As if in confirmation of that thought, both men turned to face him when he drew closer, and their hands rested on the all-too-functional sword hilts that their shift in position made visible upon their left hips.

“Welcome to Port Asfalís,” the Kidemónas on the right said in polite standard, his voice vaguely distorted by the speakers built into his hermetically-sealed helmet. “I am Endymion Chloros of the Vasilikós Kidemónes, and this is Perseus Andino of the same.” Endymion’s voice was a deep bass, and even with the distortion he managed to sound both gruff and professional all at once. That was a neat trick. “Welcome to Hellas, mister…?”

“Arthur Magellan.” Arthur said with a polite smile and nod, while extending his arm and shaking both mens’ hands companionably. “I’ve heard good things about Graecia.”

“Well met, Arthur.” Endymion rumbled cordially.

“Well met.” Perseus responded as well, his voice notably calmer in tone.

“What brings you to Port Asfalís?” Endymion continued.

“I’m looking for transport to Hellas, and couldn’t find a direct flight to the Iris.” Arthur explained with a nod back toward the umbilical. “The Naftis manning the lounge said this was the only way in.”

“That’s correct.” Endymion grunted with a nod. “Travel to and from Hellas proper is restricted to citizens with class three security passes, Ascendancy-licensed merchants, and Graecian military. All out-System traffic and visitors have to go through customs here on the orbital station.”

“Ascendancy policy is to instruct new arrivals to stay aboard their vessels until we’re ready to receive them,” Perseus continued in Endymion’s place, “which isn’t usually more than an hour or two, but we had no reason to do so given the current lack of traffic.”

He gestured to the area around them when he finished, in order to illustrate his point.

Arthur nodded in understanding, and glanced around at the largely empty station section. Even with multiple other embarkation and disembarkation lounges, no one else was present in the area. He only saw a small smattering of other Kidemónes, some civilian staff, and the occasional member of the Navy.

“Can’t say I’m surprised, given what I’ve seen coming in from Korinth.”

“No trouble, I hope?” Perseus asked carefully.

Arthur had not expected the Kidemónes, who were by all rights elite warriors, to engage a random traveler in such direct and seemingly genuine discourse—but some buried instinct whispered to him that such an interaction would be to his advantage, and so he crushed his doubts and simply embraced the opportunity to learn what he could.

“No trouble.” Arthur said with a shake of his head. “But certainly an escalated naval presence. It’s not difficult to see that things with Parthia are getting worse, even for someone from out-Cluster like me.”

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Perseus nodded at his words and sighed audibly.

“The usual traffic has slowed to a crawl, and most of the merchant and trade vessels that do still come have a stake in Graecia already.” unspoken was the implication that Arthur was no merchant, and that the guardian was very much keyed into that fact. “It’s only been couriers and civilian transports that make use of Asfalís lately.”

“My understanding when I left Aurelia was that the disagreement was over hyperlanes and mineral rights, or something to that effect.” Arthur said with a helpless shrug. “I’ve come to understand how woefully misinformed that was after visiting.”

The pair of Kidemónes fell silent for a moment and turned to each other at the same time, which was followed by the occasional sound of muted clicks filtering through to Arthur’s genetically enhanced ears.

With experience and discernment telling him that they were communicating on a private channel, Arthur chose to wait patiently rather than be obtuse and interrupt them. He was a guest in Graecia, after all, and the extent of the Kidemónes benevolence was an unknown factor for him still.

Captain Larriman had been right about things being calmer when closer to the Core, though, he reflected while he waited.

The Core of the Humanosphere was controlled by the Grand Imperium, and humanity’s only true hegemony did not tolerate excessive violence within its sphere of influence—even if that sphere extended far beyond the two hundred light years it officially controlled.

Out as far the Fringe and especially the Rim however, the Humanosphere was bereft of the Grand Imperium’s unilateral enforcement of peace and almost obsessive interventionism.

Its Star Marshals and the Peacekeeper Battle Groups, whose impressive flotillas roamed in and around the few hundred light years closest to Sol, didn’t range nearly as far as even the inner-Fringe.

As a result, the multitudinous star systems of humanity often found ways to indulge in their species’ natural drive toward violence thanks to the knowledge that they were mostly safe from the Imperator’s wrath. After all, distance was a kind of shield all its own, and while the Imperator could project his Grand Imperium’s power all the way to the furthest reaches of explored space, almost nobody had ever been foolish enough to act in a way that warranted such a heavy-handed response from Terra.

Though from Arthur’s conversation with Larriman, the fear of that Censure was definitely eroding across the Rim.

Arthur’s focus returned to the moment fully when the calmer of the two—Perseus—addressed him again.

“You’re from the Fringe?” Perseus asked with what Arthur thought was wary curiosity.

“I am.” Arthur confirmed with a nod. “I’m a Freelancer looking for work, and somewhere to stay for the length of whatever contract I find.”

“A Freelancer…” Endymion muttered grimly. “That makes more sense. I suppose it stands to reason you’d come out here if you wanted to earn some drachma, given how peaceful the Fringe is.”

Arthur didn’t miss the mild disdain tied to the word ‘peaceful’, but chose to ignore it.