Page 30 of Legacy for the Alien Warrior

He moved to a nearby vendor selling various garments and selected a hooded cloak in a nondescript gray. The merchant, a four-armed Quillian, accepted his payment without comment.

“Wear this,” he told her, returning and holding out the cloak. “Keep the hood up. It will reduce unwanted attention.”

She took it, their fingers brushing briefly. “Thoughtful of you.”

“Practical,” he corrected, ignoring the pleasant sensation her touch had caused. “Shall we proceed?”

The station’s market sprawled through three interconnected domes, each housing vendors from different sectors of space. The air hummed with dozens of languages and dialects, filled with the scents of exotic foods and the sounds of haggling.

He found himself watching Kara’s reactions more than monitoring their surroundings. Her eyes widened at each new sight, her hand occasionally rising to her mouth in surprise or delight. Even with the hood shadowing her face, her wonder was evident.

“I haven’t seen anything like this since—” She stopped herself. “Well, in a very long time.”

Rory moved between them, one hand firmly in his mother’s grasp, the other occasionally reaching towards particularly colorful displays before pulling back. His disciplined restraint spoke volumes about what he must have endured.

“You may touch things if you wish,” he told the boy, dropping his voice to a gentler register. “I will compensate any merchant for damages.”

She shot him a grateful look. “That’s very generous, but he knows to be careful.”

They stopped at a produce vendor where he selected fruits that would store well on the ship, then noticed her eyeing a display of small red berries.

“Would you like some?” he asked.

“Oh, I was just looking. They remind me of strawberries from Earth.”

“Add a container of these,” he told the vendor, who quickly packaged them.

“You don’t have to?—”

“It’s nothing,” he said, uncomfortable with her gratitude. “Merely provisioning the ship.”

They continued through the market, gathering supplies. Thraxar found himself purchasing items he’d never considered before—sweeter foods, softer fabrics, a small puzzle cube that caught Rory’s attention. Each time Kara protested, he dismissed her concerns with practical justifications that sounded hollow even to his own ears.

As they ventured deeper into the market, he noticed Rory becoming increasingly agitated. The boy’s hands fluttered more frequently, and he began making a soft humming sound.

“Is something wrong?” he asked Kara.

She knelt beside her son, murmuring softly. “It’s getting to be too much for him—too many people, too many sounds and smells.”

He immediately understood. “Sensory overload. We should return to the ship.”

“I don’t want to cut your errands short,” she said, though she looked relieved at his suggestion.

Thraxar considered their location. They were closer to Wren Dox’s shop than to the docking bay. The Plumevian was not the most trustworthy merchant, but his establishment would be quieter than the market thoroughfare.

“There’s a trader nearby where I can complete my business,” he decided. “It will be less overwhelming, and then we can return directly to the ship.”

He led them down a side corridor, away from the main market flow. Rory’s humming gradually subsided as the noise and crowd thinned. He found himself slowing his pace to match the boy’s, something he couldn’t recall ever doing for another being.

Wren Dox’s shop occupied a dimly lit corner space, its entrance marked by a faded sign advertising “Rare Goods & Curiosities.” The Plumevian preferred operating in shadows, both literal and metaphorical.

“Wait here a moment,” he told Kara. “The proprietor can be… skittish with strangers.”

He entered first, scanning the cluttered space. Shelves overflowed with objects from across the galaxy—some valuable, many worthless, all with inflated prices. The air smelled of dust and something sickly sweet that he had never identified.

“Captain!” Wren Dox emerged from behind a display case, his six limbs moving in that unsettling, too-fluid way. “What an unexpected pleasure!”

“Wren,” he acknowledged coolly. “I require information about Vedeckian trafficking routes.”

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