Hahn wasn’t a world Sayeeda had ever heard of, though that wasn’t surprising. According to the navigational chart they were a staggering distance from Saavran, that too was unsurprising, the Terran cruiser was able to brave much stronger currents than the Highlander could have managed. If they had tried to enter the RIP stream themselves, the energy gradient would have ripped them to atoms. Once they were in they had plunged, unguided by the nav computer through the maelstrom of the RIP without any of the normal station holding navigational corrections. Junebug was just as glad to be far from the reach of the Terrans. Whatever bounty had been placed on them had gone up exponentially after they had gunned down York and half a dozen marines, not to mention destroying invaluable data.

The sector they were in was extremely poorly charted. Most worlds were little more than alphanumeric designations with a few keywords attached to them. Breathable atmosphere, fresh water, dangerous biota. Even places that had larger write ups were years out of date and compiled from the records of tramp freighters and free traders rather than anything like a regular courier service. It would take months to work their way back towards the galactic core, although Junebug didn't have any particular reason to do that. When she and Neil had bought the Highlander, she had a vague notion of making a living as a free trader, but beyond that her goals were vague and ephemeral. She was rootless after Andor’s Armored had disbanded and adventure in general was more important than any abstract goal.

“Lets hope that people don’t take one look at us and decide to put on a Xenos invasion or launch a coup in our honor,” Junebug said smiling wryly for what felt like the first time in days. There didn’t appear to be any orbital control or landing beacons of any kind. The only transmissions that the Highlander was picking up were low powered radio broadcasts meant for use within the atmosphere. Sayeeda touched a few holographic keys and accessed the navigational data from the atlas. As she suspected, the entry contained the landing coordinates of the last ship that had contributed to the charts, she imported it onto the navigational display and a slow pulsing green bead appeared on the display, at the terminus of one of the older ship tracks. Neil eased the Highlander onto the new course with uncharacteristic care.

As they descended into the atmosphere it became apparent that Hahn wasn’t quite as desolate as it appeared from orbit. The deserts were largely stoney rather than sandy and here and there green oasis appeared, ringed with plant life. Some of the swales too sported green fringes of tough looking succulents and twisted looking trees with broad spiny leaves. Here and there vast formations of orangey yellow rock thrust into the sky forming impressive mesa. There were no obvious roads though Junebug thought she spotted plumes of dust which must have been raised by human vehicles.

Their destination was a broad canyon that ran roughly south east. The canyon ran for hundreds of miles down towards the equatorial sea and it varied in width from a few dozen meters at its narrow choke points to several hundred meters at its widest. It was well over a hundred meters deep, making it difficult to view the interior until one was directly over it.The settlement wasn’t visible even to sensors until they were within a hundred clicks or so. It was built entirely within the canyon at one of the wider points, with only a few antennae projecting up over the lip. As Neil bought the Highlander into balance over the canyon they could see that the settlement, calling it a city stretched the point, was built up against the walls of the canyon with a broad boulevard that ran down the center of the chasm and twisting side streets meandering back towards the canyon walls. The buildings were of adobe and yellowish sandstone and most of them were low only one or two stories, save at the canyon wall where they grew higher to abutt the rock faces. Most of the buildings had flat roofs that were topped with greenery in roof gardens and the roads were lined with what looked to be Terran date palms. Large dericks were sunk into the central road at intervals and they rocked back and forth before gouting up water like fountains. The path of the canyon must have been drawn by an ancient river that had since vanished underground. In the center of town, surrounded by gardens and fountains were larger building with large domes and minarets that had been gilded with golden metal, though Sayeeda thought it was probably brass rather than pure gold. 

To the southern end of the settlement the canyon flared to a width of nearly half a kilometer, several ships, many much the worse for wear, were landed on the dusty stone. Tarps of stone bleached canvas covered stalls and shops or just provided shelter for ships crews that wanted to be off their own vessels. Men and they were almost all men, milled about trading and buying food or other provisions from the vendors, many of which were nothing more than a cart with a canvas shade. There was nothing that even approached a shipyard but there were enough ship components scattered on rugs for inspection that Sayeeda could at least hope they could affect some meaningful repairs.

 No one appeared to be particularly concerned by the hovering freighter although several people were pointing up at them as Neil set them gently down in the shade of the canyon wall. The whole crew let out a sigh of relief as they touched down and the engines shut off.
“Looks like there is a welcoming committee,” Junebug observed pointing to a group of men that were making their way towards the ship. Like most of the civilians their skin ranged from Junebugs olive to pure ebony. They were dressed in layers of cloth and turbans which was probably meant to be a uniform. Each of the men carried a long spear that ended in a shock rod and they carried a variety of antiquted firearms that seemed to follow no particular pattern. At their head was a paunchy man with drooping mustaches, set off by his bright red turban. There was a gold chased pistol at his hip, though even from this distance it looked more ceremonial than practical.

“Customs inspectors maybe?” Taya asked uncertainty. Junebug shrugged her shoulders. The newcomers looked bored rather than threatening which meant they probably didn’t anticipate trouble.

“Maybe,” she said noncommittally, eliciting a hissing grunt from Saxon.

“Lets get our party clothes on and go out and say hello.”