The Long Haul

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He was here to look into the Imperial garrison, nothing more. It was a dingy little cantina in the town of Kinthar on Balmorra, often frequented by the Imperial personnel when they found time off. The rest of Kinthar was in a bad shape - the One Sith occupation of Balmorra had jump started the economy of the big cities. Little towns like this that already had enough problems dealing with the Collocoids and disease suffered.

That was why Cyril's merry little band was here, to make life a little bit easier for the inhabitants of Kinthar. The first order of business was to make sure no Sith Lords currently inhabited the imposing gray building just over the mountain. So long as it was just Stormtroopers, they could handle it. Sith were a different issue.

Cyril knew a Captain by the name of Hans Vaiden was currently staying in the garrison, along with his contingent of soldiers. They swept through from time to time in search of Republic soldiers and Jedi Knights that were too slow to flee Balmorra during the war. From what the Jedi Master had heard, the di'kuts were efficient.

He was dressed in a rather unassuming getup. A black hooded jacket that was suited more for a morning jog than combat, blue jeans, and a white undershirt. His boots clicked against the floor as he muscled past a group of drunken Imperials play Pazaak. Most of the Imperials stuck to one side of the bar, the citizens the other, but they always intermingled when they went for drinks. That was Cyril's best bet.

He tapped the DC-15 holstered at his hip for assurance, and marched on up to the bar. It was built into the wall of the building, and rows of bottles lined the side of it like old relics. A thin layer of dust clung to the counter too, though the dimmed lights and the wispy cloud of smoke that hung over the bar made it difficult to see.

"Balmorran Bluesky." He asked, offering a credit chip. The barkeep, a gruff Togorian, took the chip, grunted his reply, and poured the beverage.

Cyril gazed down at the neon blue liquid, and breathed a quiet sigh. He hadn't caught sight of anyone else at the bar who was not with a partner - tonight would be difficult. Playing his part, he drew back a sip of the heady liquid, and cast his gaze over the bar.


[member="Cyrene Miles"]

 

[Cyrene Miles]

Door opened and dusty boots clicked fairly satisfyingly across the floor to the bar. Cyrene, in military pants and boots, white tank top and her sniper rifle on her back flashed a grin at the bartender as she approached, a small smudge of dirt on her left cheek.

"I took the poster down." The bartender protested.

"I reckoned you might lose it or summat, lucky I kept a copy."

Said poster was drawn from pockets, carefully unfolded and laid on the bar. Paraphrasing, it indicated one free drink for every dead metal parasite.

"You already have .. What like forty three racked up you haven't cashed in on yet!"

"Werl, mayhaps that's so, but I reckon this might be a long assignment, or I might get rotated back, and I hain't paid all that much y'follow?"

"You don't even drink!"

"That hain't precisely true, I just don't drink when I'm carryin'."

"I have never seen you without that gun."

"That gun. Huh. Shh baby, don't you lissen t'him, you're a piece of art is what y'are."

With a shake of his head, the bartender placed a sizeable, cold glass of blue milk on the bar.

[member="Cyril Grayson"]

 

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A slight shift in the great sea that Cyril perceived of the force drew his attention. It was to his far right, and came from the sudden surge of positive emotion between the barkeep and the woman with him.the Jedi eyed them from the corner of the bar, sipping his drink thoughtfully.

This woman was likely a local. Judging from the piece she carried, one of the local militia. Those folks were contracted by the Imperials to keep the peace, but they weren't Stormtroopers themselves. Many of them carried disdainful sentiments of the Empire. Such was to be expected given Balmorra's long history of being a Republic world.

With the practice of a long-weathered scoundrel, Cyril sidled up to the woman. He was a tall figure compared to most. His form was fit given his profession, and it helped him fit right in to the grizzled spacer look.

"Evening miss." He offered in greeting once her exchange with the bartender ended.

He cast his gaze down to the poster, lofted a brow, and cracked a thin smile. "Collecting?"


[member="Cyrene Miles"]

 

[Cyrene Miles]

Cyrene looked over and up, and then up a bit more when she was addressed. Her body language stayed relaxed, it was clear she was comfortable in her surroundings.

This likely fed the impression that she was a local. In fact it was largely because Cyrene was common as dirt, and got on with average folk quite well. She was by nature laid back and friendly, and her distinct lack of airs and graces put most at ease.

"Evenin', don't reckon I've seen you in here afore."

She replied with an easy smile and a sip of her drink, back of her hand rising to wipe her mouth out of habit.

"And a-yuh. I figger I get ammo for free, I don't get drinks f'r free, so if'n I can trade one f'r th'other.. Besides, hain't much else t'do at the mo'."

She added with a shrug. This was all true. Plus the metal parasites were a pest and made life harder for the locals, if she could thin them out why not? And it kept her sniping skills sharp. Just because you had a cushy post was no call to go soft.

"Cyrene Miles, by th'by."

[member="Cyril Grayson"]

 

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The many years Cyril had spent playing this sort of game came back to him all at once. He was no expert charmer, women confused him, and those that had shown him any genuine affection usually had some rather unhealthy motives for suck feelings. That did not mean he was inexperienced in a bar scene.

"Cyril Grayson. I'm not from Balmorra, just here on business. Like every other di'kut under the sun." He offered a warm smile, one that came naturally rather than forcibly.

He turned bodily toward the woman, his fingers resting on the rim of his drink as he examined her. It was nothing more than a cursory look, no malcontent or anything otherwise in his gaze.

"Though you might've seen me. Could be lying. Every man looks the same in a bar." He teased, setting his weight against the bar.

He ran a hand over the back of his head, and lofted a brow. "So, the lovely Miss Cyrene, what's your business, other than free bullets and beer? Bounty hunter? Moisture farmer? Card shark?"


[member="Cyrene Miles"]

 

[Cyrene Miles]

"Dunno, I reckon some are more recognizable'n others."

Was the reply with a one shouldered shrug. It was very nearly flirting. About as close as she got anyway. He was easy enough on the eyes, this was true, but her Mama had always told her you din't rut with a bull less'n you wanted calves, and children did not precisely fit into her life. She liked being a sniper. She liked the military. It was easy and organized and served a needful purpose.

"Less excitin' than bounty hunter or card shark, wee but more excitin' than moisture farmer."

Thumb and forefinger were held just a bit apart to demonstrate how small. Moisture farming. No thank you. Proper ranching had gotten boring enough, and you never knew what the beasts were going to do, plus there were the raiders every year.

"I just follow orders, shoot where I'm aimed."

This was accompanied by another shrug and self effacing smile. The Sniper wasn't exactly your average trooper or hired gun, but she did not have high opinions of herself. She was just doing her bit to ensure order, stability and safety.

[member="Cyril Grayson"]

 

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Following orders. Cyril pondered that for a moment, biting down on his lower lip as he hovered over his drink. There were very few occupations in this town that one could just follow orders and carry a rifle around. Most likely not the militia. No, this woman was an Imperial.

The realization caused no change to his expression. He smile remained, and he even leaned in partway to sell his interest. People came to bars to socialize. Single people came to bars to find possible partners, whether that be for a single night or a lifetime was up to the individual. He would play that part.

"I wouldn't happen to be one of those people, would I?" He fired right back, his lips pressing into an amused little smirk. If this woman was an Imperial, she would know what the inside of the garrison would look like.

She would know how many Sith resided within.

"Empire then?" He inferred with feigned innocence. His drink was left abandoned on the counter, an elbow propping up on the counter too, the other falling down to his side. "Why join up? Patriotism? Opportunity? Looking to be the prettiest woman in the Stormtrooper corps?"

It was a cheesy line, but it was really the best he could do.




[member="Cyrene Miles"]

 

[Cyrene Miles]

"Reckon a person would likely remember you."

She allowed. Mama hadn't been the fount of all wisdom, she'd managed to get herself trampled to death like a damn fool idiot after all.

"Can't no one see what y'look like under the helmet."

Was her answer, both confirming his guess and brushing away the idea that she'd joined up because she was after men. You could find men anywhere. She shrugged once more, much as she might have deeply rooted beliefs and opinions, she was no soapbox speaker.

"Steady job, pays all right, sommun's gotta do it. Damned lawless most places. Lots o'places got more'n their fair share o'criminals, raiders 'n th'like. Reckon a person can only expect what they're willin' t'do themselves from others."

She didn't have much patience for those who sat about bemoaning their situations. Sympathy yes, but not patience. All the ranchers had defended their own land, they didn't expect anyone else to save them though it would have been welcome if someone had.

[member="Cyril Grayson"]

 

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"Consider me charmed." He could understand those reason. No tyrannical desire to rule or establish species dominance. She was just a girl doing her job, and as someone from the other side of that philosophical line, he found her intriguing.

He leaned forward, his voice falling to a low rumble.

"You wanna show me how well you can shoot? There's a nice spot outback." He gestured with a slight shrug. In truth, he wanted to get Cyrene alone to ask the questions he wanted to ask.

Along with a myriad of other stupid, muddled reasons.

"If the good lady is as much of a crack shot as she seems." He challenged, reaching over to poke her shoulder in a pseudo-threat. "I'll even bet you. What would you want from little 'ol me?"


[member="Cyrene Miles"]

 

[Cyrene Miles]

Charmed? That was met with a duck of the head and one hand rising to rub the bridge of her nose. Charming was not an adjective Cyrene would have assigned to herself, nor one she'd ever gone out of her way to embody. It was still kind of nice to hear though.

She was half ready to back away when his voice dropped to a rumble for all that the blood rose in her cheeks when he suggested they go out back. For shooting, right. He likely was hoping to get a shot off.

Until he turned it into a challenge. And a bet.

"Dunno about crack shot. 'M all right. I hit what I'm aimin' at most times."

Over ninety percent of the time in fact. Ninety-nine if it was a stationary target. She was very good, but it didn't do to brag.

"Reckon it'd be unsportsmanlike not t'take your bet though. And dunno, whatchoo got t'offer? And what do y'want if y'win?"

It was always possible he would after all. As Mama always said, you were only the best till someone better came along and knocked y'on yer ass.

[member="Cyril Grayson"]

 

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Just a map of the garrison. Oh, and the movements of any Sith in the area. Maybe a hot cake.

That didn't sound very good in his head. Cyril grimaced inwardly as he tried to figure out just what he would bet. A thousand thoughts went through his mind in that split second: a thousand worthless ideas that only served to distract the Jedi. Then one stuck. It was a silly thing, plain in every way, and that was why it was perfect.

"You win, and you can name your price, so long as it
Isn't credits, immoral, or murder...-y." It was a word. "If I win, I'll take a drink and your company. I'm fine otherwise." He lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug, and motioned outside.

To him, it seemed as if the cantina had erupted into chaos during the time they were conversing. Off duty soldiers were drinking profusely and singing some cadence about burning the Republic. Average citizens were playing cards, flirting, and threatening each other in every corner of the room. Things had become a bit too stuffy for Cyril's case, and that was his real reason for wanting out.

He stood up to his full height, slipped the empty glass along the bar. A look over his shoulder cast a bright smile Cyrene's way, and then he was walking out the door, heading toward the edge of town where Collocoid sightings were frequent.

[member="Cyrene Miles"]

 

[Cyrene Miles]

"A'right. Done."

She agreed after a moments thought. She still wasn't sure what she'd ask of him if she won. She supposed she could pull a spacers favourite and a ranchers least. The nebulous future favour. Some folks liked it because they didn't have to give anything up front. Some didn't because owing someone an unspecified thing was.. worrying. Who knew what they'd ask, or when they'd ask for it. Likely she'd not ask for anything, but it got her out of the current predicament and that was what mattered. And of he won.. Well she had enough drink credits here to put anyone under a table, so that was no skin off her back.

She was a bit put off he thought she might ask for something murder-y, but it was a cantina, and she did kill folks for a living. Of course considering how good at it she was she couldn't imagine she'd need him to help. Some people.

All the same, she rose and followed. Possibly it was dangerous following a stranger out to the edges of town, but for all he was a bit odd this [member="Cyril Grayson"] didn't strike her as the dangerous kind. Besides, even if he did try something, it wasn't like she was some delicate debutante. She was a rancher. And a stormtrooper. And a sniper.

"What're y'thinkin' as a target?"

She was interested. Might be he was just going to go to the old stand-by of cans. Might be there were more parasites out this way. Maybe someone even had a disc shooter. There were enough bored soldiers it could be so.

 

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Taking out two birds with one stone was just too satisfying.

He fell in step with Cyrene as they walked through the dingy little town. There would be one nice home that a family might have lived in, and a cardboard shack right next to it. Mortality rates were high in the town, and many of the public businesses had been shut down to avoid spreading disease. People needed vaccines to survive, and while the imperials did keep the Collocoids from overrunning the settlement, they boarded the medication for themselves.

It made a dark, dreary life for the denizens of Kinthar. Cyril cast his gaze this way and that, and frowned.

"Maybe you could get some of the vaccines to these people. I know the Imperials need them too, but there's no point in protecting the people if they're dying in the streets anyway." He mused quietly, voice low so that no other could possibly hear him. That was important in this kind of town - the wrong word could get you shot.

They came out over a high ridge. Below was a massive brown valley that the Collocoids inhabited. It would normally be green and lush, but the bugs dug out the land to make room for their tunnels. Beneath the slab of barren earth was a Collocoid hive, a place no sentient being should ever hope to tread.

"I was thinking bugs. Unless you were thinking of shooting me." He snickered, leaning over the edge of the ridge to get a good look. About thirty meters out, a three green insects the size of a small starship lumbered through the valley.

They were Collocoid guardians. Dangerous creatures that actively hunted humans, togruta, and anything else they could get their mandibles on. They went down quick if you hit them behind their head spines.

"Up to save the town some pain? Drop one, then I'll have a go. Unless your afraid." He threw his hands up, a teasing lite to his voice. "Which I would understand entirely.

 

[Cyrene Miles]

The comment about the vaccines didn't sit well. Sure it would be good to be able to vaccinate everyone of course, but the likes of her didn't decide that sort of thing. Frig she never even saw the vaccine shipments. Before, and sometimes during a posting she got a round of shots and that was about the extent of her involvement in that side of things. Half the time she didn't even know what she was being injected with, she just trusted that someone did. So all she did was make a non-commital noise.

It would be nice if everyone could live in a swank house too, but it wasn't like you needed to. Half the ranchers back home had homes they'd cobbled together, often in a constant state of flux as they added and changed. Didn't much matter what it looked like, as long as it did its job. Of course some of these 'homes' didn't look like they were doing their job in the least.

"Wa'n't thinkin' of shootin' you."

Her tone was not precisely pleased as his destination and intent were revealed. It was true, much of her active time on planet here was dedicated to putting down any colicoids who decided their human neighbours looked a bit too tasty. The bugs were brutal, vicious and blood-thirsty.

"You know them are people hey? Creepy, disgustin' bug people, but people all th'same. I ain't in the habit of shootin' folks just for a bet."

Cyrene did not in fact think very much of aliens. This was largely because most of the raiders who'd harassed her lands year after year had been at most humanoid. The bugs in particular gave her the shivers but.. Well if they thought and they talked and they did business, then they were at least quasi-people. Maybe even citizens. As soon as they broke the law, went out for blood, they were fair game, but before that..

"I hain't scared, but I hain't shootin' 'em."

[member="Cyril Grayson"]

 

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A hint of amusement showed itself in his smile. He turned to face the Stormtrooper. Her displeasure fell from her in steady waves - this was no act, she was committed to letting the creatures be.

Cyril was impressed.

"Good." His smile only widened. He personally had not been aware of the Collocoids sentience, only the damage they caused. It was news to him, and he was glad to know it. The creatures would be left alone.

"Wasn't aware they were sentient to tell you the truth. Wouldn't suggest such a thing if I did." He promised. He was not above recognizing his own mistakes, and thanking the one that corrected them when it was earned.

"How about..." He cast his gaze around. Not much to see, except...

An old overturned speeder sat at the edge of the valley, some ninety meters away. It's guts had been ripped out some time ago, leaving a rusting durasteel chassis alone to rust in Balmorra's sun. That would do.

Cyril sidled up to the woman's side, set an arm on her shoulder, and pointed toward the speeder with the other. The steady whir of cybernetics in his right arm could be heard, if one were to listen carefully.

"Pop the speeder."

[member="Cyrene Miles"]

 

[Cyrene Miles]

Well that was probably all right then if he hadn't known. It didn't feel like a lie, though her nose for such things wasn't the best. She could spot when someone started trying to tell lies that were too intricate, but other than that she was fairly clueless. Besides, as long as he wasn't still gunning for them..

"Don't get me wrong, they're right bastards. Eatin' folks, eatin' each other, most of 'em won't talk Basic around you though they can. I wouldn't pay 'em a social call is what I'm sayin'. One o'the boys said these ones is worse'n most 'cause they had their genes mucked with. I dunno about that, could be so. Their folks made the droidekas and such though. 'S why they look alike."

Her eyes moved to follow his arm, only slightly distracted by his close presence. Normally this sort of thing might be very distracting indeed, but she was a sniper first and foremost, and he was presenting her target. Her baby had an effective range of 1,500 metres, obscene as that number was. Ninety was basically spitting distance. Before he'd even finished the last word the rifle was in her hands and firing. It had a kick on it, but she was pretty used to. Didn't even have to take a stance and aim proper for this. Eye barely glanced through scope. It was enough of an extension of herself that this close she didn't need to.

Too easy.

[member="Cyril Grayson"]

 

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Sniping was not Cyril's strong suit. He had good eyes and the force to guide him, but any distance beyond a few meters was beyond him. That didn't mean he couldn't try.

The speeder's undercarriage went up in flames as soon as the bolt hit. It was a small fire caused by the blaster bolts energy meeting the rusted metal of the vehicles bottom half. Cyril eyes it from afar, and pursed his lips in silent awe. Such a quick shot, and such a clean hit.

He didn't notice his hand lingering on the sniper's shoulder.

"I think you win." He mused quietly, taking note of the prolonged physical contact. He broke it as soon as the familiar shock of embarrassment rose in him. It didn't quite make it up to his face and cause him to blush, but he felt it nonetheless.

"And I lose. So tell me, what do you want?" He mused quietly, tearing his eyes away from the flaming undercarriage.

He turned to face her, gazing down at the Imperial. He did not yet have the information he needed, but he found himself enjoying her company at the very least, whatever that was worth.

"I can hit the broadside of a Star Destroyer on a good day. Other times it goes off toward the stars, I'm afraid."


[member="Cyrene Miles"]

 

[Cyrene Miles]

Cyrene grinned as the shot hit home. It might have been easy but a good, solid shot was always satisfying. His immediate capitulation only added to that brief surge of pleasure. It was gone quickly enough though, wouldn't want him misunderstanding and thinking she was gloating.

She'd hardly been aware of the lingering hand, until he'd removed it, and then she'd wished he hadn't.

Woah down there girl. This ain't exactly a safe zone and you don't hardly know this bull. Thought we weren't gonna do like every soldier on shore leave?

"Don't hardly reckon it were a fair contest when I din't tell y'I was a proper sniper. No debt."

Not that there ain't a few things I want that y'could do..

She allowed, lowering the rifle and putting it back over her shoulder. Hoping that the gathering dusk hid the slight blush her own thoughts inspired.

[member=Cyril Grayson"]

 

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No debt.

Cyril might not have seen her face clearly in the darkness of the approaching evening, but he certainly felt her shift in the force. It was a subtle thing, a small change to the aura that surrounded the woman. She would be easy to shake for information now, charm always went over better than intimidation, but the errant Jedi found himself pleased as well. The woman interested him, and she had a sense of morality than many Imperials were missing.

Perhaps...

"Where are you from?" He asked abruptly, turning on the sniper. He wore an easy smile, and genuine interest laced his carefully chosen words. "I'm Naboo born, but I grew up on Gratos during the reign of the last Sith Empire. Not a good place for a human to be, but it built character."

Few people spoke of Gratos lately, but many remembered. There, two billion humans had been enslaved to the Graug Sith Lords, used for breeding and physical labor. Two thirds of that group had been killed by Jedi bombings during the battle of Gratos. It was a black mark on the Order's record, and few save those that lived through the crisis ever spoke of. Cyril was in that latter group.

He folded his arms over his chest, and extended his senses outward. He wanted to get a lay of the land, per-sey. He had three days until his allies arrived after all. He needed to know what to avoid and who to talk to by the time they arrive.

His hand came to rest on her forearm. It was a thoughtless motion, one done through a burst if confidence rather than predisposed choice. Are you seeing anyone?"

[member="Cyrene Miles"]

 

[Cyrene Miles]

Gratos.. Well Tanaab hadn't exactly been the centre of the Galaxy but some things were big enough you heard about and bad enough they got remembered. It helped some that it had been the last Sith Empire, and that Cyrene did some fairly naive mental division that had the Imperial Army at arms length from the Sith themselves, regardless of following the One Sith banner. War crimes aside, the Force wasn't bloody natural. All mucking in folks heads and throwing people around without touching them. Lighting folks on fire. Electrocution. Tearing out souls. That were basically the definition of unnatural.

She'd been puzzling out how to respond to this revelation, 'sorry to hear you were likely tortured' not seeming like the done thing. She'd almost settled on just responding to his first question when he dropped the next on her.

Seeing anyone? This time she was very aware of his hand, the precise pressure of it and the added warmth. That was a funny question from a Spacer, as she assumed he was. They didn't generally care whether you were seeing anyone or not, seeing as they didn't usually intend to see you more than once. Or that was her understanding anyway.

"Oh, uh. No. Can't really. Seein' as I'm on active duty and all. Never know where I'll be assigned nor for how long."

This was true. Not that she'd given it much thought before now, but then it had never come up before either. It suddenly struck her as a bit of a shame that she couldn't tell anyone where or when to meet her.

"Taanab, used t'have a ranch there."

[member="Cyril Grayson"]