The Lost Goats, 23
Jul. 14th, 2012 01:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
avevale_intelligencerA shadowy figure watched as Zander and Soren strolled around the dilapidated stalls of Otslag's permanent floating market. This was an unexpected development.
"Is this kumquat organic?" Soren inquired.
The stallholder peered at it myopically, picked it up and squashed it between his fingers. "Yeah, man," he said, licking the aforementioned (and none too clean) digits enthusiastically. "See, like, if it was inorganic it wouldn't have gone squish like that."
"It's all organic," another stallholder called. "No pesticides or chemicals on the planet, man."
"What you come here for if you didn't know that?" came from yet another stall.
"Tourists," muttered a passer-by. All the inhabitants of Otslag seemed to dress alike, in roughly knitted or woven shifts and breeches dyed in a variety of natural-looking hues that all blended into a general impression of brown, enlivened with accessories in striking rainbow hues, presumably of off-world manufacture. They wore shoes or sandals of similar styles, and hair was being worn either long or not at all. Piercings were much in evidence, of the sort which no blood-crazed cannibal psychopath would ever dare to wear in any kind of combat, as well as tattoos in a bewildering variety of designs.
"Anaxagoras got a tattoo once," Zander remarked.
"Oh yes?"
"Yes. Trouble was, he could get rid of it all right, but every time he had to adjust his appearance, back it came. Eventually he had to regrow the whole limb."
"Never again, I bet."
"Last time I saw him he was trying to work out how to have six interchangeable ones, triggered on command."
"Weirdo," Soren muttered, eyeing some roughly-wrapped bars of allegedly home-made sugar-free chocolate.
"Where do two Nyronds fit in to a set-up like this?"
"We don't."
The shadowy figure slipped away, Maybe it would be all right and they'd leave.
"Which is why," Soren continued, "it seems odd that I've been dalling someone nearby for the last five minutes."
"Wait a minute," Zander said, stopped suddenly at a stall containing a selection of tools and ironmongery. "Look at that."
"Shovel," Soren said succinctly. "I'm sure on a world like this they have all kinds of--"
"Look at it." Zander indicated a small mark cut into the gleaming steel of the blade. "That's a Hamilcar Steelworkers Guild mark. And the shovel's never been used. And that lamp is Ornatic make, still with the seal on the box."
"Yes?" Soren was fogged.
"Hamilcar and Ornat are Affiliated worlds. Have been for decades."
"I know. We don't go near them."
"And we're taught to spot their merchandise because..."
"Affilated don't trade with UnAffiliated."
"It's the whole point of Affiliation." Zander was visibly boggling. "There's more stuff here. Those scarves we've been seeing--they're Endelli."
"Pirates?" Soren suggested.
"Too much stuff, and not the really profitable stuff either. Nobody loots a cargo of shovels and scarves. These must have been obtained in legitimate trade."
Soren was following. "And that can only mean one thing..."
"Otslag," Zander said, "is Affiliated."
Around him the various stallholders set up a mocking slow handclap.
"Is this kumquat organic?" Soren inquired.
The stallholder peered at it myopically, picked it up and squashed it between his fingers. "Yeah, man," he said, licking the aforementioned (and none too clean) digits enthusiastically. "See, like, if it was inorganic it wouldn't have gone squish like that."
"It's all organic," another stallholder called. "No pesticides or chemicals on the planet, man."
"What you come here for if you didn't know that?" came from yet another stall.
"Tourists," muttered a passer-by. All the inhabitants of Otslag seemed to dress alike, in roughly knitted or woven shifts and breeches dyed in a variety of natural-looking hues that all blended into a general impression of brown, enlivened with accessories in striking rainbow hues, presumably of off-world manufacture. They wore shoes or sandals of similar styles, and hair was being worn either long or not at all. Piercings were much in evidence, of the sort which no blood-crazed cannibal psychopath would ever dare to wear in any kind of combat, as well as tattoos in a bewildering variety of designs.
"Anaxagoras got a tattoo once," Zander remarked.
"Oh yes?"
"Yes. Trouble was, he could get rid of it all right, but every time he had to adjust his appearance, back it came. Eventually he had to regrow the whole limb."
"Never again, I bet."
"Last time I saw him he was trying to work out how to have six interchangeable ones, triggered on command."
"Weirdo," Soren muttered, eyeing some roughly-wrapped bars of allegedly home-made sugar-free chocolate.
"Where do two Nyronds fit in to a set-up like this?"
"We don't."
The shadowy figure slipped away, Maybe it would be all right and they'd leave.
"Which is why," Soren continued, "it seems odd that I've been dalling someone nearby for the last five minutes."
"Wait a minute," Zander said, stopped suddenly at a stall containing a selection of tools and ironmongery. "Look at that."
"Shovel," Soren said succinctly. "I'm sure on a world like this they have all kinds of--"
"Look at it." Zander indicated a small mark cut into the gleaming steel of the blade. "That's a Hamilcar Steelworkers Guild mark. And the shovel's never been used. And that lamp is Ornatic make, still with the seal on the box."
"Yes?" Soren was fogged.
"Hamilcar and Ornat are Affiliated worlds. Have been for decades."
"I know. We don't go near them."
"And we're taught to spot their merchandise because..."
"Affilated don't trade with UnAffiliated."
"It's the whole point of Affiliation." Zander was visibly boggling. "There's more stuff here. Those scarves we've been seeing--they're Endelli."
"Pirates?" Soren suggested.
"Too much stuff, and not the really profitable stuff either. Nobody loots a cargo of shovels and scarves. These must have been obtained in legitimate trade."
Soren was following. "And that can only mean one thing..."
"Otslag," Zander said, "is Affiliated."
Around him the various stallholders set up a mocking slow handclap.