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Anathea was a predominantly human planet, where living in excess was the norm. It was full of the incredibly wealthy, or those who wanted to live like the wealthy, whom spent more than they owned. Some would say that the latter category made up the majority of Anathea's population, and that everything only looked luxurious and grand. While in truth, the facade hid a lot of grotesque problems, exploited by the various criminal organizations, who might be said to rule this planet. They fed upon this desperation for wealth, with gambling and loans, and by catering to the many exotic and rare needs of this people, whose expensive tastes were always shifting from one pervertedly overindulgent fad to the next.
The truly wealthy were few and far between, and the real upper class were the ones who turned this gluttenous culture into a very profitable business. The crime lords were among the most powerful in the galaxy. Their pockets were so deep they could make just about anything happen. Many, like the Uzek family, had a hand in intergalactic politics, able to turn the vote from billions of light years away. Anyone who wasn't an ignorant yuppie knew the that it was corruption which really controlled Anathea, and not the prestiguous upper class, as one would think at first glance.
It was with the Uzek family that the mercenary Drow, Rayla, had business with that night. The morning was exceedingly early, but down in the Pits of the mega-city, there was never any sunlight anyway, and so it was difficult to tell whether it was night or day. Down in the Pits, it was always dark, and damp, and the smell of refuse and sewage was distinct in the air. Cities of this size always had a disgusting underbelly like this one, so the unpleasant sights and sounds would not be unfamiliar.
The bustle of the commercial world never ceased, but in the wee hours before dawn, the activity at the Bay was minimal. It was a docking station, cargo holding area and trade center all in one, where the prices were far from regulated, and the cargo far from supervised. An attractive hub for anyone wanting to dabble in illegal trade and transport, since the only authority in this spot was the Uzek family.
Rayla's instructions would lead her to dock on the quiet, cargo-based area of the hulking station, where she had a whole pier for herself. There were no other ships docked there at this time, and it was unnaturally quiet, almost as if someone had scared everyone else away. When she landed, three men in dark suits would be standing to greet her, though they didn't exactly appear friendly. Beside them stood a large crate, drilled with holes. The fattest one of the three would approach her when she exited the ship. "You are Rayla Zicori," he stated more than asked, and cast a disdainful look at her cheap ship. "This thing will hold all the way to the Bore? It looks like it will fall apart at the seams any moment. Well, I guess, it would be no matter, in that case," he said, musing to himself. "Anyway. The package," he said, jutting his thumb back at the big crate. "You don't open it and you don't think about it. Keep the holes uncovered, and do not at any time store it in an oxygen-deprived space. Load'er up," he said, and one of the other suits climbed into the small truck, and began to load it onto her ship. "Half now, half when you get there," he said, and retrieved a plastic card from his pocket. The numerations on it indicated that it was worth almost as much as half her ship.
The truly wealthy were few and far between, and the real upper class were the ones who turned this gluttenous culture into a very profitable business. The crime lords were among the most powerful in the galaxy. Their pockets were so deep they could make just about anything happen. Many, like the Uzek family, had a hand in intergalactic politics, able to turn the vote from billions of light years away. Anyone who wasn't an ignorant yuppie knew the that it was corruption which really controlled Anathea, and not the prestiguous upper class, as one would think at first glance.
It was with the Uzek family that the mercenary Drow, Rayla, had business with that night. The morning was exceedingly early, but down in the Pits of the mega-city, there was never any sunlight anyway, and so it was difficult to tell whether it was night or day. Down in the Pits, it was always dark, and damp, and the smell of refuse and sewage was distinct in the air. Cities of this size always had a disgusting underbelly like this one, so the unpleasant sights and sounds would not be unfamiliar.
The bustle of the commercial world never ceased, but in the wee hours before dawn, the activity at the Bay was minimal. It was a docking station, cargo holding area and trade center all in one, where the prices were far from regulated, and the cargo far from supervised. An attractive hub for anyone wanting to dabble in illegal trade and transport, since the only authority in this spot was the Uzek family.
Rayla's instructions would lead her to dock on the quiet, cargo-based area of the hulking station, where she had a whole pier for herself. There were no other ships docked there at this time, and it was unnaturally quiet, almost as if someone had scared everyone else away. When she landed, three men in dark suits would be standing to greet her, though they didn't exactly appear friendly. Beside them stood a large crate, drilled with holes. The fattest one of the three would approach her when she exited the ship. "You are Rayla Zicori," he stated more than asked, and cast a disdainful look at her cheap ship. "This thing will hold all the way to the Bore? It looks like it will fall apart at the seams any moment. Well, I guess, it would be no matter, in that case," he said, musing to himself. "Anyway. The package," he said, jutting his thumb back at the big crate. "You don't open it and you don't think about it. Keep the holes uncovered, and do not at any time store it in an oxygen-deprived space. Load'er up," he said, and one of the other suits climbed into the small truck, and began to load it onto her ship. "Half now, half when you get there," he said, and retrieved a plastic card from his pocket. The numerations on it indicated that it was worth almost as much as half her ship.
