>>5661768She huffs, crossing her arms. “Yeah, no thanks to them. You’d think that after everything, they’d actually approach us and not sneak around stealing our supplies.”
Certainly a valid point. The whole mess could have been mitigated if the Kakari had actually approached either the Separatists or Republic forces to warn them about the fruit. Not that the Separatists would have listened given their prior track record of dealing with native populations. Or even the Republic’s most advanced protocol droid to understand them without the late Grand Shamanka Bos using the power of the spirits to absorb the knowledge of how to speak Galactic Basic.
But in your gut, you have a feeling that the late High King Trax’s policy would have been to just hope that the fighting blew over without risking exposure – all the more justified given how the force entity calling itself Jombaral was actually on-planet and hunting them down. Still, based on his incoherent rambling in the Chamber of the Godseye, you wouldn’t put it past the deluded lizard to think that things would simply just go away and return to what passed for “normal”.
You reach over the middle, and squeeze Arotta’s hand. “No more perfect of an opportunity to mend the bridge, then.”
Located in the Great Plains thirty kilometers away from Serano Spaceport and five from the closest railway station, the Kakari Enclave is nestled securely in the valley of the Zhaman Mountains. It’s a picaresque sight, with snowcapped mountains that just miss the clouds, and pockets of green that dot lime-grey hillocks and lakes. Breathing in deeply, the air is dry, but crisp and fresh, far more palatable to the lungs than the industrialized spaceport.
At the gates of New Nest, a pair of Kakari guards stand alert, straightening as you bring the speeder to a stop. Curiously, you spy E-5 blasters in their hands, almost comically small compared to their relative size. You wonder where they might have gotten them, and then conclude that the Mercantors must have donated a surplus from the hold of the <span class="mu-i">Globus</span>.
You don’t recognize them, but they very much recognize you. Fumbling at a radio, one of the pair intones lowly: “Sings-of-Devouring-Darkness and a guest.”
Arotta seems to be more curious of the nickname than the dismissal. At her pointed look, you try not to flush as you drive into the settlement. “…long story. Don’t worry about it.”
New Nest could be charitably described as a work in progress. The buildings seem to be arranged in no particular order, with narrow alleyways snaking between them with little rhyme or reason. Only a handful of houses are made of wood or stone, few of which look like permanent dwellings. Most are ramshackle structures made from sheet metal, crudely welded together and sealed from the elements.
(cont.)
