Urh'otrr'kur
Location: Orbit, Mandalore -> Keldabe Spaceport, Mandalore -> Keldabe, Mandalore
Mentions: N/AThere had never been a comfortable journey. That was the truth for the singular flesh-and-blood occupant of the cabin, as far as he could state a truth to be. He still found the journeys to lightspeed to be disconcerting, strange, the blue streaks about the ship unnatural, the lights…different. The idea had been explained several times to the figure, the concept that they moved at such speed that objects became a blur, which then became a streak, and he knew that such explanations were likely true. He was still uncomfortable. Others had said the same, and their solution to such discomfort was as simple as could be. There was a reason Urh’otrr’kur sat alone in the cabin, only the pilot droid to keep him company. The other occupant, a guard he had brought along, said in the rear with the speeder bikes.
A look edgewise, at the droid, told him little. It sat at its work silently, just as every other time, only announcing when they were about to enter a system, when they were ready to exit, and so on. All other aspects of its work were done silently, obediently, simply. There was something discomforting about the droid, too. It had no face, and also no real language. Could he tell what it thought behind a mask, the same as he could tell what a Tusken thought behind a mask? No, not at all. He had been assured that there was nothing behind the droid’s mask, no capacity to hide secrets from others. The assurances reminded him of the old tales, the ones clung to by so many others, by the resolve of it. They said it was, therefore it was. He knew revolts by made beings had happened before, though, knew it by their old tales from the homeland, knew it by histories of other worlds. They knew the histories, too, and dismissed it easily. The Tusken was not so sure.
His son assured him, too, but he had taken a different route. He said that any task a made being can perform, so too can the flesh and blood and, thus, so too can the Tusken do the task. He wanted them to be able to do everything the others did, the outsiders. He wanted them to be able to navigate, to fly, to fight in the black sea. Then, his son said, they would not need to rely on the made beings. Then they could do as they wished, whenever they wished. The chieftain was not so certain. There was much to be said about self reliability, much to be said about independence, but he had seen how the dregs of the outsiders’ technologies had already shackled his people. They needed to trade for parts they could not make and, to achieve the ability to make those parts, they would need to discard much of what made Tuskens Tusken. It was a balancing act between enough technology to ensure strength, for there was much to point towards at home that spoke to their struggles against encroachers, and enough simplicity to maintain their own. His son didn’t believe in the latter. There were times Urh’otrr’kur thought his son wanted them to go to the stars entirely, as though it was the Dune Sea, and travel it as they had back home. There were times…as there always would be times. Questions upon questions upon questions, never a time for true answers. He snorted out at the thought.
“Entering Mandalore System,” the droid suddenly sputtered-out, its voice crackling amid the announcement, and the ship shuddered in its entirety. The hull flexed and shook as they exited hyperdrive, the Tusken stock-still before he released his grip on his seat that he hadn’t realized he had taken. There had never been a comfortable journey, true, and the exit to it was always the least comfortable. Of course, the sight which greeted him was far different to the usual other few times he had visited Mandalore, though not at all unexpected. After all, he was under the impression that it was scheduled to be some sort of celebration for the founding of that republic. What had been lost on Urh’otrr’kur had been the exact scale of everything there. Multitudes of lights danced across his sight, as well as the massive triangular shapes of…well, he wasn’t quite certain. It was a Mandalorian ship, though, as the Tusken had seen it before. Smaller shapes moved here and there, some three that he didn’t recognize keeping a far distance from the planet for some reason.
“Answering Identification Request…Query accepted by Mandalore Traffic Control. Standing by for landing coordinates…” A pause followed the droid’s speech as it clicked away, the ship slowly coming to a crawl of sublight speed. The Tusken sat up just a tad more, his gaze passing from the ships in the distance to the droid before him.
Oh sweet dunes, don’t fail now, he could only think. “Standing by…standing by-y-y…standing by…received coordinates.”
And off they went, the hum of the sublight engines soon filling the cabin like a Sketto swarm.
Good, good, was the thought, though the reminder of such vermin from home was not at all welcome. None enjoyed the sound of Sketto swarms. He wasn’t quite certain what he’d have done if the droid had failed at that moment. The hiss of the cabin door announced another’s curiosity.
<We’re not there yet, are we?><Close, at least. Here to watch?><You know the answer to that.> He couldn’t help but snort at that sort of statement. It was true enough and he had been poking fun.
<He knows you’re coming?>He’d considered it. There was something about the other being, Ro Nuul, that disposed him to secrets. He didn’t like things which connected him to others in such ways, especially things which could be tracked. As Urh’otrr’kur understood it, sending messages would be a trail for others to observe and track. He had no interest in leaving an easy trail back home, similar to how Ro Nuul had no interest in leaving an easy trail back to his home. It was understandable, though it provided for slight difficulties.
<Not precisely. Meeting was set for some nights in the future. He dislikes signals. I dislike signals. Couldn’t warn him.><And if he’s busy?>The planet loomed soon enough. They had passed by many of the other ships, some new and some as old as theirs, the viewscreen turning a red-tinge from the heat at the ship’s entry. He paused at the question, simple as it was. It was more likely than not that they’d have to wait for him, to talk over the possibilities of gaining more voices to support the clan settlement on Ambria, and it was something he’d asked himself before. The worst case scenario would be that the pair would need to wait at their ship for an appointed time.
<Then we find something to do in the meantime. Did you want to do anything specific?>A snort from behind.
<Dunes, no. This place is too green. I want to go back home already.> Home. He wasn’t sure if Roh’okr meant Tatooine or Ambria, though in the end he didn’t want to ask. Contemplation for such concepts seemed to always lead to darker places than Urh’otrr’kur wanted, places where Tuskens mourned for things that would take time to come back, places where they didn’t appreciate what had been done for them. Was he right in that? Blind leading the blind, he supposed, though the full meaning of the phrase was lost to him.
<Shouldn’t have volunteered, then.><I was asked to. You know how Zigh gets. She wanted the urtya to herself.>He couldn’t help but laugh at that statement, a harsh and braying laugh from the deep core. There was something to be said for such times, even if it spoke to how things normally went for Roh'okr in his urtya. Amid his laughter, he could hear the other snort in his own derision, and soon enough it died away.
<Don’t feel too bad. Borders can be good, sometimes.>A pause. He could tell that the conversation wasn’t quite wanted.
<Should I bring the rifles?><Dunes, no. But bring your gaderffii.>The door hissed shut, leaving him back to his thoughts and the silent piloting droid. The Tusken felt the slightest strain of thirst, though he knew it had been not too long before that they’d had a hubba gourd each. It wouldn’t be so soon that they would need another. What
would they do in the meanwhile? He was somewhat certain that they would find one thing or another once they landed. The spaceport loomed before them, a bustle among it now far easier to see as ships landed, moved off whatever they had, before setting off into the air again. In the distance, among the buildings, he could see dark shapes flit between the buildings in quick pace, almost like Sketto in their motions.
Speeder bikes, he thought, bikes and races. He could remember the years when they would shoot at those for sport.
Well, now he just hoped Orh’ruruur wasn’t one of the racers. Strange how times were.
They found their landing spot easily enough, the droid maneuvering the transport with the finesse of something designed for only that action which…well, it was. Lowering, lowering with the rest of the city disappearing from sight to instead be filled with the sights of cargo-movers, droids, and landing crews, the landing legs extended out to give way with the ground before the ship finally came to rest. The sublight engines came to rest, too, as the thrumming reactor dialed itself down slowly, the droid making preparations to slumber until it was needed again.
He rose from his seat, the door hissing open again as the two Tuskens made their way out of the transport. Nothing had been disturbed too much by the journey, not the rifles, not the speeder bikes, and that was a good thing if there ever was. The exit ramp closed on their disembarking, and as he knew the landing spot already paid for in advance with the Traffic Authority the pair soon were out of the spaceport.
The city was more active than he remembered. Some seemed out of place, groups here and there that kept to their own. Many of them seemed quite young, in uniforms Urh’otrr’kur didn’t recognize, though they spoke in tongues different to that of the Mandalorians. He didn’t know the languages, but he could tell the difference. Above, the hum and scream of speeder bike engines seemed to fill the very air with their presence, their movement, while in the distance the sounds of blaster fire and yelling seemed to periodically visit. Yes, it was more active than he remembered.
Roh’okr was less calm about the whole thing. He gripped his gaderffii tight, holding it close as his gaze whipped left, right, left on the whole of it. Looking back at the chieftain, he leaned in closer to speak more quietly with his fellow.
<I would feel better if we weren’t out here.> Looking about as well, Urh’otrr’kur couldn’t help but agree. His free hand had already made its way to his belt, just beside his holster, in a small effort of comfort.
<I’m sure there are quieter roads. Let’s go.>
Orh’ruruur
Location: The Magic Mechanic, Keldabe, Mandalore
Mentions: @ASDAValueMilk He hadn’t noticed the preparations for the day. He hadn’t noticed such things at all, nor really the meaning of the day itself. Twenty-Fifth Founding of the Mandalorian Republic, something that seemed to warrant to the common Mandalorian a day of drinking, shooting, and…other activities. They seemed fixed to remember the day well, too, and to celebrate it every time with no decrease in their merriment. He couldn’t recall any of the cities on Tatooine doing the same, nor the settlements, nor even any of the Tusken clans. No, Orh’ruruur had not noticed the preparations for the day and was quite annoyed by them.
Every single mechanic’s shop seemed to be closed for the day, and probably some days after if they drank as much as he thought they were. He wasn’t much interested in joining them, considering how much drinks cost and how little Orh’ruruur was used to drinking such. It didn’t take much to know that he wouldn’t remember the night except by how many credits he’d lost during it. He didn’t have enough for such spending.
Ah. There was one. He could see the owner through the window, among half-constructed droids and equipment, a…Twi’lek, if the Tusken knew his species as well as he thought he did. Well, at least they were open and, doubtless, the owner wouldn’t have high hopes of getting all the business that she would normally get. The crowds outside seemed too drunk.
Orh’ruruur opened the door, entering the shop with a short, brief little bow. It helped to show some sense of respect, he thought, as he drew out the translator dome into one hand. True, he could speak in fairly passable common tongue but there was always the possibility that he would come across a word he didn’t know, or want to speak a word he didn’t know. Approaching, the Tusken spoke in rough-hewn Basic, an accent that didn’t entirely exist following every word as well as disconnected emphases.
“Good morning. My name is Orh’ruruur.”
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