A funny thing happened on the way to the bauhaus

I probably should have known that walking from the peripheral landing pads into the center of Eavesdown docks wouldn't be entirely uneventful. It wasn't like I had a hovering, illuminated, sign over my head that read "This woman is a combat veteran and can probably hand you your ass." No. Even with the Fifty I usually had strapped to my hip, or the forearm long hunk of steel in a scabbard, I was still barely a hundred forty seven centimeters tall and maybe forty one kilos, soaking wet, I wasn't intimidating. At least to look at. From a distance, anyway.

A lot of high population worlds showed a quite some variety and broad stratification in their local cultures. On Persephone, it might have been a little exaggerated. Though no more so than on parts of Londinium and Sinhon. Eavesdown was one of the places where it showed through. Catering more to tramp freighters, independent transports, and no questions asked charters, than to liners and scheduled traders, the docks were a microcosm of 'Verse culture. You could find some of the best people, and the worst people, the 'Verse had to offer between the landing pads, loading bays, market stalls, and people living in left over shipping containers.

The docks were a huge contrast to the luxuries the local planetary nobility surrounded itself with, yet I was as at-home here as I would have been in some Noble's chateau. More so, perhaps.

Feeling comfortable in an environment also, often, includes knowing what to expect from said environment and being prepared to deal with it appropriately. In this case, it was someone who appeared to notice 'Small in stature' rather than 'well armed.'

"Wha' 'ave we got here, mates?" coming from the man who'd been following me for half a block was the first indication something was slightly amiss. I slowed my pace, half turning my head towards the voice more to let him know I'd noticed than because I wasn't aware of his presence. A bit under two meters, reasonably muscled under a slightly portly frame, dressed for the climate and circumstance. He carried himself like he was used to people getting out of his way, reinforced by his two doubou in tow.

"Donno' Raich. Li'l lady looks lost." from one of his partners, a skinny middle aged man who looked like he'd been on the losing end of a few too many scraps between the containers. Neither of them appeared armed with anything more dangerous than a knife, though their third, a short, scared looking kid, had a bulge under his belt that indicated a medium sized hand gun carried in the 'shoot yourself in the plums' position.

"Lost? No, why? Are you offering directions?" I replied cheerfully, stopping and turning slightly to keep the Fifty on the far side of the three kusemono. The leader was probably expecting me to react with fear or, at least, hesitation. For most people, it would have been a prudent reaction. In any situation like this, you had to quickly assess your options. Run. Fight. Talk your way out. Or some combination of the three. In this case, I'd already assessed my options and the likely outcome of the encounter.

Plainly, "amused smartass" was not the reaction he expected. He probably thought the gun on my hip, if he'd even seen it, was there for show rather than as something I was likely to actually use. A mistake that, hopefully, for him at least, would not be fatal.

"Ain't got no directions, li'l lady. Unless ya've got a mind to be followin' 'em, if ya get my meanin'," he said with an unpleasant chuckle, the kid staying back as he and his friend got a bit closer. I could see the few people on this little stretch of ally fading back, not wanting to get involved if it got unpleasant.

"Oh, I follow. Though can't say I'm a big fan of taking that sort of direction. So, if you boys will excuse me?" I replied cheerfully, half turning as if to walk off, knowing there were several ways it could go now and expecting the worst.

There are times I wish I was wrong about these things.

I could hear them start their rush, even if the big guy hadn't muttered an excited "Git 'er!" to his doubou. Clumsy. Loud. Street thugs.

As the big guy closed, I side stepped and rotated quickly to drive my knuckles into his sternum, quickly rotating back and clear as he collapsed to the sound of cracking bone. His onrushing partner served to block the line of sight of the kid with his gun as I lashed out with a boot into his knee, sending him sprawling.

"Son. Draw that gun and I'll end you here. Verstanden?"

He hesitated a moment, then drew his hand from his pants where the piece had slipped and made it look like he was fondling himself. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good move. Now, collect your friends and go on home. Don't even have to tell anyone they got beat by a girl my size." I said cheerfully as his two friends writhed on the ground, one with a cracked sternum, the other probably unable to walk for several hours. The kid nodded, then stepped forward as I stepped away.

I half expected one of them to grab the kid's gun, but they only cast angry looks my way as I disappeared around the corner into the labyrinthine twists of the Downport's cargo-module shantytown and the kid helped them stagger back the way they'd come.

It'd be an amusing anecdote for Duncan if we manged to catch up before I left Persephone.