Yesterday I published the beginning of this short story detailing Havohej’s return to action in New Eden. Here is the second part of the story, Out of Place. The third and final installment will be posted tomorrow. Enjoy!

The Trust Partners Warehouse in M-MD3B was a much more active place than Havohej expected it to be. The spaceport was crowded with open berths in short supply and there were people everywhere! Forced to push and shove past one another to get where they were going, literally thousands of Minmatar were conducting various types of business here along with a few scattered Gallente and Caldari traders. As soon as the passengers emerged from the airlock, there were no less than a dozen guides clamoring for their attention, promising the “lowest rates to be found this side of Egbinger!” As the crowd from their transport dispersed into the throng, Wisler and Havohej found each other.

“There’s no need to hire a taxi,” Wisler said. “The colony isn’t far.” The Brutor struck off into the crowd and Havohej had to hurry not to lose track of him in the press of bodies. They fought their way through to the other side of the primary corridor and Wisler turned to pass through a narrow, dimly-lit alleyway. Noting the capsuleer’s suspicious hesitation he said, “Trust me or not – your choice. You could always take your chances with the Angels.” Wisler nodded in the direction of a Ghalen pastry stand on the plaza where two men wearing Angel colors were standing. Eyes narrowed, the pod pilot followed his dubious guide into the shadows.

Havohej stumbled once or twice on unseen obstacles before his eyes began to adjust and he made a point of not considering the nature of the sludge he felt beneath his boots. At least the overwhelming stench was of machine oil and reprocessed air instead of the myriad other things it could have been. The path Wisler chose saw them through so many twists, turns and cut-backs that the podder found himself struggling to maintain some sense of direction. At times he’d swear there were eyes in the darkness, marking their passage though he could see no one. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the Brutor led him to the mouth of a dead-end street deep in the heart of the Thukker colony.

“Wait here,” Jama’al told him, “and try to keep out of sight.”

Havo started to question this, then thought better of it. He’d had dealings with some nefarious figures in his lifetime and understood the old truism ‘everything ain’t for everybody’ better than most. He simply nodded and walked back a ways up the path they’d come down. As nervous minutes ticked by, he was more and more pleased with himself that he’d chosen to wear dark, nondescript clothing. At least two people shuffled past him through the darkness, taking no notice of his presence. Finally, the Brutor emerged. Havohej considered him for a few moments, examining his body language to determine whether there may might be some betrayal at work. The longer he waited, Wisler seemed to become impatient more than anything else. Havo waved his arm and the movement caught his guide’s attention.

“You’ve secured passage to the Oasis?” he asked when Wisler was within earshot. He was perturbed when the man shook his head.

“No, but I got us some protection,” he replied. He pulled the bottom of his leather jacket aside and produced a small automatic pistol. The design was crude but effective, a drastically miniaturized version of the autocannons he armed his spacecraft with. With a 30-round box-type magazine, the primary differences were that it fired 10mm projectiles rather than 425mm and that these projectiles were not irradiated. The capsuleer checked the magazine to satisfy himself that it was indeed loaded and then tucked the weapon into his waistband.

“I appreciate your thoroughness, but why is this necessary?” Havohej demanded. “You know the Angels want my blood, so just avoid them!” It wasn’t that the pod pilot was scared to get into a confrontation, just that he knew his strengths were best suited to spaceships. His enhanced perception might help his marksmanship, his augmented willpower might allow him to push through more pain than the average man, but that didn’t make him an action hero. He’d just as soon not run into any trouble while he was here.

“Oh, don’t worry ’bout that,” Jama’al said reassuringly, “we passed as close as we gonna pass to any Angel cats when I pointed ‘em out at the pastry stand.” He lowered his voice a little, stepping closer to his erstwhile captain to say, “Ever since the Elders liberated the Nefantar and Starkmanir from the Mandate, shit’s been a little tense. Republic won’t take ‘em and the Thukkers can’t very well send them back, so there are millions of ‘em crowded into these outpost colonies – and they were crowded enough already!” He started walking again and motioned for Havohej to follow, speaking as they went. Now that they were armed, Havo noticed that the Brutor seemed much less concerned with stealth than he had been previously.

“Make matters worse, many of ‘em didn’t even have time to grab a change of clothes or something to valuable to barter with; you know ISK don’t mean that much to these Thukkers, right? At least, not as much as it means to the rest of the cluster. So now, there’s like this entire civilization of people with their weird, twisted, half-brainwashed ideals tryin’ to figure out how to get along with ‘real’ Minmatar again. Then you got the natives…” Jama’al brought them out of the alleyways onto a wide street lined with residential apartments. There were people gathered in the alcoves, under awnings and makeshift lean-tos — people everywhere. Some of them even had fires lit in waste barrels for warmth in the cold, dank corridors that passed for streets in this poor sector of the colony.

“At first, the Thukkers were ecstatic to have the Nefantar and Starkmanir returned to their people. Every transport and shuttle full of Nefs and Starkies was met with welcome and celebration; the Thukkers welcomed the poor liberated souls with open hearts and open arms. Chief Aeboul extended every courtesy.” The man’s tone changed as he continued; he sounded almost sad. “Then things started getting strained. The Reppies were dragging their feet on setting up protocols to ensure the reunited tribes could be re-assimilated into Minmatar society, so weeks turned into months and supplies started to run thin what with a few million MORE mouths to feed. And since most of the refugees are broke, naturally they do what they gotta do to get by. Unfortunately, that means they’re getting by at the Thukkers’ expense and that don’t fly, see? So it leads to conflict. Now you get animosities buildin’ and a situation where there ain’t really nothin’ anybody can do about it ’til the Republic figures itself out about takin’ all these people off our hands.

“Tension around here’s so thick you can run your fingers through it,” Jama’al told him. “And around this time of night, when they start to dim the lights on the colony, it can be a very dangerous place.”

As they went forward through the streets toward the central Grand Qariyyah where Wisler said he could get Havohej in touch with people who would take him to the Oasis, Havo paid more attention to the unfortunate people they passed. With Wisler’s explanation, he could see them now in a new light. He, too, had expected good things for them when news of the Elder fleet’s actions reached him in Deklein. Though he wasn’t closely tied to goings on in Empire space, he felt genuinely pleased that so many people had been set free from the Amarr Empire and Ammatar Mandate. Never once had he considered that their suffering might not so easily be at an end.

He was distracted from these thoughts when he saw his guide reach behind his back for the automatic tucked beneath his belt. Immediately he saw the cause for Jama’al’s alarm: two lean young men with hungry eyes had begun walking toward them and the look in their eyes was short of friendly. When they saw the Brutor’s defensive gesture, though, they quickly turned their attention elsewhere and made an effort of looking as if they weren’t about to try to rob the two pedestrians.

Fortunately, that was the closest they would come to trouble in their journey. Wisler relaxed and said no more as he led the rest of the way to the marketplace. Havohej ruminated over what he had seen and heard thus far on the Trust Partners outpost at M-MD3B.

---

The Grand Qariyyah was a different world from the poor sector in which the Refugees has been housed, yet it was also very different from the primary trade corridor at the spaceport. Here, Thukkers met to trade their wares and everything was available from pieces of fine, hand-crafted decorative pottery to more practical things like clothing and fresh foodstuffs. There were even kiosks set up where merchants were trading industrial goods from tritanium to ferrogel. But the shops and stands weren’t what you’d expect of a New Eden space station; there were no whisper-quiet automatic doors, no holographic spokeswomen spewing sales pitches at every passer-by. This place was just as crowded as the primary trade corrider, though — perhaps even moreso. But the marketplace seemed to have retained its customary Thukker flavor inspite of (because of?) all of the intertribal drama taking place over the last few months in the Great Wildlands. These shops were smaller, more intimate affairs with open doors and long tables set up beneath thin colored canapies of some soft, wispy material which smoothed and filtered the bright lights overhead in ways that were flattering to the products on display beneath them.

Jama’al stoped in front of one such tent and told Havohej to wait for him out front. Havo watched Wisler exchange a familiar embrace and friendly words with the shopkeeper and then they both turned to look at him. Havohej couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could see that their dialogue had gone instantly from that of a fond reuinion to something far less cordial and far more secretive. At length, the bearded shopkeeper nodded and Jama’al beckoned the capsuleer to follow him through a doorway which seemed to be guarded by nothing more than a hanging curtain of light metal beads which clanged together musically as the men passed through into the hallway beyond. As Wisler led him down a flight of stairs, Havohej caught the scent of some exotic incense being burned and the sound of unusual music playing just loud enough to cover the thrum of heavy machinery ever-present on a space colony.

At the bottom of the stairwell, they turned a corner and met two armed men guarding a single door. Jama’al handed over his pistol butt first and turned his back to the men, holding his arms out at his side to let one of the guards perform a pat search. Havohej followed the Brutor’s lead and when the guard was satisfied, the other opened the door for them. The room beyond was like something out of One Thousand and One Nights, all ornate and pillowy cushions, tapestried walls and bright candlelight. One could almost forget that he was aboard a vast and sprawling space station in this room. Reclining on the largest pile of cushions was a tall, olive-skinned Thukker with a shaven head and a long, greying beard. His attire was that of a wealthy trader, much more contemporary than the room’s decor. His eyes met with Havohej’s and there was a spark of interest there that made the capsuleer just a little uncomfortable.

“Hello, Harun,” Jama’al greeted their host. “This is Hav-”

“I know who he is, Jama’al,” Harun interrupted. “He is called Havohej. Capsuleer and CEO of a little known pirate corporation that used to operate in Molden Heath and Derelik, among other places. I hear they even attacked Foundati0n forces here in the Wildlands once or twice.” His eyes held Havohej’s and his face betrayed not a hint of whether or not he bore the capsuleer any animosity. “Yes, I know all about Havohej… what I don’t know,” the trader went on, “is why he is in my abode.”

Havo was very uncomfortable with his predicament. He’d been forced to hand over his only means of defense, meager though it was, and was now trapped in a room with no way out that didn’t involve getting past two large armed guards, up a long flight of stairs and out through a crowd of dozens of people who were almost certain to be loyal to this Harun person. But he wouldn’t turn back now — he’d come out here for a reason and he meant to see it through.

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