[center][h2]The Trade Market[/h2][/center]
One of the side effects of Pratus Gaelor's extensive bionic augmentation was that his footfalls were exceptionally heavy for a man of his stature. The artificial limbs of his body were considerably more dense than organic matter, crafted out of chromium and steel, and thudded heavily on the ground of Outpost Fifty-Seven's trade market. Gaelor had come here to purchase supplies for a trip into the unknown, as he had learned that a Rogue Trader had arrived into the outpost's orbit -- a potential ticket out of here. One of the first things Gaelor had done upon his arrival on Outpost Fifty-Seven was patching his data slate into the outpost's communication network, allowing him to keep an eye on the comings and goings of the void traffic.

All around Gaelor, people looked up from their business as they heard the Enginseer approach. Murmurs followed shortly after. Gaelor doubted these miscreants had ever been fortunate enough to lock eyes with a blessed tech-priest of the Machine Cult before. [i]Vermin,[/i] he thought to himself as his bionic eye scanned the crowd, lingering a little longer on those with weapons. His Mechadendrite twitched. 

"[code]REMOVE YOURSELVES FROM MY PATH,[/code]" Gaelor said, the vox-unit grafted into his throat projecting the statement in its characteristic, flat tone. Gaelor moved his white cloak aside to reveal his las-carbine, its stock folded, strapped against his thigh. Immediately, the crowd parted in front of him. "[code]WHERE CAN I FIND... PARTS?[/code]" Gaelor asked, struggling to make himself known in terms that the yokels before him could understand. A few hands were raised, fingers pointing towards a storefront set into a building so decrepit Gaelor wouldn't have been surprised if it collapsed then-and-there. 

Without another word, the Enginseer stomped towards it. He was briefly distracted by a banshee's wail as some kind of commotion occurred elsewhere in the market, but he paid no further attention to it. 

Inside, the store was gloomy, and Gaelor cranked up the brightness setting and amped the contrast on his bionic eye. The store resolved into focus and Gaelor saw machine parts, oil flasks and tools scattered everywhere -- on the floor, on workbenches, littering cabinet shelves; everywhere. "[code]I REQUEST THE PRESENCE OF THE ATTENDING SHOPKEEPER.[/code]" 

At this call, a small man shuffled into view. He was old, hunched over and the visor on his face made him look like an insect with its large, bulging lenses. "Y-yes? How can I help you, tech-priest?" the shopkeeper asked in a wheezing voice. "[code]I REQUIRE A FLASK OF MACHINE OIL, TWO DENDRITE COGS, A COGITATOR POWER SUPPLY UNIT AND AN ICTHELION-PATTERN DATA SLATE BATTERY,[/code]" Gaelor asked. He strongly doubted the man had everything he needed, but to Gaelor's surprise the shopkeeper simply nodded and shuffled away into the back of the store. 

Noise emerged from the back as the shopkeeper presumably started overturning everything, looking for the requested items. Bemused, Gaelor waited, taking the time to inspect the store more thoroughly. He realized some of the machine parts here belonged to a Sentinel walker of the Imperial Guard, and yet others once belonged to a... was that really the unusually wide wheel of an Astartes Assault Bike? [i]A most interesting store,[/i] Gaelor thought to himself. It was a potent reminder that this outpost had once housed the Imperium's armed forces. 

The shopkeeper returned with all of Gaelor's requested items. The Enginseer inspected the data slate battery, turning it over in his hand, and asked: "[code]HOW DID YOU OBTAIN THIS?[/code]" 

Wringing his hands together, the shopkeeper replied. "Well, master tech-priest, from a feller just as yerself. He weren't happy to part with it, but he needed the coin. And, eh, speaking of coin... that'll be three throne gelts, if ye please." 

[i]So I am not the first to pass through here,[/i] Gaelor mused. That was somewhat unfortunate news. It could possibly mean that any technological relics in the Kronus Expanse had already been pilfered by one of his colleagues. Mentally digesting this tidbit, Gaelor paid the shopkeeper from a pouch at his waist and left the store with his goods, his bionic eye automatically adjusting its settings to the bright sunlight outside. The Enginseer had rented an apartment not far from the trade market, situated between it and the station port, from a rather terrified landlord. He made his way there now, occasionally pausing to blare another [code]REMOVE YOURSELVES[/code] command at the bustling crowds of the outpost's streets.