That didn't go well.  Would have made things easier, Shard considers. "Apologies.  I'll go quickly, won't keep him long." But easier isn't the way of things in this kind of game.  With a short bow, she heads out of the room, following the assistant.

It probably won't work, given how she's managed things so far, but Shard gives some persuasion a try.  "Listen," she says to the obviously disgruntled assistant.  "I've ticked off your boss enough - get me part way, give me some directions, and if you're worried, call the break room later.  I'll make it."

Actually...this could work to their advantage, she considers.  If the administrator is annoyed with their group, it's more likely he'll get them to cool their heels longer, giving them more time to prepare.

As they walked, Juragga caught the sidelong glances Haarmon threw the rooms they passed and groaned.  Haarmon was being clever.  While this sometimes led to glorious things, it often led to lots of shooting, crying and praying.

"GrrrrrrAAAAAWwwwwr," he muttered, his teal eyes flicking to the rest of the group.  Be careful.

Vekkis has been quiet since they arrived on Alrirkr, lost in thought.  He doesn't like being in places like this -- not mines specifically, but places that are apparently swarming with stormtroopers.  As a smuggler Imperial uniforms make him nervous, and as a smuggler he has developed a sense for them.  He can, for instance, smell white armour from a couple of kilometres away.

And he smells it here.  The droid's assessment of the facility's troop complement doesn't surprise him at all.

The sight of the card game in the break room piques his interest though.  Depending on the stakes, it might provide the perfect opportunity to earn some profit from this mission.  He wanders over, sits at a table close by and starts to watch how the game progresses.

Haarmon nodded at Juragga. "You're right, Rags," he said, mostly under his breath, "This maybe ain't the time to be getting all cute. Maybe we ought to play it straight." He shrugged. Smiled his smarmiest smile. "For now."

And then he entered the room and his eyes were drawn to the Sabacc game. He was no expert, but his quick and logical mind made him more than passably proficient at most card games. Sabacc was no exception. He noticed Vekkis was eying the game hungrily as well.

"Hey," he said to Shard and Rhijans, "Okay if I take a hand or two? Good way to get some info maybe? Huh? Am I right? What do you think?"

Rhijans fought down the grimace that sought to leap to his face.  He'd been hoping to overhear something...something that, possibly, wouldn't be discussed with an outsider at the table, and he'd been pulled away to listen to Dak's request.  He appreciated the thought...but the timing left something to be desired.

But, it was too late to do anything about it now, and they could only work with the circumstances they were given.  "Sure, kid...but you're staking yourself for the game.  If you lose everything, it's your loss, don't ask us to kick funds in."  He let Haarmon turn back toward the table before the afterthought dawned on him.

"And...try and be subtle about getting 'em talking."

He really hoped he wasn't going to regret saying 'yes' to that...

Mark decided to try to talk with a few workers. He wandered over the side of the room where some of them were eating and drinking. "Bantha poo. It's cold. I hope it warmed up in the Summer." Mark rubbed his hands together to warm them.


OOC Are all the workers humans, or an alien species.

"Sorry, but with the security procedures we have in place lately I can't let you wander about on your own." the office worker keeps walking alongside Shard, "Any unaccompanied visitors in the warehouse area are likely to be detained and put to work in the mines, or just shot."

In the break room, the gamblers appear to be playing, not for credits, but for some kind of scrip.

At least they were... the game seems to be slowing to a halt as the players' attention is drawn to Juragga rather than their cards.

Mark Jacob's attempt to start up a conversation draws a chuckle from a grizzled worker and a wry grin from his much younger companion.  "This is summer." the old-timer replies, "Not been here before then, Mate?"

"I'm guessing you have a pretty high turnaround here?" Shard quips, seething inside.  Any mild pity she has for the administration has long-since vanished; far from being harried bureaucrats, they seem to have bought into the entire policy.  "That's pretty draconic," she continues, more seriously.  "Waiiiit, 'lately'?"

She cocks an eyebrow.  "Never been here before, myself.  What does lately mean?"  The woman looks around with a hint of concern.  "Something I should be worried about?"     

Haarmon offers Rhijans something between a smile and a snort. Kind of a little bit of both, really. "Subtle? Are you kidding me? I'm all about subtle. Seriously. I'm practically the Grand Moff of Subtle Sector. Rags? Back me up on this one. Am I right?"

He turns away, not waiting for a response (and maybe hoping they wouldn't understand whatever Juragga might say in response), and watches the Sabacc game just long enough to know that he belongs at the table.

"What have we got here?" he asks, swaggering up to the group, "Some kind of beginner's guide? A tutorial, like? That's cool." He looks around. "But it looks like you got a classroom with no teacher. The blind leading the blind, am I right?" He puts down his stake and indicates he wants to be dealt in.

"Well it's a good thing I'm here. Otherwise you'd all be walking away thinking this is how the game is played. Like thinking an epileptic seizure is dancing. Am I right?"

Pfft, he thinks, Subtle. Tell me about subtle.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:25, Mon 27 June 2011.

Rhijans watched Haarmon walk over.  He managed to not cringe at the kid's opening line to the group at the table, who seized on his line of patter like starving predators on a piece of bloody raw meat.  Rhijans was starting to notice a pattern...any claim that Dak made, which happened to be followed up by an appeal for back-up from the Wookiee, was sheer bluff and bravado.  This didn't appear to be any different, judging by the results.

If he'd just relax and stop trying so damn hard, Rhijans mused...there was actually a lot of potential there.  The kid had been brilliant behind a computer...he just needed to learn to be more like that when he didn't have a keyboard in front of him.

Still, all the false bravado might get the miners--or slave-drivers, as Rhijans was beginning to suspect them of being, since they all carried stun-batons--over-confident and loose-lipped.  He selected a snack from the machine to go with the questionable drink he'd gotten, and leaned against a counter to watch how long it took for the miners to empty Dak's pockets.  Watching, without seeming to be watching, and trying to gather intel...

"Lately," the office worker explains, "as in, 'since Moff Kivost decided we're an important military asset and sent us a garrison of stormtroopers to handle security'."

He indicates that Shard should step onto an elevator platform, which starts to carry her up to the next level, about ten metres higher.  "As for whether you should be worried... that would depend on whether you're a transport crewmember or a rebel saboteur."

The card players drag their attention away from Juragga to stare at Haarmon, one of them speaks up, "This is a private... " he pauses as another man elbows him and nods towards the credits on the table, "... game, but I'm sure we can fit you in.  Sit down, we'll deal you in next hand."

One of the other men, not the one with the persuasive elbow, comments, "You people should keep an eye on your friend there." indicating Juragga, "We're overrun with stormtroopers.  If they spot him, they might decide he's an escaped slave."

Rhijans grimaced as he took a sip of the drink.  "Oh, we never let him wander around too far from any of us."  In his mind he chuckled...it was true...or would be, if they'd known the Wookiee long enough to worry about such things.  He wouldn't be wandering, he'd likely be heading out with some very explicit objectives...

He shrugged, and added, "It's never been a problem before, but then again, most of our stops aren't generally heavily garrisoned.  Seems like it's making all kinds of chaos here..."  He took another sip, almost snarling at the aftertaste.  "Certainly put a bind on our timetable..."

"Only just now?"  Shard shakes her head.  "Bureaucracy in action...shifting priorities, or new upper management." Her shrug finishes the observation - it doesn't really matter which, is what it comes down to.

Stepping onto the elevator, she eyes the office drone.  "Would it matter?  From the sound of what your boss said, I could get shot or grabbed for the mines just as easily as a team of people with guns and bombs."  She deliberately avoids any specifics, such as 'commandos', 'blasters', and 'CV-X malleable explosives'.

The older woman sighs.  "Seems we have enough to worry abuot just picking up cargo these days.  Never used to be this way.  Things were more secure a few years back, people more relaxed...now everyone walks around on eggshells.  What happened?"  A rhetorical, musing question, not one seriously probing for an answer...but it leaves an opening, nonetheless.

Of course, given the man's mood, he might very well not take it.

Watching the young human approach the gamblers the droid threw its arms up, "Young Sir! These men do nothing but sit here and gamble all day long! They are quite good at it, Sir!" The sound of the voice suggests that if had it been possible the droid would look quite concerned.

Having said its piece it turned towards the wookie and the grey humanoid, "I do say! They cause total chaos! Not that the place was ever remotely a smooth operation, if I say so, but those troops and all the slaves, oh my! Dear me, what organics do to one another! How rude! Never, I say, never would droid treat other droids in such fashion! Never!"

It begins to walk around the room, muttering under the breath it hasn't got, gesticulating in a manner befitting someone upset.

Rhijans saw an opening, and went for it.  Giving up on trying to coax discussion out of the players at the table, he left them to harass Dak under Juragga's watchful gaze and stepped over to the droid.

"Y'know, personally I would prefer that he not play," Rhijans started quietly, looking back at the table surreptitiously, trying to make sure his point of discussion was not overheard there.  "But we've learned that there are some lessons the kid only learns the hard way--I got tired of trying to tell him 'this is too risky' or 'that will only end badly.'  Now, I just try to make sure I'm available to help him dust himself off after he gets knocked down trying these kinds of things."  He shrugged, in a gesture of helplessness that he didn't really feel--he was actually a big proponent of learning via hard knocks, but he didn't think he'd get very far with the droid by touting the benefits of that particular approach.

He let himself take on a worried look, and added, "So, they weren't just kidding when they said the stormtroopers might think the Wookiee was an escaped slave?  I thought they were just trying to make us nervous..."  With a little luck, the droid might start talking about the slaves, and give them some of the information they needed...

The droid shakes his head, "Oh dear, I do hope those lessons do not include combat, and proper usage of space suits!  Highly unsuitable, Sir!  Or handling of vehicles!  Oh dear!"

As they step off the elevator, Shard feels a drop in temperature and realises that this level is entirely open on one side, revealing a vast warehouse fading off into the distance.  Only a faint flicker in the air reveals that the opening is closed by a forcefield.  Her guide seems about as cold as the air as he replies, "What happened is that, just like us, any place with anything important in the way of resources got classified as being a possible target for those rebel scum."

"Sure, they say they're fighting oppression and tyranny, but their making life harder for the common man, as the Empire tries to clamp down on their terrorism."

Gesticulating wildly the droid continues to pace, leaving Rhijans to keep up, "Those dim, feebleminded troopers!  Mark my words, Sir, your furry friend would be arrested on the spot if seen alone!  Sent to the Nergon mines, he would be, never to see daylight again!  Positively horrific, positively!  Dirty barracks too, very much so!  And even as a group, Sir, they would doubtless stop you all to interrogate you with their obtuse questions, mark my words, asking for proper paperwork and all!  Most obtuse, those troopers, Sir!" The droid suddenly halts and turns to face Rhijans, whispering loudly with great concern, "Oh dear me!  He does not shed, does he?  That would make an awful mess, it would!  Or is that seasonal?"  He leans over to not very subtly sneak a peek at Juragga.

At the table the hand finishes, and true to their word, the workers deal Haarmon in.

Rhijans struggled to keep a bemused tone from creeping into his voice.  The nagging droid was something of a bother, sure, but it was all so totally at odds with the whole setting and situation that part of him wanted to laugh, and he couldn't afford to have the droid thinking he was laughing at it.

"No, we try to keep the 'learn it the hard way' lessons restricted to stuff that won't actually cause him any physical harm.  Doesn't do you any good to learn a lesson the hard way if you don't survive to use the knowledge gained.  And, so far, I haven't noticed any stray Wookiee hairs floating around the ship, so I'm pretty sure he doesn't shed...if he does, he's very meticulous about his grooming."

Taking advantage of the droid's preoccupation, Rhijans asked, "Sounds like you haven't encountered many Wookiees...what do they use for labor here, then?"  The question was casual, off-hand...as if he couldn't imagine NOT using a Wookiee for heavy manual labor...

Vekkis decides not to join the game immediately.  Instead he chooses to sit back and watch how the kid does.  Can't do any harm to learn a little more about his potential opposition, and watching exactly how they take Haarmon apart (or vice-versa) should teach him a few things.

Things like how good they are, if they are prone to particular errors, whether or not they have any noticeable tells.  And maybe whether they are sore losers.  Very important that one.

So he leans back in his chair, stretches his legs out in front of him, and sips at his cafstim, while being careful not to look like he's studying the gamblers.

Cold.  She's starting to hate the cold.  With every year that passes, it seeps in deeper, getting into her bones.  A couple of drinks would solve that, but she's on the job.  Still, it might help her cover...given that reasoning, it isn't long before Shard pops the top on her flask and takes a swig.  She doesn't bother asking the imperial if he wants a taste - stick up his rear, and an angry boss to boot.

Besides, she'd have to sterilize the mouth of the flask with something stronger.

Holding her outer garments more tightly around her, Shard shakes her head.  "Great.  I'd heard this sector wasn't exactly a hotbed of terrorist activity.  Made it seem like a good place to start doing business.  Now this?"  She lets out an ethanol-flavoured sigh.  "Going to have to tell the boss to make sure we have all our systems ready for pirates.  Thanks for the intell."

Of course, the common man didn't see much of the oppression and tyranny when he, himself, was a part of it.  Though he didn't seem to have much problem chatting about people getting shot 'accidentally' or snagged and thrown in the mines.  Part of the problem, you disgusting man, she considers.  This one isn't an unwitting dupe; he knows what's going on and deliberately turns a blind eye, if he isn't actively participating.

Maybe the next 'terrorist' bomb will be in your quarters.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:31, Mon 04 July 2011.

The sabacc game continues, and Haarmon's run of bad luck continues right along with it.  Or maybe he just really isn't as good a player as he claimed.  He certainly keeps making dumb mistakes which he somehow manages to minimise the damage from.  A couple of hands in, and he's already down a few credits.  The only bit of luck which does seem to be going his way is that the locals are, luckily, not keen to part with their scrip.

"This way." Shard's guide directs her towards a door, the only exit from the landing, other than the parallel elevators.

"They did use mostly humans, Sir.  Paid workers, all of them." the droid explains, "But now they will use anybody they can.  There are several different species in the mines now, all of them slaves, and living under the most shocking conditions.  But you will not see them up here, oh no.  Slaves are restricted to the mines.  Which means that when they need somebody to interpret their ridiculous instructions and orders into Rodian or Weequay or Chagrian or some such, I have to go to the mine too.  Sometimes it is so cold that my servos start to freeze.  My life was much more tolerable when I worked only in the office where we first met, translating for visiting pilots."

The door opens, and Shard steps into the break room, as the door closes again, almost too close behind her.

Rhijans nodded.  Some might have been surprised to see him showing any degree of empathy, especially for a droid, but Rhijans had learned to judge each being on its own merits, regardless of what that being's origins might be.  And, right now, he could definitely commiserate with the droid--having a job that used to be enjoyable that was replaced by a lot of undesirable activities sounded painfully familiar, at the moment.

But he didn't let himself get sidetracked by it.  "They just keep 'em down there?  Seems to me that would make for really high attrition--don't these people believe in preventive maintenance?"  He shook his head...and the disgust in his voice was not feigned.  In his business--well, his former business, he reminded himself--you lived or died on how well your equipment worked, and neglecting equipment--even slaves--was a cardinal sin, in his mind.

Juragga continues to play the role of servile, beaten-down Wookiee.  But when the droid mentions being thrown in the mines, he cannot completely suppress a silent snarl.

His teal eyes scan the exits and the room, watchful.

By the time the first hand was over, Haarmon had pretty much forgotten about gathering intel, subtle or not. In fact, the workers could have been discussing the lay out of the Imperial Garrison itself and Haarmon might not have even noticed. He was wholly focused on the game.

And on not looking like a total wamp-runner while doing so. AT least Shard hadn't seen him totally blow the opening hand.

He did his best to make it seem like he was 'easing' himself into the game before refocusing and taking another stab at it. He was quiet now, all of his energy bent towards the cards.

The next hand goes better, at least for Haarmon, not so much for the mine crew.  Perhap's Shard's presence has brought Haarmon some luck.  After a few minutes of tense bidding, and assorted verbal bantha poodoo, Haarmon succeeds in raking in a sizeable pot.  Interestingly that pot does not contain any of the credits he lost in the first round, just the mineworkers' scrip, plus the credits he gambled this round.

It seems that the miners, if they get their hands on real Imperial cash, aren't going to risk losing it again in a sabacc game.

One of the miners throws up his hands, "I'm done.  Only luck I'm having today is all bad!"

"Oh no, Sir!  They keep them in a separate part of the mine where they are locked up in guarded barracks when not working." the droid says, "But they do keep them down there, hence the delicate business with your friend, Sir.  Positively dreadful, what they do, mark my words.  We seem to be made to suffer, those poor slaves and I.  It is our lot in life."  Somehow the droid manages to look disheartened despite the fact that it cannot slump its shoulders.

The unlucky miner pushes away from the table and starts towards the door, glowering at Juragga as he passes.

Vekkis Lund continues to observe the game, while Shard and Mark Jacobs try to look as if they are not up to no good...

Shard ambles over to sit next to Juragga - it seems the safest area to be at the moment, in a roomfull of miners.  Worst place in the universe for a single girl, even one as beat-up as me.  She gives the Wookie a small pat on shoulder (having to reach up to do so) and gives a glower right back at the miner heading out.

"Nice place," she mutters - more of a chatty mutter than a secretive one, and she doesn't care if someone is within earshot. "Cold, full of unfriendly people, and if you're in the wrong place at the wrong time, they just shoot you or toss you in the mines.  Wonder if the retirement benefits are just as good?" Her mouth quirks. "They're all freaked out because the Moff figures this place is a target for Rebels.  Usual Bantha droppings - Rebels here, Rebels there, gotta slap down some more stormtroopers to keep everyone safe."

She shrugs.  "Never seen much terrorism around these parts yet.  Maybe they've got some info we don't, though."

If only she SPOKE Wookie, Shard considers.  She could hand out information without all the circling around the point.  Wouldn't have to call us terrorists either, the woman considers.