Rusty
Purveyor of Fine Weaponry
The floorspace was certainly adequate. In fact, it was a bit on the excessive side.
Rusty didn't mind, necessarily, but the abandoned warehouse they had set up shop in was easily large enough to fit the makeshift smithy he had thrown together, plus about a hundred more just like it. It really was massive, the sort of thing a large company might use to store goods being shipped across a star system. Overkill didn't begin to describe it.
[member="Laguz Vald"] had managed to secure a two week lease on the place, as well as assurances that they wouldn't be bothered. How she had managed to do so, Rusty didn't ask. He was pretty sure he didn't want to know, and she probably wouldn't have said anyways. Trade secrets, don'tcha know.
All the usual equipment was present. There was a gas fired forge, foundry, a selection of hydraulic presses, a power hammer, an anvil made out of stuff that the seller had assured Rusty could handle the strain of shaping beskar, as well as a wide variety of hammers, tongs, files, and other assorted hand tools. Though it was all high quality, most was secondhand. The seller guaranteed his stuff, but he also made no bones about sourcing it as quickly and cheaply as possible. More often than not, that meant used.
The stuff had all been packed in a durasteel shipping container about the size of what one might see on the back of a speeder truck. It was ten meters long by four meters wide by four meters tall, and had been absolutely full when they unloaded it. A large chunk of that mass came in the form of a heavy duty power generator. Rusty had expected to make due with what was available, but the seller had gone above and beyond. The generator was noisy to be sure, but it was fully capable of supplying power to all the equipment. Hell, it probably could have served as a backup to the entire warehouse if the Shard had felt like going through the trouble of wiring it into the grid.
Once the container was cleared out, Rusty set about setting up a makeshift sleeping area for the Mando smith. There was a simple yet comfortable cot, a washbasin that would continuously filter and recycle water, a small entertainment system with absolutely no network connectivity but a decent library of programs for the off hours, and chemical toilet. There were also several strategically placed explosive charges. If the Mando became a problem, he could be locked inside and safely disposed of.
He hoped it wouldn't come to that. Though only passingly familiar with the concept of sympathy, the Shard was aware of the toll the sort of suffering the Mando had been through could take on the body and mind. Stubborn though the fellow had been, he had acted with honor. He doubted the man's clan would be terribly happy to find their secrets given away, but from what he gathered, they'd see his capitulation for the sake of his female relative to be an honorable act rather than base betrayal. Mandos were funny about stuff like that.
It was a little after 0900 local time that the Mando, and the raw beskar ore, were delivered. He'd been cleaned up and, from the looks of it, given a dunk in a bacta tank. His wounds were no longer raw and ragged. Most of them had closed up nicely and were beginning to scar over. The smith was clearly drugged up, probably a cocktail to kill the pain and mellow him out for compliance. He didn't look happy, standing there in a clean jumpsuit with shackles around his ankles and an explosive collar around his neck, but he didn't look nearly as ornery as he had the day before, either.
"Shall we begin?"
Rusty didn't mind, necessarily, but the abandoned warehouse they had set up shop in was easily large enough to fit the makeshift smithy he had thrown together, plus about a hundred more just like it. It really was massive, the sort of thing a large company might use to store goods being shipped across a star system. Overkill didn't begin to describe it.
[member="Laguz Vald"] had managed to secure a two week lease on the place, as well as assurances that they wouldn't be bothered. How she had managed to do so, Rusty didn't ask. He was pretty sure he didn't want to know, and she probably wouldn't have said anyways. Trade secrets, don'tcha know.
All the usual equipment was present. There was a gas fired forge, foundry, a selection of hydraulic presses, a power hammer, an anvil made out of stuff that the seller had assured Rusty could handle the strain of shaping beskar, as well as a wide variety of hammers, tongs, files, and other assorted hand tools. Though it was all high quality, most was secondhand. The seller guaranteed his stuff, but he also made no bones about sourcing it as quickly and cheaply as possible. More often than not, that meant used.
The stuff had all been packed in a durasteel shipping container about the size of what one might see on the back of a speeder truck. It was ten meters long by four meters wide by four meters tall, and had been absolutely full when they unloaded it. A large chunk of that mass came in the form of a heavy duty power generator. Rusty had expected to make due with what was available, but the seller had gone above and beyond. The generator was noisy to be sure, but it was fully capable of supplying power to all the equipment. Hell, it probably could have served as a backup to the entire warehouse if the Shard had felt like going through the trouble of wiring it into the grid.
Once the container was cleared out, Rusty set about setting up a makeshift sleeping area for the Mando smith. There was a simple yet comfortable cot, a washbasin that would continuously filter and recycle water, a small entertainment system with absolutely no network connectivity but a decent library of programs for the off hours, and chemical toilet. There were also several strategically placed explosive charges. If the Mando became a problem, he could be locked inside and safely disposed of.
He hoped it wouldn't come to that. Though only passingly familiar with the concept of sympathy, the Shard was aware of the toll the sort of suffering the Mando had been through could take on the body and mind. Stubborn though the fellow had been, he had acted with honor. He doubted the man's clan would be terribly happy to find their secrets given away, but from what he gathered, they'd see his capitulation for the sake of his female relative to be an honorable act rather than base betrayal. Mandos were funny about stuff like that.
It was a little after 0900 local time that the Mando, and the raw beskar ore, were delivered. He'd been cleaned up and, from the looks of it, given a dunk in a bacta tank. His wounds were no longer raw and ragged. Most of them had closed up nicely and were beginning to scar over. The smith was clearly drugged up, probably a cocktail to kill the pain and mellow him out for compliance. He didn't look happy, standing there in a clean jumpsuit with shackles around his ankles and an explosive collar around his neck, but he didn't look nearly as ornery as he had the day before, either.
"Shall we begin?"