Formax stank. It was so omnipresent that it was a part of the weather, a constant low grade assault on the nostrils. The smell itself was hard to describe, it was a mix of effluent, harsh chemical solvents, heavy metals and unwashed human bodies. Formax, to the extent that it mattered, was a world of impressive but ancient volcanism.  In the geologic past the magma hot core of the world had shatter the mantle and thrust great mountain ranges up into the smokey heavens. That core had been cold and dead when humans arrived, eager to exploit the worlds rich natural resources, and they hadn’t improved it sense. Vast manufactorys crouched in the once majestic valleys. Smoke and chemicals poured forth in profusion that must have matched the long vanished volcanos, staining the sky a sooty gray.

Junebug found that the smell had a physical component, an oily slickness that clung to the skin and made her eyes feel gritty. It didn’t bother her unduly, certainly in a decade of near continual warfare, most places she had been had reeked of cordite, plasma gun residue, burning fuel and burning men.

“Captain Cyckali?” Junebug’s attention snapped back to the present. The factor, Jardine, looked worried. Goddess what had her face been like a moment ago. She licked her lips and gave the short muscular man her full attention. Jardine’s office was not prepossessing, it was tucked into the corner of an aerial catwalk ringing a warehouse and the furniture was cheap but functional extruded plastic.  Below them forklifts moved containers weighing thousands of of kilos in and out of a warehouse that would have covered a small starport. There was a basic noise cancellation field but even a unit decades younger would have struggled to keep the cacophonous roar at bay.

“Sorry Master Jardine, it was a long voyage.” That had been true. The Highlander had made the eight day run from Hondiera in two insertions. It was a brutal run through a dangerous path through the RIP but neither Neil or Junebug had wanted to linger where Terran operatives might be looking for them.

“I see,” Jardine said doubtfully, letting his muscled bulk sink into a beige chair.

“Well as I said, your credits have cleared and your cargo will be delivered later this afternoon,” Jardine concluded. Sayeeda nodded and pulled up a data feed on her datapad. Everything seemed as Jardine said and his company didn’t have a reputation for dishonesty. The factor would have been a fool to try to defraud them after they bought those generators in and no one survived in a sharkpit like Formax

“Thank you Jardine,” she said, shutting the feed and turning to leave.

“Captain Cyckali… it isn’t really my business, but what do you want with five tons of freeze dried coffee?”

Junebug paused in the hatch like office door, her hands gripping the edges of the hatch.

“It isn’t your business, good day Master Jardine.”

The Level was on the lower levels of the factory hab. A steady drip of unidentifiable stinking fluid trickled down from higher levels, pattering Junebugs plastic poncho as she pushed her way through the crowded hab level. The entrance to the Level was lit with flickering neon glowstrips in bright red. A pair of bouncers lounged lazily under the stoa which protected the entrance from the stinking rain but the didn’t look concerned to see a wiry woman in a black flightsuit under a rain poncho, even if she was openly carrying a submachine gun slung muzzle down. There probably were bars where weapons were prohibited on Formax, but the Level wasn’t that kind of a place. Harsh electronic music blared out as she stepped through the door.

The interior was dark and filled with men and women dancing and drinking with frenetic enthusiasm. For a moment she wished she had worn her helmet, the more so for the interested looks she got from a number of the patrons. One man leered at her and started to lift himself from his seat until their eyes met. The man looked away quickly from her unfocused thousand yard stare. She saw Neil at a table in the back, describing a maneuver with his hands to several scantily clad dancers. Grinning to herself she picked her way across the floor and slid in next to a well endowed blonde. She slipped her arm around the girls waist and pulled her to her.

“Good news Neil,” she said brightly, “Got us a cargo loading this afternoon.”

[@POOHEAD189]