Free Drysine Legacy (The Spiral Wars Book 2) by Joel Shepherd

Romki complained as he hung on a strap in the thrumming train carriage. About him were four Phoenix marines in light armour and weapons. About them , the train was crammed with colourful barabo, plus a few tavalai, all staring at them.
    “You know, you complain a lot,” Lieutenant Tyson Dale remarked. Beside him, a barabo lady in a big green robe clutched a game bird of some kind that squawked and clucked. “Howdy,” Dale told her. The barabo blinked. “Dinner?” Looking at the bird.
    Romki rolled his eyes. “She’s a diji-do, the bird is a sacrifice, she’ll be taking it to a chan-chala in the hope it will grant her family good fortune.” Lights flashed by as the train hummed past steel grey gantries. “And instead, she ran into you.”
    “Good fortune right there, I reckon,” said Dale. He was bigger than most of the carriage’s barabo, save for a group by one door who towered over the others. Like his three marines, he wore glasses beneath his helmet, earpiece in, rifle pointed at the floor in one fist.
    “She’s a diji what?” asked Private Tong.
    “There are more than three thousand recognised religious forms on the barabo homeworld,” Romki said through gritted teeth. “Diji Ran is the third biggest, as you’d know if you read the basic material I provided for the ship-net before we arrived. They believe in fortunes and sacrifices, and they wear a figure-eight symbol around their necks.” He nodded to the woman’s necklace.
    “I was busy reading my latest Juggs & Ammo,” said Tong.
    Private Reddy leaned close, mouth open and staring at Romki like a drooling fool. “Gol-ly. You mus’ be some kinda real smart guy, huh?” Gunnery Sergeant Forrest sneezed laughter. Dale grinned. Romki fumed.
    “Now now boys,” their Lieutenant said. “Marines are taught to handle explosive materials with care.”
    The train arrived at a dark, crowded station with lots of bright overhead lights and flashing displays in various scripts. Barabo were carrying things everywhere, loads of garments, bangles, various arts and crafts, a load of wooden poles that Dale had no idea about. They hustled to get onto the train before it left, heedless of the marines’ rifles, and Dale used his armour to block one impact. When he looked about to make sure Romki was following, he found Romki had somehow edged ahead and was sliding through the chaos more easily than the heavy marines.
    Dale hustled to catch up, halfway between annoyed at the lawlessness, and reluctantly intrigued. Stations were not ships, you were allowed a lot more loose items on the former than the latter. But in human space, the rule still remained that on stations, things had to be more or less bolted down, and loose clutter was kept to a minimum. If human station inspectors saw this crazy mess, they’d have had an aneurism.
    The humans went with the flow of the crowd, as screens flashed odd messages that might be advertising, and live music thudded from just ahead. A group of barabo were busking on the platform side, mostly drums and other percussion… and damn good too, dancing and jiving with the typical barabo lack of restraint. Then they reached the upward stairs, as Gunnery Sergeant Forrest managed to get back in front of Romki with a stern look that the professor ignored. Romki wore his usual civvie pants and sleeveless vest with many pockets. He was far from a soldier, but as Dale was learning, he was also far more accustomed to this environment than anyone else on Phoenix.
    The station stairs opened onto a big steel canyon between apartment sides. Upper windows and advertising displays looked down onto a teeming market that made the stalls up on dock level look meek and organised. Products overflowed on all sides, cloth and silk, jewellery expensive and simple, exotic spices, honeys and other foods Dale couldn’t identify. A shouting barabo trader showed him a truly awesome set of stainless steel knives with curved blades. Another offered to