[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jKxowHed_Jc[/youtube][/center]

[center][h2][color=#ffc300][b]✩ An Underworld Education ✩[/b][/color][/h2][/center]
[@EnterTheHero]

Gnabik locked eyes with Therion for a long, belligerent moment and promptly bellowed with an obnoxious laugh. [b]“You’re new to Odyssey aint’cha?”[/b] His mandible tightened into a grin. [b]“Allow me to educate ya. For a job like this, if anyone offers you too much chit, it means you’re being paid extra for being discrete. All you really need to know is that if anything bad happens to me or the cargo, you don’t get paid. Specifics cost extra. I can tell Cresche to dock it from your pay, if you like.”[/b]

He pushed off the wall and scuttled over to the console in the center of the room, and stared vacantly into the swarm of charts, graphs, and alien symbols. He swiped his hand across the console. With a chirp, the floating images dispersed into a cloud of blue particles and slowly began to rearrange themselves. 

[b]“The basics are easy. Am I in danger? Always. You don’t get to where I am without making a lot of enemies. Everyone knows the only reason Cresche hasn’t spaced me yet is because he gets a cut from these deals. As for the cargo...”[/b] He shrugged casually. 

The light particles coalesced into a model of some piece of alien tech: a sleek ring of metal with sloping grooves decorating its edge in a repeating pattern. A sphere of dark energy foamed inside the ring while tendrils of golden smoke rolled off of it.

[b]“I don’t know what it is and I don’t really care. Let’s just say the Talim markets are completely different from Istio, so if I’m going to sell this hunk of junk locally, then I need to know how much it’s worth. If my old buddy Orion doesn’t knick it for himself, then I’ll auction it off at the trading pens and earn the chit that way. We’re not here to ask hard questions, we’re here to make money.”[/b] He leveled a hard stare at Therion. [b]“Got it?”[/b]

The console chirped as a message arrived. [b]“Good timing. Looks like all the right players decided to join.”[/b] He read through some information on another screen and nodded appreciatively. [b]“They have a bit of a walk from the docks, but they should be here soon. Since I’m not going anywhere, why don’t you go make yourself useful and scope out the lounge. I’m sure there’s plenty of suspicious characters out there to keep you busy.”[/b]

[hr]

[center][h2][color=#ffc300][b]✩ Finding Carnival Row ✩[/b][/color][/h2][/center]

[@Aqua Regis][@Dark Light]

Even if Orion’s map was incomplete, he knew the right people to talk to. After greasing a few palms and tossing a few chit to the bartender of the Cakewalk, he was able to guarantee safe passage between the eternally chaotic docking bays and the squalid beauty of Mon Serrat, the entertainment district of Odyssey station. 

At the center of the ward was an enormous chasm that went deeper into the bowels of the station, and above it was a spire of complex machinery hanging from the ceiling like a massive stalactite. Ribbons of strange metal unfolded out of a distortion in the air above and wound into the gyrating machinery. Beneath the spire was a miniature sun, roiling with arcs of fire that unfurled from the main body like threads of smoke. It bathed the surrounding structures in a rusty orange glow. Oh’len’s research into the artifact that helped power the station kept him fascinated for so long, they were beginning to run short on time.

Despite the presence of the small sun, the majority of Mon Serrat was stark contrast between bright neon lights and the typical dark atmosphere that pervaded most of the station. Glowing signs advertised everything from forbidden delicacies to obvious scam bait to soul-cleansing gastric baths. Despite the grungy appearance of the ward, the air was clear and the walkways were mostly clean, especially near power conduits. For the most part, O’ona’s roving nanite swarms ate all the detritus and residue that might degrade the station’s systems.

The meeting place wasn’t difficult to find. Even if it was hard to notice among the throng of aliens crowding the streets, everyone more or less knew where it was. E-Rade’s was an entire strip of seedy bars and establishments facing Mon Serrat’s signature spire. Scrap shanties had been bolted onto existing parts of the station’s interior, mixing the elegant alien structures of Odyssey with the patchwork designs of the residents. Nestled between branching columns of synthmetal and glowing conduits, the club was one of the few establishments that repurposed part of the station itself. Strobing lights and thumping music poured out of the narrow archway that marked the club’s entrance.