No one could conclusively state an exact timeline: if the 9000 Concourse design came before the Cambridge sector, or, if two hundred and seventy standard years before it was a response *to* the Cambridge Concourses. The latter were well derided across the lightways for dozens of years. They were compared to the strip malls that cropped up all over the United States right before the 21st century. The intersection of convenience and lack of aspiration. The affluent yacht jockeys would burn more fuel than step foot in a Cambridge.
S'G'en had, for thousands of years, been religious techvangelists. Their walls without a single seam, meeting each other in a curvature with a molecular degree of angle that was legendarily machined. The lengths of the starport were calculated to a degree that took several different supercomputers to compile the variances. All were designed to maintain airflow like a planet. The air felt fresh and not recycled. The tech would eventually convert toward personal use, helping those with respiratory issues that could not be resolved otherwise. The angles perfected to maximize the gravitational uniqueness of the structure.
She strode the gleaming white halls like a black shock on a blank papyrus. Stares followed her along the thoroughfare, she brought her obnoxious blaster. The laws around the Verse may vary, but the ability to protect oneself at a port were immutable. Factions counted in the thousands. One had to protect themselves. There were constraints: the blaster could not fire projectiles, lest the station suffer. Only energy weapons that ranged in a certain spectrum [even then those could be spoofed].
Gamon wanted a neutral station. Not to protect himself from her - she was a Hunter not a Merc - it was from his prey that Gamon knew there was no safety outside the confines of the peaceful S'G'en.
She stood off when she spotted him. Gauging. *Was he alone? Was this a trap? Were there anyone else watching them?* After an hour of focus, she determined that they were, indeed, alone.
He pulled into himself when she walked into the bar. A roboserver strode up immediately, without a word. "Hausenfleur. Ice." It strode off, only a momentary nod indicated it took her order. The bartender was keeping an eye on them, not obviously, as it would be a sign of disrespect for a S'G'en. As they were open people, it was nude, it's blue skin shimmering in the glow of the bar.
"How're you?" She threw at his nervousness. *He hasn't been sleeping.* Perspiration beaded under the three primary eyes. The other dozen were half-closed. An Asripian cannot hide it. That information saved her life once.
"Do you have what I need to clear my name?" He wiped moisture from his face. Her dark hair fell forward, and, learned through years of necessary parlor tricks, she left two metal plates in front of him to study.
"Is this...?"
"It's what you paid me for." Gamon shifted forward and put three-fingered hands around it like castle walls. His gills shivered. She gently pressed the back of his hand, it was clammy.
"But. Let's be clear, I have the information that shows you were definitely not in the arena that night. You didn't steal what they said. *But* they have this information too. And by knowing, they could use it against you, especially if they knew you had it."
His hands dropped in failure. *He's weak.* "What do I do?"
"Get to a Laohshian bank and have this uploaded immediately. Notarize it with a S'G'en acolyte, as I assume you wanted to meet here for that purpose. Get a Verse lawyer. In that order. File a motion before they have a chance to respond. You have hours, not days."
He shivered and shook, "You're pay?" She nodded, "I took the liberty of taking it from your account. I don't like doing it, but it's part of my line of work." She passed him her pad. "Enter your number while I look away." He did so.
"Now go." He stood up and left without a word. The bartender's posture shifted as he watched him go in the mirror. *He's being watched. Interesting.*
The Hausenfleur came, the honey-colored liquid shone with a deep shimmer of light. It smelled of bees in the summer on a Terran Alpine slope. Grass. Melted snow as it runs over granite. She sipped it for a while and decided that Gamon owed her a little bit more on the advice. She charged the drink and asked for the bottle. It took three weeks of intense work to get Gamon that information, she figured he would owe her just a little bit more.
She pressed the pad. Gamon made her day without knowing it. If the Hausenfleur kicked in before she left the station, he may make it one more time.
...next is here...
...
Gamon wanted a neutral station. Not to protect himself from her - she was a Hunter not a Merc - it was from his prey that Gamon knew there was no safety outside the confines of the peaceful S'G'en.
She stood off when she spotted him. Gauging. *Was he alone? Was this a trap? Were there anyone else watching them?* After an hour of focus, she determined that they were, indeed, alone.
He pulled into himself when she walked into the bar. A roboserver strode up immediately, without a word. "Hausenfleur. Ice." It strode off, only a momentary nod indicated it took her order. The bartender was keeping an eye on them, not obviously, as it would be a sign of disrespect for a S'G'en. As they were open people, it was nude, it's blue skin shimmering in the glow of the bar.
"How're you?" She threw at his nervousness. *He hasn't been sleeping.* Perspiration beaded under the three primary eyes. The other dozen were half-closed. An Asripian cannot hide it. That information saved her life once.
"Do you have what I need to clear my name?" He wiped moisture from his face. Her dark hair fell forward, and, learned through years of necessary parlor tricks, she left two metal plates in front of him to study.
"Is this...?"
"It's what you paid me for." Gamon shifted forward and put three-fingered hands around it like castle walls. His gills shivered. She gently pressed the back of his hand, it was clammy.
"But. Let's be clear, I have the information that shows you were definitely not in the arena that night. You didn't steal what they said. *But* they have this information too. And by knowing, they could use it against you, especially if they knew you had it."
His hands dropped in failure. *He's weak.* "What do I do?"
"Get to a Laohshian bank and have this uploaded immediately. Notarize it with a S'G'en acolyte, as I assume you wanted to meet here for that purpose. Get a Verse lawyer. In that order. File a motion before they have a chance to respond. You have hours, not days."
He shivered and shook, "You're pay?" She nodded, "I took the liberty of taking it from your account. I don't like doing it, but it's part of my line of work." She passed him her pad. "Enter your number while I look away." He did so.
"Now go." He stood up and left without a word. The bartender's posture shifted as he watched him go in the mirror. *He's being watched. Interesting.*
The Hausenfleur came, the honey-colored liquid shone with a deep shimmer of light. It smelled of bees in the summer on a Terran Alpine slope. Grass. Melted snow as it runs over granite. She sipped it for a while and decided that Gamon owed her a little bit more on the advice. She charged the drink and asked for the bottle. It took three weeks of intense work to get Gamon that information, she figured he would owe her just a little bit more.
She pressed the pad. Gamon made her day without knowing it. If the Hausenfleur kicked in before she left the station, he may make it one more time.
...next is here...
...
