"Thank you." Saskia says, smiling a little self-consciously, "It's genuine groatle.  Who'd've thought that the wool from one of those smelly frelling groats would look so good if was treated with the right chemicals?"

"My goodness, Ms. Blake."  Shui slowly steps toward Saskia, studying the coat.  "You certainly put us all to shame."  The outfit works for the woman, adding an immense amount of class while simultaneous marking exactly who she is - an engineer, and a valued one at that.  "Groat, is it?  Beautiful - it suits you well," she notes, shifting to study the woman from the side.

"Mr. Ogresh," she notes absently, shooting a glance in his direction, "has chosen to demonstrate his bravery by joining us in a shopping expedition.  He has expressed a desire to gamble on our choices, as long as they aren't...what was the word?"  She shoots a look at the scout, tapping her lip.  "Outlandish, yes."  The smile flickers again, there and gone.

The doctor holds out one hand, stopping it short of the material of Saskia's coat.  "It certainly smells no longer...may I?"

On Profit Margin's bridge, Jago dismisses Conrad, and starts placing the various calls he needs to make.  It's nice to be on a world with half-way decent technology again - having the ability to use the port's network to look for traders to take the cargo is a major benefit.  Most of the places listed even have access to their own cargo handling droids, which should make the offloading much faster.

Saskia looks at the Medic for a couple of seconds, pensively, then says, "Well, I don't know.  Are your hands clean?"  The effect is spoiled by the fact that, by the end of her question, she is struggling to suppress a grin.

"Of course you may, my dear Shui."

Shui dutifully extends both hands - palm-up - for examination, before laughing quietly.  "My thanks, Ms. Blake."  Amusement quickly turns to admiration as she carefully touches the fine fabric, running fingers over the threads.  "Saskia, I am truly impressed," she muses.  "This is splendid - as soft as it is beautiful."  The doctor slides her hand along the engineer's shoulder before drawing it back.  "Is it as comfortable as it appears?  Not too hot?"

"No, it's not too warm." replies Saskia, smiling.  It's not often she wears anything other than shipsuits or coveralls, and the compliments on her mode of dress are something of a novelty.  "Might get a bit warm if I stay in here for too long, but the weather's a little cooler outside, so it should be comfortable enough."

Then a thought strikes her, and, almost as an afterthought, she adds, "You look nice too.  Those clothes look really good on you.  You too, Tylen.  Er - I mean, your clothes look good on you, not that Shui's clothes would."

"You never know, he might think Sushi's clothes would look just fine on him too." Yas interrupts, chuckling, as she enters the lounge.

"Nice jacket, Saskia, and I'm pleased to see that you decided to go with sensible shoes.  You clean up nice too, doc."

She gestures down at her own clothes, all of which are immaculate.  A pair of black trousers, with about a million pockets, and a  green tunic, worn unfastened over a white shirt.  Her boots are a good match for Saskia's, but are so highly polished that people can almost see their reflections in them.

Her face falls, "Look at me, though.  I'm naked.  I usually have more hardware than this when I take a shower."  She lays a hand on Tylen's shoulder, "I suppose we'll all have to rely on my Lovely Assistant here for protection, should we need it, what with the rest of us being poor defenceless ladies."

"Are we ready to go?"

"Better and better," Shui murmurs.  "I should consider one of my own - in a different style, of course.  I would never compete...and could not, besides."  She glances down at herself, then blinks in surprise at Saskia's correction.  An odd image jumps into her head - herself in Tylen's clothing, and him in...well, no.  Amusing, yes, but somewhat disturbing at the same time.  "This?  My last decent clothing, I fear.  The rest is somewhat well-worn."  The doctor straightens her jacket.  "Thank you, Ms. Blake.  It pleases me it remains serviceable."

"Ah, Ms. Crow."  A small bow for the security officer.  "Mr. Ogresh's style is somewhat dissimilar to my own...and my thanks, again."  She eyes the woman, in all of her pocketed glory.  "I see we have all chosen our best for the day, and chosen well, Ms. Crow, yourself included."  A flick of the finger toward her brilliant boots.  "I see your training remains strong."

Yasmine continues, and the doctor raises her chin slightly at the 'naked' comment.  She remains dubious, somehow doubting the security chief has entirely divested herself of hardware.  "I am well-prepared," she answers, "and if Mr. Ogresh has taken it upon himself to chaperone us, we should have some pity and choose clothing we believe might suit his sensibilities, rather than our own."  She pauses.  "That is to say, choose clothing for him.  Mr. Ogresh," she reveals in a stage-whisper, "has elected to suffer through our advice at expanding his wardrobe."

Tylen keeps his own counsel as to his opinions on what advice he might recieve from the Ladies, but smiles brightly.

"Well I guess I'm the lucky guy, I never thought I'd be stepping out with three lovely ladies on my first official shore leave!"

He bows elaborately,

"I best brush up on my manners then and get the door."

He gestures towards the airlock.

"£That is, of course, if you're all ready?"

"Oh, no, Mr. Ogresh," Shui replies.  She bows slightly.  "As appreciated as your compliment is, a chivalrous man is difficult to find.  It is we who are honored by your presence."  She straightens her sleeves for a moment, then glances to the other two women.  "Ms. Blake?  Ms. Crow?"

As the crew make their way down the ramp, Conrad appears behind them, and tags along with them.

Docking Bay 94 is cylindrical, some 60 metres in diameter, and fifteen deep, with curved walls of ferrocrete, and a floor of the same material.  The top is open to the grey sky, and as soon as they step out from under the ship, the five are exposed to a light drizzle.

There is a wide doorway, for cargo vehicles, no doubt to one side, though it stands closed at the moment.  Near to it is a smaller door for pedestrians, and Corlan is standin close to that. with Dhakhingzuel.  The Vargr has a large bag hanging over one shoulder, while Corlan has a smaller one, and the two passengers are studying the man's handcomp, comparing it to a map of the port, and the adjacent city, fixed to the wall, just inside the door.

Dhakhingzuel traces one finger across the map, following the walls of several bays, before jabbing at a point on the edge of the port itself.  The map activates, a blinking red marker indicating the location, and a line of small text appearing alongside it.  With a grunt of disappointment, the Vargr selects another point, apparently with no greater success.

Corlan turns as the crew approach, "Hello there.  Looking forward to your holiday?  Dhakhingzuel and I are going for a meal before she looks for transport home.  She's taking me to try Vargr cuisine at a restaurant she knows here.  Then I plan on finding somewhere to stay while the Profit Margin is modified."

"Unfortunately, she's never been in this area of the port before, and isn't sure how to get there."

The alien suddenly gives an excited bark, and her tail starts whipping back and forth, "There!  We will need taxi."  She drags a communicator from her jacket, and starts keying in a number taken from an infopanel at the side of the map.  "I call now."

Tylen smiles,

"Well I hope you like your meat pretty rare."

He says, privately wondering how strong Corlan's stomach is.

Corlan chuckles at Tylen's comment.  "A common misconception, I fear.  While the ancestors of modern Vargr certainly ate their food raw, so did the ancestors of modern Humaniti, and at about the same point in prehistory."

He pauses, and thinks for a moment, before adding, "Having derived from the same environment, and having essentially identical biochemistry, anything a Vargr can can eat safely will be safe for me.  It's just a matter of whether or not I like the herbs and spices they use."

He leans closer, and quietly says, "Between you and me, Dhakhingzuel does seem to like some of her food a little too rare for my own tastes, and she actually likes some vegetables that I have hated since I was a small child, but she assures me that others of her race have varying preferences.  We shall see."

"I'm on this trip because I realised one morning that I'd never experienced so many things.  After today, I'll at least be able to say that I've tasted knozongigak with nokh, in garruedh sauce."

He glances towards his fellow passenger, as if to confirm that his pronunciation was acceptable, but Dhakhingzuel is busy, talking rapidly into the comm unit, in her own language.  The waving and gestures of her free hand closely resemble those of a person giving directions to somebody who can actually see them.

It seems that Vargr do have much in common with humans.

Shui listens quietly to the discussion.  Corlan always seems to have some jewels of information to divulge - the man samples experiences as if life were a buffet, and remains hungry for more.  It's always wise to listen when he speaks; she has picked up many tidbits of knowledge herself during their morning exercises.

It comes to her that she still needs to set up a time for training with Tylen.  Hopefully soon.  It seems something useful to learn, non-lethal means of dealing with threats.

"Mr. DeSant, the list of your experiences is dramatically longer than that of anyone I know," she notes.  "I still believe you should publish your journal - suitably edited, mind - and allow others to partake of what you have found in your travels."

Corlan smiles at Shui, "Perhaps, one day, when I'm too old and weary to add anything further to it, I'll find the time to edit it.  For now, I'm almost too busy to record everything."

Dhakhingzuel stops talking, and pockets her commset.  "Taxi come, here soon."

Standing quietly, listening to the conversations, Conrad suddenly slaps his forehead.  "Taxi!  I was meanin' to ask Jago if we could borrow the car, so's we'd have us some transport."

"Be right back.  Don't y'all go nowhere without me now."  he turns and walks quickly back to the ramp.

On the bridge, a thin trail of pale grey smoke snakes it’s way slowly towards the extractors in the ceiling and the air is thick with the scents of burning tobacco and java coffee, or at least reasonable facsimiles.

Jago lounges back in his chair, cigar smouldering his hand and a large coffee mug steaming gently on the small table attached to the arm. The captain stares intently at something on one of the screens before him.

“Still here,” Jago remarks, turning his head slightly as Conrad enters the room. “nothing wrong is there?”
.

"Nope.  Nuthin' wrong." Conrad replies, a little shocked to see Jago with his cigar  actually lit, "Jus' wonderin' if'n we could borrow the air-raft for a couple of hours?  Do a quick tour, find out what looks interestin', then take another look, a mite slower, later on."

“Sure, go ahead.” A thin trail of blue, grey smoke marks the course of the cigar as Jago gestures in the general direction of the hanger, but already his attention is reverting to the screens.

“Have fun,” he mumbles distractedly.
.

"Nothing wrong with Vargr food." Saskia hesitantly adds her own comment to the discussion.  "When I was in the Navy, we used to always try to get local food when we were in a system, just to see what it was like.  Vargr cooking was pretty good, if a bit plain sometimes."

She looks at Profit Margin's former passenger, "No offense Dhakhingzuel, but I found Vargr cooking didn't tend to use a lot of spices.

"Garruedh sauce is the main exception, and it's delicious.  The food's usually just cooked in its own juices, with maybe some salt, and - "  She stops to think for a little while, then asks, "What's that green powder that gets used on vegetables a lot?"

"Don't ya worry, Ditsy!" Yas calls out after Conrad before he vanishes.

"Nothing wrong with anythign you can eat, it might just keep you alive.  As for tasting new cousin... cous cous..  Er, food, heck, why not?  You only live once, accoding to most anyway, and it is kind of hard to prove, or disprove.  Anyroads, now I am rambling, and that means we had best move on before you all fall asleep, all right?" she says, finally speaking after having seemed busy with her outfit and what might be underneath.

Undergarments, of course, what else could it possibly be, hmm?

That's right, nothing else, nothing at all.  Get your mind out of the weapon locker gutter and carry on, nothing to see here (apart from the kick-arse babe, of course).

"So, were do we go first?" she asks cheerfully.

There is a sound from up above, like the howl of some wild beast, and an air raft drops out of the sky.  Unlike Profit Margin's utility vehicle, with its quiet MHD turbine, the new arrival is drawing power from some sort of noisy combustion process.

The bodywork, badly scratched and dented, is painted in in garish yellow and green stripes, with a flourescent orange logo painted along each side, as well as the top and bottom.  It has an improbable array of fins, vanes, antennae, and numerous stickers, in the same alien script as the orange logo.

At least one of the stickers, though, includes an Anglic translation: "Vargr do it on their toes!"

The driver is an older Vargr, with grizzled fur, wearing a Tukera Lines cap, and a dark blue shipsuit.  He grins, as he shouts above the noise of the motor, "Who calls Taxi?"  Corlan and Dhakhingzuel start towards the vehicle.


Inside the ship, Conrad goes to fetch out the air raft, while Jago goes back to work.

Shui listens politely to the conversation as it turns toward food.  The vast majority of Vargr cooking is unpalatable to her, so it's pointless for her to add her own opinion.  "Certainly we should find somewhere to eat or drink," she suggests to Yasmine, the other woman busy with her clothing.  Hopefully.  Her gaze rises to the taxi as it descends, and a small frown furrows her brow for a moment.  Her eyes flick over the cab number and license plate, her mind committing them to memory.

Habit, especially when worrying about the safety of both warm-bunk passengers.

The Vargr taxi departs, leaving only fumes in its wake, and a few moments later another air raft appears, this one rising from the hull of Profit Margin, piloted by Conrad.  He brings it out of the hangar slowly, carefully avoiding the dorsal sensor array, and brings it to a gentle halt close to his shipmates.  The open-topped craft, now with a canvas roof fitted, hovers just a few centimetres above the ground, it's motor producing nothing more than an almost imperceptible hum.

"Ladies and Gentleman, your chariot awaits." Conrad says with a grin, then nods to Tylen, "Jago reckons y'all might want to call in at the Scout base 'fore goin' anywhere's else."

Shui raises an eyebrow.  Ah, yes.  The Scout business.  "Mr Ogresh," she murmurs, "should there be any issue with your current employment..."  She pauses for consideration, suddenly very serious.  "That is to say, should you desire nothing to change, your ship's doctor has recently performed a physical on you.  I have the results-" one slender finger taps her dataglove "-and it would be no bother for me to sit in on any discussions of your situation."