Three hours later Gaylen sipped his first beer in two weeks. This was no time to be dulling one’s wits, but he could get away with one, damn it. He would indulge himself once the job was over with. When there was more to celebrate than just having survived.

The Round Ground was a decent little drinking spot, located at the centre of one of the station’s squares. At the centre of its designated floor space was a little bed of dirt from which a tree grew. It was a relatively cheap and effective way to add a bit of charm and class to the place, and keeping his back to it saved Gaylen from having to look over his shoulder all the time. Anyone who came at him would have to do so through his field of vision.

But there had been no trouble so far, and he was free to simply enjoy the display of people.

His closest neighbour in the Ground Round was a tall, stooped Rylokian, looking stick-thin in their wide robe, and sipping something with the aid of a straw stuck through the front of a face-obscuring breath mask. Further out were spread sales booths, wherever people could fit them, and many had no particular theme in their wares.

A group of people, their clothes covered with fringes, was slowly growing in size as folks arrived in ones or twos. They were too far away for Gaylen to catch a word of what was being said, but he recognised the body language of people either expecting or looking to start trouble. And so did several other people around, whether manning sales booths or buying from them. Business was clearly taking a gradual hit as people’s instincts steered them away from it all, yet no one intervened.

Then there was the environment itself. The ‘square’ was in fact a large shaft, stretching up four floors, with people milling about on the balconies. The businesses and services visible up above were no more glamorous or classy than those below, but the empty space itself was far better formed than much of the rest of the station, with an eye for aesthetics, hinting at this place’s distant past. A main street split the whole thing apart, serving as a canyon of sorts.

“Hello?” Herdis said through the comm. “No emergency here; we were just wondering if anyone else is near the... the Kvat... Kvathanthan Section.”

“I’m in the square,” he said. “At the bar.”

“Do you mind if me and Ayna join you for a bit?”

“No, come right over.”

He slowed his sipping down as he waited for them, and noted the slow but steady buildup of tension over by that particular group.

Quiet never lasts, does it?

Gaylen was pleased with himself for immediately picking up the two women as they entered the square. They were walking arm-in-arm like dear friends; the Dwyyk’s brand of charisma had had two weeks to work on the crew, after all. Herdis was still gazing this way and that, as she’d predicted, while Ayna kept alert even while not being too obvious about it.

They each bought a drink and joined him.

“There you are,” Ayna said, and folded herself into a chair. “Admiral.”

“Please don’t call me that,” Gaylen said, but smiled. “So what do you two think of the place?”

“It’s a... wilder version of Ruuk,” Herdis said. She really seemed to be enjoying herself. “There is a lot to see.”

“I haven’t been here before either,” Ayna said. “So we thought we’d stroll around together. I felt our newbie traveller here could use some adult guidance.”

“And I felt our child mascot here...” Herdis patted Ayna’s alabaster head, “... could use the protection of a soldier.”

The Anastahan wore her poncho, which just barely sufficed to hide the absurd rifle-pistol from casual view.

“So it all works out,” Ayna said through a grin.

“Has anything stood out?” Gaylen asked.

“Oh, we passed an amateur fight circuit,” Herdis said. “And a little square that had some kind of religious debate set up.”

“It seemed more like a sporting event, really,” Ayna said.

“The... just the people in general are fascinating.”

“I’ve been reminding her not to stare too much,” Ayna interjected and patted the woman’s arm.

“And I’ll admit, some of the shoddy construction is rather disconcerting. But it’s certainly, ah, interesting.”

“They do say travel makes one appreciate home,” Gaylen said, then promptly shook off the momentary sadness the words inflicted on him.

“I suppose that’s true,” Herdis said. “Does it apply to Dwyyk as well? With that death-planet of yours?”

“Ye... ee... es?” the girl replied with an awkward grin. “Look, we are very conflicted about it. It’s... sort of a joke among us.”

“You know, you remind me a lot of my older daughter,” Herdis said. “Except she’s half your age.”

Ayna rested her chin on top of her hands, posing like a little girl, except with more flexibility.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Any trouble at all?” Gaylen asked.

A moment that passed between the women told him that something at least had happened.

“I suppose it depends on your definition,” Herdis told him.

“Met a couple of those Pure Blood cretins,” Ayna said. “Singing their usual song about the galaxy belonging to ‘real’ humanity.”

The Dwyyk waved a hand dismissively, although Gaylen felt he detected some tension underneath it.

“It’s all very familiar. But... I see you’ve been busy.”

She prodded Gaylen’s bag with her foot. It was much lighter than before.

“Yes, I’ve managed to sell most of my part of the...”

He looked around, but that creepy Rylokian had left and so they were relatively alone.

“... the findings.”

“That was fast,” Ayna commented.

“There are some tensions going on these days,” Gaylen said. “I mean, there are always tensions of some kind around here, but these are a touch chaotic. So people who travel in small groups are eager to arm themselves.”

“I heard Jaquan say he’d bought new coils,” Ayna said. “Wasn’t he going to move on to selling his own part of the pirate stuff after that?”

“He was.”

“Do you think the others would like to join us?” Herdis said. “We’ve yet to have a drink together, all six of us.”

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“Well, when Jaquan has been cooped up on a ship for a while he just likes to go be off by himself,” Gaylen said. “Kiris is probably done at that bathhouse, but...”

He suspected he knew what Kiris got up to during her private time in ports. He didn’t know the details, because Kiris had made it clear a while back that she wouldn’t surrender any. But he believed she’d maintained some connections to the Chainbreakers. He wasn’t out to fight the galactic good fight himself, but he wasn’t about to poke at and risk their hidden network.

“Oh, she’ll let us know if she wants to talk.”

“And I think Bers had some business in the bottom section,” Ayna said. “I don’t know if I understood him correctly. It might have had to do with a fight. Or maybe he is going to hire some, ah, company.”

The women shared an amused look.

“What?” Gaylen asked.

“Oh, we just passed by a very interesting business earlier,” Herdis said. “Offering charming company for ladies.”

“And they were very charming,” Ayna said. “Smelled good too.”

“I think I might go back and splurge,” Herdis admitted. “Once I’ve looked around some more. Seeing as we have time.”

“And what is your army of spouses going to say about that?!” Ayna asked with faux-outrage.

“I am on my kouru. It’s perfectly acceptable.”

“If you say so. I wo-”

A loud shout cut through all the ambient noise, drawing attention to that slowly gathering group. Another group had come to confront them, and the atmosphere had gone from tense to hostile. Most of the newcomers were clad in white colours, though the purity was often broken up by repairs.

“What’s all that?” Herdis asked.

“Echoes of war,” Gaylen sighed. “They never just end. They slowly peter out, simmering and flaring up.”

“That’s awfully poetic of you,” she replied.

“Sorry. The Mandan War; that’s what this is about.”

“I’ve heard about that,” Ayna said. “Ugly stuff.”

“Yes. One of these groups had the support of that tyrant bastard Volkan Vol, and so did awful things to the other. Who in turn did awful things right back.”

The groups squared off, essentially lining up informal battle formations.

“Volkan Vol is dead and his fleet is history, but his poison remains.”

A white-clad man shoved an opposing man for getting to close, instantly cranking the tension up even further.

“We should probably leave,” Gaylen said and stood up. “This is-”

The raised voices fell silent, and the groups each took a few steps back. A figure in black and red strode in between them before coming to a stop. If anything was said it was too soft to carry over to the Round Ground, but the figure’s body language was quite commanding enough in and of itself.

“What... just happened?” Herdis asked. “That’s not station security.”

“Wait, is that...” Ayna began, but trailed off.

“There are a lot of interesting people out here, away from the boring old core,” Gaylen said.

He finished what remained of his beer in one large gulp. The situation actually did seem to be winding down, but one never knew.

“Well, I am taking off,” he said. “I do need to finish selling, and to talk to an old friend.”

“Sure,” Herdis said. “Thanks for the while. I want to see how this turns out.”

“The impromptu street play? Have fun.”

He swung the bag up on one shoulder and walked off. He kept one eye on the confrontation as he walked away from it, until a corridor blocked his view.

An elevator took him down a couple of floors, and Gaylen stepped out into one of Chukata Mog’s “worse” areas. It was rather amazing how even in a wild and rather ramshackle place far removed from “proper” society, people still created sections, even if unofficial ones.

Here, where the ceiling was lower and rooms were smaller, lived refugees, vagabonds, unskilled workers and the like. Some simply slept out in the hallways, with at most a curtain between them and the foot traffic. He saw more Mandans, spread about, as well as a cluster of identically-robed Rylokians, and down a hallway he saw a team of the station’s security having a hostile confrontation with some locals who had been scavenging metal plating.

“Do you want the future, running man?”

The voice belonged to a woman clad all in red, complete with red face paint, lurking in either a doorway or a cubby covered by a drape.

“It’ll come on its own,” he replied, and kept on walking.

“Past conflict will save you from the one to come!”

“Yes, yes.”

He passed into the “better” subsection of this subsection of a microcosm, where the air was nicer, spaces were more open and most of the local commercial spots were set up.

There was no sign above the establishment he made a line for; everyone likely to do business with it already knew, or would get directions by asking those they were likely to interact with. It consisted of two cargo containers laid up against one another with the facing sides removed, as well as a simple elevator leading up from the centre. Two big holes had been cut into the side facing the public, giving a view of the items on sale, and of the owner.

“Gaylen!” said the shaggy, middle-aged man and smiled.

“Hello, Qevan,” Gaylen said as he walked up the window, and smiled back. “How’s the business going?”

“It’s going alright, with a bit of careful management,” Qevan said. “Is that why you’re here, or is it chat?”

“Both actually.”

Gaylen shook his bag.

“Come in, come in,” his friend said, and unlocked a door on the side of the container.

Gaylen did enter, and took in the wares arranged on shelves, hooks, and cables hanging from the ceiling. Qevan specialised in selling used equipment and apparel, and was actually able to keep a few branches going on other stations.

“Well, first things first,” Gaylen said and opened the bag. He took out one of the pirate chest pieces, the heavy one that had taken the most hits, as well as some limb protectors.

“Already repaired, I see,” Qevan said, looking over the main piece with the eyes of a professional. “Recently, too.”

He sniffed it.

“Yes.”

Qevan looked up at him.

“Trouble?”

“Some... trouble, yes. I’m finally starting out on my own. Me and Jaquan.”

“Oh, is he here too?”

“Busy, but yes. Anyway, the Brecke Browns don’t care much for it.”

While true, it wasn’t the reason for the pirate ambush. But quite enough people already knew about that damned cylinder.

“Hmm,” Qevan said. “To be expected,” he added, and Gaylen hoped this wouldn’t turn into a I-told-you-so situation. “But congratulations, all the same. Best way to live: By your own rules.”

“Sure.”

The best one available to me.

“I don’t suppose you’ve caught anything about them recently?” Gaylen asked. “About them passing through, or being on their way?”

“I heard a mention two days ago, that a couple of them were on the station,” Qevan said. “But nothing since then. It might just as well have been a false report.”

Gaylen nodded. There were more connected information sources to be had around here, but none he held any particular trust toward.

“But Blue Strike... can you tell me anything about them?”

“I take it you mean those mercenaries?”

“I do.”

Qevan put the chest piece on, testing the weight and feel of it.

“Have you managed to make them angry too?”

“Angry, no,” Gaylen said. “Just some mutually exclusive interests.”

“Well, Gaylen, you know damn well that some types take that very personally. And Blue Strike... from everything I’ve heard they’re a nasty bunch. They’ve really earned a reputation for brutalising people.”

“Are they really ex-military?” Gaylen asked. “I’ve never met an underworld gun-for-hire that didn’t talk big.”

“I hear they really are, yes,” Qevan said. “Discharged for, well, being awful. Not commandos or anything, I think, but still more dangerous than your typical lowlife.”

Yeah.

“Do you have a number for me?”

“What, on a scale of one to ten?”

“No no, I mean how many they are.”

Qevan tested movement in the chest piece.

“Not as many as they used to be, I hear. Not sure why. I’ve heard there was a disastrous shootout, but more sources seem to agree that there was some kind of split. The most reliable, recent account I heard was of a gang showdown a couple of months ago. There were seven of them in attendance.”

“So... at least seven armoured, rifle-wielding, professionally-trained psychopaths?”

“You’re certainly off to an interesting start here, chum,” Qevan told him with a sympathetic little smile.

Gaylen crossed his arms.

“I am acutely aware of that.”

“Do you have some way out?”

Gaylen tsk’d.

“I just need to finish this first run. Then those merc bastards will move on, and the Browns will self-destruct soon enough. Once this is finished I can finally just fly wherever I damn well please. I won’t have to get involved with this kind of nonsense.”

“And you can’t just walk away now?”

Gaylen thought of Lanson.

“No. I can’t.”

Qevan threw up his hands, then took off the chest piece.

“Then I’ll just wish you good luck.”

He tapped the armour.

“This is still perfectly usable. And since it’s already repaired I can take it off your hands now for 2000 G-rils or 950 veldroa. OR... I think I know of a buyer right here on the station. You give me a couple of hours to get in contact with them and I think I can bring that up to 3000 or 1425.”

“I’ll take it in G-rils,” Gaylen said. “And sure, I’ll wait a bit.”