Josi Ja was a simple little planet; fit for human habitation, but out of the way and poor in resources that would allow it to achieve a significant population. The locals were spread out into individual conclaves, tucked into the deep valleys where agriculture was actually viable.

Their stop was Huyni, a relatively large conclave surrounded on three sides by jagged peaks. Gaylen carefully lowered the Addax down towards the cut-stone strip this place had in place of a proper landing dock.

Below were two slightly spaced-out clusters of houses, their outskirts peppered with smaller clusters of three to five, interrupted by fields. A few of the red and gold and green fields even stretched up into the surrounding slopes, though they were too steep for it to go high.

Their delivery this time around was twelve crates of engine parts. Nothing specialised, just the general wires, sensors, gauges and so on needed to keep manufacturing machinery going. Gaylen had called ahead as soon as they were in range, and the local authority figures were already waiting on the edge of the strip as the Addax touched down.

“Alright,” he said into the intercom. “Let’s make some money!”

He shut the systems down, then accompanied Herdis out into the living room, then down the steps into the entry area. Kiris and Jaquan were just stepping out of the engine room, and as they entered the cargo bay they found Bers readying a moving jack. Ayna jumped down from the balcony overlooking the room, landed on the top of a pile of sturdy crates, then from there down onto the floor.

“Aaah, real air, here I come!” the Dwyyk said and put her sunglasses on.

“Real air and real money,” Gaylen said, and readied another moving jack. Then he opened the aft airlock, followed by the cargo ramp itself.

Most of the administrators were clad in a knee-length garment of sturdy design, with an odd assortment of ribbons attached to the outside of it. And all of them were very glad to see the crates come down the ramp.

“Good morning!” Gaylen shouted in Bakiso. Some modest research had indicated this place appreciated vigorous greetings.

“Good morning, good morning!” the willowy, middle aged woman in the centre of the gathering said as the group walked over. “Be welcome! Bring the off-world and leave with friendship!”

“Twelve crates,” Gaylen said as he brought the first one to a stop with the jack. “Unused parts.”

He opened the top of the crate, giving the woman and two of her cohorts a look at the contents. Bers brought another crate to a stop, followed by Jaquan, then Kiris and Ayna. Herdis stood on top of the ramp where she had a good view of everything, her military-grade rifle slung over her back. There was no need to be openly threatening, but there was also no reason not to take precautions in this part of the galaxy.

The administrators started going through the machine parts, aided by two advisers who spoke to them in a rapid-fire local language. Gaylen stood where he’d first stopped, keeping an eye on things, as crates continued to be moved down the ramp. If the locals had any sense at all they would want to check every single one before handing over the cash, and he was hardly going to begrudge them for it.

Other locals watched from a slight distance, some standing by curiously and others simply paying attention as they passed by. This wasn’t one of those ultra-isolated places where arriving ships were objects of fascination, but they were still clearly worth taking notice of. Most of them were clad in similar garments as the administrators, though with fewer ribbons, and a general similarity in their features. But the folks who actually came over set themselves apart.

They were paler than the local norm, clad in sturdy trousers and vests with fur trimmings, and three of the four had the kind of bright crimson hair one sometimes saw far out on the Fringe.

The one in the lead, a man with a worker’s rough hands, stopped before Gaylen and offered a greeting. What followed, or possibly went with it, was a stream of words with a distinctively heavy accent with broad, rolling intonations. Gaylen couldn’t really make it out, but felt he recognised the sound of the Barda language, or at least some variation on it.

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“Bers!” he said, signalling the crimson-headed man to wait a moment. “Can you talk to them for me?”

The big, scarred man finished delivering another crate, then hurried over with his typically odd, bouncing strides. Gaylen noticed prompt recognition between the man and the group; not personal familiarity, but some kind of cultural understanding.

The man was from the further reaches of the Outer Fringe, the borders of inhabited space, and seemed delighted to not be dealing with a language barrier for once. Within moments he was engaged in a lively discussion. Gaylen was about to turn his attention back to bringing out crates when Bers looked his way again with a quick jerk of his head.

“Want to sell, dagi! Fresh...”

He stumbled in search of a word for a moment, as the leader brought out a net bag with three fist-sized, purple, lumpy objects.

“Fruit,” Gaylen told him.

He held out a hand and spoke a word he recalled was at least in the vicinity of ‘test’. The crimson-headed man readily handed one of the lumps over and Gaylen took a bite. It was fresh indeed, and quite tasty.

Gaylen nodded, as so often before forgetting for an instant that it wasn’t a universal signal.

“How much do they have?”

“Just took up,” Bers said. “Four... drecho... tons! Four tons.”

Gaylen did some quick calculations in his head. None of this was surprising. Their arrival had no doubt been announced to the public.

“Hmm. See if you can get us a good price for three hundred kilos,” he then said. “If it goes well, see about going up to five hundred.”

“Mm!” the man vocalised, then returned to the discussion.

Gaylen returned to his jack and steered it back up the ramp. For a moment he found himself absorbed in thought, and strangely happy. This was exactly the life he’d been hoping for. Just plain old business; no gangs, no shootings, no nonsense. Just a normal existence.

Kiris passed him as she steered one of the last crates down. She had covered herself up again, but he still caught a knowing look in her eyes as they met his, as well as the crinkles of a smile. Her people-reading skills really did border on telepathy.

The administrators wound up being satisfied with the parts and Gaylen was certainly satisfied with their money. An old land vehicle that had been cobbled together from at least two others came over, and a crane loaded the crates on board. Bers wound up getting a decent price for four hundred kilos of fruit, and Gaylen reached an agreement that he would send the farmers a message an hour before takeoff for the delivery.

“Oh, and we’re willing to take on passengers,” Gaylen told the administrators as they started to leave. “Our next stop is Uktena Station, but we can negotiate for further flights.”

“We will pass it along,” the one who’d done most of the talking said. The two groups then left.

“Aaand that’s the boring stuff done with!” Ayna said. “Now let’s do the fun stuff!”

“Just remember not to steal anything,” Gaylen told her.

“You keep saying that,” the young woman complained.

“I keep feeling like I’d better. So does anyone need to get something?”

No one spoke up, and so Gaylen closed the ramp and activated the ship’s security systems. Then he patted the white hull affectionately and walked off with his crew.

They strolled through the town and Gaylen took regular peeks at Ayna and Herdis’s reactions to experience them vicariously. He’d been to enough places that the wonder of travel had worn off somewhat, so a reminder was nice.

Many of the buildings were built from plainly cut local rock, taken straight from the surrounding mountainsides, and most were visibly old. But some were new, cut from the same rock but with a noticeably different style. The front doorways in particular were quite stylised and were topped with an overhang that seemed to serve no practical purpose. An obvious fondness for outside wall hangings and decorated string curtains completed the overall effect, thoroughly identifying the homes of the new arrivals.

This place was growing. An influx of people followed by a buildup of industry, likely to be followed by a further influx.

“I like this place,” Kiris said to the rest of them after they’d passed about halfway through town. “The people seem to get along. No real tensions between ethnic groups, that I can tell.”

“People sometimes pull it off, I suppose,” Jaquan mused.

“Pull what off?” Herdis asked.

“Being decent.”

Before them loomed the largest building in the residential area.

“This looks like it,” Gaylen said.