner to hole up in and told the server - part of me kept labelling her a wench - to keep the beer coming for as long as my money held out. I settled in, watching the place fill up, the alcohol slowly starting to fuzz my senses.
"At first, the tavern went quiet, as places often do when those scurvy dogs make an entrance. The Peruvians had been in amidst a squabble 'bout somethin' or other, but they fell silent right quick once the Enforcer's gave 'em a lookin' over. They paid no mind to me, mind yer - I'm as good as furniture in this here tavern, and one-eyed old men are a Del a group near the docks. Nay, they paid no mind to the stranger, neither - sullen drinkers soaking up their grog in the corner're as much'f a fixture as one-eyed old sea-dogs, that much is true.
"But I knew that we were in fer stormy seas the moment Big Atsni clapped his beady eyes on the African sailors. Them Dockside boys 're hell with that eugenics guano, as well you'd know. So...
"Ye hadn't heard the eugenecists? By all that sails the waves, lad, ye hadn't even heard of them? Ye've got ears attached, I see, lad, so why not use 'em?
"The Enforcers, neither? Grace, and here was I thinkin' I was talkin' to a man of our shores. Well, settle back, lad, and I'll try to sketch the background.
"The eugenecists, first. Back in the heady early days, some landlubber fools decided that the pigment of someone's skin determined their worth, the paler the better, and't mixing bloodlines somehow polluted 'em. Sounds foolish, I'll grant, since a week at sea with nowt but shorts to shield ye turns ye brown or red right smartly, even if ye're as pale as snow ter begin with. Ye... do know what snow is, don't yer, lad? Ah. Good. I was beginning to wonder, I was.
"Now, when this foolishness began, no-one paid much notice fer the rest of the civilised world had the same wool-headed notion. But Enad Atner, our last true King, Gracerestissoul, he was the first to thoroughly stomp that notion flat, so't only a few fools stuck to the notion that diversity bred weakness, instead'a strength.
"The bugger of it all was, one of 'em was Eugor Atner, the King's own brother, and had the King murdered most foully. So once he had the tiller o' the land, he set about populatin' positions o' power with his cronies, most'f 'em bein' eugenecists just like him. Which brings us to the dockworkers.
"Ye'd be enough of a sailor to know the power dockworkers have, wouldn't ye? They move slow, they can choke a port.... aye lad, I will. There's hope for yer yet, then. So obviously when Eugor Atner grasped harder on power, he needed lads on the docks who'd make 'em dance if he felt like callin' the tune - so the Enforcers were born.
"Now, young Thayer's in Eugor's place, and a fine King he'll make, 'specially when 'e takes that warrior woman fer 'is queen. Not afraid to listen to his heart, is that boy, but he listens wi' his head as well. One'f the things he had to do after Eugor went to the fate he'd earned was shake up the place and rip out the traitors who'd supported the blackguard, slap 'em around and throw 'em to the street. The Enforcers were some'f the first to go, but they'd decided they enjoyed bein' in control. So they start leanin' on everyone dockside, and the few who try'n resist end up so thoroughly dead that the survivors rethink 'emselves. So that's who the Enforcers are, 's well.
"Now, where was I? Ah yes, the Africans. I dunno if they understood the lingo 'r not, but there're some things't look the same no matter where ye're from, and the looks from muscleheads wi' more hate than brains is one of 'em. So they started a-standin' in front of their table, squarin' off agin the Enforcers - but mind ye, the Enforcer's hadn't moved a step since 'ey first started starin'.
"Thar's when Big Atsni, he says to the tavernkeeper, 'I remember when this was a classy joint.'
"'Yar,' piped up Suin Imra, 'wi' the right kindsa people, an' all. Looks like now ye'll serve any ol' vermin what comes in.'
"'What come'sa havin' a weaklin' Dictator, boys,' said Ecneic S'lacitilop, the mouth'f the group. 'Soon ye'll have all th' inferior races actin' like they're the same.' Races, lad, that's like - oh, you've heard of 'em. Right.
"Anyways, they carries on like this for a short while, talk'a 'mud-bloods' an' other eugenecist drivel. An' the place was dead silent. Maybe no-one liked 'em, maybe everyone woulda greeted the day with spring in their step after seein 'em dance from the end'f a rope, but there weren't a soul in the place willin' to be the first to stand up'n say so. Call it cowardice if'n ye will, lad - but people is people, and rockin' the boat ain't somethin' they do. Less'n it's a real boat, o'course, then they've a hard time keepin' dry.
"Thing is, they was talkin' so much the Africans were losin' their fire. Uncertainty'd started to settle in, 'n they was startin' t' look askance at each other, not sure if they was in fer a fight'r not. Thar's when the Enforcers made their move. Not quickly, mind - they just sauntered 'round where the bar filled t'middle of t'room and walked right up to 'em Africans.
"Everyone? Nay, lad, someone did somethin'. Y'see, the stranger, the one I'm tellin' ye 'bout, he stood up'n went after 'em."
I don't know why I stood up. I was nowhere near the top of my form. For one thing, I was considerably less than steady, and I had trouble keeping my attention on any one thing. For another, I suddenly remembered my legs giving out back on Star's ship, and wondered if I'd do the same here. But, I realised as I absently swept up an empty wine bottle - on my first try, no less - that with my senses as deadened as they were, it also meant I had little capacity to feel pain. Silver linings, I guess.
I only had a short while to examine my motivations while I was staggering over there, and I realised a few things. The first was that I'd been looking for a fight all night, I just hadn't had any good reasons to start one. The second was that these guys, by belittling what Thayer was doing for the country, were belittling all those who'd shed their blood to get him to where he was. And I'd shed far more blood than just my own. The third was that the bullshit racists spouted really pissed me off.
One of them - I had a bit of trouble telling them apart - saw me coming, and turned around slightly, the better for me to smack him on the side of the head with the bottle. The bottle stayed intact, and he froze, staring at me in surprise. I brought the bottle back for an encore on his temple, and he collapsed. That was one.
The guy standing next to him also turned around, and so I introduced his face to the bottle. The bottle was obviously pleased to meet him, and exploded with delight, leaving shaven-headed behemoth to stagger backwards, clutching his face. That was two.
I didn't see the next guy hit me. All I know is, part of my face was a bit number, and I was on the ground by the bar, toppling a few hastily-vacated barstools as I arrived. I did, however, see him walk over, grab my shirt and yank me upright, since I had too much trouble getting a grip on anything to stand up on my own. I saw him draw a fist back, and I heard him say something about respecting my betters. I'm not really sure, because I was paying more attention to the black guy behind him who hit him with a chair.
"Aye, all hell broke loose then, lad - people were hittin' people fer no other reason'n they could reach'em. But when it came ter the Enforcers, well - they had it rough. Y'see, eugenics aside, everyone was afraid'f 'em - and what the stranger did, well, he broke th' hold'f fear, showed us all what t'do about the things we fear. Stand up, face 'em and spit in their eye! I don't think there was anyone in th' place who didn't give one'a the Enforcers a token'f affection - even I broke me favourite mug knockin' out that Ecneic's teeth. They say that Suin'll never walk again, and bits'a Big Atsni was found all over the town come mornin'. And Eest Onlliw, the one the stranger broke the bottle on? He'll wind up bein' like me, a one-eyed old man in a tavern.
"Kind'f a depressin' thought, really.
"And once it'd died down, once th'Enforcers were gone 'r out on the floor, thar's when the stranger a-picked hisself off the ground, threw some Dars on th'bar an' staggered out inter the night. I ain't seen 'im since.
"Nay, lad, I don't admire violence. The scariest captain I served under only ever even raised his voice when the weather demanded it. But it's a rare thing to see a single act'a courage bring such scurvy braggarts to their just rewards, and so if that stranger ever sits hisself where ye're sittin', ye can be sure he won't be payin' fer his grog.
"Speakin'a which, lad - bring me another. All this talkin', and me mouth's as dry as if I'd never seen the sea. One more thing afore ye go, though - even though he was beaten, bloody and drunk, when that stranger left, he was smilin'. Think on that while the barkeep pours me drink."
"I thought I'd find you here."
I looked up from where I was removing the bacta wrap from my hand - I guess I'd clobbered someone stupidly in the skull at some point - to see Nick leaning in the medbay's doorway. "And why would that be?" I asked, flexing my fingers, making sure the bones had set properly.
"Seems like you get left alone for five minutes, you beat yourself up."
"Maybe I had help this time." I stuck the wrap back into the reclamation box, and stood up, wincing as some of my unbacta'd bruises protested.
"I didn't know Bracca was in town. Should I say hello?" Nick was smirking, as he's wont to do when the subject of Bracca comes up.
"If you like, but since the last I heard she's still out meeting interesting people and killing them, you might have to shout really loud." I stretched, the protests of the bruises subsiding into mere grumbles. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to get some sleep."
"You're okay, though?"
I surprised myself by telling the truth. "Yeah. I'm all right."