That Thing Of Stuff

[Sarge Potteiger]

Rendili​

Just after Coruscant​

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"When you decide to die, just remember to give your enemy the same honor."​

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"Phrik." He said, hooded head regarding the foreman. "I need it." He adds. The foreman blinked, looking away as if unsure what to make of the statement. "Well, yes, I figured that must be the case." He says finally, frowning, looking down to his datapad and its readouts.

"We have a vein of it some days mining away if you're able to wait...." He begins, before he's cut off, that is. "That won't be a problem."

"Master Jedi. If I must ask... what's this for?"

There was a pause as the man lifted his head, eyes unnerving in their steel. "A weapon."

With that, he departed.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"She's dead, you know?"

"I am aware."​

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"Are you really?"​

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Shaking his head, he watched the monitor as the mining crew headed into the shaft for the morning shift. Miners were a queer lot. Gruff. Buff. Generally unpleasant and dirty. Come to think of it, they reminded him of himself. Drumming his fingers on the countertop he kicked his feet up and pulled out a datapad, hoping a good story would drown out his thoughts.

"So what'll you do...?"

"What do you mean?"​

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"Will you carry on?"

"That's all I have left, isn't it?"​

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

He'd fallen asleep, kark it all. He'd fallen asleep. Stupid miners took forever to get that ore out of there. Then again, it was stupidly durable. Probably took three of them to get half a gram out of the walls. That would be a funny sight, for sure. Not that he'd set foot in a mine without good reason.

Once before he'd been to a mine. It hadn't been pleasant by any stretch of the imagination.

"Nothing about you is pleasant."

"Yet you still enjoyed my company."​

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"...don't presume."​

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Standing, he locked his datapad and turned to head for the mess hall. He needed food. He couldn't leave until he had that phrik. Coming into the mess, he grabbed a tray of food and set himself down next to some miners discussing the day.

He sat and listened, speaking nary a word. The usual stuff. Quotas. That stupid Jedi and his timetable. Blah, blah, blah.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"Did you ever wonder what comes after all this?"

"Every day."​

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"When do you think you'll find the answer?"​

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"...soon enough."​

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They were behind schedule, damnit. This was, so far as they were concerned, a Jedi work order. What was the karking problem. This shouldn't be difficult. It was gods damned mining. He'd been half tempted to shoot the foreman earlier. That wouldn't have boded well.

That way lay the Dark Side. Control.

That's what he needed. Control.

"Like you control your anger?"​

"Like it controls me."​

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Maybe he would need to get involved after all.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

The clanging of metal on ore clawed at his ears, muscles aching in ways he'd not felt since his days of training so many centuries ago. Sweat coated his body. Everyone down here was shirtless and wearing shorts. It was too hot underground for anything else.

Why were these places always so stuffy?

Setting the axe down, he wiped his brow and took a swig from his canteen. The first gulp was spit out, blackened water forming a disgusting puddle of spit on the ground. His second gulp was to slake his thirst. Had to stay hydrated. Had to keep working.

"Why are you doing this?"

"I need to stay occupied."​

"So you strip down to busy yourself in a mine...?"​

"I don't like my plans being kept up by people who couldn't give a flying kark."​

"How ironic."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"So what is your plan, exactly? Revenge?"

"Retrieval."​

"Like you retrieve this ore?"
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"Bad joke, me. Quit while you're ahead."​

Three days in this bloody mine. Twelve hour shifts. One hour of break to eat. He was sore in places he'd forgotten existed. Perhaps that was for the best. He needed that exhaustion. It kept him from thinking. Well, not completely. But enough for peace of mind. That's what he needed. Peace of mind.

"Order's almost filled, boys." He heard someone shout. Good. He wanted out of this place.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"You guys ever wonder what you'd do if you weren't mining?"

"Yeah, all the time. Maybe I'd be a chemist."​

"Fat chance, Cork."​

"Yeah man, you're pretty much dumber than the chemicals you'd be using."

Sarge snorted, shaking his head. Typical workplace banter, really. He missed that. Jedi didn't have that. They were all prim and proper. That or constantly on edge. What a joke. What a sick, sick joke. Folk here had grown on him this week. Helped get his mind focused elsewhere.

Just a few more pounds and they'd be able to smelt the stuff into bars. Then he could get the kark off this rock and down to the business of fixing the wrongs in his life.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"How long for the bars...?"

"A few days, probably. Do you have a means of transporting it?" Sarge gave a nod, looking at the foreman with something approaching a bit of a smile. It was a knowing smile, rather than a friendly one. He was planning something, something that was coming together.

That much was obvious. "We'll need you to sign off on this, of course."

Sarge gave a nod again and took the datapad and stylus, scratching out an illegible signature that was quite obviously some sort of a name. Doctor's scrawl, really. "All's good then, Master Jedi. We'll contact you when the bars are prepared."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"They're ready. Good." He looked down at the small cart used to transport the bars out to the landing pad. "Very good." He remarks, extending a hand to the foreman. "Your men did a hell of a job, even if we had that slight hiccup."

"My sincerest apologies."

"Not necessary."

The foreman simply smiled. Two weeks he'd been here... and he still didn't know the guys name. What a farce. "Best of luck to you, Foreman. Tell your men I wish them all the best."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Sarge gave the ore a last look over as it was hauled into the dropship, a smile forming on his face. He'd take this back to the Protectorate, then when the time was right... find someone to forge the weapon. Once that was complete, he'd have what he wanted.

A weapon and armor, both designed specifically for his hatred of Sith. Perhaps this hadn't been such a bad trip after all. Looking up to crew chief, he gave a nod of his head and the engines screamed, taking them from the landing pad. Behind them, the quarry faded into a speck, but one he'd not see.

With the ramp closed, he was alone with the crew chief and the dull roar of their propulsion. Setting his head back, he fell into an exhausted sleep. Who knew mining was such an annoying undertaking.