Silas flicked lazily at the switches of the Odyssey’s control panel as the Captain made his announcement. A few beeps brought up the ship’s external camera feed. The ships sat like metallic flies flocking to this den of thieves, slavers, and mercenaries. Silas panned the camera across the landing bays, making mental notes of the ones he recognized. There were fewer friends planetside than he had hoped . . . and more enemies than he wanted. Silas shut down the feed before taking his leave from the bridge. Before his lanky frame slipped out of the room he cast his glance over his shoulder, and with a licentious smile asked the Celtis, “Does a pleasure girl count as equipment or a pet?”  Chuckling at his own dirty humour, he left without hearing the answer.<br/><br/>He picked his way through the crowded stalls, casually stopping to browse at the overpriced wares they pedaled. Anyone familiar with the usual “ask-no-questions” dealings conducted in places like this knew it was unwise to walk with too much purpose to the tower that loomed over the marketplace. Only the wealthy went there with surefooted strides and the wealthy were “rich” for the pickings. In the fifteen minutes that Silas wandered across the storefronts he had seen six well dressed individuals grope distressingly at empty pockets. Silas smiled nostalgically. Oirass held a familiar stench. A scent of stale sweat coagulated on weapon grips; a smell of illicit narcotics underlying the breath of the beggars; a distant whiff of home. An hour went by until he stood in front of one of the guarded entrance of the tower. Ten minutes later, he was on the second floor.<br/>“Ah, Silas,” greeted the Madame of the establishment, “You want to see the line up?” She was an elderly lady of obviously no easy upbringing.<br/>“Mistress Magdalene,” Silas responded with a theatrical bow, “You ask me that every time.”<br/>“Well, maybe time has changed your . . . tastes.”<br/>“It would only change if you entered the line up.” He punctuated this last comment with a wink. Madame Magdalene fanned herself in feigned embarrassment. She signaled to an attendant who scuttled off to call Silas’ usual companion.<br/><br/>Silas passed the time with coquettish banter between himself and Madame Magdalene until Jezebel entered the waiting room. Her skin (of which a lot could be seen) was a soft, dark hue and her brown eyes belied the innocence of her pretty face. With a wordless gesture she indicated that Silas should follow.  The pair walked to the room in much the same manner that others had.  As the door clicked shut behind them, providing their much needed privacy, Jezebel’s playful countenance changed.<br/>“All right, Spread.” Her voice was weighted with seriousness.<br/>“You still don’t trust me?”<br/>“You have a reason I should?” she retorted, raising a slim eyebrow.<br/>Silas could not argue with her logic. He raised his arms and set his legs apart. As she frisked him for any concealed weapons, he added, “Perhaps you should be paying me?” The formalities now aside, they returned to their mutual business.<br/>“What’s the news on The Underhive?” asked Silas.<br/>Jezebel began to recount the latest secrets of her customers. To most of the visitors of Oiress, the second floor was but a brothel. To Silas, it was one of the tools of the trade. Tiffany had taught him that many a secret was whispered in pillow talk, and many of the crime world’s biggest names visited such establishments. Although he was cast out from his past life, it paid to keep his ear to the ground.