Day: 2

Year of event: 22+ 10^(10.1395)

Notes: n/a

When Dorothy made her way back to where she'd left the fuel tank, she found a person, a Gromlind dressed as an old-school Italian mafioso to be precise, kneeled over it. He was trying, with no success, to attach the lid to the tank.

"Need a hand?" Dot asked, with an arrogant tone. " Because your friend sure does."

Beating that other guy had been a stroke of luck. Dot knew that, but she wasn't about to show her cards to whoever this new thug was.

"My apologies." The alien got up and smoothed out his vest. Dorothy couldn't help but notice that he had a pair of sunglasses sticking out of his chest pocket. "It seems I mistook you for a person of malicious intent. But I must be forgiven; after all what self-respecting citizen of the UE would stroll through the residential side of our station, during work hours at that, with an unknown weapon?"

Dorothy frowned. She was faced with two options, one of which sounded way more alluring than the other. She could either tell this prick where he should shove his worthless apology, or she could take the higher road.

"I'm a merchant you see.” Dorothy decided on the second option; the one that would get her what she wanted the fastest. “And I'm looking for clients. Although I'm afraid that my goods have just doubled in price due to popular demand."

The aliens' eyes glimmered and Dot felt shivers run down her spine. She did not like this power balance one bit, but she had no one but herself to blame. It was in situations like these that she fully understood the need for why the ETHC strongly discouraged contact with the Onshore.

"Once again, I do offer my deepest apologies. I operate with only the best intentions of this station in mind, you see. If you will allow me, I would love to put you in contact with a wealthy buyer."

Dorothy wondered how someone without a beak for a mouth could be such a smooth talker. But she kept her thoughts to herself as she extended her beat-up hand.

"D. Sanders. The D stands for don't fuck with me again. And you are?"

"And I am most pleased to make your acquaintance." The alien extended his own clawed hand.

They shook hands in silence, forming an unspoken agreement. It was by no means a proof of trust, for after what had happened no trust could be formed. But as much as Dorothy understood she wouldn't be attacked again, the alien was also fully aware that he'd lost the one chance of scamming this woman.

"Now, if you would follow me, I believe we have disturbed these poor citizens enough." The alien said.

They walked in silence for a fair few minutes. Dorothy didn't fail to notice how at least one of the Gromlind's eyes always remained fixed on the fuel tank.

She had attempted to start a conversation twice, first to remind the man of the unconscious thug left somewhere in the corridors, and another time to ask about the irregular gravity, which got worse and worse the deeper they ventured into the station.

She was dismissed both times. The Gromlind had already taken care of the first matter, and he found himself "helplessly uninformed" about the latter.

Their journey ended when they reached a large seal door, the kind that Dorothy had seen on pre-war submarines. It was almost as tall as both Dot and the alien combined, and had a circular handle in its centre.

Anyone else would have made the assumption that it led to an airlock, or directly onto an exterior docking structure. And that thought did cross Dorothy’s mind, but she remembered the 3D projections of the station that Cassie had shown her. Object 19-gamma 1002 was a monolithic structure, so unless it had some empty space, pun intended, lost somewhere in the midst of its metal guts, the chances of this alien trying to throw Dot out the airlock were minimal.

The man knocked four times on the door, once with each finger. The wheel-like handle began to turn, as if operated from the inside. The door creaked, squealed, and slid inwards with a displeased groan.

A room, the size of a small conference hall opened up before the duo. It was illuminated by a myriad of small circular lamps, scattered all around the room. Some of them were lining the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. Others were floating about in the air. Other than that, the room was surprisingly barren, making it harder to notice its lack of artificial gravity.

"I hope this won't be a problem," the Gromlind who'd been guiding Dot smiled. "I noticed how you struggled with our onboard gravity."

The second sentence, although said to Dorothy, was directed at someone in the room, if the Gromlind’s eye movements were anything to go by. Dorothy glanced behind her guide, and spotted this someone. He was an alien, of the same species as Dot’s guide. The strange thing about him was the fact that he floated mid-air above a beige Earth-Style couch.

"No, it's no issue. But I appreciate your concern." Dot told the alien beside her as she took a step forward, pushing herself into weightlessness.

She easily made her way towards the other alien. She assumed this whole display was meant to destabilize her, but she had been on 0G stations before, so this wasn’t doing much in that regard. However, this was far from what she’d imagined a black market deal would look like.

The technician quickly made her way across the room, using the lamps, which all turned out to be ornaments placed support over railings, to make her way forward. She didn’t fail to notice two large alien figures, who were previously hidden from view, close the massive door behind her. They were both covered in bony protrusions, making them look a fair bit menacing.

“Come, friend.” The person on the couch called out, noticing that his visitor had gotten distracted.

As previously established, he was also a Gromlind, although he was dressed in a similar style of clothing to what Dot was wearing. He had been reading something of a holographic tablet, which he still held in one hand, as if ready to go back to ‘real business’ any moment.

Dot smirked, trying to look confident, and crossed the final few meters between him and her. She pushed herself off the ceiling, to float at his eye level. She then folded her legs under her, as if she were sitting on the ground.

“D.Sanders. But I assume you already know that. Are you the head of business around these parts?”

Dorothy extended a hand. It was done purely out of good will. She had no desire to touch the clawy fingers of the alien before her.

The eyes of said alien sparkled in what could have resembled a smile. Although it was hard to tell if it was a smile of delight, or that of someone who’d just gotten their hands on their prey.

“The people around here call me Lozzo. You may also do so, Dee Sanders.”

He wrapped his bony hand around Dot’s and shook it.

“I see my boys have not given you the welcome you deserve.” He said.

“It’s water under the bridge.” Dot replied.

The alien looked back up in her, as if expecting a clarification. He did not get any.

“I would like to talk business now, if you don’t mind.” Dot continued. “I have some goods for sale,” she patted the fuel tank floating by her, “how much does exotic matter retail for around these parts?”

All six of Lozzo’s eyes lit up, causing a shiver to run down Dot’s spine. It was as if there was an actual star burning behind each one of his irises, and seeing it react as it did was very unsettling.

“And here I was thinking you were just some terrorists with a fancy bomb.” He whispered, intentionally loud enough for Dot to hear.

The woman frowned. Everything about this man, his subordinates, and this whole set-up looked very amateurish. Dot was starting to worry that he didn’t have the documents she needed.

“Three-two.” He called out somewhere to his left.

Dot turned her head to see who or what he was talking to, and was surprised to see a shapeless blob, about twice her size, pull away from the nearest wall and float towards her. It formed into a couch, perfectly identical to the one Lozzo was sitting on, below her.

“Boys.” Lozzo called out to the two aliens by the door.

One of them pressed some button by the doorframe, and suddenly Dot felt herself falling to the floor. Thankfully she had enough awareness to grab the fuel tank before it hit the ground.

“You have quite the strange ways to receiving clients, you know that.” The woman said, not without annoyance in her voice.

“Well, we can’t do everything your way, dear chelovek. And I believe my people have already made more than enough compromises to accommodate your kind.”

Dot waved her hand, dismissing the man. She was about to lay down her terms, but he cut her to it.

“How much do you want?” He asked, as he pulled a briefcase from within his couch.

Dorothy tried not to stare or think too much about the subtext.

Lozzo put the briefcase on his knees, or on whatever the upper-most joint in the lower limbs of his species was called, and opened it. Inside, hundreds of tiny tokens, not dissimilar to those found in a casino, greeted Dorothy.

The Gromlind looked at his visitor, then back at the case, then back up at her again.

“You don’t seem-”

“A bit all fashioned won’t y-”

They said simultaneously.

“Beg your pardon, you were saying?” Dot apologized.

“Not at all, go ahead.”

“No, no,” Dot shook her head. “I insist.” Although it was almost impossible to pick up non-verbal cues from this man, his sudden change in demeanour was still very noticeable. He had gone from a laid-back and distant persona to an involved and perhaps even nervous one. But that shift did not last.

Lozzo closed the briefcase shut, and crossed his arms over it.

“You are a funny one, Dee Human.” He spoke. “You enter the station waving your diplomatic rights of passage in everyone’s face. Then you make a scene in the docking bay. You wander off without hiring anyone to guard your clearly very expensive and very new ship; you stroll through the guts of our station like it’s nobody’s business, you cripple one of my things - but worst of all,” He paused. “You don’t even bat an eye at a million mestniie credits."

Dorothy was taken aback by these sudden accusations. But, and that was a big but, the fact that this Lozzo person didn't even suspect that she could be part of a whole separate, more advanced, creed of Humans did somewhat reassure her. The gears began slowly turning in her mind, and she quickly came to the realization that these Onshores had never come in open contact with her people, unlike those back on Earth, so they had no reason to suspect their existence, or want something from her.

"I believe you were going to say something else, but be it." Dorothy finally said. Her voice was now full of confidence. "You're right, I am a bit of an outlier. Truth be told, this is my first time setting foot in one of your stations." She gestured dismissively with her hand. "And I might have gotten a bit lost, slightly confused ... but do rest assured that I had no intentions of strolling down, as you put it, all the way to your engine room, and rewiring [The following 55 words were redacted due to their potential to incite large-scale terrorism. Cfr. Notes]”

Dorothy took pride in her ability to regurgitate random terminology in a way that someone inexperienced in her field might mistake for sensible. Truth be told, she had seen exactly one model of this station, and had absolutely no knowledge of how Onshore tech worked. However, she assumed [rightfully so] that its internal structures were not dissimilar to that of Offshore orbital stations.

The alien played with the briefcase lock, as if hesitating if he should make his offer again or not.

"There are 30 cubic meters of exotic matter in this container." Dorothy said, changing the subject to prevent the other man from thinking about her words too much. “If it were me, I’d use them to power a starship. Or a cryogenic chamber… and wake up a few centuries in the future, in a time and place where my people rule the world.”

That last sentence seemed to have sparked something in Lozzo’s eyes.

“Your people?” He asked.

“Or yours.” Dorothy shrugged. “No one can predict history.”

That statement was false, but Dot wasn’t about to go into details.

“And where would I get my hands on a cryopod that can last me centuries?” Lozzo asked with the bird equivalent of a smirk.

Dot was taken aback. She didn’t expect the Onshore to be still so far behind in terms of cryogenic tech. Her facial expression translated that disbelief.

“I see…” Lozzo ran his hand along the edge of the briefcase.

He put two and two together, and assumed that Ibris 8, the planet his guest allegedly originated from, withheld certain technologies from the UE. He tried to control his expression, as thoughts of what he could do with such power flooded his mind. He knew there was no way this woman had come here with innocent intention, but he swore by all the Galaxies that there was no scenario in which he was getting the short end of the stick. He could expand his productions lines, hire private cruisers, move his business to somewhere closer to his homeworld … He finally had the chance not only to move away from this shithole at the edge of the universe, but also the chance to stand up to this oppressive culture of universal peace, cooperation, and whatever other bullshit the United Empire promoted.

Playing hard to get, he slid his hand against the lid of the briefcase one more time. He was trying to match the distant attitude of his business partner. Yes, business partners is what they were, he decided. As a sign of good will, that he was sure the woman wouldn’t interpret as such due to her blatantly lacking education on Gromlind customs, he broke eye contact and opened the briefcase once more.

“Help yourself.” He offered again.

Dorothy looked pensively at the rows of shiny tokens. Slowly and deliberately, she reached for one close to the centre of the case. She tried to slide it out, but it caught on the token in front of it, and she ended up pulling out two. She took a moment to examine them. They both had hieroglyphs engraved on one side, and a velvety coating on the other. The two she had pulled out had their engraved sides placed against one another, explaining why they had been caught together. They were as shiny as unpolished aluminium, and when laid flat in Dot’s hand, weight roughly as much as two empty mugs.

Lozzo watched the woman examine his ancient currency with a mixture of curiosity and growing impatience. Just as he was about to haste her, she spoke up.

“I will be taking these two then, if that’s all right with you.”

All six of his eyes turned towards her.

“Did I mishear you?” He asked, and shut the briefcase closed again.

“No,” the woman shifted into a more comfortable position. “I will take these as collateral for that little incident with your ‘friend’. Here.”

She picked up the fuel tank by its side, and presented its handle to Lozzo.

“Money isn’t what I’m after.” She explained.

Lozzo scoffed. Well, in reality, he called her the equivalent of “an entitled and stupid bitch” in his native tongue, but his translation module picked it up as a scoff.

“I’m afraid there isn’t enough Silver Snow on the whole station to buy even one decilitre of exotic matter.”

Dorothy pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“No, you can keep your money and your silver snow. You see, I’m a very forgetful person…” She trailed off.

Lozzo had heard very similar words not that long ago, and he wondered for a split second if this woman was after the Faklar as well. But then he remembered that one-three hadn’t been on the market long enough for word to travel all the way to the midlands.

“When I left home, I forgot my biometric ID you see. Well, no, it started before that. When I was born, I forgot to get a 7G implant, and then I lost my vaccination dossier as soon as I got my CVVD-53 booster, and my flight permit flew out the window of my ship, …” Dorothy continued, trying to maintain a neutral face. She knew she had to focus on making this look realistic, but she couldn’t help but think about how silly this must have looked from the outside. Then she realised that the Gromlind still hadn’t said anything. “Do you get where I’m going with this?” She asked.

He twisted his wrist back and forth, trying to channel his annoyance somewhere, before giving up on his friendly façade, and shoving his claws into the couch below him. This seemed to have had some effect on the woman.

“Just how many of your essential documents have you ‘misplaced’?” He asked.

“All of them.” She answered bluntly. “I mean, I’m sure that if I search under the floorboards, I might find an insurance number, but that’s the best I’m capable of I’m afraid.”

Lozzo twisted his wrist inside the fleshy material of his seat. Had he known this information beforehand, this conversation would have been so, so, much shorter. Human illims were rare, and it was almost unheard of one who’d walk right into his den under the guise of contraband trade.

“I know what you’re thinking.” The woman continued. “So I’ll spell it out for you. My ship is registered to a certain woman, let’s call her Angie Wilson. Angie Wilson is a nice girl, with a nice house, a nice degree in textiles, and a nice pair of parents that don’t always approve of her shaving her head. Angie Wilson likes to travel, you see, so her parents got her a nice little ship to travel in. State of the art Blue Falcon; has everything our little Angie might need. But it also has a tracker, or two, or seven, maybe even more, but Angie wasn’t able to find them yet. Her parents don’t trust Angie much you see.”

Dorothy paused, glancing at the alien, and trying to pick up any body language signs.

“Little Angie never liked her name anyway, so she took one of daddie’s fuel tanks, and said she was going on a vacation.” Dot continued.

She wasn’t sure how much more of this charade she’d need to pull out her arse before the Gromlind got where she was going with this. Since he still didn’t react, in any way other than pulling his hand out of the couch, which Dot was pretty sure was another alien, the woman continued:

“So, I would appreciate if the name you’ll be putting on that new B-ID would be something other than Angie Wilson.”

After a long pause, Lozzo finally spoke:

“That can be arranged.”

He snapped his fingers once again, and the two aliens by the door began turning its circular handle to open it. Dorothy turned around to see what exactly they were doing, and when she looked back at the Gromlind, her fuel tank, as well as his briefcase had vanished.

“My right hand will keep you company for the next two hours or so. Please feel free to take a proper tour of the station, friend. And if you happen to cross Illia’s path, tell him I’ll cover any of your expenses, including ‘complementary samples’.” The alien added, and gestured rather hastily towards the exit.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you.” Dorothy lied as she got up.

Notes:

If you wish to access the redacted section above, please feel free to fill in the A-PTP (Anti and Pro terrorism propaganda) form attached below.

Due to the length of thigs report entry, any notes made by my colleagues will be appended to the next entry.

Current year: 22+e^(23.347)

Redactor signature: E.E. Shwartz