PROLOGUE: A Song for Aram

"Greetings, friends. Have you the time, I humbly invite you to my place of business for a meal and a proposal. Come, come, I insist. 14:00 hours on the 33rd day of the Judge. Bring your appetite... and your courage."

That was Khadija Jubal's message, which each of you received on your com links during the previous day. As usual, her message was one part courteous and one part challenge. But it was also a little atypical of your patron. Normally, she doesn't bother with direct meetings and assigns trade missions to your crew by way of video communication or data download. Sometimes she even sends a courier if the information is sensitive. So the fact that she wants to meet face-to-face is telling. You feel safe in assuming that this proposal she has planned is something important. Yet whatever the case, you all have served Khadija long enough to know that her "requests" are never actually requests; you're expected to do as you're told. Being Firstcome, your patron is nothing if not polite and hospitable - at least as "polite and hospitable" as a Syndicate charpur is likely to be.

Khadija's business (the legal face of it) is antiquities. Her shop is situated in the Souk Alesh - Coriolis' official free trader market. This colorful district - full of stores, warehouses, and khabara brokers - is found in the massive Ring section of the station, just off of the Spice Market.

Whether you all travel together or individually, the trip is the same. You ride the high-speed grav tube through kilometers of variegated metal tunnels, arriving at the one of the tube stations along the outer blocks of the Ring. As the doors of the tube car hiss open, you step into the lofty immensity that is the Coriolis Promenade - an expansive walkway running the entire circumference of the Ring. The Promenade could be described as a wide street with walls on either side that stretch up almost to the very top of the Ring. The sheer dimensions of the place are astounding, and one can't help but feel small and insignificant in the presence of such a feat of Zenithian engineering. The entire place is a cityscape in itself. Shops, cafes, and residences line the sides of the walkway, and crowds bustle passed you. Cable cars and grav vehicles speed by and beep at those in their way. Above you, you crane your neck to observe a criss-crossing network of bridges connecting one side of the Promenade to another. And at the utmost heights of the Ring's interior, where you should be seeing the dark metal of the station's hull, you instead witness clear blue sky punctuated by drifting clouds and the occasional flock of birds. Though you know this is simply an illusion generated by sophisticated holograms, it's almost enough to convince you that you're planetside somewhere and not on a space station. It's a short walk from the tube station to the so-called Spice Plaza. Here, the Promenade opens even further, giving way to a massive chamber of colossal proportions. You are immediately assaulted by all manner of aromas. Some scents are intense enough to make your eyes water; others coax pangs of hunger from you. Your nose detects cumin, nutmeg, and cardamon. Baharat, caraway, and anise seed. Harissa, coriander, and rare Algolan za'atar. Brown Dabaran amchoor, refined saffron, and exotic cinnamon affusions. From all over the Horizon, vendors have brought seeds, roots, barks, and other plant extracts from more than fifty planets. It's clear that the Spice Plaza earned its name.

But spices aren't the only things found here. You walk by colorful stalls and shops selling a variety of goods, with each vendor using increasingly vibrant and eye-catching awnings or tents in an effort to draw in customers. Every vendor and business owner hawks his wares to the people passing by. Street carts sell food: everything from baklava, kunafa pudding, and spicy yogurt, to shish kabob, shawarma, and curious interstellar fruits. Animal wranglers display individual cages containing a menagerie of small creatures, both common and alien: birds, snakes, monkeys, Sadaalian scorpions, Kuan felinoids, and more. Other vendors offer pottery, or linens, or wine, or decorative knives. In one area, Miran street performers are wowing a crowd with displays of acrobatic skill. Somewhere else, a trio of buskers is seated on the ground with high tech zithers on their laps, playing an upbeat melody and nodding when people drop birr into their cups. Further ahead, an Iconocratic priestess leads a religious procession through the crowd, surrounded by veiled women playing tambourines and sistra rattles, and reciting canticles to The Dancer. A small gathering of onlookers watch in morbid fascination as a man orders his badger-like skavara slave to perform tricks for the crowd's enjoyment. The Spice Plaza is a flurry of activity, and no matter where you look, there always seems to be more to see.

You make your way through the plaza and eventually reach the Souk Alesh. The feel of the area is less "bazaar" and more "docking district". While still loud and lively, the pungency of the spices is reduced here. Amidst a maze of warehouses and storefronts, free traders haggle over deals and vendors hawk shipments that have just arrived from the space port. There are several hookah bars catering to free trader crews, and you likely pass a number of familiar faces.

Khadija's office is located on a small, unassuming side street nestled between storage depots. Technically speaking, her business is part of Jubal Imports & Exports, a large shipping firm run and owned by her father, Aldair Jubal. However, Khadija (and her brother Khalim) took over the illegal aspects of the business, leaving their father to handle the legitimate portions of the company. While Aldair wines and dines Consortium officials, his children have almost total autonomy in managing Syndicate matters.

The entrance to Khadija's office is an arched doorway with beautiful geometric tilework and calligraphy along the edge. As is common with Firstcome doors, hers are wide in order to emphasize openness and hospitality. Given how many secrets someone like Khadija has, this is no small irony.

The Zeni calligraphy above the door reads The Tapestry of Truths. When you step inside, you hear the soft ringing of door chimes. The place is much like you remember from previous visits. Multi-colored rugs abound, as do natural dark wood furnishings and plush chairs. All around you are sample antiques in display cases. Nothing terribly valuable, but all pleasant to the eye: old icon statues, Algolan vases, Kuan prayer tablets, intricate Zalosian jewelry, etc. The air feels comfortable in here; it's climate controlled and not like the cold, stale recycled air in other parts of the station. You smell incense burning.

At this point, you know to wait until you are summoned.

Brahim lingers in the Souk Alesh and enters the office exactly one minute before the appointed time. He is imposing at nearly 2 meters and close to 120 kgs of what appears to be mostly muscle under his plain charcoal kurta and dhoti. His skin is ebony and his shaved head reflects the soft light in the room. He wears no jewelry or ornamentation of any kind and his facial hair appears to be his only attempt at style. He says little and watches the captain with an intensity that might be mistaken for intense emotion, but which you have all learned is actually an indicator of awkwardness and missed social cues. He is unaware how his direct and steady gaze might be interpreted by others.

The tasseled curtain at the opposite end of the showroom ripples for a moment and then parts. A large, hulking figure steps through, and you can feel the heft of his footsteps as he walks in. He easily towers over even the tallest of you by several inches. Wide shouldered and barrel-chested, the man likely cuts an intimidating figure to most people. He sports a white headwrap and kaftan, and under his tunic you glimpse the familiar gray plating of light ballistic armor. Beyond the kaftan's sleeves, the man's forearms and hands are very clearly mechanical. His grizzled, bearded face is expressionless, though his eyes hint at suspicion and disdain.

Each of you have met the man before. He goes by the name Batool, and he's one of Khadija's enforcers. In all the time you've known her, your patron rarely goes anywhere without Batool at her side. From previous interactions, you get the sense that the cyborg doesn't particularly like or trust any of you. Then again, he seems the type of person who doesn't like or trust anybody.

Silently, the cyborg stands aside and holds the curtain open for you. With a gruff flick of his chin, he motions for all of you to proceed. As he moves, you can hear the light whirring of cybernetic servos.

Batool stands quietly as you all pass. At Zahra's ribbing (which is probably a running joke, at this point), he reacts with little more than a narrowing of the eyes to signal that he doesn't find the remark funny. The cyborg's eyes graze over each of you, though he barely acknowledges Brahim, as if the mutahadir is beneath his notice; alas, this is a common reaction that humans have to humanites on Coriolis. On the other hand, Batool does pay particular attention to Tarek. He watches the duelist carefully and possibly regards him as the biggest threat on the crew, combatively speaking.

Batool appears to be completely oblivious to Sani's indiscretion. The display case wasn't alarmed or locked, and the cyborg was too focused on Tarek to notice any improprieties. You all proceed down a short hallway and into a large storage area full of crates and boxes, with Batool trailing behind. You see several workers milling around and tending to various tasks: opening cargo, moving crates via grav lifts, checking inventory, etc. Most of the workers are tattooed and/or cybernetically enhanced. In truth, they look more like hardened criminals than warehouse staff or antiquarians. This doesn't surprise any of you; Khadija is known to recruit from the local street gangs on Coriolis.

You ascend a flight of stairs and enter another hallway. Walking through the hall, you pass by several doors for offices and additional storage rooms. One room has an open door, and inside you glimpse a group of five men relaxing around a table and playing a game of Tarneeb. A pile of birr sits at the table's center. There is a haze of hookah smoke in the air, and each of the men is clearly armed. From behind their cards they shoot less-than-friendly glances in your directions as you pass.

Finally, you reach an arched door with a curtained entrance. From the other side of the curtain, you hear Dabari lyre music lightly playing and can smell the odor of frankincense burning. Batool walks ahead and pulls aside this curtain for you, as well.

In Coriolis terms, Khadija's office is swanky, to say the least. The entire room is wide and open, with high vaulted ceilings, tapestry-covered walls, and tile floors drowning in expensive handwoven rugs from a dozen different systems. The chamber is furnished with low coffee tables, ottomans, sofas full of tasseled throw pillows, and potted plants adorned with exotic flowers. Across from the entryway, there is a lovely balcony overlooking the Souk Alesh, though instead of seeing a sea of warehouses, you find yourselves overlooking the vast green jungles of Kua. You hear the distant sounds of wind susurating through canopies and the calls of alien bird life. Sunlight appears to illuminate the room. The occasional flicker in the scenery’s holographic matrix, however, betrays the fact that it's just an illusory vista projected to make customers feel more comfortable. Two more armed men are in the room, each equipped with what you believe are Vulcan pistols and dura blades. One is seated, and the other is standing by the entrance as you walk in. A third man is sitting in the corner. Next to the third man is an azuk - a biosculpted combat beast popularly sold in the biotech bazaars of the Algolan meat district. The creature is roughly comparable in size to the Asian tigers of Al-Ardha (old Earth), with similarly tiger-like eyes, claws, teeth, and tail. But while feline in form, the azuk has shimmering scales instead of fur; they glisten with a sheen not unlike gasoline.

The azuk is relaxing on the floor with its head on its fore paws. The beast's ears perk up as you enter the room. It watches you all for a brief moment before its attention goes back to napping. The man next to the pet azuk is holding a chain connected to a collar around its neck.

All of these are familiar sights to your crew. Batool motions for you all to take seats.

Brahim hears these comments in the discussion

"Sometimes it is active malice. Somebody decided to make a few birr by selling a nicely counterfeit piece of technology that could look like an artifact." "We should be prepared for everything and have contingency plans." Sa'id

"Now, it would be ideal if you can avoid or outmaneuver my brother's men." ""In addition to the planetary survey, you'll find some data about said artifact. Several detailed scans were sent to my father, who in turn sent them to me and Khalim." Khadija

and he scans the tabula listing the results of multiple spectroscopic tests and chemical composition analyses
then Brahim becomes distracted by the intellectual challenge of creating a convincing fake artifact.

Farouk

You pay a visit to your contact, Mahmoud Khodr. He's a khabara broker - an information and contract dealer that operates within the Souk Alesh. As such, he's not located very far from Khadija's shop. You take a quick detour down a few side streets and into the local hookah bar from which Mahmoud tends to do his business.

The bar is called "HAZE". It's a small hole-in-the-wall kind of place patroned by a number of the shadier ne'er-do-wells that frequent the free trader markets. On the inside, the business is dimly lit and dingy; a thick layer of hookah smoke fills the air. A number of individuals sit in corners, relaxing on throw pillows, sipping coffee or alcohol, and sucking on the tips of hookah hoses. Your contact sits in the back of the place.

Mahmoud is a small, slim man. Standing up, the top of his head only reaches your chin. He is fairly non-descript in appearance: pencil-thin mustache, short hair, and eyebrows that merge together at the bridge of his nose. He is sitting at a low table with his back to the wall, facing the entrance of the bar. Mahmoud is dressed in a comfortable djellaba, slippers, and a bright red fez resting at a rakish tilt on his head. He seems to be diligently working on his tabula when you arrive.

The khabara broker looks up at you when you approach his table. He places the end of a hookah hose in his mouth; the flavored tobacco in the shisha bowl smolders as he sucks in air. Smoke wafts out of his nose lazily as he watches you.

"Peace be upon you, Farouk bin Khalid. How can this humble broker be of service?"

Mahmoud raises an eyebrow when he hears mention of the acid planet of Jina, but he knows not to ask questions.

"That is not difficult. I can get you the information. If you are in a hurry, I will transmit it to your com link, but it won't take long." He readies his tabula to get working. "But if you want sensitive information, something that will require a spider, well... that may take a little longer."

Brahim will definitely purchase a piece of stonework to cannibalize.

As Zahra suggested, you all meet back at the ship within two hours of the lunch with Khadija.

The Riyad is docked at the Neoptra Spaceport - the largest of the four commercial spaceports in Coriolis. Located in the Ring section of Coriolis and just below the Spice Plaza, each entrance to the spaceport has a security checkpoint and customs station. As you've done many times before, you briefly wait in line to get scanned by sensors. Customs officers with Vulcan rifles and armanite weave ask you to hand over any weapons that you might possess and request to see your permits for those weapons. Your tags or transactors are then checked in order to confirm your identity, ship registration, and travel plans. Once through the checkpoint, you are given back your weapons. You then proceed to a lift or escalator to descend into the spaceport.For newcomers to Coriolis, the Neoptra Spaceport is the first impression one gets about the station. The main terminal is an expansive, stadium-sized open room with shining floors of white Kuan marble, walls with beautiful bas-reliefs, and rows of sturdy pillars ascending a hundred feet to the ceiling. Intermixed with the spaceport's sleek and modernized decor are less refined areas of armanite bulkheads and riveted plating. You walk passed small cantinas, shops, and market stalls catering to the newly arrived ship crews at the port; a sort of miniature version of the larger plazas. Above you are a large number of crescent-shaped balconies and mezzanines that follow the arch of the station's outer hull. These balconies make up the spaceports different levels, and many of them are connected to private docking facilities for those rich enough to afford them.

At this time of the day, the spaceport is bustling. New ships have arrived, others are departing, and things are frenetic. There is an energy in the air that's not unlike the Spice Plaza. Stevedore crews are offloading their ships, moving cargo with grav lifts, and restocking supplies. Passengers hurriedly rush to catch their courier vessel before it leaves port. Priests representing the Church of the Icons are blessing ships in the name of the Traveler, in return for a small donation. Security guards escort a merchant and his alien livestock to a quarantine area for disease testing. A free trader argues loudly with a customs officer over import fees. Announcements blare constantly in both Zeni and Kuan. Despite how large the port is, it still manages to be crowded with people and activity.

Once you make your way through the main terminal, you enter a maze of corridors that leads you away from the public docking area and to the smaller commercial docking bays. It's here in one of these bays that you see your ship, The Riyad, waiting patiently where you left it. The Riyad is a Class III "Scarab" light freighter. As such, it's small enough to dock inside one of the internal docking bays rather than attached to the station's Ring externally. Compared to other Class III freighters, the Scarab model is very compact and space efficient, which, in addition to its precision thruster system, makes it fast and maneuverable, as well as easy to dock in tight spaces. The ship's copper colored hull, twin accelerator cannons, and clear-domed topside arboretum are perhaps the vessel's most notable visual features. The Riyad's four landing struts give it the appearance of a giant, four-legged mechanical beast.

The ship has finished being serviced and is fully stocked for another round of trips.

[quote="CESN"]I do not know how to make Brahim's character sheet public on the GM site, however it is available on the Sheet that I set up and shared with the group.

Brahim favors the Deckhand.

Yes, a corner of the first level cargo hold would work nicely. You could also do work in either of the level 3 engine rooms with the grav projectors.