Main - Chapter 8: Dianreti III

Mercer wants to get any information he can about different warlords. Especially The Skorn Clan, the Varunans, and the Red Hawk Pirates. What do they think of each other? What are their hierarchies? And more specifically, what is life like for the average clan member, and what do they do with other captaves and surrendered people?
He wants to get info about what may happen if he arms them and who may be the most accepting, if the CV is going to shift the power even a little he wants to try to not give it to the most brutal clan.
He will also ping the Regular Passenger and the Artwork going to Altaria, as well as the Tools and Medical Supplies going to Panipat II , and make sure Hank sees them If we think we will have the space a little extra money will be good.

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Douklan is happy to accompany Mercer, but he is mostly there to observe the master at work (and provide backup in case things go awry); he has little Connect and no Talk.

Trade Era 1235, Day 175. 09:14 UTC
Solaris, in orbit of Dianreti III
The Solaris left the Celestial Voyager's bays and began its descent toward Dianreti III’s shimmering oceans. Douklan Paravides sat at the helm, his hands loose on the controls, guiding the craft with the practiced ease of an ex-navy pilot who knew these systems inside out. The shuttle's small cockpit hummed with systems checks as the thick atmosphere of the planet embraced them, heat blooming in red streaks across the viewport.

Beside him, Mercer Furio leaned back in the co-pilot’s seat, arms folded. Once a criminal, he'd carved out a new life as an honest and free trader, but some habits were hard to leave behind. His mind never stopped calculating, reading the angles.

"Anything unusual on the approach?" Mercer asked without looking up, his tone low and conversational.

Douklan shook his head, keeping one hand steady on the flight stick. "No. Drones are holding their patterns. Turrets look cold. We’re clear so long as we don’t get cute."

"Good. Let’s keep it that way." Mercer shifted forward, peering at the artificial island of Airthorne, the starport now rising into view. It was a compact fortress of steel and concrete, floating in the middle of a vast ocean like a dormant leviathan. Heavy defense turrets, rows of drones, and layers of sensor arrays made one thing clear: no starship or boat arrived here without permission.

The Solaris glided over the ocean’s surface, casting a sharp shadow across the rolling waves, and approached Landing Pad 4. Douklan fired the shuttle’s braking thrusters, and with a hiss of hydraulics, the Solaris touched down smoothly. The craft settled, engines winding down to a low hum. Soon enough the shuttle doors slid open, revealing the blastproof expanse of Airthorne’s wind-swept landing pads. The air smelled of salt and grease, carried on a humid breeze that rustled the edges of their flight jackets. Around them, cargo crews and customs agents scurried between ships, loading crates under the watchful eyes of armed guards. Drones hovered, watching overhead and buzzing like wasps.

Mercer scanned the surroundings, his sharp eyes picking out symbols and uniforms—not just Stellar Express personnel but a handful of off-worlders and clan emissaries mingling at the periphery. He adjusted his coat, making sure the small sidearm at his hip was hidden but easily accessible. You could never be too careful in a place like this.

They descended a short ramp toward the starport’s inner gates, heading for the canteen—if it could be called that. In these outposts, the real trade happened not on official manifests but over drinks and quiet conversations. Moreover, Mercer needed information. Before anyone on the Celestial Voyager started handing out weapons, he had to know who might use them, how they’d use them, and, most importantly, whether any of these bastards were worse than the pirates they escaped from on Zyronis.

Trade Era 1235, Day 175. 10:54 UTC
The Dijkstra's Rest, Canteen in Airthorne city, Dianreti III
The canteen was a dim, crowded space tucked into a side building near the cargo terminals. The lighting flickered faintly, and the tables were scarred with burns, knife scratches, and the occasional carved symbol—marks left by travelers and mercenaries with stories to tell. The air smelled of stale beer and frying oil, and low conversations mixed with the clink of glasses and the hum of a battered jukebox.

Douklan found them a table near the back, where they could keep their backs to the wall. Mercer sat with a view of the entrance and began sizing up the room. A few other traders hunched over their drinks, and a couple of clan representatives—likely scouts or junior members—sat in a corner, nursing thin mugs of ale and speaking in low, clipped tones.

Mercer ordered drinks—just enough to blend in—and waited, listening. Slowly, pieces of conversation drifted their way.

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They overheard snippets from the clan scouts at the corner table. One of them, a wiry young man with sunburned skin and a ragged shirt, spoke in a hushed but animated voice. "The Skorn Clan—they don’t take prisoners unless they’re useful. Fishermen, smiths, whatever. Anyone else? They’re put down quick. Their leader, Elder Sorda Skorn, she doesn’t mess around. She keeps her own tight—makes sure nobody challenges her authority."

His companion, an older man with a patchy beard, grunted. "Yeah, but she’s ruthless. Won’t hesitate to burn a boat or even a whole village if it gets in her way."

Mercer exchanged a glance with Douklan. Skorn Clan—efficient, but brutal. Dangerous, but predictable. They might be useful allies, if carefully managed.

Another voice caught Mercer’s attention—a trader complaining to the bartender about the Varunans. "Those water rats care more about fish and storms than anything else. They’re isolationists, mostly. Don’t care much for the surface clans, but when they come ashore, they trade well enough—long as you don’t cross ‘em. Their leader, Aya Varu, she’s supposed to be reasonable. Bit paranoid, but fair. They take captives sometimes, but they put ‘em to work on the boats. Not much torture—just hard labor."

Mercer nodded slowly. The Varunans sounded like a safer bet—harsh but not needlessly cruel. That might go a long way in this world.

But it was the mention of the Red Hawk Pirates that made Mercer lean in closer. One of the scouts spit on the floor, disgust clear in his voice. "They’re the worst of the lot. The Hawks don’t keep captives—they either ransom you or throw you overboard. And Captain Drex Avaro? He doesn’t care who he kills, long as he gets paid. Don’t matter if it’s clan folk, off-worlders, or his own men. All the same to him."

Mercer grimaced. The Red Hawks were chaos incarnate, motivated only by greed and cruelty. Arming them would be suicide.

Last but not least, Mercer hears a snippet of conversation from two nearby traders about Durros Gavik, the grizzled Stellar Express employee and Starport Overseer.

"...Old Durros Gavik?" one of them muttered with a snort. "That bastard's running the whole show here like it's his personal empire. You think the warlords call the shots? Not without Gavik knowing about it first."

"Yeah," the other added, lowering his voice, though not low enough to escape Mercer’s sharp ears. "Nothing moves in or out of Airthorne without his say-so. And if you’re stupid enough to try a landing off the books without talking with him first? His drones will swat you outta the sky before you can break atmo."

Mercer exchanged a glance with Douklan, feigning disinterest but making sure to catch every word.

"Used to run with a merc crew back in the day, didn’t he?"

"Yeah. One of those old heavy hitter outfits—the ones that did more wetwork than patrols. Some say Gavik took this post to retire easy, but I ain’t buying it. Guy’s sharp as ever. He’s got a nose for leverage, and he loves tech—Elder's stuff, especially. Heard he’ll pay through the nose for anything advanced. He likes it, keeps it. If not, he flips it into something useful."

Durros Gavik, Starport Overseer, sounded like the kind of man Mercer could work with. He knew where all the bodies were buried.

Mercer sends Hank a message

Looks like what you suspected is right. Selling to a warlord isn't worth getting in trouble. But I can probably sell some info about how one of the clans might be able to buy some weapons before the others. If so, I advise the Varunas, not cruel and they are more isolationist.

Of course we could talk to Durros Gavik, He's the Starport Overseer. Would make sense to go through the channels that are already here. We may even be able to let the Varunas pay us to ensure Durros Gavik gets the weapons into their hands.

Will move forward if you want to try to make some extra money this way. If not, you have your info.

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Mercer would be willing to sell the information of who is processing the shipment of weapons any any other info that may help a clan but some before the others. He would sell to The Varunans.

Not worth a ton, but some more creds for the ship.
Other than that it's selling time.

Mercer, can't really profit from the information he's obtained so far. This is something that "everybody knows" among the clans, although off-worlders are generally not aware of what is really happening on the planet.

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Trading....

Merchant’s group: Hank (Trade 2, Specialist 1) + Mercer (Connect 0, Charisma modifier 2)
Group's Expertise: 4
Friction: 5

Market modifiers: Low tech -2, Medical -1, Postech +1, Military +2

Selling to Stellar Express...
Grav plates
Types: Postech, Astronautic, Rare
Available to sell: 3 tons
Base price: 25,000 credits/ton
Sells for: Roll 4d6h3 to let us know

Data storage drives
Types: Postech, Compact
Available to sell: 0.2 tons
Base price: 50,000 credits/ton
Sells for: Roll 4d6h3 to let us know

Stunner rifles
Types: Postech, Military
Available to sell: 41 tons
Base price: 10,000 credits/ton
Sells for: Roll 4d6h3+2 to let us know

Vibroswords
Types: Postech, Military
Available to sell: 28 tons
Base price: 10,000 credits/ton
Sells for: Roll 4d6h3+2 to let us know

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Best deals - Trade Goods (buying from SE)
Drugs, Raw Materials
Types: Agricultural, Biotech, Bulky
Base (galatic) price: 200 credits/ton
Total avaliable: 100 tons
Minimum lot and increments: 10 tons
Purchase price: 200 credits/ton
Special: Restricted or somehow harder to buy/sell in some planets (but not here)

Viridian root extract
Types: Rare, Medical
Base (galatic) price: 50,000 credits/ton
Total avaliable: 8 tons
Minimum lot and increments: 1 ton
Purchase price: 50,000 credits/ton

If you wanna reroll to buy something else with increased friction, just let me know