Landing Ramp
"Erm... Okay, if that's what you want..." The short creature responded sheepishly, before grasping Genesculptor's hand, and guiding him deeper into the complex manually. She glanced backwards to made sure the others could keep pace, every once and a while, but there was always a distinct feeling that Maeota didn't want to stay in any one place for too long...
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Port Hope Substructure
♫Landing Station - Land of Living Skies♫
The trip was a disorientating one. Despite looking like a singular, solid object on the outside, Port Hope was a total mess inside. Decades of constant revisions had completely mutated it into a mashed myriad of distinct sectors, ranging from clean durandium corridors likely installed by the viridian array, to worryingly slender wire-and-scrap pannel bridges carrying them across small microcosms of shanty houses and broken piping.
It felt like they were climbing upwards, but as any half-decent spacer would know, they were actually going
inwards, towards the center of gravity created by the rotating space colony. The docking ring had towerblock-sized bridges connecting to the central cylinder, which was mostly hollow on the inside, and truly behemoth in scale.
City streets almost like that of a surface colony sprawled about them, except with the distinctly warped perspective of these features being placed along the inside surface of a giant pipe. Above, a bright orange tube shone at the center, casting a dim, musky, permanent early-morning glow onto the countless buildings both above and below.
There were many other spacers around of all shapes and sizes, but there was a certain reserved quality to many of the citizens, bearing little but grey drab voidsuits or coveralls. Many were automata or cyborgs with militarized attachments. Despite a spacer's normally welcoming nature, it's not like mercenaries, smugglers and pirates were the kind to advertise their allegiances so freely.
Maeota carried on through these areas briskly, avoiding wide open areas, even the lingering fried algae smell of the food market. Instead, she chose to take them straight as a rocket, through back alleys and infrastructure tunnels. There were junkers in there with just as much restraint, but the Type Two didn't seem quite so afraid of them.
Eventually they got to a bar, or at least something aesthetically made to imitate one, whilst the exterior was really just a weird disjointed ball of random wires and man-sized lumpy plastic modules, a bit like the backsides of old CRT televisions.
No line outside, but there was a door man... Well, door
tank. Nine foot tall, with a torso like a car chassis and cumbersome, powerful arms and legs. Chipped red paint, and a pair of miniguns making up the unfittingly cute 'bunny ears' to it's tiny mono-camera head.
It needed neither words nor a face to explain what it was thinking;
'You meatbags must be lost.'