Diary Entry

The air smells of burnt circuits and stale synth-coffee—another day, another docking bay. Today’s haul was… interesting. A crate of bioluminescent fungi from Xylos, another of those ridiculous sonic sculptures from the Cygnus system, and a handful of hyper-fabric remnants from a defunct textile colony. The fungi are a guaranteed sale, always a hit with the gourmet crowd on Kepler-186f. But the rest… well, that’s where the game begins. I’ve got these sculptures priced at 800 credits each, but I know they’ll sit. The demand for sonic art is fickle, like a nebula’s glow. It’s the time that’s the killer. How much time will they suck up, taking valuable storage in my hold, being a constant reminder that I'm not making credits? Maybe I’ll try dumping them on some low-brow market planet for half price. It pains me, but it's better than nothing. The hyper-fabric remnants, on the other hand, could be gold. Or worthless. Such is life.

The Kepler-186f run went off without a hitch, the fungi practically sold themselves. Made a tidy profit. But those blasted sonic sculptures are mocking me. I even tried playing one to a gruff docking bay mechanic, hoping to spark some interest. He just looked at me like I’d grown a second head. They are objectively beautiful and intricate, these sculptures. Worth at least a thousand, if not more. A master craftsman spent months on them! But worth is not the same as saleable. I’ve started to ponder something that my old man used to talk about, the “Unseen Cargo.” He meant the time and labor invested, the stories behind the wares. People don't buy the hours of labor, the countless failures and reworkings. They buy the end product, and the worth they ascribe to it. My old man was a philosophical bugger. I’m not sure I appreciated it then. I certainly do now. I think I'm going to try to negotiate some sort of deal. Maybe trade them for some pre-polished hull plating at half of their theoretical value and a handful of spice. I'm sure there is someone willing to trade labor for art.

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The deal went through. Hull plating, a spice blend, and a handful of spare fuel cells. It’s barely a quarter of what the sonic sculptures are "worth." But they're gone. Off my manifest. Someone else’s problem. The plating will be useful and the fuel cells saved a few credits. I can actually make use of the space again. The spices - well, I can sell them or use them to make my grub more bearable. The time they were gathering dust in my cargo bay, the lost profit, the space they took up… that's worth more to me then the initial cost. It's an invisible tax those sculptures levied. Today, I think I understand my Dad a bit better. The 'Unseen Cargo' goes both ways. It’s not just the time that goes into making something, it's the time it takes to sell it at the right price. If something’s “worth” a thousand credits but never sells, is it really worth a thousand? Or is it worth the half I got for it, the value it has to be moved and sold, and the space I freed up? The Unseen Cargo isn't a physical thing, but it weighs heavier than any crate of neutronium. It's all about the flow, about keeping the goods moving, and making connections. The real currency isn't always credits. Today, at least, that is how things went.

Managed to offload the hyper-fabric for a decent price. A tailor on a moon in the Altera system was ecstatic, said the colors were exactly what their demanding clientele were after. He even threw in a voucher for some alteration services, which will save me a headache whenever I rip my suit. It seems even things that seem worthless can find a place in the grand market of the cosmos. I just need to play the game, and let the invisible clock dictate my deals.