The Indifference hummed with contentment, the newly installed stabiliser doing its job flawlessly. Zog leaned back in the captain’s chair, cradling a mug of LubriCoffee as the stars streaked past the ship’s front viewport. Blip lay on his side, gnawing on a bolt he’d snagged from the pile of leftovers in the engine room, while Clorita sipped her coffee in silence, her gaze fixed on the glowing star map on the console.
“Smoothest lift-off we’ve had yet,” Zog said, breaking the calm. “Not bad for a ship held together with glue and sarcasm.”
Clorita rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. “Let’s see if it holds together long enough to get us somewhere useful.”
“How delightfully optimistic”, IND-E commented. “Shall I plot a course to your next near-death experience?”
Zog smirked. “I was thinking we should let SPAZE decide again. It hasn’t steered us wrong yet.”
Zog leaned forward and tapped the star map. “Alright, SPAZE. What’s the next closest planet with, uh, supplies?”
SPAZE’s cheerful voice filled the cockpit: “Scanning… scanning… ah! I’ve located a promising destination for you: Nyxara-8, known for its thriving trade in rare and exotic goods.”
“Trade?” Clorita raised an eyebrow. “That sounds suspiciously vague.”
“Nyxara-8 boasts a vibrant market culture, bustling with independent entrepreneurs. Many describe it as an unregulated paradise,” SPAZE added.
“Unregulated paradise?” Zog frowned. “That sounds like a euphemism for ‘crime-ridden hellhole.’”
“Correct, Captain! Nyxara-8 has one of the highest petty theft rates in the quadrant and an impressive array of illegal activities. Shall I lock it in?”
Zog sighed, setting his mug down. “We’re going to get robbed the second we land.”
“Then we don’t take anything worth stealing,” Clorita said confidently. “And we keep a low profile.”
Blip barked excitedly. “I love low profiles! What’s a low profile?”
“A concept you’ll undoubtedly ruin, Blip. Course set for Nyxara-8. Estimated time to arrival: six hours. LubriCoffee, anyone?” IND-E said.
As the Indifference approached Nyxara-8, the planet loomed large on the viewscreen. Its surface was shrouded in perpetual twilight, and its atmosphere was thick with a faint greenish haze. From orbit, the planet sparkled like a broken mirror, its cities teeming with flickering neon lights and sprawling slums. Ships of all shapes and sizes buzzed in and out of its atmosphere, their movements erratic and unregulated.
“Looks inviting,” Zog muttered, his circuits buzzing with apprehension.
“Inviting if you’re armed to the teeth,” Clorita replied, strapping on her tool belt. “What exactly are we looking for here?”
“Anything we can trade or sell,” Zog said. “We’ll just poke around and see what we find.”
Blip barked, wagging his tail. “Do they have snacks?”
Clorita shot him a glare. “If they do, they’re probably poisoned.”
The Indifference touched down on a landing pad made of mismatched metal plates, their edges scorched and jagged. The dock, surrounded by towering buildings covered in flickering signs advertising everything from “Luxury Organ Transplants” to “Genuine Intergalactic Artifacts” (complete with suspicious quotation marks), was dark and gloomy. Shadowy figures darted between the stalls, their faces obscured by masks and hoods.
As the ramp lowered, Zog glanced back at the others. “Remember, low profile. Don’t trust anyone.”
Blip barked happily. “Got it—low profile. Don’t trust. What about snacks?”
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“Especially don’t trust snacks,” Clorita said, already scanning the area for potential threats.
They stepped off the ship, immediately feeling the weight of a hundred hidden eyes watching them.
The streets of Nyxara-8 were a chaotic maze of narrow alleys and makeshift stalls. Vendors shouted over each other, their wares ranging from exotic spices and glowing trinkets to more illicit goods like counterfeit currency and weaponry.
Zog stopped at a stall displaying shiny mechanical parts. “Think we could use any of this?”
The vendor, a wiry alien with four eyes and a mouthful of sharp teeth, grinned. “Depends. Are you looking for something functional or just flashy?”
Clorita inspected a part that looked suspiciously like a stabiliser but was held together with tape. “Neither, apparently.”
Blip sniffed at a pile of glowing orbs. “What are these?”
“Memory cores,” the vendor replied. “Authentic memories from high-profile targets. Great for blackmail.”
Blip barked, wagging his tail. “I like this place!”
Clorita groaned. “This place is a nightmare.”
Zog felt a tug at his belt as they moved deeper into the market. He whirled around just in time to see a small, cloaked figure darting away with his credex.
“Hey!” Zog shouted, taking off after the thief.
Blip barked excitedly, bounding ahead. “I got this!”
The chase wound through the crowded alleys, Blip nipping at the thief’s heels while Zog stumbled over discarded junk. Finally, the thief skidded to a halt, cornered by Clorita, who had taken a shortcut.
“Hand it over,” she said, her voice cold.
The thief hesitated before tossing the credex to the ground and disappearing into the shadows.
Zog picked it up, panting. “Well, that was fun.”
Blip wagged his tail. “Did we win?”
“We didn’t lose,” Clorita muttered, inspecting the credex. “Let’s get what we need and get out of here before this place eats us alive.”
The crew continued to navigate the chaotic market, dodging dubious merchants and shady figures. As they passed a stall filled with sleek ray guns and glowing plasma blades, Clorita stopped, her gaze narrowing.
“We should consider buying some weapons,” she said, scanning the array of arms.
Zog frowned. “Weapons? Why? We’ve made it this far without them.”
“Barely,” Clorita shot back. “If that thief had backup, we’d be down a credex and probably a ship. We need something to defend ourselves.”
Blip barked excitedly. “I vote for a laser bone!”
Clorita rolled her eyes. “Not for you. For us.”
The merchant, a hulking figure with glowing red eyes and a gravelly voice, leaned forward. “You’ve got good taste, lady. These weapons are the finest selection on Nyxara-8. Guaranteed to incinerate, vaporise, or mildly inconvenience your enemies.”
“Mildly inconvenient?” Zog repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“Options for every budget,” the merchant replied with a toothy grin.
Clorita picked up a compact ray gun and examined its sleek design. “How much for this one?”
The merchant tapped his clawed fingers on the table. “Five thousand credits.”
“Five thousand?” Clorita scoffed. “This thing’s barely functional.”
“It’s functional enough to save your hide,” the merchant said, his grin widening. “But for you, I’ll drop it to four thousand.”
“Two thousand,” Clorita countered, her tone icy.
“Three, and I’ll throw in a plasma grenade.”
Clorita considered for a moment before nodding. “Deal.”
Zog groaned. “I thought we were saving our credits for ship parts.”
Clorita handed over the credex and pocketed the ray gun. “A stabiliser won’t help us if we’re dead.”
As they turned toward the exit, Blip trotted ahead, his tail wagging. “This place is great! Look at all the shiny stuff!”
“Stay close,” Zog warned, watching the bustling crowd.
Blip darted to the side, sniffing at something on the ground. He snapped it up before anyone could stop him and wagged his tail proudly. “Found a snack!”
“Blip, no!” Clorita snapped. “You don’t eat random garbage!”
Blip tilted his head. “It tastes… fuzzy.”
Zog groaned. “That’s not good.”
Within moments, Blip began to wobble, his movements erratic. His tail wagged at an impossible speed, and his glowing eyes pulsed in rainbow colours.
“Whoa,” Blip said, his voice dragging. “I feel like… like I’m floating…”
Clorita knelt beside him, her expression sharp. “What did you eat?”
“Uh… a glowy thing. It was so… shiny,” Blip replied, swaying slightly.
Zog crouched down, examining Blip’s circuits. “He’s a robot. You can’t drug a robot.”
Clorita’s eyes narrowed as she ran a quick scan with her portable diagnostic tool. “It’s not a drug. It’s a magnetic disruptor—tiny enough to fit in a snack. Someone must’ve slipped it into the market.”
Blip barked, his voice echoing strangely. “Oh, the colours, man! The colours are singing!”
Zog frowned. “What does it do?”
“It’s creating erratic magnetic fields in his processors,” Clorita explained. “His circuits think he’s tripping on LSD.”
Zog sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Great. How do we fix it?”