Chapter 4.5 — Petition Path

Scene One — The Neutral Market

The Alejia provide the vehicles, that detail matters.

The team does not take Star’s Mercy transport. They do not arrive under Verik’s banner alone. They do not drive themselves through Balac Pontli as if the city is a route to be solved. The vehicles come from the Alejia side: enclosed ground-carriers with high suspensions, dust-scored panels, screened windows, and drivers who speak little after confirming names.

The route from the commercial pad moves through the working edges of Balac Pontli, where the city presses close against the starport’s foreign quarter without ever truly joining it. Tall, narrow buildings lean over streets crowded with awnings, cables, balconies, and improvised shade cloth. The air carries too many smells at once: hot oil, wet stone, engine exhaust, ground spices, animal musk, ozone from cheap power couplings, and the sour-metal scent of industrial runoff baked into the gutters.

This is not the polished face shown to visiting merchants. This is where cargo becomes favors, favors become debts, and debts become introductions.

The market itself is called Tlánhikali’s Shade by Verik’s crew, though he warns that this is a trade-pidgin name, not the full Alejia one. It sits in a wedge of old city between the recognized territories of several greater tribal blocs, technically held by minor households, market kin-groups, and bonded wardens who survive by being useful to everyone and owned by no one. No major tribe controls it outright. That is why the meeting can happen here.

The outer market is alive with motion.

Packed stalls crowd both sides of the approach lanes. Canvas roofs overlap like scales. Upper walkways cross between buildings three and four stories above the ground, busy with silhouettes that pause too long to be casual. Pack animals with broad shoulders and narrow heads push through the crowd under bright woven harnesses. Alejia in layered tribal dress move past offworld plastics, rebuilt machine parts, sealed ceramic jars, baskets of dried roots, power cells, water filters, cheap comm parts, worked bone charms, and folded cloth tagged with markings Chaala’s team cannot yet read.

There are too many possible threats to count cleanly.

An Alejia with one hand under a shawl watches the vehicles pass. Two young Alejia on a balcony stop laughing as the offworlders step down. A spice seller turns a mirror shard just enough to catch their reflection. A child with a tray of cups moves too smoothly through the crowd, never spilling, never looking directly at anyone armed. Somewhere nearby, a motor coughs and dies. Somewhere else, someone shouts, and the crowd shifts just enough to reveal a narrow alley before closing again.

No one attacks, that does not make it feel safe.

Verik steps out first, not as a shield, but as a person already expected. He does not wave. He does not smile for the crowd. He gives a small greeting to one of the vehicle drivers and waits for the others to form up before moving. Voss comes with them, quiet and controlled, his presence heavier than any weapon he might have carried.

Their escort through the market is not military. That, too, is deliberate. Four Alejia market wardens meet them near a water seller’s awning. They wear layered grey-brown coats marked with narrow blue thread at the cuff and carry short batons rather than rifles. The batons are likely not the only weapons present, but they are the only ones being admitted to the scene.

One of the wardens, older than the others, with close-cropped silver hair and a scar running from the jaw to the side of the throat, gives Verik a brief sign with two fingers. Verik returns it a fraction lower.

"This is Heshó Kalna," he says quietly to the group. "Market warden. Heshó keeps knives from becoming weather in this place."

Heshó Kalna does not appear amused by the translation, but does not correct it either.

The wardens lead the party deeper into the market, away from the main buying lanes and into a covered passage where the noise dulls but never disappears. The walls are close here, patched with old tile, metal braces, carved lintels, and newer conduit. People step aside before the wardens reach them. Not quickly. Not fearfully. Just enough to show that the wardens’ authority is real inside this place.

The petition site lies behind a heavy curtain of woven reed and copper wire at the rear of a tea-and-broth house built into the ground floor of an old market hall. Outside, the room is chaos: steam, clattering bowls, argument, laughter, children running errands, traders leaning close over narrow tables. Inside the partition, the noise becomes a muffled pressure.

The chamber beyond is calm, not comfortable, exactly, but secure.

The room is rectangular, low-ceilinged, and windowless except for a high vent screened by patterned stone. Mats cover the floor. A long, low table sits at the center with cups already placed but not filled. The walls are lined with hanging cloth panels in muted colors, each bearing symbols of market households rather than major tribal crests. There are two visible exits: the curtain through which they entered, and a narrow side door watched by one of the grey-coated wardens.

There are almost certainly more exits than that, three Alejia are already present. None of them are major chiefs. None carry themselves like someone who expects obedience from the whole city. That is part of the point.

The first is Tóhrel Na’kái, the trade speaker Verik’s contacts reached. Tóhrel is middle-aged, narrow-faced, and dressed in layered tan and black cloth with a copper tally-chain looped across one shoulder. Tóhrel’s role is not to decide the matter, but to hear whether the question can be carried inward without insulting the people who must eventually answer it.


Beside Tóhrel sits Mireh Qotl, a market oath-keeper attached to one of the neutral kin-groups that maintains Tlánhikali’s Shade. Mireh is younger than Heshó Kalna but has the stillness of someone accustomed to remembering exact words. A flat slate rests near Mireh’s hand, unpowered or deliberately made to look that way.


The third is an older Alejia introduced only as Seváhn of the Blue Cuff. Verik’s brief glance warns the group not to ask for more name than that. Seváhn is not a major tribal voice, but is close enough to certain trade obligations that Seváhn’s presence means the question may travel farther than this room.


Once everyone has entered, Heshó Kalna remains near the curtain with one warden outside and one inside. The fourth warden disappears back into the noise of the market. The message is clear enough: the room is protected, but not isolated from the world around it.

Verik waits until the party is placed. He does not sit first. He lets Tóhrel Na’kái indicate the order. Only after the trade speaker gestures to the far side of the low table does Verik lower himself into position. He gives Virel the slightest nod: not command, but timing.

Tóhrel Na’kái does not speak immediately. That, Verik had warned them, is not always refusal.

The trade speaker studies the visitors in order. Chaala first, because command carries weight even when it does not speak. Virel next, because Verik has already made clear that this one will carry the first shaped words. Wilber receives a shorter look, not dismissive, but measuring. Dr. Shone is regarded with a pause that lingers on the medical kit or insignia, if visible. Voss receives the longest silence of all.

No one names that silence.

At last, Tóhrel Na’kái touches two fingers to the copper tally-chain across one shoulder.

"The table has heard that Captain Verik of Star’s Mercy asks passage for a question," Tóhrel says.

The words are clear, formal, and careful.

"A question of obligation. A question concerning offworld guests who came before these offworld guests. A question that is not yet accusation."


Tóhrel’s eyes shift briefly to Verik.

"Is this still the shape of it?"

Verik inclines his head, not deeply.

"It is."

Tóhrel looks back to the group.

"Then the table asks the question before the question. Who carries the words?"

Verik lets the silence hold for only a heartbeat before answering, giving the Ironhand-Scout team the opening without taking the petition away from them.

"Officer Kilmire carries the first words," Verik says. "Captain Angushlii gives them weight. Doctor Shone attends for care, not accusation. Wilber watches what practical eyes should watch. Scout-Engineer Voss comes as witness."

Tóhrel’s gaze settles on Voss again. "Witness can be a blade," Tóhrel says.

Verik’s voice remains even. "Only if drawn."

That earns no smile, but neither does it earn correction.

Mireh Qotl, the oath-keeper, places one hand near the flat slate but does not touch it. "Words carried here may be remembered," Mireh says. "Words carried from here may become heavier than when they entered. Speak small if you wish them to pass through narrow places."

Seváhn of the Blue Cuff gives a low sound that might be agreement.

Tóhrel Na’kái then turns fully toward Virel and Chaala. "Then speak the first shape of your petition. Not the whole weight. Not the end of the road. Only the first shape."

A pause.

"What obligation do you seek to find, and over whom?"

Verik does not look at Virel directly this time. He looks at the table instead, giving the diplomatic officer the room to speak without appearing prompted. But his earlier instruction remains clear.

Not prisoners...Not hostages...Not stolen crew. Lost guests.

The petition path has begun.

Outside, Tlánhikali’s Shade continues to roar with trade, suspicion, hunger, and motion. Inside, the room is quiet enough that every word will matter.

Virel listened without emotion as each Alejia spoke, acknowledging their words only with the slightest nod. When they had finished, he allowed the pause to linger a moment longer before answering.

"We seek understanding regarding the offworld guests who came before us. If possible, to see them returned safely to their own people, without dishonouring the obligations carried here."

A brief pause.

"We seek a path that leaves no one diminished by its ending."

Chaala watches the body language of the humans before the alejia, since she knows human reactions better, but watches each party carefully. Her computer set to record the feed from her glasses and run it through the translator to pick up any Alejia chatter.

- Gear: IFAK, Body Pistol (concealed at the ankle), AS11 rated shirt, pants and jacket. Web belt with her slate computer clipped to it. IH-VisionPak, CommDot, Personal Communicator, electro markers, tapetool, lock disable device, Starman Deluxe, and micro drone deployer in pouches.

Tóhrel Na’kái receives Virel’s words without visible approval. The trade speaker does not nod, smile, or soften. Instead, Tóhrel lets the sentence settle into the room as if testing whether it can bear its own weight.

"No one diminished," Tóhrel says at last.

The phrase is repeated carefully, not mocked, but examined.

"That is a generous ending to ask for before the path has admitted where it begins."

Mireh Qotl’s fingers rest near the flat slate. Mireh does not write yet, but the stillness suggests the words are already being held somewhere less visible than the slate itself. Seváhn of the Blue Cuff shifts slightly, the patterned cuff moving across one folded sleeve, but says nothing.

Tóhrel looks first to Virel, then to Chaala.

"You seek understanding. You seek safe return. You seek to leave obligation unbroken and honor uncut. These are proper shapes for a first petition."

A pause.

"But proper shape is not yet enough to carry inward."

Tóhrel’s gaze moves then, slowly, toward Voss. The silence that follows is not empty. It is deliberate. Voss remains still, jaw tight, hands controlled, every part of him visibly doing the work Verik warned him he would have to do.

Tóhrel returns attention to Virel and Chaala.

"The table must know the names of the guests you seek. Not all names, if some names must remain covered. But enough that the question does not become a net thrown over every offworld shadow in Balac Pontli."

Mireh Qotl speaks next, voice calm and precise.
"Names make obligation narrower. Narrow obligation can pass through guarded doors. Wide obligation is stopped at the threshold."

Verik inclines his head slightly, as if this is expected and not unfavorable.

Tóhrel continues.

"The table must also know who carries claim over these lost guests. Is it kinship? Command? Debt? Shared vessel? Shared oath? If they are yours to ask after, say how they are yours. If they are only people you pity, say that instead."

The words are not cruel. If anything, they are careful enough to avoid cruelty.

Seváhn of the Blue Cuff finally speaks, voice low and dry.

"Pity carries little weight here. Obligation carries farther."

Tóhrel does not look away from the petitioners.

"And one more thing must be understood before this question travels beyond this room."

The trade speaker’s long fingers touch the copper tally-chain once.

"If those who came before you are found to be under guest-right, correction, protection, debt, or silence, will you hear the answer before you reject the word used for it?"

The question hangs there.

Not a refusal.

Not an accusation.

A test.

Verik does not answer for them. He keeps his eyes on the table, allowing the petition to remain in the hands of those who brought it.

Voss breathes once through his nose, slow and controlled, but remains silent.

Outside the partition, the market continues to roar. Inside, the room has grown smaller around a single question.

Tóhrel Na’kái waits.

"What names do you place before the table, and by what obligation do you seek them?"

From the back Victor watches Alejia but keeps his eyes trained downward. He imagined what kind of anatomy these aliens possessed and how their culture evolved, as it seemed very complex and sophisticated. He had noticed the gaze he received due to the medical cross insignia on his dress, but he remained silent so as to not convey anything that might ruin these tense negotiations.

Dr. Shone's observations;

Victor Shone remains silent while his eyes stay lowered often enough to avoid challenging anyone’s place at the table, but not so low that he stops observing. For the first time since arriving on Marinagua, he is close enough to study Alejia bodies without the distortion of distance, glass, crowd movement, or hurried circumstance.

The first impression is size.

Even seated or partially lowered around the petition space, the Alejia dominate the room in a way that would be easy to underestimate from images or old survey notes. The smallest Alejia present is still roughly 2.3 meters tall. The oldest, Seváhn of the Blue Cuff, would stand near 3.1 meters if fully upright. Their height is not simply a matter of long limbs. The proportions are different: elongated necks, powerful shoulder structures hidden beneath layered cloth, long hands with narrow fingers, and a forward poise that suggests a body built around balance, reach, and controlled motion.

The second impression is that the old Scout Survey records were wrong.

Not entirely useless. Just wrong in the way old records often are when written from distance, limited contact, and too much confidence.

The Alejia are not merely "avian-descended" or "birdlike sophonts," whatever shorthand some earlier survey team may have used. Their beaked facial structure suggests convergent function, but the rest of the anatomy does not fit a simple lifted-from-Terran analogy. The ear-fans or lateral sensory structures are too large and too mobile to be decorative. The eyes are set with a range and depth that imply excellent motion detection, perhaps strong low-light adaptation, perhaps a very different balance between peripheral awareness and focused gaze. The throat, upper chest, and facial tension all participate in communication more than the records suggested.

Shone notes the way Tóhrel Na’kái breathes before speaking. Not nervous. Regulated. The throat and upper chest shift in a controlled rhythm, suggesting either a deliberate speaking discipline or a species for whom vocalization requires more conscious shaping than it does for humans. The pause before each formal phrase may not be purely cultural. It may also be physiological: breath, throat tension, and resonance being brought into alignment before words are placed carefully.

Mireh Qotl is even more interesting. The oath-keeper’s stillness is not the stillness of disengagement. It is active restraint. Tiny adjustments of the head, eye line, and ear position follow the movement of words around the room. Mireh appears to track not only the speaker, but the reactions caused by the speaker. The flat slate may be a tool, but Shone suspects Mireh’s real recording begins before any mark is made.

Seváhn of the Blue Cuff seems older, though not simply by posture. The skin around the eyes and throat has a faint looseness to it, and the movements are economical in a way that suggests age, authority, or both. At Seváhn’s scale, even a small motion carries weight. The older Alejia does not waste any of it. When Seváhn finally speaks, the others make space for the words before they are finished. That tells Shone as much as the voice does.

The wardens at the edge of the room are built differently in presentation, if not in species. Their clothing allows more freedom through the shoulders and arms. Their stance distributes weight forward, ready without being obvious. Shone notices that their batons are carried low, close to the body, in positions that would not look threatening to an untrained eye but could come up quickly. Their role is not ceremonial. They are there to prevent violence from becoming general.

The medical cross on Shone’s dress had been noticed. He is certain of that. Tóhrel’s glance had touched it and moved on. Mireh had held it a fraction longer. Heshó Kalna’s attention had measured it the way a guard measures a tool that might become either help or hazard.

That tells Shone something important.

The Alejia understand the idea of a healer, or at least the idea of a person whose marked function concerns bodies and care. But the symbol does not produce comfort. It produces caution. In this room, medicine is not neutral. A physician may imply injury. Injury may imply blame. Blame may force the conversation toward accusation before Virel and Chaala are ready to place it there.

So Shone remains silent.

He lets his presence say only what Verik intended it to say: that if the lost guests are unwell, someone has come who can understand harm and perhaps lessen it.

But he also begins building a private medical and cultural hypothesis.

The Alejia are not primitive in social organization. Their rituals are too precise, their control of space too practiced, their division of roles too clear. Their bodies and culture seem adapted to one another in ways the old Scout summaries failed to capture. Size, posture, sensory attention, breath control, silence, and role-marking all appear to be part of a single social anatomy.

Among humans, medicine, law, diplomacy, and security are often treated as separate domains.

Here, Shone suspects they overlap.

A body in distress may also be an obligation. A wound may also be a debt. A patient may also be evidence.

And if Dominicus and the others are being held under some form of guest-right, Shone suspects their physical condition will not be treated as a private medical matter.

It will be part of the negotiation.

GM Comment: Chaala and Virel notice the Alejia Body reactions during the discussion due to their own individual backgrounds.

Virel listens to their words and watches their actions carefully, not to imitate them, but to show respect. He lets a brief silence settle before speaking again.

"We place before the table the name of Captain Dominicus, and those who share obligation to her. We seek them through shared service and sworn obligation. While that obligation remains, we cannot set them aside."

Tóhrel Na’kái listens without interruption. At the name Dominicus, there is no visible surprise. No widening of the eyes. No sudden exchange of looks. Nothing so generous as confirmation. But something changes.

Mireh Qotl’s hand finally touches the flat slate. Not writing yet. Resting there, as if the name has made the words heavy enough to be held by more than memory.

Seváhn of the Blue Cuff remains still, but the stillness sharpens.



Tóhrel repeats the name once, carefully. "Captain Dominicus." The pronunciation is imperfect, but deliberate. A foreign name being given enough respect not to be rushed.

"And those who share obligation to her." Tóhrel’s gaze remains on Virel for a moment longer, then shifts to Chaala. The trade speaker does not ask whether Virel has authority to say this. Chaala’s presence has already answered enough of that question for the room.

"Shared service. Sworn obligation. These are heavier than pity." A pause follows. "Such words can travel."

Mireh Qotl makes the first mark on the slate. It is quick, almost soundless.



Tóhrel continues. "But a name placed before the table is not yet a path. The table must know whether the petition seeks sight, speech, or return."

The trade speaker lets each word stand apart.

"Sight may be easier than speech. Speech may be easier than return. Return may require those who hold obligation to be satisfied that no dishonor follows the release."

Tóhrel’s eyes move briefly toward Voss. "And witness may make the road straighter, or sharper."

[b]Voss does not answer. His jaw works once, then stills.

Verik’s eyes flick toward him, just long enough to remind him of the promise made aboard Star’s Mercy: witness, not accusation.

Seváhn of the Blue Cuff speaks then, voice low.

"Those who cannot set aside obligation may still choose how loudly they carry it."

The words are not rebuke. They are warning.

Tóhrel inclines the head slightly, accepting the addition. "The table hears that you seek Captain Dominicus and those bound to her by service and oath. The table hears that you seek understanding and safe return. The table hears that you do not wish the ending to diminish those who must answer."

Another pause. "Now the table asks this."

Tóhrel places both long hands flat before the copper tally-chain. "If the first answer given is not return, will you still hear it?"



Mireh Qotl looks up from the slate.

"If the first answer is condition, will you ask what condition means before naming it refusal?"

The chamber seems to narrow around the question.

Tóhrel does not press harder. That may be courtesy. It may be test. It may be both.



"The table can carry a careful petition farther than a sharp one. But those beyond this room will ask whether the offworlders seek a door, or whether they have only wrapped a demand in quiet cloth."

Verik remains silent. This answer must come from the petitioners.

Tóhrel Na’kái waits.

"So say this clearly: do you first seek sight, speech, or return?"

Virel inwardly sighed. There was a reason why he had left the Service, and yet there was a reason he had originally entered it as well. Outwardly he showed no expression and chose his words carefully before speaking.

"We seek to create no dishonour. With sight alone, our obligation would require speech. With speech alone, our obligation would require return... and yet we also seek no dishonour. What path lies ahead where both may be met?"

For the first time, Tóhrel Na’kái gives something close to approval.

It is not a smile. It is smaller than that: a slight lowering of the head, a measured stillness, the copper tally-chain shifting once across the shoulder as Tóhrel settles more fully into the moment.


"Good," Tóhrel says. The word is plain, and because it is plain, it carries weight.
"You did not choose the loud answer."

Mireh Qotl’s fingers move across the slate, recording now with quiet certainty. Seváhn of the Blue Cuff remains still, but the hard edge in the older Alejia’s posture eases by a fraction.

Tóhrel looks from Virel to Chaala, then back again. "You have named the knot correctly. Sight alone awakens speech. Speech alone awakens return. Return without the road prepared may awaken dishonor. So the path must be walked in order."

Tóhrel places one long hand against the table.

"The table can carry this much. First, the petition may be carried inward as a question of obligation concerning Captain Dominicus and those bound to Dominicus by service and oath. It will not be carried as accusation. It will not be carried as demand. It will be carried as a request to know where obligation rests."

Mireh writes another mark.

"Second, the table may request proof that the obligation still breathes. Not return. Not yet. Not free speech. Not yet. Proof." Tóhrel lets that word stand.
"A witnessed word. A named token. A condition of health carried by one who may speak of bodies without making the body an accusation. Perhaps even brief sight under controlled custom, if those who hold the obligation agree."

Seváhn of the Blue Cuff speaks, low and dry. "Proof is lighter than return. Lighter things pass more gates."

Tóhrel inclines the head once.
"Third, if proof is granted and does not bring dishonor into the room, then speech may be asked for. Speech may be narrow. One question. One answer. Perhaps less. But speech can prepare the ground for return if the words are not used as hooks."


Mireh Qotl looks up from the slate.
"Words taken from guarded places must not be sharpened outside them."



Tóhrel continues. "Only after proof and speech may return be placed before those who hold obligation. Return may require correction. It may require compensation. It may require naming a misunderstanding without naming guilt. It may require that the guests depart in a way that lets those who held them say they completed an obligation, not yielded to a threat."

The room remains quiet.

Then Tóhrel’s attention settles fully on Virel. "This is what I can arrange. I can carry the first shape of your petition to those who may know where obligation rests. I can carry that you seek no dishonor. I can carry that Captain Dominicus and those bound to Dominicus are sought by service and oath, not by anger or purchase."

Tóhrel touches the copper tally-chain again. "I can ask whether proof may be returned to this table. If proof is refused, that answer will also speak."

The trade speaker then looks to Chaala, acknowledging the authority behind Virel’s words. "The table will need one thing from you before the words travel. A marker of obligation. Not payment. Not ransom. Not a threat wrapped as gift. A marker that says those who ask will remain bound to the path they have chosen."

Mireh adds, "Something that can be carried without becoming a weapon."

"It may be a written name," Tóhrel says. "A service mark. A sealed word. A small thing from those who seek them, given so those beyond this room know the petition did not vanish when the door closed."

Tóhrel rests both hands flat again.

"If you give such a marker, the table will carry the petition. Then you wait. Not long enough for dust to bury the question. Long enough for those who must answer to decide whether the first proof can be returned without cutting their own hands."

Only then does Tóhrel’s gaze return to Virel. "You asked what path lies ahead where both may be met."

A final pause.

"This is the path. Proof before speech. Speech before return. Return without dishonor, if the road holds."

Verik does not speak, he does not need to. For the first time since entering the petition chamber, the captain of Star’s Mercy allows his posture to ease by the smallest degree. One hand, resting near his cup, turns palm-down against the table instead of remaining half-curled and ready. His eyes lower briefly, not in defeat, but in acknowledgement that the door has opened wider than before.

Then, without looking directly at Virel or Chaala, Verik gives a single, almost imperceptible nod. Not encouragement to push, not permission to celebrate. Recognition that this is a good answer.

Chaala nods and calmly peels the Scout insignia from it's velcro spot on her Jacket.

"A symbol of our shared oath and our shared service." She says as she offers it.

The room does not react quickly....That may be the first sign that Chaala has chosen well.

Tóhrel Na’kái watches the insignia come free from her jacket. The motion is small, practical, almost ordinary by human standards. But in the petition chamber, where every object carries the possibility of becoming payment, threat, insult, or promise, the act gathers weight as it crosses the table.

Mireh Qotl stops writing, Seváhn of the Blue Cuff leans forward by the smallest degree. Tóhrel does not immediately take the insignia. Instead, the trade speaker studies Chaala’s hand, the symbol, and the place on her jacket where it had been removed.



"A thing worn," Tóhrel says. The words are quiet. "Not taken from storage. Not chosen from cargo. Not counted from wealth."

Tóhrel’s gaze lifts to Chaala. "Taken from the body of duty."

Mireh Qotl makes a mark on the slate, slower this time.

Tóhrel then reaches out with both long hands, not snatching, not grasping. The gesture is careful, almost formal. If Chaala allows it, the Scout insignia is received and placed on the table between them rather than immediately hidden away. "A symbol of shared oath and shared service," Tóhrel repeats, giving the words back in altered shape. "This can travel."


Seváhn of the Blue Cuff gives a low sound of agreement. "It is not ransom," Seváhn says. "It asks to be answered in kind."

Tóhrel inclines the head once. "The table accepts this as marker, not payment. It will be carried with the petition. It will say that those who ask remain bound to those they seek, and that the asking does not end when the question leaves this room."

The trade speaker looks to Virel, then back to Chaala. "The petition will be carried inward. It will ask where obligation rests over Captain Dominicus and those bound to Dominicus by service and oath. It will ask whether proof may be returned to this table."

Mireh Qotl’s hand moves again over the slate.
"Proof before speech," Mireh says. "Speech before return."



Tóhrel’s eyes lower briefly to the insignia. "Return without dishonor, if the road holds."

For the first time, Heshó Kalna near the curtain shifts position, not as alarm, but as signal. The wardens understand the meeting has changed. The petition is no longer only spoken. It has been marked.

Verik remains silent, but his expression confirms what his words would only cheapen. His eyes touch the insignia, then Chaala, then Virel. The almost imperceptible nod that follows is enough.

This was the right kind of offering. Not a bribe. Not a demand. A piece of obligation small enough to be carried, and heavy enough to matter.

Wilbur watches without talking.

Without expression, Virel gives a slight nod to Chaala, then another to the Alejia, but otherwise remains silent.

Victor watches the entire interaction with quiet fascination. Much can be learned about the culture and interaction style of the Alejia from this tense negotiation. If it had to be distilled into something compact, then intention takes a heavier load than words, and symbolism is the backbone of the language of this people. At least that is what he thought after watching everything. He was seriously going to write an essay tonight.

Tóhrel Na’kái does not pick up the Scout insignia again immediately.

Instead, the trade speaker lets it remain on the table for several breaths, visible to everyone present. The symbol has been accepted, but not hidden. That, too, seems deliberate. A marker should be witnessed before it is carried.

At last, Tóhrel reaches forward with both long hands and lifts the insignia from the table. The movement is careful enough that even the small fabric-and-thread object seems heavier than it is.



"The marker is accepted," Tóhrel says. "The petition is no longer only breath."

Mireh Qotl makes a final notation on the slate. Seváhn of the Blue Cuff watches the insignia disappear into a small folded packet of dark cloth, which Tóhrel seals with a loop of copper thread from the tally-chain.

"The table will carry the question inward," Tóhrel continues. "Not as accusation. Not as purchase. Not as demand. As obligation seeking its proper resting place."

Tóhrel’s gaze moves from Virel to Chaala.

"You have given a marker that can travel. Now the words must travel with it. When an answer returns, it will return first to this table, or to Captain Verik if the table cannot safely be opened again."

Verik inclines his head slightly, accepting the responsibility without making a performance of it.

Tóhrel then looks to the rest of the petition party: Wilber, Dr. Shone, and finally Voss.

"The witness has remained sheathed."

The phrase is directed toward Voss, but it is not unkind. Voss gives no answer beyond a tight nod. That seems to satisfy the room.



Mireh Qotl speaks next.

"What has been said here should not be made larger outside this room. Small words can travel farther. Large words draw hands to stop them."

Seváhn of the Blue Cuff adds, low and dry, "Wait with discipline. Impatient obligation becomes hunger. Hunger is easily mistaken for threat."

That appears to be the end of it.

No one says the meeting is over.

Instead, Tóhrel lowers the head once, Heshó Kalna shifts near the curtain, and one of the wardens draws the woven reed-and-copper partition aside. The roar of Tlánhikali’s Shade returns at once: steam, voices, clattering bowls, animal calls, trade arguments, and the layered pulse of a city that has not paused for the petition or its consequences.

Verik rises only after Tóhrel has indicated the order. He says nothing until the group is outside the chamber and back beneath the covered passage, where the market noise gives everyone a little privacy by drowning them all equally.

Only then does he glance toward Chaala and Virel.

"That went well."

He does not dress the words up. He does not make them warmer than they are. But from Verik, it is nearly praise.

"Do not mistake that for safety. It means the door did not close."

The market wardens escort the party back through the crowded lanes. The path out feels different now, though the crowd is the same. The watchers are still watching. The mirrors still catch reflections. The balconies still hold shapes that pause too long. But the group is no longer merely arriving as strangers. Something has been placed in motion behind them, and the market seems to know it.

The Alejia vehicles are waiting where they left them, though now the size of them is harder to ignore.

They are civilian transports, not military carriers, but built to Alejia scale. Each vehicle rides on eight large wheels, four to a side, with a long high chassis and suspension meant to absorb broken pavement, market curbs, drainage ridges, and unpaved industrial tracks. The body is slab-sided, dust-scored, and practical, with high step-plates and recessed handholds set at heights awkward for humans but natural for beings two and a half to three meters tall.

The doors are tall enough that even Seváhn of the Blue Cuff would not need to bow much to enter. Inside, the benches are broad and widely spaced, raised higher from the deck than human seats. The ceiling arches overhead with room to spare for Alejia necks and upper posture. For the human members of the party, the effect is subtly childlike: feet not quite finding the floor correctly, handholds placed too high, sightlines designed for eyes well above human height.

Voss notices it too. His expression tightens, not from fear, but from the renewed physical reminder that Dominicus and her crew have been inside a world not made to human measure for a long time.

The ride back toward the starport is quiet. The drivers speak little. The city slides past through screened windows: market lanes giving way to cargo districts, cargo districts giving way to the rougher edge of the foreign quarter, and then the open geometry of the ad hoc starport beyond its berms and controlled approaches.

By the time they return to the commercial pad near Star’s Mercy, Verik has said almost nothing.

Only after the Alejia vehicles depart does he gather the team where the starport noise is low enough to speak.

"The answer will not come immediately," he says. "If it comes too fast, be suspicious. If it takes too long, be more suspicious."

He considers the estimate for a moment.

"A reasonable return is one to three Marinagua day-cycles. Faster if the people who receive the petition already know where obligation rests. Slower if the marker must pass through more than one hand, or if someone argues over whether proof can be returned without giving too much away."

Verik looks toward the city.

"During that time, three things may happen. First, someone may test your patience. A rumor. A false sighting. A message that sounds useful but asks you to step outside the path you just opened. Second, someone may watch who you speak to and where you move. Expect that. Third, someone may approach indirectly with a different offer. Faster answers usually come with teeth."

He lets that settle.

"My advice: do not chase every sound. Let Bohdie, Ruiha, and JEEM continue the quiet work. Let your ship remain ready without looking ready. Keep your people visible enough that no one thinks you have gone hunting, but not so visible that you become a parade."

Then his tone changes by a fraction.

"As for tonight, you will eat aboard Star’s Mercy."

It is not quite a request.

Then Verik adds, with a faint dry edge,

"That is not diplomacy. That is logistics. Waiting on an empty stomach makes people stupid, and stupid people tend to mistake motion for progress."

He glances once toward Voss.

"And I suspect Engineer Voss could use a meal that was not designed to survive a cargo hold."

That draws the smallest change in Voss’s expression. Not amusement, exactly. But close enough to prove he heard it.

Verik turns back toward the others.

"Come at the evening watch. No speeches. No decisions unless one finds us. We will eat, compare what can be compared, and let the city decide whether it intends to answer politely."

Chaala thanks Verik for his help and agrees to return for dinner at the appointed time before leading the crew back to the Cutter.

There, she takes off her coat and considers replacing the patch from the ship's locker before deciding against it.

"If all their negotiations are like that, I hope we never have to buy our own lunch."

Wilbur nod to Captain Verik.

He enters the Cutter and begin the routine without announcement. Using passive method only he checked for Chaala badge signal—a position confirmation, nothing more.

He runs a quiet passive sweep for electronic emission in the area, ignoring the traders'.

He then contact the Azure Voyager on a tight link only computer exchange to minimize the exchange time. Asking to follow people coming from the building where we were, with a description of the people we saw. Only imagery, no active probing, and send ireegularly an update paying attention to weapons both personnal and larger.

Voss follows the others back toward the Cutter with the same quiet discipline he showed in the petition chamber. He does not speak until they are inside and the hatch is secure behind them.

Only then, as Chaala removes her coat and considers the empty place where the Scout insignia had been, does the Scout-Engineer let out something that might almost be a laugh.

"Captain," Voss says, voice dry, "that negotiation was better than most of the last six months."

He looks toward the hatch, then back at the crew.

"No one threatened to cut anyone’s honor out of their own hands. No one asked me to swear to a thing I didn’t understand. And they did not serve the tea."

A pause.

"Or the nut mash."

His expression remains mostly flat, but there is a faint grimness behind the humor, the sort that comes from long familiarity rather than exaggeration.

"They make this hot tea with an oil film on top and a bitter root aftertaste. Then there is this nut-based oatmeal thing. Thick. Grey. Smells like wet packing foam and old engine filter. They eat it like it proves discipline."

He glances toward the others.

"So from my side of the ledger, no tea and no nut mash means that meeting went very well."

The humor fades a little, though not completely.

"They listened. They accepted the marker. They did not throw the name Dominicus back at us. That matters."

While Voss speaks, Wilbur begins his checks without announcing them.

The first result comes back quickly. The Scout insignia is no longer producing a clean badge signal.

There is a brief, weak confirmation from the patch’s last known position shortly after the meeting ended, enough to confirm it remained inside the petition chamber for a short period after the team departed. Then the signal drops into intermittent noise, then disappears entirely.

Not destroyed. Not necessarily.

Shielded.

Moved into something that blocks or masks low-power emissions. Possibly the dark cloth packet. Possibly a lined container. Possibly simply carried through a part of the market dense enough with power systems, comm chatter, and reflective structures to bury the signal. But given the timing, Wilbur’s best assessment is that the Alejia either suspected the marker might carry a signal, or treat all offworld objects as if they might.

Both conclusions are useful.

The passive sweep around the Cutter shows no immediate active targeting, no obvious lock-on emissions, and no new strong sensor source centered directly on the team. The usual trader traffic remains noisy: short-range comm bursts, cargo tags, fuel-account pings, local transponders, and the restless electronic clutter of the commercial pad.

Filtering out the traders takes time, but a few items remain notable.

First, there are two low-power intermittent signals from the edge of the commercial apron that do not match the normal port rhythm. They do not paint the Cutter directly. They appear more like observer relays or personal comm devices waking briefly, transmitting, then going silent again.

Second, one ground vehicle on the far service road remains in place longer than its traffic pattern suggests it should. It is not obviously military. Its emissions are civilian and low-grade. But it does not move until several minutes after the Alejia transport has fully departed the pad area.

Third, there is no sign that anyone is actively trying to penetrate the Cutter’s systems. No handshake attempts. No spoofed port instruction. No aggressive scan. If the team is being watched, it is being done with eyes, passive sensors, and patience rather than direct electronic intrusion.

The tight, computer-only exchange to Azure Voyager completes in short bursts.

Aboard the Voyager, Edrin Mallor acknowledges first with a compact data receipt. Amara Havel follows with a short machine-tagged response packet routed through the agreed narrow channel.

Voyager confirms it has passive orbital imagery of the neutral market district during the relevant window, but the quality is limited. Balac Pontli’s density, heat clutter, awnings, upper walkways, narrow lanes, and intermittent roofing prevent clean tracking once people enter the covered market structures. The ship can observe vehicle departures, major movement patterns, and larger gatherings, but not reliably follow individual Alejia on foot through the market interior.

Still, the imagery provides several useful points.

The Alejia transport that carried the petition team remains at the market edge for approximately nine minutes after the party enters the petition site, then relocates two blocks away rather than leaving the district. That suggests the transport was held in reserve, not simply dismissed.

Three separate small groups leave the tea-and-broth house or adjacent structures within the hour after the petition ends. None move directly toward the starport. One group disperses into the market almost immediately. One moves toward a covered transit lane leading deeper into Balac Pontli. The third pauses near a market service court long enough to transfer a small wrapped object or packet to another individual before separating.

Voyager cannot confirm that the packet is Chaala’s Scout insignia.
The patch signal going dark is not a failure. If the Alejia shielded it, they kept it. If they kept it, the marker is still traveling. If they had rejected it, they would likely have returned it, discarded it, or destroyed it immediately. Current assessment: petition remains active.

Inside the Cutter, the practical picture sharpens.

No proof yet.

No direct trail.

But no immediate rejection either.

The door remains open.

Based on Wilbur’s passive sweep, Virel's diplomatic, Chaala’s Intelligence read of the room, and Bohdie’s counterintelligence instincts, several conclusions become clear:

• The Alejia almost certainly assumed the Scout insignia might contain a tracker, recorder, contaminant, or other offworld trick. The fact that they accepted it anyway means the marker was culturally useful enough to risk handling, but not enough to trust unexamined.


• The signal loss is not bad news by itself. A rejected marker would likely have been returned, discarded, displayed as insult, or destroyed. A shielded marker suggests it is still being treated as evidence of obligation and is probably still moving through the proper channel.


• The Alejia response pattern fits caution, not panic. No active scan, no aggressive electronic pressure, and no attempt to interfere with the Cutter suggests they do not believe the team has broken the rules yet.


• The watchers near the starport are probably measuring behavior after the petition. The important question is not whether the team is being watched, but whether they act like petitioners waiting on an answer or hunters looking for a target.


• The packet transfer near the market service court is the strongest lead, but also the most obvious place for a false trail. If the Alejia expected surveillance, that transfer may be real, staged, or both.


• Tracking individuals through Balac Pontli is a losing game. The city favors the locals. Vehicles, repeated locations, timing patterns, and who avoids being seen are more useful than trying to follow a single figure through covered lanes.


• The lack of immediate rejection is significant. Someone beyond the petition table is deciding what proof can be returned without dishonor. That means the petition has moved past courtesy and into internal handling.


• Any sudden "helpful" contact in the next day-cycle should be treated as suspect. A false witness, a trader with information, or a supposed shortcut to Dominicus may be a test to see if the team abandons the path they just negotiated.


• The best operational posture is controlled patience: remain visible, avoid sudden moves, continue passive collection, and let the quiet team work without appearing to coordinate a hunt.


• Chaala’s missing insignia now works both ways. It is a marker of obligation for the Alejia, but it is also a behavioral test for the Scouts. If the team acts as though it was bait, the Alejia may decide the offered obligation was false.

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."

Virel listens quietly to the discussion then gives a slight nod of his head. "It seems sound," then after a brief pause, "tomorrow would be reasonable."

Wilbur is not convinced
"A list assumes we know what they carry, that may imply we know more than we say. We don't. Better to let the guide show us what is worth buying and decide on the spot."

"Guide for specifics, the list for goals. Says we are operating with purpose but are open to learning. Also less likely to be led into obligation that we don't understand."

Wilbur looks dubious, but does not say anything more.

Voss listens to the back and forth over timing with the expression of a man who has learned that local custom can be more dangerous than bad weather.

When Wilbur favors tomorrow, Voss gives a small nod.

"I do not think going out is wrong," he says. "The worst thing you can do is look like you are sitting in the Cutter sharpening knives with your thoughts. Going to the market, buying food, listening to the wrong jokes, being confused in public, that all says you are still people. Not just a problem waiting to become violence."

He shifts slightly in his seat.

"But I should stay with the Cutter."

The statement is plain.

"That is not reluctance. That is responsibility. Too many people know my shape. Too many people know I waited here. If I go with you, the visit stops being about food and ordinary curiosity. It becomes about the stranded Scout-Engineer walking into the city after six months of silence."

A pause.

"And if a reply comes while you are out, someone should be here who understands what it means."

Bohdie, quiet until then, looks between Wilbur and Chaala. "I agree with the market visit in principle," Bohdie says. "But I would wait until the next day."
He says it without force, more as an assessment than a challenge. "Tomorrow says confidence. It also says movement immediately after the petition. The next day says we can let a situation sit without needing to touch it. That is tactical patience. It gives the first silence time to do its work. It also gives us one more day to see whether anyone reacts to the marker, the meeting, or our return to the starport."

He glances toward Verik. "If the point is cultural understanding, not intelligence collection dressed as shopping, then waiting one day may strengthen the message. We are not rushing into the city to look for echoes. We are choosing to learn while we wait."

Bohdie then looks to Wilbur and Chaala, acknowledging the smaller disagreement. "As for the list, I think both of you are right in different ways. A fixed shopping list may imply we already know what should be there. No list at all may let a guide steer us into purchases that carry meanings we do not understand."

He turns back toward Verik and Sera. "So perhaps the better question is: what would you recommend as a list of purposes rather than a list of items? What do ordinary offworld visitors buy when they are trying to show courtesy without looking like they are buying influence?"

Verik gives Bohdie a brief approving look.

"That is the cleanest way through the problem."

Sera, who has been listening with the patient expression of someone imagining three different ways offworlders can get cheated before lunch, answers first. "Do not make a list of objects. Make a list of reasons."

She counts them off on her fingers. "Something to eat now. Something to take back and share. Something made by hand. Something useful aboard ship that does not look like military supply. Something small enough that if you choose badly, you can laugh and learn."

Verik nods. "That gives the guide room to guide without giving the guide control of your purpose."

Sera continues. "If you are going to learn more about the culture, I would recommend visiting one or two of what you would call coffee shops. They are not exactly coffee shops, but close enough for your purposes. They serve a berry concoction that is a mild stimulant. Warm, red-brown, a little sharp, usually sweetened if they think you are fragile."

Voss raises one hand slightly. "I prefer it over their usual bitter stimulant drink."

Sera looks at him. "You mean halaq root."

"I mean worm entrails."

"It is not made from worm entrails."

"It tastes like someone threatened a worm until it confessed into a cup."

Sera’s mouth twitches despite herself.

Verik ignores the exchange with practiced ease. "The berry drink is a good idea. It gives you a place to sit. Sitting matters. If you only walk and buy, you look like you are moving through the market. If you sit, drink, misunderstand something harmless, and let the guide explain it, you look like visitors accepting the place for a little while."

He looks to Chaala. "Children’s literature is not a bad thought, but be careful how you frame it. Do not ask for children’s books as though Alejia children are a research subject. Ask for simple language primers, illustrated market tales, counting books, common phrase slates, anything used to teach travelers or young readers. That makes the purpose language, not curiosity about their young."

Sera adds, "And if there are children nearby, do not point at them. Do not ask whether they are male or female. Do not ask which adult owns them."

Voss mutters, "That last one is good advice almost anywhere."

Verik continues. "A handmade item is also good. Something ordinary. A woven cord, a small storage wrap, a carved cup, a market token case, a tool for eating something you do not yet know how to eat. Avoid blades. Avoid medical objects. Avoid anything that looks ceremonial unless the guide tells you exactly what it means and you still probably should not buy it."

He looks toward Wilbur. "So, not a rigid list. A purpose list. Food to try. Food to share. A place to sit. A language item. A handmade ordinary object. One practical shipboard item if it presents itself. That is enough structure to keep you from being led by the nose, and enough flexibility to avoid pretending you already understand the market."

Bohdie gives a small nod. "That would satisfy my concern."


Verik looks between Chaala, Virel, Wilbur, and Bohdie.
"Then the real decision is timing. Tomorrow shows confidence. The next day shows patience. Both can be made to work."

His gaze settles on Chaala. "My advice, since you asked for clean messages: wait until the next day unless a reply comes first. If nothing comes, go at mid-cycle. Cross the Xá’kai boundary openly. Make the exchange openly. Hire the guide openly. Sit somewhere public. Buy small. Come back before anyone can turn curiosity into a second errand."

Voss gives a short nod. "And I will be at the Cutter."

Verik glances toward him. "Where you belong for this one."

Voss does not smile, but the answer seems to settle something. "Good."

The meal winds down by degrees. Cups are refilled less often. Plates sit half-cleared. The talk, which had moved from caution to planning and back again, finally begins to lose its sharp edges. Verik lets the silence stretch just long enough to feel intentional. Then Sera, still standing near the end of the table with a stack of dishes balanced against one hip, looks to Chaala.

"Captain Angushlii," she says plainly, "I can make the introduction, but I need to know what message I am carrying."

Her eyes move briefly across the others, then return to Chaala.

"Are you going to the market tomorrow, or the next day?"

Verik says nothing, but it is clear he is awaiting to hear the asnwer

"I know waiting will feel uncomfortable, but let us wait until the next day. I don't know the rhythms of the markets, but I think if wait a day, we can go during the early swell of activity, not when the market first wakes but when it starts to get it's life flowing"

Virel listened to the discussion, paying particular attention to Chaala’s final decision. In the end, he gave her a short nod of acknowledgment, having nothing more to add. For now, he preferred to spend the time in reflection on the day’s events and the quiet battles still ahead as they maintained the appearance of normalcy and waited.