The red turbaned man whistled and the guards took a step forward, though they weren't threatening, Neil and Sayeeda instinctively spread out to block access to the ship. The guards paused, glancing at their chief. The man made a brushing gesture, fluffing his mustache in what was clearly meant to be dismissive.

"We must search the ship, to assess your cargo for the Pasha's tribute," the officer said, his tone was still friendly but it had hardened a little with an avaricious look in his eyes. Sayeeda cast a glance over her shoulder at the Highlander. The freighter was clearly worse for wear. In addition to the crash damage, the emergency RIP jump had added further scars. The hull plating was cracked and heat worked and several of the external electronics blisters were cracked and burned.

"We are empty," Sayeeda said in a level voice that was flat enough that the nearest guard tensed and gripped his weapon. The turbaned man made an elaborate bow filled with mock obsequiousness.

"I wouldn't impune your honor mistress, but less honest people than your august selves have been known to claim that they are empty when their holds are full of slaves or precious items the seek to sell without the bother of the Pasha’s duties,” the official said with an oily smile. Junebug wasn’t sure if the half finished mechs, the arsenal of weapons, or the presence of her additional crew would cause a problem but she didn’t particularly wish to find out.

“I give you my word of honor that we have no cargo that would interest your Pasha,” she said raising her hand as though to shake. After a moment the official smiled shrewdly and reached out and shook her hand.

“Well then perhaps that shall be sufficient mistress, call on Ali son of Ali should you require any assistance,” he said with a smirk before turning to his guards.

“Ayalah, Imshe!” he called and the colom of men turned and headed back towards the fountains that marked the end of the main street, tramping up a cloud of dust as they made there way across the open air market. The official business completed, the hawkers began to press in, calling the virtues of their wares and their ludicrously low prices. There were no aliens that Junebug could see and most of the women were more conservatively dressed than either herself or Taya. Here and there a leather collar wrapped the neck of an individual marking them as slaves. Junebug frownd in distaste and looked around at the other ships landed in the broad bowl that served as the starport. Most of the ships were battle scarred and all were armed, she suspected that the only difference between a pirate and a trader in this distant sector was opportunity. 

Once it became clear the the new arrival didn’t have any cargo to discharge or much interest in doing business the crowd began to recede back to their stalls, leaving the newcomers in relative peace. Junebug sighed and turned to Neil and Taya. As she did she saw Sven walk down the ramp and vanish into the crowd on some bussiness of his own. Saxon it seemed was content to stay on the ship. It seemed unlikely that the lizard would try to steal the Highlander, not least because it was in no condition to jump away.

“Well I don’t supposed a few hours one way or the other will make much difference,” she said unwilling to contemplate the damage to the ship after 3 days of nearly constant work.

“Let's find a drink.”

It had, Junebug realised, been an unusually long time since she had a drink. She wasn’t a lush by any stretch of the imagination but rare were they days she abstained from alcohol completely. Still, the last time she could remember drinking anything was at Aiden’s coronation party which seemed like a lifetime ago. The Terrans didn’t offer liquor aboard ship and their hadn’t been time on the Smugglers moon. The three of them sat at a table of smooth synthetic that had been finished to look like polished wood. The Akir Julan was a reasonably quiet establishment just on the edge of the settlement. It was open to the air on three side, though covered with a roof and sectioned off with a series of limestone bollards that were roped together with braided cabling. The single serving area was filled with small table and at the back there was a large open air hot plate upon which meat sizzled in oils and spices. Rows of carefully tended plants sectioned the place off into natural sections and also leant it a cool dry atmosphere that was very refreshing in such a sunbaked place. It wasn’t packed, it was the afternoon and the lunch rush had passed but there were enough people here to keep the kitchen busy. In one corner a group of old men played a board game Junebug didn’t recognise while they sipped at cups of rich coffee sweetened with molasses and cream. At another table a young women with  beautiful golden skin and dark exotic eyes sat with an older man. The girl was reading something on a primitive hand held terminal while her companion, Junebug figured him for a bodyguard, merely looked board.

Sayeeda siped the spirit the serving boy bought her and felt it sting the back of her throat, even as its sweetness cloyed in her mouth. Taya took a much less cautious sip of her own drink and immediately began to choke her eyes watering. The boy giggled and then headed back to the hot pate, returning with three plates of heavily spiced meat in a herb gravy, heaped atop hard unleavened bread. 

“Stars what is this stuff,” Taya croaked hoarsley. Junebug grinned with amusement. She was dressed, more or less per usual in a white cotton t-shirt with the logo of some half forgotten band splashed across the front of it, and her combat pants and boots. A utility belt, currently draped over the corner of her ornately carved, if rather battered chair, held a plasma pistol and a pouch of extra reloads. Her only concession to local fashion was a hooded cape she had bought from a street vendor on a whim. It was black with intricate swirling patterns of gold and silver laid into it with metallic thread. 

“Palm wine I think, the have something like it most places that have Earth plants,” she explained. In her former career she had found that palm wine, a misnomer because it was more like a moonshine than a grape wine, was almost a universal constant.

“Its usually pretty roughly distilled so be careful drinking it unless you want a terrible hangover,” Junebug cautioned, though judging by the way the girl was eying the drink, that didn’t seem like much of a risk. The local fashion for tobacco seemed to be by water pipes or by cigars that were almost comically huge. Junebug split open her cigar with a neat cut of her knife and rerolled it at a more manageable size before holding it between her teeth and lighting it with the chemical igniter that the staff provided.

“You want caffeine lady?” the boy asked hopefully. Junebug shook her head and breathed a thin stream of smoke. It was rough stuff without the synthetic flavorings she was used to but it wasn’t unpleasant. Drawing a coin from a pouch she flicked it towards the child, who, with incredible reflexes, snatched it from the air and made it vanish in the same motion before heading off to his next table. Junebug picked up her cup and raised it to Neil in salute. She wasn’t exactly sure what she expected of the pilot, he had been through alot these past few days, and she hoped that his head wasn’t too scrambled from whatever had transpired on Saavran.

“Here is to the Highlander and her gallant crew, still alive if slightly worse for wear, and several million credits poorer,” she toasted ironically.