Guybrush and Wally walked away from Boss Hog. The shipyards were situated right up against the town, so before they'd barely taken a dozen steps they were on the streets.
For Wally, who'd never been here before, it was a profoundly strange experience. He almost felt like he'd been transported back to Earth, with the sky painted black and the stars shining brightly. The streets of Exus-1 were by no means deserted, with several space traders passing them even as they left the shipyards. But the mere fact of Exus-1's existence was puzzling. Most space traders lived in their ships. A house, even one built in a secure colony like Exus-1, was infinitely less secure. And if trouble arose you couldn't fly away in one. Why go to all this trouble to recreate an outmoded dwelling? Nostalgic feelings might play a part in it, but if you felt that way why not just head back to Earth?
Still, Wally didn't know many space old-timers; maybe they got a little weird in their old age.
They passed two people sitting on the pavement, who were clothed in stained black robes. One held out a rusting metal bowl. Guybrush shrugged, and dropped several credits into the bowl. The man pulled it back and muttered darkly in their direction as they left.
Wally looked at Guybrush. "Beggars?"
"People fall on hard times," said Guybrush. "Exus-1 is more hospitable than most."
He explained more about Exus-1. Though there were several mines operating on Ganymede, most with an operating staff of less than ten, none were near Exus-1. So that wasn't the reason for the colony. No, Exus-1 was probably the outer solar system's first retirement home.
"Most space traders and pirates came out here because they wanted to leave Earth for good. So when it comes time to hang up the boots, so to speak, some head back, but most want to stay right here. But old-timers are bit strange. They get nostalgic. They want to live in two-storey houses on a nice suburban street, even though they hated those kinds of places when they were on Earth. So that's what Exus-1 became."
"Is everyone here retired?" asked Wally.
"Oh, no," said Guybrush. "For a start, with all the retired pirates and traders here you've got perhaps the largest concentration of intelligence in the region. A lot of active traders come here just to plug into what's going on. Then you've got your service guys: the people who run the bars, build the houses, man the barriers, all that sort of thing."
They were approaching the Hurling Dutchman now. It was a low, wide building lit brightly in glowing green neon. Amongst all the residental buildings it stood out like a sore thumb. But the air was remarkably quiet. All they could hear were mechanical sounds: repair noises drifting down from the shipyards; the slam of doors; the hissing of the air emissions systems. They hadn't yet heard a single human voice.
As they reached the fake wood porch in front of the Hurling Dutchman, Guybrush stopped Wally with a hand on his shoulder. "Just a few things before we go in," he said. "Most of the people here are fairly old, and they tend to be protective of their possessions and their secrecy. Don't talk to anybody unless they talk to you; don't draw attention to yourself; and never make eye contact with anyone."
"They sound like a fun bunch of guys," said Wally.
Guybrush looked at him critically. "Hmm. They don't really trust young 'uns. You couldn't make yourself look a litle older, could you?"
"What?"
"Never mind," said Guybrush. "I'm sure you'll do fine." He opened the door and they stepped inside.