The Edden Mall was another structure with many, many identical siblings spread through inhabited space. Nestled between two larger ports, it was a great, big thoroughfare that collectively offered just about every service interstellar travellers would want first thing after setting foot planetside, or last minute before taking off: Entertainment, food that actually tasted like food, drink, parts and repairs, pharmacies, social gatherings, currency exchange... and job opportunities.

Of course, job offerings varied in formality, and so Gaylen sat by a small table outside a decent little establishment, enjoying a mild drink and the view. The place was set up on the roof of a single-storey building and accessible by a flight of metal stairs, letting him take in the flow of people while still noticing details.

Some historians insisted that the First Civilization had reached a state of uniformity before the Big Flash, across all their far-flung planets. The thought made Gaylen wonder whether it was even worth pining for those times. He loved these kinds of displays: Plain old humans in all their variety, their numerous specially adapted offshoots, and uncounted cultures.

Tall and short, broad and thin. Shaved heads, bushy ones, elaborate ones, and all kinds of coverings, hoods and hats. The clothes ranged from roomy to smotheringly tight unitards, from dull and prim to dazzling combinations of colours, from the completely obscuring robes of a pair of Qivian priests to the barely anything worn by a trio of Kahanans, showing off their sculpted bodies.

It really was amazing how diverse the human race could make itself.

In time one of those interesting figures stepped onto the deck and fastened its eyes on him. It was a lithe young woman, wearing dark blue clothing and a pair of black sunglasses. From beneath a hood poked chalk-white hair, fitting the deathly pallor of the face.

She walked over to him, moving with odd, smooth grace. She then passed by the table, behind Gaylen, before completing a circle.

“Ahem,” she said, and then held up a little pad before her face with a dramatic flourish. “Freelance crewmembers needed for delivery run. Two weeks expected. Experience and medical skill a bonus. Must speak Larin or Gyvo. Inquire outside of Yellow Top. Will be wearing green coat.”

She put the pad away and her hands on her hips.

“Could you give me directions?” she then asked with mock sincerity.

“Sure,” Gaylen said. “Just head over there.”

He pointed at the chair opposite himself.

“Goodie,” she said with a grin, pulled the chair up and sat down.

“So, you’re a Dwyyk?” he said.

“Born and raised,” she replied and lowered her sunglasses. He caught a glimpse of blue irises that filled the entire eyes, before she winced from the brightness and put the glasses back up.

“Do you have a name?” he asked.

“Ayna,” she told him.

“Anything more than that?”

“Not away from Dwyyk, no.”

Right.

“What’s your name?”

“Gaylen Qin.”

She smirked.

“It isn’t really though, is it?”

“Let’s talk about you,” he said.

“Well... I’ve been wandering the lanes for about two years now. Just... doing this and that. I thought I’d join a crew for a bit. Are you going somewhere interesting?”

“The Nearer Fringe.”

She rested an elbow on the table, then her chin in her palm, then twisted the lower half of her body around to stretch her legs out in a mildly disturbing display of flexibility. Dwyyk honestly were like housecats.

“And what do you bring to the table?”

“Aside from my elbow?”

“Yes, besides that.”

“Haven’t you heard about us?” she replied with ongoing good cheer. “The notorious subtype of sneaks and thieves?”

“I try not to rely on stereotypes,” he told her.

“Aww, that’s nice of you,” she said, and now crooked her head to the side, putting him in mind of some kind of owl-cat hybrid. “Of course, there are always going to be a few bastards running around confirming people’s preconceptions.”

She reached into her jacket and plopped Gaylen’s wallet on the middle of the table.

“What do you think? Pretty good, right? I mean, you’re more alert than most, but I’m-”

Gaylen sprang from his seat. The girl immediately sprang up and back a step, brandishing an extendable baton whose top crackled with electricity.

Gaylen then sat back down and took his wallet back.

“Good reflexes,” he said calmly.

He opened the wallet and made sure everything was in its place. When he looked up, Dwyyk still stood at the ready.

“Oh, I thought we were testing each other,” he said. “Come on, sit down. You’re making a scene.”

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She flashed a disarming smile at the handful of other patrons spread about, then collapsed the baton and stuck it in her belt. Then she did sit.

“I see you have a gun too,” he said and pointed at a barely-visible bulge in her jacket.

“Yeah, just a little BR-7. A girl has to take precautions.”

“Have you ever had to use it?”

The Dwyyk shrugged.

“I’ve had to aim it at people a couple of times. Once gave someone a quarter-strength blast, but he was going for a knife.”

Gaylen drummed his fingers on the table, taking her in and thinking things through.

“The salary is 800 G-rils for completing the run,” he said. “Shipboard eating included. Does that satisfy you?”

“Being paid to travel?” she said cheerily. “Absolutely!”

“I’m not going to put on a cap and play admiral,” he said. “But I still expect you to pull your weight when told to.”

“Sure, sure.”

“Or it’s off at the next port.”

“I hear you, Admiral.”

He held up his comm.

“Give me your contact. I’ll speak with my partner, and we’ll decide if you get on board. I’ll contact you within a day.”

“Sounds good,” she said. “Cheers.”

She moved her comm near his and transferred the number. Then she got up.

“See you, Gaylen Qin.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

She grinned at him and walked away, completely silent on the metal steps.

Gaylen tsk’d to himself, then held the comm to his mouth.

“What do you think?”

“She sounds like a character,” Jaquan said. “Might be fun to have around, at the very least.”

“Sure.”

“Do we have any actual use for her, though? We’re just doing a delivery, not theft.”

“Not theft, no,” Gaylen said. “But you never know what’s going to happen. Sharp senses are never a bad thing to have around. And have you ever seen a Dwyyk when they’re putting actual effort into being stealthy?”

“No.”

“Me neither. Those pasty bastards are like shadows.”

“And there is something to be said for self-awareness,” Jaquan said. “Well, I don’t have any objections if you want her on board. We’re not going to assemble some elite spacer crew on such short notice anyway.”

“Alright. We’ll see what else comes along before making a final decision. How’s the ship doing, by the way?”

# # #

There were a couple of duds after that; one fellow who didn’t like the vague destination, and another who simply gave Gaylen bad vibes. His life had often depended on his ability to read people, and the fellow was simply trouble.

Despite promising himself to nurse it slowly he finished his drink, and was contemplating ordering another when his choice of table paid off. From out the crowds slightly below him came a man in a familiar style of brown jacket. He stopped in the centre of the thoroughfare, close enough that he and Gaylen could clearly make out one another’s faces. Then he walked up the steps at a measured pace.

As soon as his face was out of sight for a moment Gaylen drew his pistol and held it at the ready under the table.

“Hello, Gaylen,” said Eldin, boss of the Brecke Browns.

“Leave,” Gaylen told him bluntly.

The gangster forced a chuckle.

“No. I heard you and Tyk had a bit of an encounter.”

“By heard you mean he reported to you.”

Eldin walked up to the table and sat down.

“Look, I know Tyk doesn’t exactly have people skills. That’s not why I keep him around. But I really can’t have you just up and leaving.”

“Tough.”

“It sets a bad precedent.”

“Again: Tough,” Gaylen said.

“Look... the Browns are going the distance,” Eldin said, tucking his chin slightly and leaning forward, his hands in his lap. “We’ve spread our wings out into a proper network. You are not going to want us to be mad at you, Gaylen. Not if you mean to keep flying.”

“Every petty gang insists they’ll go the distance,” Gaylen told him. “And they’re all wrong. Now you’ve spread yourselves out thin, but that just means getting pecked at from many different angles, and being unable to respond properly. And damn if I’ll go down with you.”

“Ah, you faithless man,” Eldin told him with a proudly angry air.

“Your group was useful to me for a while, and I was useful to you in turn,” Gaylen said. “But I don’t owe you crap. Get that through your entitled head.”

“Oh, going freelance, are you?” the man replied with sing-song condescension. “You’re going to make that dead end work out?”

“Yes, Eldin. Now stop bothering me.”

“Look...”

Eldin, wearing a look Gaylen had seen on many faces and dubbed ‘faux grace’, put his left hand up on the table and tapped his palm on it.

“... gangs thrive on loyalty...”

“Bosses certainly do.”

“... and yes, we are at an important turning point and might face some trouble if we just allow ranks to be broken. Here’s what: Run around the lanes, sure. Have adventures. But wear the jacket. Say you’re still on the team. Just kick some of your earnings my way and-”

“No,” Gaylen growled.

Eldin shifted into ‘faux cheer’.

“Hey, we can sit here all day and point guns at each other, or-”

Gaylen pulled the trigger. There was a soft hiss, drowned out by the nearby music speakers, and Eldin let out a strangled cry. His gun clattered on the floor beneath the table, and a familiar acrid smell wafted up. The man bent over and fought to compose himself.

“I know armed standoffs look cool in the crime movies you base your personality around,” Gaylen said, “but I’m not just going to let you point a gun at me, you moron.”

“Oooh, youuu son of an alley whore...” Eldin bit out through his teeth.

He examined his right hand. It was badly burned but intact; the result of a quarter-strength blast.

“Now piss off already, and leave the gun,” Gaylen told him.

He put his foot on the dropped weapon and dragged it closer to himself.

“Oh, I have plenty more,” Eldin said meaningfully, sneering like an angry dog. “And plenty of boys to hold them for me.”

But he did get up, holding the wrist of his injured hand. Gaylen just kept aiming at him under the table as the man made his way to the steps. He returned to the crowd, glancing back regularly to make his feelings clear.

Gaylen holstered the gun as discreetly as he could. The incident had drawn some minor attention, but people seemed thankfully willing to just focus on their own issues. And drink.

“So, ah...” Jaquan said over the comm. “You shot him?”