I should feel bad about breaking the elevator at Bar None, but I don't. It was a stupid elevator. And I didn't break it to the point where it wouldn't work, I just cracked a button a tiny bit.

Apparently, all I had to do was scan the coaster against this black panel that had a sensor, which was unmarked by the way and just looked like a black panel on the wall. There was no signage whatsoever. So yeah, I pushed for floor 31 several times before I switched from finger to fist.

Luckily, I had @bitchfrog to stop me from being a further idiot. She politely moaned her disapproval, shouldered me away, took my precious coaster, and tapped it on the secret black panel that only humans know about. When it beeped, she tapped the broken button, raised her eyebrow at me in a very superior way, and gave me back my coaster.

bitchfrog: "Are you really going to sell me?"

kittyboy: "Not right this minute. I might need you to help me with more elevators. But when the time comes ... yeah, I think we'll have to."

She seemed resigned to this, but I appreciated her verbalizing her continued nervousness. It wasn't without a lot of discussion in our hours of preparation for the mission that we threw out other scenarios. But, in truth, if we believed people were being shipped off to be zombified, the best way to find the location was to get shipped there. None of us liked it.

bitchfrog: "I shouldn't have eaten the cookie."

kittyboy: "It's not too late to back out. I won't be offended. I don't like it either. I figured our Vanquishing would be more of the bang bang type."

bitchfrog: "No. This is what I signed up for. I wanted to be a medic with more field experience. You get what you ask for."

astrowave: "And then some, if you ask me. But don't mind me. I'm just here to look intimidating."

kittyboy: "You always look intimidating. I mean, most of this mission you could probably just play asteroids on your hud."

@astrowave paused just long enough for me to laugh.

kittyboy: "Are you blasting asteroids right now?"

astrowave: "Not right now. A lot to see here on Psyche. Besides, I have to be on the lookout. Details matter. I'm not just a walking bomb you know."

kittyboy: "Noted. And good! I need someone to help keep us all alive."

----------------------------------------

Sometimes I wonder if when I meet people, their immediate reaction is to want to kill me. I mean, as a Wavepilot, that was pretty much my day-to-day experience. It's just that, in that case, they wanted to kill me because I was an enemy pilot. It had nothing to do with me as a person.

I asked myself that because as soon as I saw @diamonddocker I wanted to kill him. I didn't want to just kill him. I wanted to shoot him in some not so interesting places, followed by more interesting places. I didn't want to torture him. Torture is cruel by definition. I wanted him to realize he was going to die first.

Actually, I take that back. I wanted to shoot him in the head, as quickly and efficiently as possible, to be done with it. Every moment of him breathing made me want to bite him on the foot. I wanted cold, hard, quick death.

First off, he dressed like someone who knew that they were both attractive and had money. Black mustache, casual v-neck spaceshirt that showed just a little chest hair, spaceflops for shoes, and the stupid smirk you would expect on someone who needed to be punched his whole adult life but never was.

His voice was similar to mine, and that really pissed me off.

But the worst part was his ocular lens.

It was the fucking coolest ocular lens I had ever seen. It attached to the side of his head, in a sleek slim design that formed around his face and then made a little glass ring around his left eye. Every so often the glass would go black, an odd blinking sensation.

I wanted it soooo badly. I was so transfixed on his ocular lens, that I missed the first part of our discussion entirely.

"... and so as I was saying," @diamonddocker was saying, "that's why we need to lobby so hard for import taxes on finished goods. What rate were you paying on your paper and dirt shipments?"

"What brand is that?" I asked instead, pointing rudely at his eye.

I could tell @bitchfrog was about to lose her shit. Who knows what I had said before? Had I said anything? Was I just sitting there like an idiot? Under normal circumstances, I could see her jumping right in, answering the questions, slapping me on the shoulder to snap me out of it.

But she had to be a servant or a prisoner, or both, right now. It was driving her mad.

@diamonddocker jerked his head at my question, but then answered and smiled proudly, pointing at his unit ... the ocular lens. "This is an ILuViewer590. Technically, it's a prototype, but I know the CEO, @bolywipper. I did a few favors for him in exchange. That's how this business works you know. It's not just about the qcoins." He gestured at @bitchfrog with his head, his eye blinking erratically at her and at me. "You know what I mean?"

Ugh, just let me shoot him!

"Well, that's why I'm here," I answered. "My paper's not worth the dirt it was grown on." I thought I was being clever, but aloud it sounded like I was implying my paper was a rip off. That was fine I guess. I could run with it. Sometimes my mind did things on purpose before I could catch up. I was sure I'd figure it out.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"Taxes rising, costs of ingredients rising, it's just not where the money is anymore." I still had some of my Dragon Tree Spritzer, so I sipped it and tried to sound totally casual about human trafficking while trying not to vomit. "I want to ... diversify," I said, waving my hands casually, in the hinting general direction of @bitchfrog.

I set my drink down. @diamonddocker was nodding at me approvingly. Instead of going on, I paused.

That was the one thing that I learned from another Vanquisher. Stop talking. Pause and listen. You see! You didn't think I would, but I listened to @horus's advice. I joined the Dominion chat with all the other Vanquishers, and I met an angry person named @echocrow who told me to shut the fuck up. I talk a lot, so it's not like I was upset. I practically begged him to lose his shit with all my blabbering. But he told me to shut up in the most instructive way.

"Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck up right now! Now! Shut up! Shut the fuck up right now! You need to learn that the best way to get information is to shut the fuck up. Make them talk. Shut the fuck up!"

I tried @echocrow's advice on him, but he was silent.

@diamonddocker was a totally different animal. He wanted to talk. I knew he wanted to talk. So I sat silently. @echocrow would have been amazed.

He pointed out his windows where he had several ships visibly docked, similarly gold like mine. Another reason to hate him. "As you can see, I've managed to keep my profits up, despite the economic hardships we face - not just here on Psyche but across the Beltway. It helps to be connected. And I assure you, that's where the real value is. Connections."

I stayed quiet and nodded at him, all pleasant and buddy buddy.

"You're lucky you found me," he continued. "My intel says this is your first time on Ojo. You should savor all it has to offer. Bar None has more than hot things to play with than just potatoes." He moved over to a beverage station and retrieved another glass of whatever he had. Probably potato brandy. "But let's start with a drink, shall we?"

I don't drink. Certain drinks I can handle, but others make me kind of sick to my stomach. I learned this the hard way, and yes, I could have it adjusted, but I felt more authentic with some dietary restrictions. In this case, I was in an awkward position where I really needed to say yes to him, and I really couldn't insult potatoes or I'd be arrested.

The effects wouldn't be horrible. I wouldn't need my medic, which was damn good because that would totally blow our cover. But I couldn't believe the negative effects of the alcohol would go unnoticed either.

"Absolutely," I lied. "I've been trying to sample as many papus tater drinks I could stomach." I hoped papus tater meant something to someone. I just kind of made it up. Sounded like potatoes in Latin to me. I checked. I was way off. The Extronet says Latin for potatoes is solanum tuberosum.

In my head I pictured myself as a wizard, casting the magical spell, solanum tuberosum, and seeing thousands of potatoes fall from the sky.

@diamonddocker brought me a drink despite the stupid words coming out of my mouth. We clinked glasses, and I downed the most putrid dirty beverage of filth and body sweat that I've ever tasted in my life, or in the life of my origin @henryhound.

This was horrible.

But human trafficking made me want to vomit a million times more, so I sat there, and I took it. I took that atrocious wastewater like a champion. I swallowed that drink like it was the best thing I'd ever tasted. It was probably the most expensive by light years.

"Now this," I even said. "This is living, my friend."

I did do that. I did say my friend. I was that guy now. I hated myself.

"I'm eager to learn more about these hot potatoes," I continued, dying with another sip of rotten potato juice. "But to business."

I was certain I would die from a tuberism. My stomach agreed. This was a drink I definitely couldn't handle. I'd have about ten minutes before I would need a soundproof bathroom.

"I came into a bit of a ... disagreement, with another gentleman, about what I meant when I said my products were dirty." I flicked an elbow toward @bitchfrog. "He simply wouldn't be appeased, so I had to put him down. Temporarily of course. But as recompense, I did steal off with this souvenir."

I didn't hide anything at that point and looked straight at my medic, @bitchfrog, playing the perfect part, while the puke rose in our throats and we desperately wanted to message each other. We just couldn't use our chat for fear of detection.

"As a result, I have a problem I need to ... dispose of. But I'm not about to do it without turning a profit. So, it presented me with a unique opportunity." I beamed at @diamonddocker. "I want to test the market. See if I like the market. Diversify."

I was wrong about ten minutes before needing a bathroom.

@diamonddocker sat quietly for a moment, leaning back, stroking his mustache (better that than his chest hair), and took another long drink while he looked me over with is gorgeous ocular lens.

"I know a guy."

He said it so simply.

I know a guy. Yeah. I wouldn't be here if I didn't know that you know a guy.

I know a guy. Like human trafficking is as simple and straightforward as needing a circuit replaced on your starship's command console.

A stupid story formed in my head. A man walks into a bar. Got a dinged panel in the cockpit near the power display. Been bothering me for weeks, he says.

I know a guy, replies the bartender.

I hated @diamonddocker, but I tried not to show it. I nodded, mirroring his relaxed and casual demeanor. Even @astrowave was starting to twitch visibly. Not sure if anyone else noticed that, but I sure did.

"Send me the details," I said, simple nod. "And in return? Favor for favor? Cheek for cheek? Potato for potato?"

@diamonddocker did what I figured a prick would do. He started to eye my medic and my weapons expert. Technically, I had only run around the ship screaming, This is mine, touching all the ship parts. I didn't think I'd need to lay claim to the people on my crew.

"Do you have more than this one?" He was talking about @bitchfrog and wanted to know if I had more humans.

"Unfortunately, it is a one-time problem," I answered.

"Perhaps I can be the solution," @diamonddocker suggested.

"You are, but not in that way," I said. "As I said, I want to test the market. If I like it, I could cut you in on a percentage as a finder's fee."

He knew this. @diamonddocker wouldn't be fooled by a silly former Wavepilot masquerading as a spy. I knew I was clever, super witty, but I didn't like my odds negotiating with this guy. But I knew what he would think is a good deal, and what he would then demand on top of that.

At that point, I really needed to get out of their as fast as possible. I farted, happy that it was just a fart. I was going to poop myself from all the disgusting potato alcohol that was destroying my digestive system.

"45% as the finder's fee," @diamonddocker stated. "And a future favor. No questions asked, but nothing that would require death and reanimation."

45% was steep. But my character was supposed to be a wealthy merchant in dirt and paper. If he was only partially serious about this new venture, he might not care. I had to balance my personal health and embarrassment against what my merchant would say. I wish my merchant persona dealt in toilet paper, I absently thought.

"41% and the favor as you described." I stood up as I said it, trying to squeeze my butt cheeks together, trying not to look frantic, and trying not to make eye contact with @bitchfrog or @astrowave.

@diamonddocker stood with me, and paused again, before reaching his hand out. "Done. I'll connect you."

I grabbed his hand just as the shit started flowing down my pants.

Stupid potato alcohol!!!

I noticed the smell reach @diamonddocker's nose as he started to suspect what was happening. "No takebacks," I said.

I won't go into what happened after that. @astrowave and @bitchfrog are not allowed to fill you in. They are insufferable, and they are not one bit as funny as they think they are.

I'll just say this. I left a trail behind me. But I did it on purpose so I could find my way back using bio scanners. It was all part of a bigger plan.

I added another private mission to my log, Steal @diamonddocker's Ocular Lens and Kill Him. I would follow my skid mark. I would come back here, steal the ocular lens, show it to him while cheering gleefully in his face, and then shoot him dead while insulting potatoes.