Broken Glass (Glass Complex Book 1) by John Hindmarsh

proper. Here the transient spaceport population was accommodated and entertained in tiny, cramped buildings.
    While they had not yet encountered Imperial soldiers, Steg suspected they would be manning the entrances into the spaceport. He fell back into the deeper shadows at a signal from Thomas who then moved forward and entered one of the taverns. The wait seemed like hours before Thomas returned from around the rear of the tavern.
    “I spent some time talking with locals and then went on through and out the back door, just in case,” he explained as he straightened his jacket. “Just as well. While I saw no uniformed Imperials, an offworlder was interested enough to follow me. He’ll have a very sore head when he wakes. The Imperials are allowing everyone to go about the normal affairs, apparently in an attempt to demonstrate nothing is amiss on Homeworld. I caught a comment that this is not really an Imperial affair, rather a company venture. House of Aluta, of course—the visitors were wearing Alutan colors. That House is so large, they are no different, Imperial is the same as Aluta.”
    “Marius is of the House. Well, now we know. What about the spaceport itself?”
    “Well patrolled, according to the Homeworlders I spoke with, and the Imperials are checking papers very thoroughly.”
    “And the freighter?”
    “Only one Rimerian freighter is in port, and it is loaded for departure and apparently cleared. The crew are fixing a minor drive problem. That’s your ship. Thank the stars the Imperials realize it would be an act of war if they stopped and boarded a Rimerian flag carrier.”
    “So all I need do is board the freighter?”
    “A simple task.”
    ******

Chapter 5
     
    Thomas led Steg along the narrow streets, turning away from the streets where the lights were bright and the noise loud. The streets became narrower, twisting and turning and then turning again until Steg almost lost all sense of direction. Eventually Thomas stopped at a shadowed doorway and after checking the street, he knocked sharply, with a rhythmic sound. Nothing happened. The drill sergeant knocked again with a repeat of the pattern. After what seemed an age, the door was slowly opened. Although the light seeping out through the narrow gap of the open door was dim, Steg blinked in surprise.
    “Oh honorable sirs,” fluted the high voice of the Chirrix standing in the doorway. “Why do you disturb a poor and tired worker at this late hour?”
    Thomas replied in a brief burst of almost song, the words unintelligible to Steg. He realized Thomas was speaking to the Chirrix in its own language. An exchange of more unintelligible passages followed. Then, apparently satisfied, the Chirrix opened the door wide, motioned for its two visitors to enter, and quickly bolted and secured the door behind them. Its skull feathers were erect, and Steg assumed that was a sign of the strange alien’s nervousness. It conversed further with Thomas and then led them down the narrow corridor into a large work and storeroom where it switched on the overhead lights.
    “Now young lord,” the Chirrix fluted and whistled as it addressed Steg. “Seek here for your new attire. You have credit for a complete wardrobe, which I will arrange to be sent quickly to your ship. It will be on board before you, I guarantee. And you, old friend, you need a change of clothes, as well.” The alien indicated the shelves and racks of clothing that filled the storeroom.
    Intrigued, Steg moved down the rows of racks, checking and examining cloaks, jackets, trousers, shirts and further items in styles and colors ranging from the most somber to impossibly dazzling. He selected items that he thought would be appropriate for his new identity and handed them to the alien. Some he placed aside for immediate wear. When he was done, he changed into his new offworld finery and rejoined Thomas. As they departed the alien repeated his promise to deliver Steg’s new clothes