The Peddler Part I

A man in a tailored charcoal suit steps onto the deck, his dark wavy hair catching the salt spray. His sharp features and high cheekbones give him an air of sophistication. He adjusts his cufflinks - silver pieces etched with intertwining serpents.

"I need passage to Olrog from Caspia." His voice carries the polish of someone used to business dealings. "What's your price, Captain?"

Shiro leans against the helm. "Not taking passengers."

"Come now." He flashes a disarming smile. "Surely we can negotiate? The other captains have all left port."

"No."

The man's smile fades. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small data tablet. "That's unfortunate. Because according to maritime records, your vessel lacks proper licensing for passenger transport." His fingers dance across the screen. "Operating without documentation carries steep penalties these days."

Shiro's fingers tighten on the wheel.

"Of course," he continues, tucking the tablet away, "such oversights tend to go unreported between friends. I'd be happy to keep this between us - provided you reconsider my request for passage."

"You're making a mistake."

"The only mistake would be letting pride interfere with good business sense. What do you say, Captain?" His hand strays to his tie, adjusting the intricate knot. "Shall we discuss terms?"

"...Get on."

The man blinks. "Just like that?"

"Before I change my mind."

He steps aboard, his polished shoes clicking against the deck.

"How much for passage?" He reaches for his wallet. "Standard rates these days are-"

"No price."

His hand freezes mid-motion. "I don't understand."

"You heard me."

"Everyone has a price." He pulls out a stack of credits. "Name it."

Shiro's eyes remain fixed on the waves ahead. "Keep your money."

The man sets a sleek metal briefcase on the deck. "Since you won't take payment, perhaps we can arrange a trade instead." The latches click open with practiced precision. "The name's Skimmer. I happen to have some premium Gulls. Perfect for a captain like yourself."

He pulls out several cybernetic limbs, their metal surfaces catching the harsh light. "This model's got integrated navigation systems. And this beauty?" He holds up an arm with exposed circuitry. "Underwater propulsion capabilities. For your vessel."

Shiro doesn't even glance at the merchandise.

"These are top-of-the-line Hecton pieces. I'm offering them at a fraction of market value." The man arranges the Gulls in a display. "You won't find better quality anywhere in-"

Friend struts over. She pecks at one of the metallic fingers, her dark eyes glinting with interest.

"Hey!" Skimmer waves his arms. "These are expensive equipment!"

Friend puffs up her feathers. She lets out an angry squawk and charges at the Skimmer, pecking furiously at his ankles.

"Ow! Call off your bird!" He stumbles backward, nearly dropping one of the Gulls.

Friend continues her assault, her waddle pronounced as she chases him around the deck. Her tail fans out in agitation while she launches another attack on his shins.

Skimmer backs away from Friend, rubbing his ankle. His polished demeanor cracks for a moment as he glares at the chicken, but the flash of irritation quickly smooths into another practiced smile.

"No matter about the Gulls." He snaps the briefcase shut. "I've got bigger prospects waiting in Olrog anyway."

Shiro's eyes drift from the horizon to study Skimmer. "Prospects?"

"The kind of prospect that'll set me up for life. Got a client willing to pay premium for a special delivery. The numbers they're throwing around?" He lets out a low whistle. "Could cover my RespirX maintenance for decades."

His fingers drum against the briefcase. "It’s the kind of money that makes people disappear. Start fresh somewhere the corps can't reach."

"Big money means big risks."

"Please." Skimmer waves his hand dismissively. "I'm not some amateur. Every route, every detail - I plan it all." He pulls out his data tablet, fingers sliding across the screen. "See these weather patterns? Clear skies predicted for the next week. No storms within a thousand miles of our course."

"Weather's unpredictable out here."

"Not for me." He zooms in on a digital map, tracing their planned route. "Triple-checked the meteorological data myself. Cross-referenced historical patterns, current atmospheric readings, everything. The path to Olrog is clean as whistle."

He tucks the tablet away, straightening his suit jacket. "Trust me, Captain - the only rough waters we'll face are the usual chemical swells. Nothing your ship can't handle."

"You sound confident."

"When you've been in this business as long as I have, you learn to eliminate variables. No surprises, no unexpected visitors..." He glances at Friend, who has moved on to investigating his shoelaces. "Well, except maybe for your feathered friend here."

A sudden deep crack echoes through the hull, like ice splitting beneath their feet. The sound reverberates through the metal, making Friend flutter her wings in agitation.

"You hear that?" Skimmer presses his ear to the deck.

Shiro nods once, her fingers still steady on the wheel.

Another crack ripples through the ship's bones, closer this time. Skimmer's hand tightens around his briefcase.

The sound soon fades away, leaving only the whisper of waves against the hull.

"Must have been my imagination," Skimmer mutters, forcing a smile. "This sea has a way of playing tricks on the mind, doesn't it?"

The chicken clucks in response, as if agreeing with him.