Chapter 4.5 — Petition Path

Back aboard the Cutter, Virel turns to the others with perhaps the faintest trace of a smile.

"That," he says, "is why I became a diplomat..."

Then, almost to himself: "...and not what I became."

He is silent for a moment before adding, "I did not expect to find that here."

At last, the first genuine smile touches his expression. "I think I need a drink. Perhaps all of us do. After that, I think Verik’s advice is sound. We wait and listen, but otherwise we behave normally."

"I suspect everyone involved expects us to wait and listen, so long as we do so within parameters."

Wilbur shares his discoveries with everyone aboard.

"The Alejia are cautious and shrewd. They expect foul play and will try to prove it before acting. We should do the same.

I plan to continue monitoring all the vehicles we found for a day or so.

I'll also monitor the irregular emissions coming into the spaceport. Everything passive—I don't want to give any reason to be wary of us.

And of course I keep an eye on the badge."

Evening settles over the ad hoc starport without ever making it quiet.

The light changes first. The hard glare off the berms and landing pads softens into copper and grey. Work crews keep moving under portable lamps. Fuel lines are dragged, sealed, checked, and dragged again. Somewhere across the apron, a cargo pump coughs itself awake and keeps coughing. The market city beyond the starport does not dim so much as change voices.

Star’s Mercy waits in its berth like an old animal that knows better than to sleep deeply.

Up close, Verik’s ship shows every year of service it has survived. The hull is patched in mismatched plates, some old enough to have been repainted more than once, others newer and still carrying the faint sheen of hurried installation. The cargo ramp is down, but only halfway, angled like an invitation that has not forgotten caution. Two of Verik’s crew stand watch near the lower lock, relaxed in the way people become relaxed only after deciding exactly where the danger would come from.

Inside, Star’s Mercy smells of warm metal, sealant, old fabric, spice, and cooked food.

The common compartment is not large, but it has been cleared for company. Fold-down seating has been pulled from the walls. A narrow table has been extended and locked into place. The lighting is warmer than the harsh pad lamps outside, and for the first time since entering Balac Pontli, the team is in a room built to human scale.

That alone feels like rest.

The meal is practical spacer fare made better by someone who cares enough to disguise it: flatbread warmed on a shipboard plate, thick stew with root vegetables and strips of vat-grown protein browned in oil, a peppered bean paste, pickled greens, dried fruit, and a small pot of something dark and sweet that Verik introduces only as "not Alejia tea."

Voss looks at the pot for a long second before deciding to trust it.

Verik notices, of course.

"Relax, Engineer," he says. "No oil film. No root bitterness. No nut mash."

Voss takes his seat with the wary dignity of a man who has survived worse things than dinner.

"That already makes it the best meal I’ve had in months."

One of Verik’s crew, Sera, sets out cups and does not quite hide a smile. Another crewmember, a broad-shouldered mechanic named Jalen, arrives with a second tray balanced on one hand. Instead of retreating, he claims an open seat with the ease of someone who has done so a hundred times before. Sera follows a moment later, settling in beside him after distributing the last of the cups. Verik’s crew clearly understand this gathering is both meal and business; they keep mostly quiet at first, but they remain at the table, eating alongside the visitors, Verik, and Voss.

For a little while, Verik lets the meal be a meal.

That may be deliberate. It gives everyone something ordinary to do with their hands. It gives Voss a chance to eat without being stared at. It gives the Scouts a few minutes where the only tactical decision is whether the bean paste is hotter than it looks.

It is.

Eventually, Verik tears a piece of flatbread, folds it around a bit of stew, and sets it down untouched.

"All right," he says. "Now we speak carefully, because food makes people honest and exhaustion makes them stupid."

He looks first to Chaala.

"You did well with the marker. Better than a purchased gift. Better than a signed statement. You gave them something worn close to duty. That matters here. But you should also understand what you have done."

His tone is not warning exactly, but it has the shape of one.

"You gave them a piece of your oath. They will remember that if you behave like the oath was only bait."

Verik lets that sit for a moment, then looks to Virel.

"And you gave them a path they could repeat without losing face. Proof before speech. Speech before return. Return without dishonor, if the road holds. That phrase will travel because it lets more than one side survive the answer."

He glances toward Voss next.

"The witness remained sheathed. That is the Alejia terminology, but it is also useful."

Voss gives him a look.

"I am trying to decide if that is a compliment."

"It is the kind you earned."

That earns no smile, but Voss does not argue.

Verik takes a drink, then leans back slightly.

"Here is what I think happens next. The marker moves inward. Not straight. Not quickly. It will pass through at least two sets of hands. Maybe three. The first set decides whether your petition was properly shaped. The second decides whether it can be carried to whoever holds obligation over Dominicus. The third, if there is a third, decides what proof can be returned without giving away too much."

He taps one finger lightly against the table.

"You may get nothing for a day. You may get a false answer before the real one. You may get watched harder than before. You may get someone trying to sell you a shortcut."

Verik’s eyes move around the table.

"You should refuse shortcuts."

A pause.

"Or at least bring them to me before you step on them."

Sera returns briefly with another small dish and sets it near the center of the table. Vera follows a moment later with spoons, setting them beside the dish before taking a seat of her own at the edge of the gathering. The dessert is unexpectedly cold, a sweet frozen cream flavored with fruit and spice that reminds some of ice cream despite having clearly been assembled from whatever ingredients a trader could acquire this far from civilized ports. Verik waits only long enough for everyone to inspect it before continuing.

"The Alejia are suspicious by nature, but not stupidly suspicious. That matters. They assume objects carry meanings. They assume strangers hide tools. They assume every gift has another edge. So if they shielded the Scout insignia, that does not mean they rejected it. It means they accepted it carefully."

Voss speaks then, quieter than before.

"If they had rejected it, they would have made sure you knew."

Verik nods.
"Yes. Public rejection teaches a lesson. Quiet shielding keeps a path alive."

He looks back to the team.

"During the next two or three day-cycles, I will caution you that you have three jobs. First, remain visible enough that no one thinks you have gone hunting. Second, remain disciplined enough that no one can say you broke the petition path. Third, learn what you can without looking like you are trying to drag the city open by its seams."

He folds his hands.

"That is why I asked you here. Not only to feed you. I need to know what each of you saw, because I only saw my part of the room. This allows us to exchange information. Not to pry intelligence from you, but to share what I know with the end of gaining your Scouts back."

Verik turns first toward Chaala.

"Captain Angushlii, from command’s chair: did they treat you as the one carrying authority, or only as the one who surrendered the marker? There is a difference. If they recognized your authority, the next answer may come through you. If they only recognized the marker, the answer may come through me or through the table."

Then he looks to Virel.

"Officer Kilmire, you had their language in your hands for a moment. Did Tóhrel accept the shape because it was correct, or because it was useful? Did you feel the table was guiding you toward a known path, or testing whether you could invent one without insult?"

His gaze shifts to Dr. Shone.

"Doctor, you were noticed. They did not reject your presence, but they did measure it. What did you see in how they reacted to your medical mark? If proof comes back in the form of health, I need to know whether they will see you as healer, witness, accuser, or threat."

He looks next toward Wilbur.

"Wilbur, your sort of work is most valuable when no one applauds it. What did the passive picture tell you? Were we watched like guests, watched like suspects, or watched like bait?"

Then his attention settles briefly on Voss.

"Engineer Voss, you know more than anyone here what their waiting feels like. If the reply comes as proof, what would convince you it truly came from Dominicus or her crew, and not from someone using their names?"

Voss does not answer immediately. The question lands hard, but not unfairly.

Verik gives him the space to hold it.

Then the captain of Star’s Mercy looks around the table again.

"And for the rest of you: anything small may matter. A glance. A word they repeated. A name they avoided. A guard who relaxed too early. A sound outside the partition. A piece of clothing, a tool, a mark on the slate, anything that felt like ritual instead of habit."

He reaches for his cup again.

"You are used to thinking in terms of evidence. Good. Keep doing that. But here, evidence may not look like evidence. It may look like who was allowed to remain silent."

Outside the hull, a distant engine turns over and fades into the wider noise of the starport.

Inside Star’s Mercy, the meal has become a debrief.

Verik’s final question is soft, but it draws the room tight.

"So. Tell me what I missed."

Wilbur smiled as he stepped aboard, taking the seat assigned to him and offering his thanks to their hosts for the invitation.
He enjoyed the meal and didn't hesitate to say so — particularly the spiced dish. Hot, sharp flavor wasn't something he got often, and not everyone shared the taste for it. He made a point of telling Sera as much.

Wilbur smile faded, he thought for a while before answering.

"During the exchange, there was tension in the room. The Alejia had no way to predict our reaction and were ready to react sharply at the slightest sign of danger. When Chaala gave the insignia, the tension eased somewhat — Heshó Kalna's shift near the curtain was a clear sign we were no longer read as a direct threat. The two wardens didn't relax outright, but the message was clear enough. And everyone on our
side handled it well.

Back at the Cutter, I began running every passive check I could think of and pulled the recording from the meeting — all passive, nothing that would reveal what we were doing. The badge signal went dark shortly after the meeting — shielded, not destroyed. Voyager also caught a wrapped packet changing hands near a market service court, not far from where we were. We can't confirm it was the insignia, but the timing fits.

The transport that brought us stayed in the area during the meeting rather than leaving — held in reserve, ready for an early withdrawal if needed. There's also a ground vehicle near the commercial pad that lingered longer than normal traffic patterns would suggest. Low-grade civilian emissions, nothing aggressive, but it didn't move until well after our escort departed."

I've also picked up some irregular short-burst transmissions near the apron edge. I can't analyze them yet.

My conclusion: the Alejia are extremely cautious, and they're watching for any sign of bad faith. I'd expect their broader society works the same way. We should mirror that — observe, draw conclusions, but never show our hand."

A pause.

"Which brings me to a question. How would it be viewed if we went into the market ourselves — like visitors, looking at food stalls, simple goods, nothing tied to the petition? Low profile, no clear purpose beyond curiosity."

Verik listens to Chaala without interruption.

He does not nod too early. He does not correct her. He lets the whole answer settle before he replies, as though weighing not only the words but the assumptions underneath them.

"That is about how I read it," he says at last. "They accepted you as the person whose authority mattered for the marker. Not because they understand your rank the way your service does, and not because they suddenly care about offworld command charts. They accepted that the others accepted you."

He gestures lightly with two fingers toward the table.

"That matters more here than most offworlders realize. Authority, among the Alejia, is often proven by whether others make room for it. Your people waited for you. Virel’s words carried weight because you did not contradict them. Voss stayed quiet and sheathed because your command structure held. Then you gave a thing worn close to duty. That made it recognizable as a legitimate token of authority and obligation."

Verik’s gaze shifts briefly toward the place where her Scout insignia had been.

"As for Dominicus seeing it, yes. That was well chosen. If they show it to her, she will know the petition is not rumor. She will know someone from the Service came looking. And if she is allowed to answer, even indirectly, she may shape that answer around what the marker tells her."
He pauses, then addresses Chaala’s question about deception.

"False responses are the part that worries me."

The sentence is quiet, but it changes the air around the table.

"If the same transport comes, the same wardens come, and Tóhrel or Mireh speaks through the same table, that is strong. Not perfect. Strong. If Heshó Kalna comes with a message under market authority, also strong. If the message comes through me, and I can tell you the route it took, that is workable."

He leans back.

"If the form changes, you look for continuity. Copper thread. Dark cloth packet. The language of marker and obligation. The phrase ‘proof before speech’ or something close enough that it shows the sender heard the room. A message that remembers what was actually said is more credible than one that only knows the subject."

Verik’s expression hardens slightly.

"Be wary of any answer that uses your own impatience as proof of truth. ‘Come quickly.’ ‘Tell no one.’ ‘Dominicus will die if you wait.’ ‘Only you can save her.’ Those are useful words for people who want you to step outside the path. Maybe true. Usually bait."

He lets the warning settle, then reaches for another piece of flatbread as if the next questions are only dinner talk.

They are not.

He looks toward Virel first. (@dabaggins )

"Officer Kilmire, you found the shape of the petition better than most trained negotiators would have managed on their third attempt. So tell me something plain: if a reply comes back sounding correct but feeling too smooth, what would make you doubt it? The words? The messenger? Or the fact that it gives us exactly what we want too easily?"

He tears the bread, but does not eat it yet.

Then his attention shifts to Bohdie. (@Packratt66 )

"Officer Hokuanokada, you have the look of someone who notices where people put their hands when they think no one is watching. If we do take a market walk tomorrow, what would you rather be looking for? The watcher who follows us, the watcher who avoids us, or the one who tries to become useful?"

There is no challenge in the question. It is almost casual, but the invitation is clear.

Finally, Verik glances toward Shone. (@Stalker05 )

"Doctor, I have a different concern for you. If the first proof comes as a statement of health, or if they allow you to see Dominicus at a distance, what can you actually confirm without touching her? And just as important, what would you avoid saying in front of Alejia witnesses until you understood the condition they think they have kept?"

He takes the bite of bread at last, chewing thoughtfully before adding,

"No need for perfect answers. I am more interested in what each of you would distrust first."

It was a pause which Wilber Tholinar saw as his opportunity to add to the conversation in a positive way...
Only then does Verik look to Wilbur.

Captain Verik's eyes sharpen in a way that makes clear he heard the shape of the work.

"You have done this before," Verik says. It is not quite a question. "Not just watched a street. Watched a street while pretending not to care about the street."

There is a faint edge of approval in his voice.

"Your read is sound. They were ready to react if the room went bad. That does not mean they expected it to go bad. It means they considered the possibility rude not to prepare for. Heshó’s shift near the curtain was not relaxation exactly. It was a change from containment to escort. Before the marker, the wardens were there to stop harm. After the marker, they were there to preserve process."

He takes a slow drink.

"The transport staying nearby is also right. Reserve, not abandonment. They did not know whether they would need to remove you politely, remove you quickly, or carry the petition onward. Leaving the vehicle too far away would have been careless."

At the mention of the lingering ground vehicle and short-burst transmissions, Verik’s expression becomes more thoughtful.

"Starport edge watchers are normal. That vehicle may be Alejia, may be one of the Free Captains’ people, may be one of the broker interests, may be someone selling what they see to anyone who pays. Low-grade emissions and patience are more common than clean uniforms here."

He looks between Wilbur and Chaala.

"But if it waited until after your escort departed, it was almost certainly marking who returned, who entered the Cutter, who went to Star’s Mercy, and whether anyone broke off alone. That kind of watching does not require trust. It only requires patience."

Verik folds his hands on the table.

"As for going into the market yourselves..."

He stops there for a moment, considering how to phrase the answer.

"You can. But there are three versions of that choice."

He raises one finger.

"The first version is bad: you go into Tlánhikali’s Shade or anywhere near the petition route and pretend you are just curious. No one will believe that. You just gave a marker of obligation and were told to wait. Returning too soon to the same ground looks like you are sniffing after your own gift."

A second finger.

"The second version is workable: a small group goes to a different public market closer to the starport edge, under my introduction or with one of my crew nearby. You buy food, cloth, simple goods, tools, things visitors actually buy. You do not ask about Dominicus. You do not ask about offworld guests. You do not ask who owns which lane. You let others decide whether to approach."

A third finger.

"The third version is useful but dangerous: you go visibly enough that watchers can see you behaving with discipline. That can help. It shows you are not hiding in the Cutter planning violence. But it also gives every curious trader, informant, and liar a chance to test you."

He looks to Wilbur.

"So your idea is not wrong. But the purpose cannot be ‘low profile with no clear purpose.’ That reads false. People do not wander this city without purpose. Better to have a simple purpose and keep it honest."

Verik points toward the remaining food.

"Buy food. Buy local storage cloth. Replace something practical. Look bored. Look tired. Look like people waiting for a reply and trying not to go mad inside a hull."

He looks back to Chaala.

"If you approve a market walk, keep it small. Two or three, not the whole team. No Voss unless necessary; too many people know his shape now. No obvious long guns. No active scans. No questions about the petition. If anyone brings up Dominicus, the answer is: ‘Our words are already placed before the table.’ Then you leave the subject alone."

Voss, who has been quiet through most of this, speaks from his seat.

"That phrase will annoy them less than most answers."

Verik gives him a sideways glance.

"That is almost an endorsement."

"It is survival advice."

Verik accepts that with a faint tilt of the head, then turns back to the others.

"My recommendation is this: tonight, no market. Eat. Sleep. Let the first silence pass without you trying to fill it. Tomorrow, if nothing has come by local mid-cycle, a small ordinary errand can be useful. Not to collect secrets. To show discipline."

He looks at Wilbur again.

"And if you see the same vehicle, the same signal rhythm, the same watcher twice, do not chase it. Pattern it. If it wants to be seen, ask why. If it does not want to be seen and you see it anyway, ask who it fears more than you."

A pause.

"Your strongest weapon right now is not stealth. It is behaving exactly like people who meant what they said in that room."

Verik’s gaze settles once more on Chaala, though the warning is clearly meant for everyone at the table.

"The false answer you should fear most will not look false. It will look merciful. It will offer you a way to save time, save face, or save Dominicus without waiting on the path you opened."

His voice lowers slightly.

"That is the one you bring here before touching."

Wilbur looked at Captain Verik and thought for a moment before responding.
"I don't think I explained my reason clearly. Going to the market has nothing to do with our inquiry. It is a way to understand the Alejia outside of political elements — to learn something of their way of life, their customs, their sense of courtesy. It is showing interest and respect. That is rarely wasted."

Verik studies Wilbur for a moment, then gives a small nod.

"That is a better reason."

There is no apology in the words, but there is adjustment. Verik has heard the correction and accepted it.

"Curiosity is safer than hunger, if it is honest. And respect shown before it is useful is usually remembered longer than respect shown after someone demands it."

He leans back slightly, cup held loosely in one hand.

"You are right. Seeing the Alejia only through petition chambers, wardens, obligation-keepers, and political caution will teach you the wrong lesson. It will make them look like nothing but traps and rules. They are not. They eat, bargain, gossip, joke badly, cheat over weights, argue over whose grandmother had the better spice recipe, and pretend not to watch strangers while watching strangers very closely."

A faint smile touches the corner of his mouth.

"Like everyone else, only taller."

The smile fades, but the tone remains easier than before.

"So yes. A market visit for that reason has value. Not Tlánhikali’s Shade tomorrow. Not the same path, not the same stalls, not the same faces. But another public market near the starport edge? That can work."

Verik looks around the table, making sure the distinction lands.

"You go to learn how people live, not to look for Dominicus. You buy what visitors buy. Food. Cloth. Cordage. Containers. Small tools. Something made by hand, if you want to be remembered kindly. You ask what things are called. You ask how to eat something without embarrassing yourself. You let them laugh if you get it wrong."

He gestures lightly toward Wilbur.

"That kind of respect is legible. It says, ‘I am not only here because I want something from your powerful people. I am willing to learn from your ordinary people.’ That matters in places where politics and daily life are not as separate as offworlders like to imagine."

Then he raises a cautioning finger.

"But you still keep the purpose clean. No hidden second errand. No questions that bend back toward the petition. No asking who controls which lane or which tribe owns which oath. If someone volunteers such things, you listen politely and do not chase."

Voss speaks from his seat, dry as ever. "And do not eat anything grey if they say it proves discipline."

Verik glances at him. "That is cultural prejudice."

"That is medical advice."

---

Verik allows the smallest breath of amusement, then returns to Wilbur.

"Go as visitors. Not ghosts. Not hunters. Visitors. That means you accept being seen. You accept being guided. You accept that your manners will be judged."

He looks to Chaala.

"If the Captain permits it, I will send Sera or one of my people with them. Not as a minder. As a bridge. Someone who can tell them when a stallholder is joking, when they are being insulted, and when they are about to buy six kilos of fermented root paste because they nodded at the wrong moment."

He looks back to Wilbur.

"You are right that interest and respect are rarely wasted. Here, they are also intelligence. Not the kind that tells you where a prisoner is kept. The kind that tells you what people think a prisoner is."

A pause.

"That may matter more."

"I thank you for the offer of a crewmember. I wonder, if such exist, if hiring a local guide might not send a different, possibly preferable possibly not, message. We are limited in our understanding of Alejia language and culture, and I see no reason to pretend we are not. What bridge we choose sends a message." Chaala pauses, as a thought catches her unbidden, "If a local guide exists who has no clear ties to the chain of obligation or the chain of petition. Better that we not touch a link in either of those, it if can be avoided."

Verik does not answer immediately.

That alone says the question was worth asking.

He sets his cup down, turns it once by the rim, and studies Chaala with a faintly approving look.

"That is a better question than asking who speaks the language."

He leans back slightly.

"You are right. The bridge you choose sends a message. My crew says one thing. A local guide says another. No guide says something else entirely."

Verik lifts one hand, counting the choices without making it feel like a lecture.

"If I send Sera, the message is that you are under my introduction. That gives you cover, because people know I have traded here long enough to understand which mistakes are expensive. It also marks you as moving inside my shadow. Useful, but not neutral."

A second finger.

"If you hire a local guide openly, the message is that you admit ignorance and are willing to pay for proper manners. That can be very good. Humility travels well here, provided it is not theatrical. But hiring the wrong local guide may attach you to a faction, broker, kin-group, debt-chain, or rumor you do not understand until someone else reacts to it."

A third finger.

"If you go without a bridge, you look either brave, rude, or foolish. Sometimes all three. That can work for merchants who want to be remembered. It is less useful for petitioners waiting on an answer."

He pauses, then nods toward Chaala.

"You are also right about avoiding the chain of petition. Do not hire anyone from Tóhrel’s table. Do not hire one of Heshó’s wardens. Do not hire anyone who arrives saying they were sent to help you by people who cannot be named. That sounds convenient. Convenient things here usually have hooks."

Voss gives a quiet grunt that might be agreement.

Verik continues.

"What you want is not a guide to secrets. You want a guide to ordinary mistakes. Someone who can say: don’t touch that bowl, don’t point at that child, don’t praise that cloth unless you mean to buy it, don’t step between those two elders, don’t ask what is in the grey paste unless you are willing to eat it."

His mouth tightens faintly.

"And someone who does not care about Dominicus."

That is the important part.

"The cleanest option would be a port-market interpreter or licensed trade-runner who works with offworld crews, preferably one used to small purchases and food stalls rather than deep contracts. Not high-status. Not petition-linked. Not one of the people who handles serious tribal business. Someone ordinary enough that hiring them says, ‘We do not know your customs and do not wish to offend,’ rather than, ‘We are seeking influence.’"

He glances toward the passage where his crew have moved in and out during the meal.

"I can give you two names and one warning. One name is safe but expensive. One is cheaper and talks too much, which may actually be useful if you remember that anything said near them will probably travel. The warning is that if a perfect guide appears before you ask for one, do not hire them."

Voss speaks dryly from his seat.

"Perfect guides are usually either spies or bait."

Verik tilts his head.

"Sometimes both."

He looks back to Chaala.

"My recommendation: tomorrow, if you still want the market visit, I send Sera only as far as the edge of the right district. She introduces you to a local trade-runner I trust enough to distrust properly. Then she steps back. That lets the Alejia see you are not simply hiding under my coat, but it also avoids you hiring the first smiling mouth with a price."

He lets that settle.

"The message would be clean enough: offworld petitioners waiting on an answer, seeking ordinary courtesy, guided by someone local but not tied to the petition table."

A small pause.

"That is probably the best balance. Respectful, visible, and not too clever. But it is your choice and you don't have to immediately go to the market tomorrow. The day after might be better. The choice on when to go and how is yours of course."

GM Comment: I am NPC'ing Bohdie at the moment after talking to @Packratt66 in a PM

Bohdie has been quiet for most of the exchange, listening more than speaking. When the talk turns to guides, market walks, and ordinary purchases, he finally leans forward slightly.

"Before we start buying food, cloth, or courtesy," Bohdie says, "what passes for payment here?"

The question sounds simple. It is not. He glances from Verik to Chaala, then toward Wilbur.

"I mean between Alejia traders and offworlders. Do they take Poisha directly? Trade tokens? Port scrip? Metal? Power cells, barter goods? Do they expect negotiation over every price, or is haggling the sort of thing that turns a small purchase into a social contest?"

A pause.

"And more importantly, what does the method of payment say about us?" Bohdie rests one hand near his cup, not touching it. "If we pay in high-value Poishas or other forms of funds, do we look rich? If we let your crew pay, do we look like we are under your protection? If we barter, do we accidentally create an obligation? If we overpay, is that generosity, ignorance, or insult? If we argue the price down, is that expected, rude, or a sign we understand the game?"

He gives the faintest shrug. "I do not mind being watched. I mind telling people the wrong story before we know which story our money tells."

Verik looks at Bohdie for a moment, then gives a short, approving nod.

"That," he says, "is the question that keeps polite visitors from becoming profitable fools."

He sets his cup down. "Poisha are understood near the starport, but they do not mean the same thing everywhere. At the pad, with fuel crews, brokers, and port-market vendors, Poisha are money. In deeper Alejia markets, Poisha are also a sign. They say offworlder, ship-backed, possibly rich, possibly careless."

He gestures lightly toward the table. "Port scrip is safer for small purchases near the starport edge. Local trade counters are better if you can get them through a clean exchange. Barter is risky unless you know what the object means. A cheap tool may be just a tool. A blade, a medical item, a ship part, a battery, even a sealed ration pack may imply more than you intend."

Verik’s eyes move around the group. "Haggling is expected in some stalls and insulting in others. Food and common goods usually allow a little bargaining, but do not grind people down over small amounts. That makes you look petty, not clever. Overpaying is also bad. It can mark you as fools, or worse, as people trying to buy goodwill too loudly."

"My recommendation is simple. Use low-denomination port scrip or local counters. Let the guide handle the first exchange so you can see the rhythm. Buy small. Accept one harmless bad bargain as the price of education. Do not barter offworld gear. Do not flash ship supplies. Do not let anyone extend credit to you unless you want a new relationship."

He looks back to Bohdie. "And if someone refuses payment entirely, that is not free. That is when you become most careful."

A pause. "Free things here often arrive with the bill hidden inside the courtesy."

Virel listened quietly, letting the others’ words fill the room. Staying aboard the Cutter would be safest, but safety alone rarely revealed anything useful. When the discussion turned to the market, he offered no opinion until the others had spoken.

"If we go to the market, it should be a small group and appear exactly what it is meant to be: visitors trying to better understand Alejia culture. We can observe without appearing to observe. I suspect the Alejia would expect nothing less, but it is a very fine line. There can be no mention of the petition or of those we seek to recover."

"Agreed. Nothing that puts pressure on the petition. I like the idea of Sera introducing the survey team to the right guide. Ideally also to the right venue for exchange so that any transaction in Poisha is contained to the entry point. Everything else done in local currency. Possibly make the exchange of currency first so that the guide can be paid from that and will not be influenced by the amount transacted, at least not openly as I'm sure attempting to make such an exchange confidential has risks, not least because it sends the wrong message. We are not hiding anything, we are not impatient, we are not putting pressure on anyone. We are using our time wisely."

Wilbur does not say anything, nodding from time to time to acknowledge questions and answers he finds useful.

Verik listens to Virel first, then to Chaala, and this time his approval is easier to read.

Not warm, exactly. Verik is not a man who spends approval carelessly.

But the corners of his eyes ease, and he gives a small nod toward Virel.

"That is the right line," he says. "Observe without appearing to observe. Learn without making the lesson look like a search. And no mention of the petition or those you seek. If someone else mentions them, you do not follow the hook. You let it pass, or you bring it back here."

He looks to Chaala next.

"And that is the right method. Exchange Poisha once, cleanly, at the entry point. Do it where such exchanges are normal, visible, and boring. Then use local counters for everything else. That tells the market you are not trying to throw offworld money around, and it keeps each small purchase from becoming a display of ship-backed wealth."

Verik taps one finger lightly against the table.

"You are also right not to hide the exchange too carefully. Secrecy has a smell here. If you behave like the exchange is shameful or covert, someone will decide the money is attached to something more interesting than food, cloth, and ordinary curiosity."

He glances toward Wilbur and Bohdie.

"Small purchase funds. Modest denominations. Enough to buy, not enough to impress. Let the guide be paid openly and properly, from the same local funds. Not as a bribe. Not as a favor. As work."

Then Verik’s expression shifts slightly, not darker, but more practical.

"There is one more piece you need to understand before you walk anywhere. You are not simply leaving a starport. You are crossing a boundary."

He lets that word settle.

"The old starport, what was once the international airport before it became the ad hoc starport everyone pretends is temporary, is controlled at the boundary by the Xá’kai. They decide who passes cleanly, who is slowed, who is noticed, and who is made to understand they have been noticed."

Verik looks around the table.

"That does not mean they own every market beyond the berm. They do not. But they control the hinge between the offworld pad and Balac Pontli. You cannot step through that hinge without them knowing. So if you go to the market, part of the message is not just to the market. It is to the Xá’kai as well."

Sera, who has been listening from the edge of the common compartment while clearing a plate, looks from Verik to Chaala.

"If you want the guide clean of the petition chain, Captain Angushlii, timing matters. So does the crossing."

Her tone is polite, but practical. Verik does not interrupt her.

Sera continues.

"Tomorrow sends one message. It says you are waiting, but not hiding. It also means more eyes will connect the market visit to the petition because the meeting is still fresh. The next day sends another message. It says you can sit still for a while before moving, which may look more disciplined. But it gives others more time to prepare themselves around you."

She sets the plate aside.

"And whichever day you choose, the Xá’kai boundary watchers will know before the first stallholder does. So: are you thinking tomorrow, or the next day?"

Verik gives Sera a brief nod, then adds his own view.

"My preference would be tomorrow only if the errand is small and ordinary. Currency exchange, food, maybe one or two practical purchases, then back. No wandering. No testing edges."

He lifts a hand slightly.

"The next day is better if you want the market visit to feel less connected to the petition and more like a deliberate courtesy. It gives the first silence time to do its work. But if a reply comes before then, the plan changes."

He leans back slightly.

"Either choice can work. Tomorrow shows calm confidence. The next day shows patience. The mistake would be pretending the timing means nothing."

Verik then adds, more quietly.

"And remember something else. The Alejia are not one thing. The eight major tribes control Balac Pontli in the way great powers control cities: by influence, ownership, old rights, fear, debt, protection, and habit. But between those major powers are minor tribes, kin-groups, neutral market houses, non-tribe merchants, transport brokers, guides, food sellers, port interpreters, and people who belong to no one obvious until the moment it matters."

He looks toward Wilbur, then Bohdie, then back to Chaala.

"So when you visit a market, do not think of it as speaking to ‘the Alejia.’ You are walking through many ears. Some will report to the Xá’kai because the boundary matters. Some will report to a major tribe because that is where their debts sit. Some will report to traders because information buys tomorrow’s advantage. Some will simply remember you because strangers are interesting."

A pause.

"That is why your conduct has to be simple enough that many factions can understand it the same way."

Verik lets that settle, then gives the table a small, practical look.

"Decide what message you want the timing to send. Then make the errand match that message."

His gaze moves back to Chaala.

"If you go, you cross the Xá’kai boundary openly. You use a guide with no obvious tie to Tóhrel’s table or the petition chain. You make one clean currency exchange. You buy ordinary things with local counters. You let the market see curiosity, patience, and discipline."

Then he looks to Virel.

"And if someone tries to turn curiosity into conversation about the petition, you leave the subject where you placed it: before the table."

Verik’s voice remains calm.

"That is the safest message you can send to many listeners at once."

Wilbur thinks for a moment.
"I would prefer going tomorrow. It shows confidence without impatience — and that we are prepared to live normally while waiting for the answer. No rush, but no passive waiting either. And if anyone asks about the petition, saying it is underway and we do not discuss ongoing matters should be enough — it signals patience without inviting more questions"
A brief pause.
"Your call, Captain."

"If tomorrow, no earlier than midday. Shopping with intent and a list. Nothing that implies a need, but something that carries the message that we are open to learn. Project humility not hostility. If the day after, similar, but more open to exploration, again focused on curiosity but not specifics."

Wilbur ponders the question a little, then at last speaks.

"What do we put on the list? We do not know what they sell beyond food and basic goods."

"That sounds exactly like the list. Not enough food that it seems like we're laying in for a long wait. Sample many things, maybe not the stuff Mr. Voss has kindly warned us about. Maybe a handmade item, if you can find something appropriate, as Captain Verik has suggested. I'd love to see what their children's literature looks like, maybe help us with language as well."