He looks a little chastened at that, but shrugs. "I'm no diplomat. Come on."
You head out into the frigid air. The crowd that had been at the front of the building is gone, and there is little sign there had been a deadly drama played out there a short time ago.
You hunch against the cold and follow your eager guide down the street. Two blocks through the slushy roads, you find yourselves standing before what may have once been an office building. There's large holds in the wall facing you, and pock-marks in the fascia that would have come from small arms fire. Lieutenant Carver doesn't hesitate as he ducks his head under a crudely painted sign and ducks inside.
You enter, and find yourselves in a dimly light building that has obviously seen a firefight. Interior walls have been torn down, leaving ragged edges behind where they used to stand. Several crates, cracked barrels and other similar items are serving as chairs and tables. What appears to have been a cabinet, now charred and splintered, lies on it's side for use as a bar. And behind the makeshift bar, two males and a female, all human, serve drinks to a quiet crowd of about thirty people. Several barrels with the tops cut off hold fires, casting a flickering light over the scene, and filling the room with a little smoke. Two space heaters behind the bar help warm the place, back-lighting the servers with a ruddy orange light.
By the time you get in, Lieutenant Carver is halfway to the bar. People greet him with smiles and claps on the shoulder - he seems well known here. But when you make your entrance, the place quickly comes to a standstill.
The patrons are all grubby, wearing their cold weather gear since the giant hole in one wall does little to keep out the cold. They all look rough, faces and clothes dirty. They stare at the two of you, caught somewhere between curiosity and hostility. Nim can feel Maris stand a little closer to her as the crowd eyes you up.
Lieutenant Carver stops, looking around confused, then seems to realize what's going on. 'It's OK," he says. "They're with me. They're from the rebellion."
There is a moment of silence. Someone asks, "The rebels who made that broadcast?"
Carver, beaming, nods. "The very same."
The mood instantly changes. A cheer goes through the crowd, and you are all but swarmed with people patting you all on the back, and / or pressing drinks into your hands, saying things along the lines of:
"... inspired us to kick them off..."
"... figured if you could, then so could we..."
"... never thought it could be done, until... "
Carver comes back to you, shoving his way good-naturedly through the throng.
"All right, all right. Give them some air! They came here to relax, not get pawed over!" Carver is obviously happy, and waves toward a few makeshift chairs. Immediately, several of the locals get up and vacate their places, leaving you places to sit."
You take your seats, and Carver takes a deep pull of something blue and foamy. "Welcome to Fest. The real Fest." He waves around with his mug. "These folks are the heart of this planet. Miners, smelters and labourers who slaved under the Empire for years, now free thanks to you."
He leans in a little. "The brass likes to make it out like they kicked the Empire off. And yeah, I guess they did. But it didn't start with them. It started int he mines. Miners, inspired by the declaration, broke out, threw down their overseers and held the mines. The leaders of the militias came in later and organized everything, and led the attacks that drove the Empire into their bunkers. But the guys and gals handling laser drills and rock blasters, they're the ones that started it."
