“Wow, what a dump,” Said Petty Officer 1st Class Pherik ‘Serpent’ Zail as he stepped off the shuttle.  He stood on the open air field of the Belgar Spaceport, and surveyed the world that was his home.  Belgaroth was impressive for all the wrong reasons, and he was instantly stunned by the decay he saw.

Grey and polluted skies rolled above the young naval non-com, reducing the light of the planet’s twin suns to a dull glow.  The limited light did nothing to improve the image of Belgar city, a giant scrap yard of industrial grey buildings and mountains of broken droids and machines.

“Looks like a mass graveyard for mechanicals,” Mused the silver droid at Zail’s side.  Since buying the RA-7, Pherik had never once heard the droid say anything nice or positive.  Oddly, the Alderaanian found himself more amused than annoyed by the acerbic attitude.

However, looking at the world before him, Zail was starting to regret ever renting an apartment in one of the orbital habitats, and quickly understood why so few of his neighbours ever bothered to come planetside.  Were it not for the shipyards, the prestigious Vast Empire Navy in which he served would never even visit Belgaroth, let alone use it as a base.

He and RA-7 had come down to the planet merely out of curiosity, though the droid had complained.  Zail had allowed himself the whole day to wander and take in the ‘sights’ of Belgar, and as he departed the spaceport he wondered where to begin.

Located just at the entrance of the dilapidated port complex, Zail noticed an equally run-down looking public service guide droid.  He approached the rusted machine and asked, “Hey, I need some guidance.”

“Guidance...” Repeated the droid as if pondering the request.  “State purpose of visit.”

“Tourism,” Said Pherik.

That threw it.  The droid was a long time in replying, and finally said, “The Czerka Arms Museum is just seven blocks from here, and is considered one of the top 1000 museums in this Sector.”

“Sounds thrilling,” Said RA-7.  “I regret, sir, that I neglected to bring a camera.”

Zail was also wondering just what sort of place it was.  “Thanks,” He said to the guide droid, deciding to check it out.  Downloading a map of Belgar city to his datapad, he and RA-7 took a walk to the museum.

The streets were dirty and thick smog hung in the air.  The buildings he passed were bland and close together, though he noticed that the shops and bars tried to draw people in with extremely bright neon signs.  Zail surmised that the businesses’ garish facades were extra colourful as a way to shine through the polluted air, otherwise no one would notice them.

At last they came to the Czerka museum, a large block of a structure with all the artistic design of a durasteel brick.  Pherik paid the exorbitant fee and went on in.  To be fair, as he toured the halls of the place, he found it fairly fascinating.  Czerka was one of those companies that had existed for millennia, and engaged in all sorts of activities.  Primarily he saw examples of their droids and weapons, a history of technology that stretched from the age of the Jedi Civil War through to the Clone Wars and the Empire.  There were also plenty of displays about the large-scale projects of Czerka, such as terraforming and mining.  He actually learned quite a lot.

Zail finished up at the last display, admiring a droid called an ‘HK’ and wondering if maybe one of them would be a better conversationalist than RA-7, and then made for the exit.  He had had low expectations of the place, but found he had actually enjoyed himself.  As he departed, he passed through what would be, in a normal museum, a gift shop.  However, in the case of Czerka, it was more like a gun shop.

The Petty Officer paused to admire some of the fine array of weapons.  He was never one for rifles, but had carried a pistol in his trader days on Phaeda.  An Adjudicator Hold-out Slugthrower Pistol caught his eye, and his interest was not missed by a nearby sales assistant.  One smooth pitch and a few test firings later, and Zail walked out with a new pistol strapped to his side.

As they departed, RA-7 piped up.  “Sir, why ever did you buy that archaic weapon?”

Pherik shrugged.  “It has... character.  I like to own things with character, even if they are of dubious quality.”  Glancing at his protocol droid, he added, “Lucky for you.”

Armed against whatever dangers Belgaroth could throw at him, Zail’s thoughts now turned to how best to spend the rest of his time.  He just decided to keep walking, all the while keeping careful track of his location on his datapad map.

As they passed down a bustling street not too far from the starport, Pherik saw a couple of men in Vast Empire uniforms head into a bar.  Suddenly, he realised that he was both hungry and thirsty, and decided that whatever was good enough for his fellow officers was good enough for him.

Stepping inside with RA-7 in tow, Zail smiled at the establishment he saw.  It was a large place, enough for a hundred or so patrons at a time, with plenty of seats, tables, and even hologram gaming areas.  From the bar to the chairs, the place was coloured in classic Imperial grey, and its smooth design reminded Pherik of the inside of a Star Destroyer.  Casting his eyes about, he saw a number of off-duty Customs Officials and members of the planet’s Stormtrooper garrison still in uniform.  The rest of the patrons were either Vast Imperials out of uniform, or locals who did not mind associating with such.

Zail himself was dressed only in his casual black tunic and leggings, but as he made his way to the bar, he introduced himself to the human bartender by his naval rank and name.  It seemed the best thing to do in a military bar.

The landlord nodded.  “A Petty Officer, eh?  You’re welcome in here, though we don’t get many visitors from the fleet,” He added.  “I’m Yanish, owner of this bar, the Galactic Throne.”

“Pleased to meet you, Yanish,” Said Pherik, feeling at ease and taking a seat.  RA-7 hovered nearby, and since no one objected to the presence of the droid, he ignored the machine and focused on his stomach.  Zail ordered some food and drink (noticing Corellian samples of both on the menu and having a fondness for the cuisine of that world), and then spoke at length to the bartender.  The place was light on patrons this afternoon, and the bartender, not busy, seemed happy to engage in some chat.  “So what’s the deal with this place?” Pherik asked, gesturing to the decor.

The man smiled.  “I was a bit of a pro-Palpatine loyalist back in the day,” Said Yanish, who, judging from his face, was somewhere in his forties.  “I even joined COMPNOR,” He said, referring to the fanatical Commission for the Preservation of the New Order without shame.  “I set this bar up as a refuge for Imperial forces stationed here on Belgaroth.”

“Must have been hard when the New Republic took over,” Said Zail, his face lighting up as a servant droid brought his food.  Eagerly he tucked into the spicy sausages, relishing the taste.  The flavour was great, and his estimation of the bar jumped up a notch.

“Not as bad as you might think,” Said the bartender.  “Sure, business dropped off a bit, but the Republic, ever harping on about political freedom, did not close me down out of spite or anything.  This place became a kind of gathering place for Imperial loyalists.  Though I’m pretty sure New Republic Intelligence kept an eye on us.”

“And then the Vast Empire arrived,” Said Zail, washing down the sausages with some Corellian ale.

Yanish nodded.  “A lot of the old Imperials signed up for VE service, and now once again the military forces of Belgar city congregate here.  I’m even getting a few aliens coming in here,” He said, sounding surprised.

Zail glanced about, and saw a handful of non-humans in VE uniforms, something that would have been exceedingly rare in the original Empire.  Such things did not bother the Alderaanian, but he could imagine it would take some getting used to for a former member of COMPNOR.

“Bah!” Snarled a man seated next to Zail, one who had been quietly enjoying some Coruscanti food and listening to the conversation.  “This Vast Empire is a joke,” He snarled, spitting the name of the regime with distaste.  “The true Empire would never so willingly let non-humans serve in its ranks.”

“Careful of your tongue, friend,” Said Zail warningly.  The man in question did not wear a uniform, and the Alderaanian wondered who exactly he was.

“Pay no heed to Mrikan,” Said Yanish with a scowl.  “He was with the Imperial Navy once, but is too much of a racist to accept the VE.  He has chosen not to re-enlist.”

Mrikan scowled.  “You say ‘racist’ with such a superior tone, Yanish,” He snarled back.  “You were like me once!  And yet now you serve these lesser beings.  It is sickening, though not as sickening as the idea of an Imperial fleet commanded by a kriffing fish-head Calamari!” He said, glaring pointedly at Zail.

“Oh you had better not be disrespecting the Captain,” Replied the Petty Officer, his voice heated.

“And what if I am?” Challenged Mrikan, eyes glancing quickly at the slugthrower on Zail’s hip.  “You Vast Imperials are not as given to harming regular citizens as your predecessors.  You lack the stomach to do what needs to be done to clamp down on sedition.”

“No,” Agreed Zail, “We are better than that.”

“Better?” Echoed the other.  “You are not better than the true Empire!  Our training, our skill, was second to none!”

“And yet I myself have met the Imperial Remnant in battle,” Said the Alderaanian.  “And it was the Vast Empire that prevailed.”  He referred to the recent Second Battle of Belgaroth, though the VE had won only with exhausting effort.

“The New Republic were present at that battle,” Noted Mrikan.  “I bet you alien-lovers banded together and double-teamed the Imperial fleet.  It would fit your lack of honour!”

“Easy, Mrikan!” Said Yanish firmly.  “No trouble in this bar!”

“No trouble here,” Said Zail calmly, gesturing over Mrikan’s shoulder.  “This place is full of Vast Imperials, just like me.  Even this gutless fool isn’t stupid enough to pick a fight with all of us.  Are you?” He challenged, fixing the other man with the cold blue eyes that he had inherited from his father.

“No,” Said Mrikan eventually, backing down.

“A surprisingly smart move,” Noted RA-7 at his master’s side.

The other man rose and left the bar without further comment, and Yanish shook his head sadly.  “Some folks just can’t adapt.  Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” Said Pherik.  “Now, how about some more of those sausages?”

OOC:

  1856 words. Part 2 of my character’s attempts to settle in to Belgaroth, and also a bit more on the planet itself.  I wanted to cover the world, and also some of the strange shifting loyalties that have affected its people.  I did not want to end in a bar brawl, as I thought that would be a little predictable.  3rd and final part to follow.