12. Hakan #2
It's massive — a cavern several stories high with walkways and platforms at different levels, all connected by ramps and lifts.
Vendors crowd every available space, selling everything imaginable.
The cacophony of sounds is overwhelming — dozens of voices, the clatter of goods being moved, the hum of various technologies.
Daisy's hand tightens on my arm. "There are so many different species," she whispers.
"Crozan attracts beings from across the Outer Fringe," I tell her. "It's one of the few truly neutral spaceports left."
I navigate us through the crowd, heading toward the cafe in the center of the marketplace, where Barzella conducts her business.
The cafe is easy to spot — it sits on a raised platform, with tables scattered around a central bar. And behind that bar, impossible to miss, is Barzella herself.
She's well over six feet tall, with purple skin, bright orange hair pulled back in an elaborate braid, and orange eyes that are currently fixed on me.
"Hakan," she says as we approach, her voice carrying over the marketplace noise. "Been a while since you graced my establishment."
"Barzella." I incline my head respectfully. “I’m here for supplies."
Her eyes slide to Daisy, and I see interest spark there. "And who's this lovely creature?"
“Someone under my protection," I say, the words sounding more territorial than I intended.
Daisy's hand tightens on my arm. “You can call me Daisy,” she says.
Barzella is studying Daisy with undisguised curiosity. "A long way from home, aren’t we?”
“Home is where the heart is," Daisy replies, with a cheerfulness that almost makes me smile.
Barzella laughs. "I like you." She turns her attention back to me. "What kind of supplies do you need?"
"Clothing, food, medical supplies, and parts for a Virdathian transport."
Her eyebrows rise. "You're flying Virdathian now? What happened to that nice shuttle you had?"
"Destroyed in an attack on my farm."
"Ah. Do I need to bother asking who…?”
“No, you don’t.”
She drums her fingers on the bar, her expression thoughtful. “It’s getting worse out here. They’re getting bolder. Supplies won't be cheap. Virdathian parts especially — I don't keep much stock since most beings prefer not to advertise that they're flying stolen transport vessels."
"I can pay," I assure her.
"In what? If you no longer have a farm, then you don't have crops to trade."
I'd anticipated this. I step to the hover cart and pick up one of the weapons I took from the Virdathians. It's a high-quality plasma pistol, military grade.
Barzella's eyes light up. "Now that's interesting. How many of these do you have?"
"Enough to cover what I need."
"Let me see."
I hand her my inventory list and she examines it with the practiced eye. After a moment, she nods.
"This'll do. I can give you two thousand credits.”
“Three thousand.”
“Two thousand five hundred.”
"Throw in some toys for two boys and you have a deal."
Her expression softens — just slightly, but enough for me to notice. "Didn't know you had kids."
"Recently rescued," I say simply.
She studies me for a long moment, then nods. "Deal. The warehouse will have the parts in a hour. For the rest, I can either have them collected for you or you can browse the marketplace."
"We'll browse," I say. “Daisy needs clothing, and I want her to choose the clothes herself.
“See you in an hour.”
I guide Daisy away from the cafe, back into the marketplace proper, the hover cart following.
"She's intense," Daisy murmurs once we're out of earshot.
"Cordallans are warriors," I explain. "Their entire culture is built around combat prowess and personal honor. But Barzella is fair, and her word is good. We can trust her."
We make our way through the stalls, and I can see Daisy trying to process everything — the sheer variety of goods, the different species, the casual mixing of cultures and technologies that would be impossible anywhere but a place like Crozan.
I spot a vendor selling clothing and steer us in that direction. The Devorran running the stall looks up as we approach, her skin shifting from brown to a lighter shade that I recognize as a welcoming gesture.
"Looking for something specific?" she asks.
"Clothing for her," I gesture to Daisy. "Something durable and practical."
The Devorran's eyes assess Daisy with professional interest. “Not sure I’ve seen your kind before.” She gestures for Daisy to step forward, then produces a small device that projects a beam of light over Daisy's body, taking measurements without actually touching her.
The Devorran disappears into the back of the stall and returns with an armful of clothing. "These should all fit. Try this one first."
Daisy holds up a simple tunic and pants in a soft creamy leather material.
“You can try them on in the back,” the Devorran says, pointing.
Daisy disappears into the back of the stall and I wait, trying not to imagine her stripping out of that leaf garment, trying not to remember the feel of her soft skin under my hands —
When she emerges, I forget how to breathe.
The clothing fits her perfectly, highlighting her generous curves while allowing freedom of movement. The creamy fabric highlights the brightness of her green eyes and the richness of her hair.
"It fits well," she says uncertainly, smoothing the fabric over her hips.
"You look beautiful," I say, my voice rougher than I intended.
She flushes, pleased.
The Devorran, clearly sensing a sale, brings out more options — tunics in different colors, pants in various styles, a jacket that looks warm and practical, undergarments that make Daisy blush even harder.
"We'll take all of it," I decide.
"Hakan," Daisy protests. "That's too much —"
"It's necessary," I counter. "You can't keep wearing leaves."
While the Devorran tallies everything up. Daisy changes into one of the new outfits — a blue tunic and black pants that make her look both practical and lovely — and we set the bundle on the hover cart.
As we're leaving the stall, Daisy spots a vendor selling children's items.
The vendor is an elderly Javardian, his pale skin lined with age, his eyes bright and welcoming. The display includes toys, games, and various items designed for young beings.
"Looking for something for your younglings?" they ask kindly.
"Two boys," I tell them. "About nine years old."
The Javardian nods knowingly. “Old enough to appreciate something that challenges the mind?”
“Very much so.”
He shows us several options — puzzle boxes that shift and change, strategy games, books with stories from different cultures. I select a few items, including a beautifully crafted game set that reminds me of Joressa but with different rules.
"They'll love these," Daisy says as we gather up our purchases.
“I hope so.”
She takes my free hand in hers. ”You’re a good father," she says softly.
The words hit me square in the chest. "I'm trying to be."
"You are," she insists.
We continue through the marketplace hand in hand, picking up a few more essentials — a proper medkit, concentrated food rations, basic hygiene supplies — then head back to Barzella's cafe.
"Everything you need is waiting at the warehouse,” she says, then hands me a bag. “Also, some extras for your boys."
I see candy and treats in the bag and feel a surge of gratitude. Barzella might be a shrewd businesswoman, but she has a soft spot for children.
"Thank you," I say sincerely.
She waves off my gratitude. Her eyes shift to Daisy again. "You take care of this big lug, okay? And tell the others that Barzella says hi.”
Immediately, I go on high alert. Barzella knows about the other human females?
Daisy’s eyes widen — she’s realized the same. “I’m sorry,” she says, her hand tensing in mine. “What did you say?”