Hugh puts on his best "religious sect leader" smile as he intervenes.

"Allow me, brother. The pattern of our clothes is not static. It is a glimpse of chaos and shapelessness, but frozen into the unchanging order of a material object. We show the duality of the universe."

The woman raises an eyebrow, then figures cultists don't go in for prostitutes and weaves back into the crowd. The team is soon approached by another distraction, this one a diminutive man in a white tunic. A long Fu Manchu hangs off his weathered olive face. His right eye is green-blue, in marked contrast to his brown left eye.

"Are you here for business, travelers? I am Panipon the Spider, well-known to many here. For a modest $200 (translated from Imperial currency), I will obtain for you a fine vessel and crew amenable to your every need." Davis notices Arketta turn her nose up at the price. The little man takes note of the crate. "Ah, you've brought a sample of your wares I see. Might I have a look? It would help me immeasurably to better match traveler with vessel."

admiralducksauce wrote:

"Are you here for business, travelers? I am Panipon the Spider, well-known to many here. For a modest $200 (translated from Imperial currency), I will obtain for you a fine vessel and crew amenable to your every need." Davis notices Arketta turn her nose up at the price. The little man takes note of the crate. "Ah, you've brought a sample of your wares I see. Might I have a look? It would help me immeasurably to better match traveler with vessel."

"Uh..." is all that Max can muster, defensively guarding the crate and relying on Hugh's vastly superior social skills.

Hugh gives Panipon that eyebrow thing you can learn from watching too many movies with The Rock.

"We don't negotiate our business on the street. Perhaps you can suggest a quieter place."

Following up behind the group, Semo does what he does best - keep his mouth shut and look imposing. Surprisingly, the locals and even the Turai hanging around don't react much to the huge mass of weapons they're carrying. Then again, they may not recognise the Earth weapons or realize just how lethal this group is.

The get approached by first a woman, and then a man, but the Cap seems to be able to handle them okay. Meanwhile, Semo does his best to keep his hands away from his weapons.

"Of course. If you don't mind the fresh air, we could speak on the pavilion level." The small man leads you past the crowded bar/waiting areas and through a much less-traveled corridor, where the outside temperature and weather forecasts (or is it atmosphere seeding schedules?) are displayed boldly on the wall.

It's 29 outside... 29 what?

"I hope none of you have the Black Cough", Panipon jokes. He swipes his hand across the holographic panel and the outside doors hiss open onto a dizzyingly high open-air pavilion. Workmanlike canopies keep off the sun and any precipitation. Tables, reclining couches, and chairs are set up. A drone activates as you enter the pavilion and starts to take your order but Panipon waves it off.

It's not particularly cold, but it's a far cry from balmy. The air hangs limp around you and smells like a hobo that just showered with sewer water and engine grease. It's not as bad as your first Gate trip, but if anyone even mentions food, eggs in particular, Max, Hugh, and Luis are likely to lose it. The only good news is that you're practically alone on the pavilion. A handful of other people are reclining here and there and appear quite relaxed.

"Now, shall we speak of business?" Panipon asks.

*erp*

"And to think...had I not rolled up the windows while driving through New Jersey, I would have at least been prepared for this place." remarks Max to no one in particular, checking the temperature gauge on his watch to get an accurate measure of the weather conversion.

Max's watch gives him a local temperature of 62 degrees.

Semo gags momentarily at the smell of the air outside, but manages to suck it up. Still, that is one godawful stench! At least the chill in the air helps to keep him from passing out.

Turning back to business, Semo finds himself a place to sit facing the entrance. He wants to be able to watch the doors without having to twist around to do so.

"We shall," Hugh says. He's been right behind Panipon the whole way, and now the team is subtly positioned to watch all the exits.

"We have secured some exotic goods, but our business requires cash. We could, of course, shop around a bit, but I'd like to hear your offer first."

(assuming Panipon agrees to look at our wares)

After making sure they're not being watched, Hugh orders Luis to open the crate a bit, allowing the trader a glance. After a few seconds, the crate is closed again.

"Perhaps you'd like to know more."

"You are tempting the Bureaucracy with this," Panipon says - but there is a glimmer of mischief in his lined and mismatched eyes. "Your dress is strange and you skirt dangerously close to arms law as it is," he continues, motioning to the various hardware carried by the group. "Luckily, it appears we have a common goal of ridding ourselves of these wares in order to more closely follow Imperial regulations, yes?"

He chuckles. "I would like to know more, as what you have here appears to be exotic but nothing special. Not that exotic's bad - I know of a Tube-Spink chieftain on Hedion who made a large show of carrying a cut-down 4th generation beam rifle. He'd fry as many of his own people as rival cutters, but the boy had style. Anyway, back to business - why would a buyer want these toys when one can get near-enough the same thing from Duke Eglen's man-at-arms, whom, I might add, I've known 8 years longer than I've known you?"

Hugh smiles.

"Because they are special. No power cell, no circuits. Self-contained cartridges, powered by a chemical reaction. Any decent craftsman can make ammunition out of inert metal and some common chemicals - we have a step-by-step guide for that, of course. And they're quiet. Very precise, no collateral damage."

He leans forward.

"It's not flashy, but it has other qualities. I'm sure there are people who would want to add such a curiosity to their collection."

"They appear to be quite ingenious, if what you say is true. I will speak to an associate and arrange for a demonstration. Then we may put a value to your wares. Will that be to your liking?"

Panipon waits for a reply. "I'm afraid a demonstration IS needed. These are untested claims you're making for a potentially lucrative product. Surely you would want the best possible price for them? Unless they are not as exotic as you claim?"

Hugh looks around.

"I could prove their quietness here - but showing the precision would require a target."

"That man, there, looking over the pavilion's edge," Panipon suggests. You turn to see a man in a steel-gray jumpsuit admiring the expansive industrial landscape spread across the canyon below.

Wordlessly - and making sure nobody else is watching -, Hugh takes a pistol, loads it, then watches his target.

He spots a glass of some indeterminable beverage sitting next to the man on the edge of the pavilion. Like a trained sharpshooter, he brings up the pistol, sights down for a second, then fires. There's a small *whomp*, but the gun is designed to be quiet - the sound is there, but it's nothing like a normal muzzle blast.

The glass shatters. The man in the silver jumpsuit startles up from his deep thought, then looks around. Hugh has already hidden the gun and returned to talking with Panipon.

"Of course," Hugh explains, "a tool like this rewards a discreet user."

Panipon's expression changes from callous to worried as Hugh sights in on the man, afraid this arms-dealing cultist might have taken his suggestion seriously, but quickly recomposes himself once the "demonstration" is over.

"Heh. Um. Yes, of course. I believe I might be able to make you an offer for those. $20,000 for the crate." He removes what looks like a length of scotch tape from a wrist device and passes it to Hugh.

*It is his... marker of business*, Arketta whispers in English. *He low-nuts us with his price, but it enough for much vessel passage and... and... gift money... bribe money for some time.*

"Your offer is noted for future consideration. Thank you for your time."

Hugh gets up and motions for the team to pack it up.

"I await your vox," Panipon says as the team gets up and leaves the pavilion stench. A line on some cash and (so far) no harassment from the Imperium. So far, so good. What now?