Motion--or possibly something in Copaxi dance-language--does not get any sort of response from the automated door.
The startled alien, which resembles an anthropomorphic shrimp, that Steve questions shrugs its shoulders and walks away a little faster. The doors open for the group of them, and Antenor quickly follows along to make use of the closing delay.
The air inside the station is uncomfortably hot. The light is dim. There seems to be a main hall through which most of the foot traffic is flowing with an occasional side hall leading to utility doors or bathrooms. Here and there, a few aliens loiter along the sides, deep in their own conversations.
Steve shrugs and hops in quickly behind the next group passing through.Doing what goblins do best, Steve obviously intervenes everywhere he can. Using Oonopidae he skitters up the wall and along the ceiling to listen in on any conversations that he can.
Steve passes by what looks like a genetic scanner at the top of the automated door. His upside-down passage draws this to everyone's attention as he passes through.
The goblin catches a word or phrase here and there in Azlanti, but most of the languages spoken are novel to his ears as are the species at the station.
"Do we have a place to start? I'd hate to start randomly asking people."
Once each of you follows a group of aliens through the doors at the docks, it is simple enough to follow the flow of aliens down the main hall to another large set of automatic doors. These doors provide the same problem and same simple solution as the first set of doors. On the other side of the doors, you can see and hear a large, crowded promenade that seems to serve as a market space:
Many beings bustle through this large portion of the station. A lowered segment of the floor in the center of the room, fifteen feet deep, contains the remnants of ore refining machinery. Gears, containers, and pipes are scattered everywhere, no longer connected to anything that would make them functional. Large doors exit to the west and south, and a trio of short corridors lead east.
Antenor curses himself for not spending more time with the language, and vows to fix that now. "Look, let's poke around, buy what we can, and secure passage to Gulta."
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Haro laughs with Rril as Steve takes off to scout around without telling anyone. His video stream gets a number of Likes as the goblin leaves.
With little information about this place, Haro joins with Antenor trying to find out more, especially how to navigate the doors and wher ethey might secure transportation to Gulta.
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Antenor curses himself for not spending more time with the language, and vows to fix that now. "Look, let's poke around, buy what we can, and secure passage to Gulta."
Rril wracks his brain to see if he knows a good place here to information or passage to Gulta.
Then, he starts looking for someone he'd like to poke.
Lors is quite certain that without access to her existing contacts, her companions will have an easier time figuring out how to break into a prison. So while she goes along to help schmooze, it's mainly as a bodyguard.
Steve grows bored as he gets little information from any of the locals. While in the market he eyes a small handful of petrol tanks. Looking down he tosses a credstick down on the table and points to the man to load them up on Oonopidae.
Seeing his crew following their glorious Captain Steve puffs out his chest and proclaims to them. "This..." He swings his arms out wide to show the area. "IS not Gulta." he gleams with pride having found out that little bit.
The aliens seem disinclined to socialize with you. Most either cannot understand you--or pretend. Some deign to give you curt, "No," or, "Go away," responses in Azlanti. Everyone is focused on carrying out their own private business on this edge of civilization.
Steve does manage to carry out his simple transaction with an extremely thin and fragile looking bipedal insectoid alien with butterfly-like wings.
Eventually, your persistence in trying to pry information from the local visitors to Zed yields some results. There is a gambling den deeper into the station through the tunnels to the east and there is a more specialized market also deeper into the station near the furnaces.
A pair of blue and purple walrus-like aliens wearing spiked chains around their necks stare at you peculiarly for a moment and then suggest in Pact Common, "Go see Hasshachir in the catina." The larger of the two points an articulated flipper toward the door to the west .
As you move around the promenade, Rril notices a pair of yellow skinned aliens trailing you at a distance.
"The cantina it is. What do you guys say?"
Steve licks his lips at the sound of ssome booze. "That sounds like a good spot." He urges Oonopidae forward. "We should be abel to find Has a chair there."
You notice that the two aliens trailing you hang back as you enter the cantina.
The temperature in this room plummets compared to the rest of the station. Machinery once lined the western wall here, but it has since been stripped away, leaving only holes and bits of metal embedded in the walls. A series of raised platforms have been repurposed into tables with makeshift stools pushed near them. A dented metal grate covers a large portion of the floor. A door exits to the east, and a short ramp to the south leads to another chamber.
There are several aliens of new and diverse species sitting at tables in conversation and eating meals from simple, recyclable trays. One alien sits by himself. This chitinous humanoid sits forlornly by himself. Gauzy black veils are draped over his arms, and he dips the baleen hanging from his appendages into a plastic container holding a cloudy red substance.
"Lovely place. Roomy with a certain, old world charm..."
Antenor takes it in with a smile, though he's clearly on his guard. He eyes the lone humanoid. "Is this seat taken?"
Haro finds more strange and suspicious characters in the cantina than he knows what to do with. However, none of them seem overtly malicious and most pay no attention to you as you enter.
"On by the *static* sts-sts that follow *static*, the alien answers in a whispers via a glitching voice enhancer installed in his neck. He is obviously horribly sick, as chunks of his shell have fallen off and the remainder appears to be flaking away. He winces painfully as several tiny, ten-legged arthropod-like creatures jab at his exposed flesh with long, barbed tongues.
"What's a wrikreechee like you doing in a place like this?"
Steve peers out from his mounted position. He points to the wrikreechee "You Hasshachir?" He then points to himself. "Me Srygzink Halfheart, though these longshanks with half a goblin brain keep calling me Steve."
"*static* am Hasshachir," the wrikreechee answers. "No other *static* to go like this." He gestures at his black veil and the bare flesh underneath.
"Aaa*static*" he cries out in pain as the spider-like vermin continue to poke at his sores with their barbed tongues.
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"You don't look like you're in very good shape," Haro says. "What happened to you?"
"Hold on there! You're certainly not a model of fashion yoursel--" Rril begins to say indignantly before catching himself. "Oh, uh, you're speaking to the crabman aren't you? My bad." He mutters quietly, hoping that the audio receptors on the alien's translator unit are not too sensitive.
"I pick--*static*," Hasshachir begins before writhing weakly in pain from the lashes of the tiny vermin. It takes him a minute to compose himself. "Shell rot from *static* a trade mission *static*."
He suffers another lashing by the vermin slowly tearing tiny strips of exposed meat from his body. "Came here *static* not infect my *static* -mrads."
Steve cowers back a moment as he gets a disgusted look on his face, one that is quite odd for a goblin cause they can be very disgusting themselves. "Is that normal?"
"And give me your voice enhancer, I'll fix it." Steve is just eager to get his hands on the tech to tweak it.
"*static* appreciated," he says, removing his vocal modulator. He hands it down to Steve.
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"What are you talking about?" Haro says to Rril. "I'm the most famous member of this group, and the most fashionable. By the very nature of my celebrity, whatever I wear is fashion!"
He looks at the creature and tries to determine what he knows about it.
"Some kind of rotting disease--where have you been?" he asks.
Steve squats down and begins to tamper with the voice modulation system.
While fixing the device he loads in his own preset of voices from the jack on his comm unit. He chooses a voice that he scouted out in the tavern on night on Absalom Station.
He tosses the voice box back to the sickened wrikreechee. "That will be good and totally not explode or anything." He says with all confidence.
Hasshachir must wait for his vocal modulator to be repaired and returned before answering in any language that any of you can understand. In the meantime, he winces and cringes as the little vermin continue to tear at his diseased shell and exposed muscle. Once returned, the voice modulator cycles as it boots and readjusts to transducing the damaged vocal parts of the wrikreechee's mouth.
"Thank you," he says to Steve. "That was most kind of you. At least I will be able to--" He winces. "Better express myself. I am--was--an engineer. I have traveled to many worlds. If you are worried about the shell rot, do not fear. It only affects my kind, and I became afflicted before I retired to this station."
With a sour expression on her face, Lors asks, "You didn't catch it on Gulta, did you?"
"No. I have never been to the prison moon," Hasshachir says. "I have always done my best to stay clear of the Azlanti."
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"I have always done my best to stay clear of the Azlanti."
"Sometimes, one's 'best' isn't quite enough, we've found. They came to us, first, you see." Rril mutters under his breath.
Realizing that he may have been heard, Rril asks Hasshachir, "But if you are as well-travelled as you said, then surely you've had some experience with the Azlanti, right? Maybe you've never been to the moon, but have you ever been to the star system where Gulta's located?"
“Gulta? It is here in the Nys system. But why would such upstanding-looking people like yourself want to know about that place? It’s owned by a powerful Azlanti noble, Zolan Ulivestra, and used for prisoners that need extra... guarding. I would not go near him or his prison if I were you?” the wrikreechee says.
Steve sits uprights smiling at being called an upstanding-looking person. "See here. I am the Captain of this crew and these Longshanks go wild from time to time. Sometimes you have to let them roam. Seems we need to get to Gulta without them raising any suspicion. Can you help with that?"
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"Delusional, indeed," Haro says as pans his wrist camera over to Steve.
"But he's surprisingly photogenic and popular on my channel. Not as popular as me, but still, they like when he pretends to be the captain."
Realizing they have a mission to perform, he says "Yeah--what can you tell us of this Zolan character? Why is he so powerful?"
Lors strained mightily not to roll her eyes at her crewmate's 'subtlety'. Cedona, you owe me huge for this.
"Zolan is a noble," Hasshachir says, as though that explains everything. After a moment, he considers that maybe this is a concept aliens from the Pact Worlds might not be familiar with. "The Azlanti Star Empire functions in a feudal system rather than a democratic or socialist political system. Families pass their power and influence through to their descendants. If you want to know more about Zolan specifically, you would want to talk to the Glimmshar pirates. They have to know everyone who is anyone in the region to get away with what they get away with. You can't miss them. They're giant crystal spiders. Of course, they can't speak an audible language. You have to write everything down unless you can speak their photonic language. Also, they're as likely to mug you and leave you tied up naked in some access tunnel. They're currently in the gambling nook on the north end of the station.
"There's a gosclaw named Talmrin," he continues. "She's an expert on modifying ships and infiltration of Azlanti space, but she's always moving around, and I'm not sure how to call her out."
Any chance to know about the Glimmshar pirates already?
"Well that sounds awesome... Say, do they read Common? Any place we can get a translator around here?"
He thinks on Talmrin a bit, "We can try asking around."
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"Those Glimmshar pirates sound a bit difficult to communicate with." notes Rril dryly. "And, also fairly lacking in the romance department."
He turns his gaze out into space for a moment, before more quietly considering his next move, "Still, if they are keen on gambling..."
The scoundrel remains fixed in his gaze, deep in concentration. After a few moments, he turns to wrikreechee and asks, "So, if they are essentially just big, shiny spiders, what do they use to hold onto their hand of cards?"
"Yes, they can read," Hasshachir says. "That's how I communicate with them: I type things out on my datapad and show it to them, they type back." He conspicuously fails to answer the question about a translator.
"...with their hands," he answers Rril.
"The pirates sound interesting. Maybe we can slip a few things useful off them for the ship?" Steve's eyes glitter with excitement. "Let's go talk with them first."
"Sounds like a plan to me. Let's go!" Antenor nods at their new contact. "See you around."