Private Don't Forget To Stop And Smell The Subglacial Pseudo Algae

[Tilon Quill]

CALIMANCHA
WILD SPACE​

The old skyhook module rattled down its orbital tether. Tilon felt its age as a shiver in his boots or in the passenger benches; he'd moved between sitting and standing more than once on the way down, antsy about what he'd find here, antsy about whether his beat-up ship would be safe in the cheaper orbital docks, antsy about lunch.

His ancient datapad had died en route, so for reading material he had only a pamphlet from a popup kiosk in the docks: CALIMANCHA FESTIVAL OF YOUTH. Local subglacial-algaeoid longevity homebrews, telomeric replicator infection parties, subcutaneous carbonite treatments, all kinds of nonsense. But money nonsense, the kind that could fund expeditions more urgent and more important than most. He wasn't looking forward to all that smiling and biting his tongue and generally pretending to be stupider and more friendly than he was.

The skyhook module chugged down through the clouds and the whole passenger gallery beheld the prunish gray tundra of easily the ugliest world Tilon had visited. The base of the skyhook was anchored in the guts of Maratton, Calimancha's only city, built from some dead battleship or other. He could just see the edges if he clamped down on his vertigo and stood by the window. Local gravity had taken hold, a gentle point-eight. The planet's cold was seeping through the windows. Tilon rubbed his bare arms briskly and regretted taking a local's advice to buy a genuine Calimanchan coat once he hit planetside.

In Rhan Niysha

 

[In Rhan]

Two safe ways to turn a profit as a solo act in the hauling business - commissioned freight, or arbitrage. The first was safe, somebody paying you to take a thing somewhere else. Contract set the weight, time window, expectations, and forfeitures generally. Less-than-legal operations tended to omit chunks of that. Arbitrage, though, was not safe. It was a fickle, brutish, spiteful mistress who would just as easily shower you in wealth as take every penny you owned and then some. Simply put, but a thing cheap somewhere and sell it at a place it wasn't cheap. Simple enough, until you factored in opportunity loss in not taking safer freight, fuel costs, and getting scooped by better informed, faster haulers. And it wasn't hard to be faster than the Dancer in Green.

Calimancha was a planet, but really - Calimancha was a city. and in In's opinion Maratton was barely even that. What it lacked in size, though, it made up with age-defying analgesics and rich idiots pursuing safe forms of immortality The first could be sold for a fairly stable profit elsewhere, the second were usually eager to buy passage back to civilization when the climate and isolation of Calimancha drove them back into the Core. Both were golden opportunities for a longhauler. Calimancha was a nice way to make some good money, and a good excuse to sample some of the local delicacies.

"Youth festival is actually pretty interesting. Good timing on our part." In commented to the blindfolded woman beside her. Puffy vest, warm pants, solid boots and an unwound scarf over her shoulders. She'd advised Niysha to dress warm, but had her own sleeves rolled up to the elbow. At least inside the passenger car, it was nice and comfortably cold. Maratton was coming into view, along with the skeletonized battleship that served as the city's former economic spine. "The good stuff can get pretty expensive, but even the cheap stuff can be fun."

In let an unlit cigarette dangle from her lips as she considered Maratton. The second, unspoken reason they were there - looking for a buyer for the relics she and Niysha had managed to save Medi-Creen from. In hadn't wanted to leave them on her ship unobserved. They sat in a satchel at Niysha's hip, which In was a little wary of getting too close to or too far from.

Bad things happened all the time.

 

[Niysha]

Every planet held mysteries that were worth finding, even small ones. Even very small ones. This made two stops in a row where Niysha didn't really have a lot of time or opportunity to go sightseeing in the vast frontier and picking up dusty rocks that might hold fascinating (or very profitable) stories, but Niysha was not the captain. In was the captain, and this was where she wanted to stop, so this is where they had stopped. At least the climate was agreeable, and the population rather more dense than a dying space station.

Niysha hadn't dressed up for the weather more than a light windbreaker and her normal cargo-and-boots "very obviously civvie spacer" getup. According to what she'd read, her people were from a pretty cold world, but she expected that In was even more comfortable in this weather than she was.

Naturally, they were talking money. Niysha's even tone and relatively passive expressions gave away very little, which might take some getting used to for her new partner. "I'll admit I haven't dealt with Mr. Hoytl before, but given what we've seen of the local flavor, I suspect he has more credits than good sense and won't be difficult to negotiate with."

The satchel hanging very securely at the Miraluka's side held a few old Rakatan statues and a holocron she hadn't yet opened, as well as some basic supplies... including her lightsaber, should she need it. She wouldn't. That was why it was deactivated and stuffed beneath a sweater, a datapad, and an aggregate 40,000 years of very classy rocks.

The transport car lurched to a stop, and Niysha nodded slightly towards the exit ramp. "After you, Captain."

Tilon Quill In Rhan

 

[Tilon Quill]

When the skyhook's passenger car opened to meet Maratton's embarkation ramps, Tilon had the bad fortune to catch the local wind all at once: frigid, with a whiff of Wild Space city. He was not particularly good at the Jedi arts, and when he drew on a mental routine for maintaining your core body temperature, he felt only marginally less frozen. He waited his turn in the press of bodies. Several others were, mystifyingly, eager to get out there.

"...Hoytl..."

The name of the man he aimed to ply for funding, dubious friend of a friend. Hands in his armpits, Tilon squinted around for his best guess at who'd said it. He had a good ear for voices and language in general, one of his few actual gifts, and he got a bead on the voice:

"...negotiate with...after you, Captain."

He circumnavigated a clan of Rodian dockworkers who'd been chatting eagerly about groundside leave and triple-shift bonuses for most of the trip down the skyhook. On the other side of them were two women: a blindfolded human or Miraluka and a tallish Pantoran (or Umbaran or Keshiri, maybe) with rolled-up sleeves.

This part of the passengerie began slowly shifting out onto the frosty ramps and through doors into the transit station. Tilon cleared his throat, hands still in his armpits.

"Excuse me," he said apologetically, shuffling along with the loose crowd, "did I hear you mention Mr. Hoytl? The..." He searched for a word. "...broker?"

In Rhan Niysha

 

[In Rhan]

The skyhook finally arrived. In was normally fairly patient, and she'd have loved to spend more time appreciating the unique health benefits that Maratton had to offer, but know what she knew about what Niysha had in her bag put her on edge. It was like standing next to a bomb, being constantly aware of the potential, imminent destruction within a meter of her at all times. Even if Niysha had said the rock didn't have power any longer, she still kept it in the Special Box. And there was no promise the broker didn't want it to unleash like it'd been on Medi-Creen. A monkey-lizard didn't need to know how a blaster worked to accidentally kill somebody by screwing around with one.

The doors were up. People rushed the doors. In pulled her scarf on and put her hood up, as much to keep the frozen air out of her throat as to hide her identity. She led the way down the ramp, declining to express her urge to hurry by joining the masses in pushing each other around.

As a voice joined their quiet conversation, In visibly laid her palm over the handle of her blaster and looked over her shoulder at the voice. Some sort of svelte near-human, with nothing she recognized at a glance. The last thing she wanted to do was get pulled into local drama or find herself and Niysha wedged between a bounty hunter and a broker. Even if he was fairly polite. "Is he a broker?" In asked sweetly, affecting mild astonishment. "Like, for stock markets?"

 

[Niysha]

Even as their car arrived and their path was clear, Niysha found herself refocusing immediately onto a curious passer-by. Being able to give someone the once-over at remarkable speed and without moving her head had its advantages. In the time it took her to turn her head towards their visitor, she'd set her face into a gentle and very discretely affected smile. In half that time, she had a good grasp of what she was looking at.

Unfamiliar species, which was impressive. She was quite well-appraised of the multitudes of the galaxy. His aura was exceptionally bright, similar to In's but more refined. The Force was not only with him; he'd had actual training. However limited that training was, it meant that the holocron would at least respond to him, and he might very well be drawn to it. There was no telling how aware he was of her, though. He didn't recoil immediately, but Niysha had yet to meet a single person who did and wasn't already a Sith thrall.

"A collector," Niysha replied with only a moment of mysterious pause in the conversation. "We're not interested in his portfolio. Only in his acquisitions." She adjusted the strap of her bag and cocked her head very slightly to one side. "Do you know him? We'd appreciate knowing more about a future, if surpassingly temporary, business partner."

Tilon Quill In Rhan

 

[Tilon Quill]

Even wearing something sleeveless, feeling this cold was embarrassing: he'd grown up on Ziost, Hoth, and Pagodon. Too long on climate-controlled ships the last couple of years, apparently. He could not get a coat fast enough.

Distracted or not, though, that sweet astonishment felt just a drop too sweet. Coupled with the hand on the blaster, he figured he was getting semi-clear 'please be so kind as to fuck off' signals from the Pantoran lady. Which was fine and all, but if they were just going to risk running into each other at the same broker's place, this moment needed solving.

Fortunately, the blindfolded lady solved it. Something about her felt off and he couldn't put his finger on it, but between the cold and keeping an eye on that blaster, he only had so much focus to spare.

"I've heard he's a philanthropist," he said, bumping through some doors, "for the right cause."

The transit station was warmer. Light rail cars were filling up; traffic down from orbit was getting in here and there. He'd memorized key transit details as his datapad perished, and that car right over there looked to be the right one to get to the appropriate chunk of city.

"I think his offices are..." He gestured at the car and started heading that way, though not fast enough to give the impression that he was trying to shake them off; he'd welcome company, blaster or not, and he tried to signal that nonverbally between fits of shivering. "...through that one."

In Rhan Niysha

 

[In Rhan]

The skinny guy wanted to get out of the cold. Keeping him there might give them a bit of leverage to gain information, or warn him off. But then, she didn't know him to be a factual threat. He was probably just cold. Outside of the skyhook, even In was a little chilly. As he tried to shepherd them towards ground transport (that they frankly wanted to take, anyway), In glanced briefly at Niysha. The blindfolded woman seemed nonplussed, even by her normally stoic standards. In took her hand off of her blaster and nodded towards the railcar, leading the way there as a show of good faith.

Besides - who was she kidding? She couldn't gun a man down in public. Not unless her life relied on it, and even then she'd probably hesitate.

"You've heard. You don't know?" In half-asked, pulling down her scarf once they were inside the railcar. She gave him a brief once-over, drawing a conclusion. "From the looks of you, you haven't been out this way before. Or you'd have brought a parka." In realized aloud, relaxing a little as the chance of local drama dropped a bit. Her hand found her hip, the other holding a support rail. "I'm In, this is Nysh. What's going on that you approached us about him?"

 

[Niysha]

The young man was very cold. His aura swirled with base impulses, but not in a way that gave him power or burned brighter under pressure. Very fresh. Very minimal training. Not the sort of thing Niysha would normally be interested in. The galaxy was full of surprisingly Force-sensitive people who hadn't been burdened with an abundance of mystical guidance. She could spot two other people in this very small crowd who would make passable apprentices back on Korriban, or at least first year chaff.

She didn't comment on the change of environment. She didn't comment on the change in climate. She did idly note what might have been a drug deal happening about thirty meters away in a public refresher. Only one party was armed and both were more nervous than greedy; it wouldn't turn into a homicide unless something went very wrong.

Their new companion didn't have much information to give, apart from a vague indication and an even vaguer vibe. It was better than nothing, but only mathematically. "Philanthropists are pretty generous with their credits. At least that's good news." Philanthropists also not infrequently knew Jedi, which could be much worse news. Not for In or the new kid, of course, and Niysha was very, very good at disappearing when necessary.

She adopted a wait-and-see approach and followed the other two towards a second, slightly warmer car.

Tilon Quill In Rhan

 

[Tilon Quill]

"No, it's my first time on Calimancha. I was told to get an authentic local coat once I hit planetside. It's just occurring to me now that I might've been told wrong as someone's joke. I'm Tilon Quill," he added. "I mostly fly with long-haul expeditions." He was also a Jedi Knight, but that wasn't all or even most of his life, so he tended to leave that unspoken and the lightsaber in his backpack, unless relevant.

Unlike the car down the old skyhook, the surface transit system appeared to have been built sometime later than the forties. And it was out of the wind, and with the tension off, he got enough traction on himself to make the right state of mind work. The cold subsided, subjectively anyway.

"I don't know enough about him to be sure I can pitch to him," he said, "so when I heard the name, I figured I'd learn something."

He settled into a bench and the transit car clunked into the city's lattices. From here you could tell it had been a ship. Structural elements protruded through snowdrifts and sheltered newer buildings. They were headed to the nice part of town, bridge tower and such.

"I'm helping put together an Unknown Regions expedition. Right now I'm putting together the money part."

In Rhan Niysha

 

[In Rhan]

"Don't know why you'd bother." In commented with an uncharacteristically terse retort. "Corps with buckets of credit have been throwing lives down that moneypit for generations. All that ever comes of it is pirates and invasions from beyond the pale. You think you'll anything worth the waste out there?"

The tall Pantoran glared briefly at a window, a little embarrassed. She collected herself. "...Sorry. That was small of me." She sighed, turning her attention and earnest contrition back towards Tilon. "Bad experiences."

A poor explanation, sure, but about as comprehensive a one as she wanted to give out here in a crowded transport to a guy she'd just met. In had washed her hands of her family's foolishness when she'd gone legit, and she'd more or less come to terms with the fact that corporations like Silk Holdings would continue to facilitate that kind of foolishness when there was credit to be made or markets to find. While she could broad-brush a lot of corporate stupidity as collective psychopathy sacrificing lives in pursuit of the almighty cred, hearing a single man say that he was putting together an expedition to the Unknown Regions felt a bit like hearing him say he was going to fund a study on the effects of a blaster bolt to his own temple.

In glanced at the spine of the city, adjusting her gloves to mitigate some of her awkwardness. "Hope it works out for you, I suppose. So long as he's still got enough left to buy from us."

 

[Niysha]

Niysha found her way to a comfortable seat without difficulty, near but not flush against In. She made a conscious effort to turn her head to face... Tilon when he spoke. An expedition to the Unknown Regions was technically what she'd just come back from. This didn't make her necessarily predisposed towards thinking this was a good idea, just more receptive to it. She did note a bitter shift in In's aura, but this wasn't the time to dig deep on that one.

Instead, she kept the conversation focused on Tilon. "An expedition has a purpose," she helpfully pointed out. "Especially one so far afield. What are you hoping to find?" Curiosity more than intent. Niysha was attached - at least for the moment - to In's operation, but it was still prudent for her to look for paths she might not have otherwise noticed. Sometimes you saw the Force in auras, wisps, winds, and spirits. Other times, you saw it in small blessings and innocent happenstance.

In was concerned. Rightfully so. They were here for money. Niysha rested a hand on the Pantoran woman's shoulder for a moment. "There are so many people here with too much disposable income that it would be legitimately hard for us to leave the planet with these items. Don't worry about it too much."

Tilon Quill In Rhan

 

[Tilon Quill]

Jedi training, the real kind, had its uses. Not rising to the bait, for example; taking that extra beat to recognize the pain behind an outburst, and for In to recalibrate, and for Nysh to move things along. None of which would've happened if he'd snapped back, and all of which would be undone if he spilled out what drove him as if to shame In for the words she already regretted.

The real kind of Jedi training revolved, more often than not, around why to keep your mouth shut in the moment. He couldn't lift boulders or jump skyscrapers, but he could do that much just fine.

"It's nothing," he said to In, and meant it. "I'm Sharuka* and I grew up in the Scar Worlds** - I know what kind of pain's come out of the Unknown Regions. And like Nysh says - if it turns out Hoytl doesn't have enough disposable income for the both of us, there's other prospects on this world." He held up the dog-eared pamphlet. "Festival of Youth, right? Can only hope the really wealthy ones avoid the...telomeric replicator infection parties?"

The transit car lurched to a halt, revealing the fancy part of town, such as it was: the huge ship's former bridge tower and neighbourhoods constructed in and around it like fungus permeating a rotten tree.

---

* Sharuka, adj. Sharukan: A xenophobic, isolationist species based deep in Wild Space in the galactic southwest. Descendants of the Sharu. Warred with the Outer Rim Coalition circa 858 ABY.

** Scar Worlds: An informal designation for a huge swathe of territory in the galactic east, planets razed and partially terraformed by the xenocidal Bryn'adul in the 860s and 870s. Many species were virtually eradicated, but have begun to resettle and rebuild over the past three decades.


In Rhan Niysha

 

[In Rhan]

She stopped herself from apologizing again and focused on the windows. In was more than a little embarrassed for losing her cool, especially once the skinny guy explained that he was from those unknown reaches. Wouldn't be the first time her mouth had been enabled to make a bad impression. Likely wouldn't be the last. The Pantoran woman adjusted her scarf as they stepped off of the tram. Here, in the nicer sections of the city, they could afford little amenities like street cleaners and whatever they put into the air to cut down on the smell of steel and sweat that seemed to plague most port towns. There was a great deal of money on Maratton - immortality had a way of pulling in the desperate and wealthy.

She raised an eyebrow, simultaneously intrigued and skeptical. "Telomeric replicator infection parties? No idea what that is, but it sounds horrible." Best she could deduce from the name, it had something to do with a genetic sickness, likely one with anti-aging and infectious properties. Sounded like the sort of thing rife with the potential for dangerous mutation or weaponization. Either could be bad. The practice was also likely highly illegal, if In were to guess. Calimancha's astounding algae were the lifeblood of Marratton, she guessed.

Shipping goods and selling experiences? Grand. But the last thing the authorities would want, In supposed, was for their precious fountain of youth to be able to be carried off-world in the form of a replicating disease.

In chuckled awkwardly. "...think I'll stick to the teas and spa treatments. I'm not interested in anything infectious." She groused mildly.

 

[Niysha]

While she didn't get a straight answer to her question, Niysha wasn't terribly upset. She was being presented with New Information. She loved New Information. This time, it was New Information about what exactly she was looking at. As it turned out, she wasn't as abreast of fringe history as she thought she had been. Then again, who could blame her, considering all that had happened in the last decade alone.

Sharuka. She brought out her datapad and did a little searching. History of violence and aggression, not uncommon this far from the core. No native Force traditions, which meant this one was likely trained in one of the more common methods in the galaxy. He wasn't bright enough to be a full Jedi, so maybe a padawan? She thought she'd seen a couple of those before.

Unlike the other two, Niysha didn't get to enjoy the view. The world passed her by far too quickly; without leaving her body, her perspective would be far too disorienting. Instead, she was in a tube of darkness, with a background of lightless gray surfaces, a few soft lights of life, and two bright sparks in her immediate vicinity. She'd already searched them plenty. Both were harmless and honest. In was cautious and Tilon was optimistic. No thing to learn properly.

At least, not without discussion. "I don't normally engage in local customs during a trade," the Miraluka admitted openly, in her quiet tone. "But I can't help but wonder what the translation of 'infection' there is supposed to mean. It wouldn't be the first disease-based tradition I've heard of. Might be worth a look, when we're done."

Tilon Quill In Rhan

 

[Tilon Quill]

Tilon's memory was failing almost as badly as his datapad, so he took a moment to breathe and run through a Jedi routine for short-term memory enhancement, practical now that he felt more at ease. He remembered the address and even the map. Then, in this moment of clarity, he remembered he could just have asked Nysh to look it up on her datapad. So it goes.

He headed the right way. Having definitely dodged Nysh's question, he aimed to respond more directly to things now, within reason, lest he seem cagey by habit.

"Telomeric replicator's a rogue Sith experiment, people figure. Dials back your age. I caught it a few years back and lost a few years and the whole contents of my guts. First outbreak, a place called Ammuud, a whole cruise ship mutinied to break into the quarantine zone. I'm guessing it's controversial here. Fringe and not in a good way. I didn't see any infection advisories at the port, at least."

But he wasn't quite sure what Nysh had meant by 'tradition.' Local culture, or tradition in the more esoteric sense? Maybe that was just an echo in his head of hearing 'Force tradition' a thousand times. No, she'd said 'customs.' Feth. There really had to be more to the good life than being a Jedi. Most of the instincts were skewed. Irrelevant to normalcy.

"Tea and spa, though, that sounds worth the time. Wonder what the prices are like here. Well, maybe not right here." They were in the best part of town, after all.

A large hand-painted sign read HOLYT AND HOYTL — IMPORT/EXPORT.

In Rhan Niysha

 

[In Rhan]

"Prices scale with effectiveness, in my experience." In commented thoughtfully. She wasn't an old woman by any means, she hadn't breached three decades yet - but dropping off a couple of years didn't sound exactly bad. A useful sort of knowledge to keep in her back pocket. Teenage energy with thirties knowledge sounded like a pretty killer combination that it almost made her forget about how much media she'd seen that discussed what a horrible idea it was. Besides - even with all her experience compared to then, she likely wouldn't have been any better at concentrating on things besides chasing tail than she'd been at her first pass through adolescence.

"I splurge a couple hundred credits when I catch the festival. Hard to tell what is and isn't effective since I'm introducing about a dozen different forms of algae-stuff. But I feel good afterwards, and it's great for my skin."

She offered Nysha a faint smile, craning her head towards the Miraluka. "We clinch this sale, it's my treat. Try something new." In promised. "It'll be nice to not go alone, too." If the sale produced half of what Niysha was fairly confident it would, she'd have more than enough to go a little berserk with the pampering AND maybe get the engines checked out by a professional. And wouldn't that be a dream?

But. They'd arrived. Hand-painted sign was fairly promising. Artisan goods and crafts usually suggested money. In gave Tilon an appraising look, then slowly raised a fist with her hand cupped over it. "Lizard-toad-snake for who goes in first?" The Pantoran woman offered, quirking an eyebrow.

 

[Niysha]

Sith medical sorcery? That was definitely worth her time. Niysha needed to be very discrete about it, but her attention was thoroughly arrested by the possibility of getting access to wild, ancient Sith toys to play with. All of the ones she'd picked up in the last few years had been so broken that no amount of poking would really tell her more about them than she could find out in a book, most of the time. A real, living disease... if kept in proper quarantine, she might be able to learn something incredible.

Distracted. Focus. They'd arrived.

"No need for that," she offered, cutting In's whimsical train of thought off at the source. One arm adjusted the strap of her bag on the other shoulder. "Mr. Quill, if you're looking for donations, you should take the first pass. My standards are pretty low, as far as what these are worth, and moreover I'm confident of the effect the crown jewel will have on the buyer." She allowed herself a brief, subtle smirk. "We won't have any trouble making a sale even if you clean him out."

Confidence wasn't something Niysha frequently felt, but she liked to indulge from time to time. This was, after all, manipulation for the purposes of personal gain. She hadn't been forced to sit through all of those very unpleasant, dangerous, frequently very painful classes for nothing.

Tilon Quill In Rhan

 

[Tilon Quill]

Tilon tried to put aside thoughts of skin care and warm local clothing and the sense that he was missing important things about these interactions, these women, this situation. He felt like there were questions he'd forgotten to ask, and answers that hadn't said what he'd thought. He offered the pair of them a nervous wish-me-luck smile and headed in.

Warm, loud, humid air hit him like a wet boxing glove. The import/export place was in full import/export mode. Droids and Rodians moved crates of every description. The whole place smelled like what Tilon imagined fermented subglacial algae to smell like. He put on a better smile and a spring in his step and headed up metal stairs to the obvious offices overlooking the work. The oversized nameplate said HOYLT — MANAGING PARTNER in Rodian, Huttese, and Basic.

Tilon glanced back to see if the other two had come inside yet, knocked twice, and cracked the door. <Mister Hoylt?> he said in respectable Rodian, and a conversation began.

In Rhan Niysha

 

[In Rhan]

In followed a moment later, her nose wrinkling a little at the ripe, pond-like smell in the air. Halfway between compost and vinegar, offensive to most sensibilities - including her own. It was strange to think that she was instantly aware that whatever stank in here would make a wonderful fertilizer, and that she had no desire to ever smell it again. There were less offensive ways to add nitrogen to soil. Ways that made her eyes water less. The humidity didn't help, either. Overall, the warehouse felt like some artist attempting to render the idea of a Hutt without using the physical reality of one. It called to mind an unrecognizable container of mouldering ribenes found in the back of a university student's fridge, warmed up by being left on a windowsill next to a carton of eggs for a couple weeks.

It smell bad. She'd have lit a candle, but all the ferment in the air suggested that might have explosive consequences. She'd barely recovered from the last self-inflicted explosion injuries.

Even so, she could move through the area with a professional's eye. Things were moving briskly and in an orderly fashion. Freight appeared to be clearly marked. Most logisitical locations had a large shelf somewhere with product that'd been accumulating dust and grime for decades, but if Hoylt & Hoylt had such a thing she couldn't readily spot it. This gave her a measure of respect for the place. Her business relied upon swift delivery and tight time windows, at times. A cluttered and lazy shop could add hours to her schedule in pure inefficiency.

"You sure this is our guy, Nysh?" The Pantoran asked in a slightly hushed tone, remaining near the door and the memory of fresh air. The Rodians working in the warehouse gave them a slightly cagey look as they worked, which set her teeth on edge. She remained close to the Miraluka in a somewhat defensive posture, leaning an elbow on Nysha's shoulder. "This place is half a step from being a fishmonger. What's a guy like this want with your 'collection'?"