"So what do you suppose they're doing with these?"
"Don't know, don't care"
The two men were just a smaller part of a bigger assembly line. The older one, Raoul, worked with a cigarette in his mouth. He had rolled the tobacco himself this morning, as he always did, with the same care that he was now dissasembling a Type 22 rifle. He placed the receiver in one of the boxes full of straw. The other parts, he handed down to his colleague, who in turn tossed them into a metal cart.
"Come on, Raoul. You always know somethin' 'bout these things" the younger one, Germain, examined one of the metal parts of the gun, unsure of what it was.
"And I also know better than to be sharing them with the likes of you"
The box in front of him slided further into the conveyor belt. He placed another receiver into the next box. Germain scoffed, and rolled his cart full of rifle parts, tossing them into a different cart. From there, they'd be distributed in other boxes, each with a different label. Tractor parts. Radio tower parts. Some were even labelled as food items. Sure enough, canned goods would be placed on top of the Type 22 parts. Germain returned to his coworker
"These are foreign made, aren't they?" he bugged Raoul once more
"Very observant" he answered, sarcastically
"Prestorian, aye?" Germain asked. That seemingly garnered a little more respect from Raoul.
"How in the world did you know that?"
"Dad was a merchant. He actually managed to go out every once in a while. Brough me one of 'em sunsetter history books, military history. I could name ya a hundred different sunsetter guns." Germain sounded proud of himself
"Alright then, guncyclopedie, what are you looking at here."
"Type 22. It's a very old rifle. At least a hundred years old" He shrugged.
" An' how old ya reckon the Judgement is?"
"Touché" conceded Germain " At the very least a good 50 years older. Can't believe we still using that"
"Not for long, most likely" added Raoul with a cunning smile. Germain seemed to get the hint.
"Don't tell me-" Germain gave him an excited look "Irons is getting our boys another new toy?"
"Not officially, not yet. But most likely. They wanted to test it out first. See how well it does. Hence, this whole thing"
"We're shippin' it off somewhere else for performance review"
"Basically, yes. Irons seems to have a lot o' faith in it though. Word is he's got Cogs' eggheads working out how to whip something like it but more local."
Germain looked at one of the assembled rifles and frowned.
"Looks a bit... drab, don't it?" Germain said "The wooden Judgement had a bit of charm to it."
"And this has at least a hundred times the fire rate, you dumb-dumb. I think I know which one I'd rather have, specially if facin' off against say...a Teprorian" If Raoul knew something, he didn't let on.
"What I don't get is why send 'em all in pieces and put them between the canned beans. And I mean, tractor parts? I don't reckon tractors have muzzles."
"It's all supposed to be hush-hush."
"That much I gathered" he shrugged "but how come?"
"My guess is we're handin' these to someone we aren't supposed to. And Irons or the Duchess, glory to her name, don't want to get caught with the hand in the cookie jar if they back the wrong horse."
"When are these set to go?"
"No official time, really. I'm assuming the ships are gonna go off-record. The food's just a bit of theater in case they get caught, I think. Can always play the "we got lost" card. All of this seems to be very cloak and dagger, 'cause, get this: none o' these shipments are in our ledges either. Lot o' plausible deniability at play for anything legitimate I'd say."
Germain frowned. He then shrugged and continued his work. After a while, he decided to kick back in one of the offices: a dirt little space, filled only with a wooden desk and a big glass cupboard, moldy wallpaper clinging barely to the walls. At least it had a radio. A new fangled device, the thing. Wooden, details in brass. Helpful with keeping up with the official broadcasts. Raoul mostly just used it to keep the room from being completely quiet while he took a nap. He turned the knob.
"Her Highness, the Countess of Ink and Lacre, has today announced that Clathermont will be stepping up to provide humanitarian aid to the Emirates of Sta'ir. The nation will be providing rebuilding materials, food, and farming equipment to aid in the reconstruction of the nation, following the war with Tepror..."
Germain frowned for a second, the broadcast having caught his attention. He shook his head, sat down at the desk, and decided to take a nap. Some things, it was better just not to look into.
