A Note to The Reader
Hello again, friend. How have you been these past few days? Has life been keeping you busy? However your days have been, I hope you've found a few quiet moments for yourself. This story is always here, a gentle place to return to.
So, let's get comfortable, shall we? Find your coziest spot, settle in, and let's see what opportunity awaits Solo in the glistening Suci Bazaar.
---
The connector elevator doors slid open with a soft, pneumatic hiss, and the full sensory force of the Suci Bazaar's Central Commerce Ring struck Solo like a physical wave.
The view was nothing short of epic. He stood at the edge of a vast, circular concourse that stretched beyond his line of sight, its ceiling a dizzying height overhead, arching into a dome that projected a shimmering, artificial nebula. Levels upon levels of walkways, shops, stalls, and cantinas stacked upwards, each one teeming with life. Beings of every conceivable shape, size, and composition moved in a flowing, chaotic river. The air was thick with a symphony of countless languages, the hum of machinery, the sizzle of alien street food, and the calls of merchants hawking wares from a thousand worlds. Holographic signs flickered and pulsed in a dozen scripts, and the sheer scale and density of it all was overwhelming.
Solo stood frozen for a moment, his reflective helmet capturing the impossible panorama. He had seen vastness from the cockpit of the Kintsugi, but this was a different kind of infinity. An infinity of people.
He was utterly lost.
Stepping to the side to avoid the flow of traffic, he activated his comms, patching into the frequency Kujel had provided.
A moment later, the hologram of the bubbly Gulugulu appeared, fizzing with cheerful energy. "Solo! Hello! Are you lost already? It happens to everyone!"
"I… yes," Solo admitted, his voice calm but flat through the filter. "I didn't know where to start."
Limbel's calmer, resonant hum joined the channel. "The Commerce Ring can be disorienting. It is designed to overwhelm the senses to encourage commerce."
"The job boards!" Kujel chimed in, his form shifting to an excited orange. "You need to find a job board! The best ones are always in the nearest galactic bar or tavern! That is where the real postings are! Not the big, official ones. The good jobs are on the small screens by the drinks!"
Limbel rumbled in agreement. "It is sound advice. Establishments that cater to spacers and couriers are the nexus of informal opportunity."
"Good luck!" Kujel added with an enthusiastic jiggle. "Find a good one!"
He took a breath, steeling himself, and stepped forward, merging with the flowing, alien crowd.
---
Solo navigated the river of beings, his white, weathered suit and reflective helmet making him just one more strange shape in a sea of strangeness. The concourse was a sensory overload of sights, sounds, and smells. He passed by numerous drinking establishments, each catering to a different clientele.
There was The Chlorophyll Lounge, its entrance a curtain of deep green vines, emitting a humid, earthy scent for its photosynthetic patrons. Further on, The Silicon Shard had a facade of rough-hewn crystal, and the low, grinding chatter from within was unmistakably Vandunian. He saw a place called The Ammonia Bath, its airlock doors hissing as a being with sleek, silvery skin entered, and he quickly moved on from the acrid scent that escaped.
As he walked, he noticed a few glances. A tall, elegant being with iridescent feathers tilted its head, then nodded appreciatively. A hulking, chitinous creature with multiple arms clacked its mandibles in what his suit's rudimentary translator interpreted as a compliment.
"Stylish headwear," a merchant stacking crates remarked as he passed.
"A classic look. Very retro," chirped a small, furry creature from a stall selling glowing trinkets.
They saw the suit. They admired its aesthetic. But not a single one looked at him and saw a human. To them, he was just another traveler, perhaps from some species that favored sealed environments. The profound truth of his existence, that he was the last of his kind walking among billions who had forgotten them, was his alone to carry.
He moved on, the anonymity both a relief and a lonely weight. He needed a place to start, somewhere unassuming. Then he saw it, nestled between a bustling equipment rental and a vendor selling what looked like live, wriggling snacks on sticks: Kejora Space Bar.
The sign was simple, unlit, and slightly faded. The entrance was an open archway leading into a warmly lit, smoky interior. It looked humble. It looked like a place for those just starting out, or those who preferred their business to be quiet. It looked like his kind of place.
Stepping through the archway, the loud noise of the bazaar morphed into a steady rumble of conversation and clinking glasses. He had found his starting point.
Solo stepped through the archway of the Kejora Space Bar. The shift from the overwhelming sensory chaos of the concourse to the bar's interior was stark. The air here was thick with the mingled scents of lubricant, ozone, and various, unidentifiable but not unpleasant, species-compatible beverages. The lighting was dim and warm, casting deep shadows in the corners of the unpretentious space. The low, steady hum of conversation and the clink of glasses was a welcome relief.
From behind a long, worn counter made of a dark, scarred material, a figure looked up. It was the proprietor, a being with four sturdy, multi-jointed arms that moved with a calm, practiced efficiency as they wiped a glass. Their skin had a tough, chitinous quality, and their face was a complex arrangement of sensory clusters that all seemed to focus on Solo.
A low, buzzing voice, translated smoothly by NOMAD, cut through the ambient noise. "Welcome. Find a seat."
Solo approached the counter, the floor soft and slightly sticky under his boots. "Thank you," he said, his own voice filtered and calm.
The owner gave a slight, acknowledging nod with their main torso. "You're new. The suit is distinctive."
"It's all I have," Solo replied simply. He paused, then asked, "What should I call you?"
The being let out a soft, rattling sound that might have been a laugh. "My species does not use individual names. 'Owner' is fine. It is what I am here."
"I am Solo."
"Solo," the Owner repeated, the word sounding factual in their buzzed tone. "A good name for a spacer. What brings you to my bar?"
"I'm looking for work. As a courier. I've just started."
The Owner gestured with one of their lower arms toward a corner of the bar where a simple, physical screen was mounted on the wall, scrolling with lines of text. "The job board. The postings there are from other patrons. Usually more reliable than the public boards. Fewer… complications."
Solo nodded. "Thank you. I'll take a look."
As he began to turn, the Owner spoke again. "A drink? First one is customary for a new face stating their business."
Solo hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Just water, please. I don't have many credits to spare."
The Owner's rattling laugh was a little louder this time. "Water is free for a courier just starting out. Can't have you dehydrated before your first job." One of their arms deftly filled a simple, clean tumbler with water and slid it across the counter.
Solo picked it up, bringing it to the dedicated port on his helmet. There was a soft hiss-click as it sealed, and he took a sip. The water was cool and clean. "Thank you," he said, a note of genuine surprise in his filtered voice. "I… didn't know the galaxy could be so welcoming."
The Owner simply nodded, already turning to attend to another patron. "The galaxy is what you find in it, Solo. Now, go find your work."
Glass in hand, Solo turned towards the job board, a newfound warmth settling in his chest that had nothing to do with the ship's life support. He had found his starting point, and it had offered him a free glass of water. It was a better beginning than he had dared to hope for.
Solo finished his water, the cool liquid a simple comfort. He placed the empty tumbler back on the counter with a nod of thanks to the Owner, who acknowledged it with a slight tilt of their head.
He turned and walked towards the job board in the corner. It was a simple, physical screen, its surface slightly smudged, scrolling with a list of available work. His eyes scanned the postings.
Most were not for him. Wanted: Extermination of Scuttlers in Cargo Bay 7-G. He was no pest controller. Security Detail for High-Value Artifact Transport. That required a team, and weaponry he did not possess. Bounty: 50,000 Credits for the Capture of Gorlok the Destroyer. He moved on. It seemed today was not his day.
He was about to turn away, resigned to trying another bar, when a new presence filled the space beside him. A subtle shift in the air, a scent of clean fur and ozone.
He turned.
Standing there was a tall, lithe woman. Her form was distinctly feline, covered in a coat of sleek, grey fur marked with darker, rosette-like spots. A long, graceful tail twitched slowly behind her, its tip adorned with a tuft of pure white fur. She was pulling a small data-slate from a belt pouch, her movements fluid and precise. As she reached up to post the new job to the board, Solo's eyes, behind his reflective visor, were drawn to her hands, or rather, her paws. They were elegant, digitigrade, and covered in the same soft fur, but it was the claws, currently sheathed, that hinted at a latent, deadly power.
The new posting flashed onto the board directly in front of him.
COURIER NEEDED.
Discreet & Timely.
Single Parcel, High Sensitivity.
Inquire Within.
Before Solo could even process the opportunity, the feline woman turned her head. Her eyes, sharp and intelligent, the color of amber, locked directly onto the reflective surface of his helmet. A pair of black, triangular ears twitched forward, focusing on him with an unnerving intensity.
The world outside the Kejora Space Bar seemed to fall away. In that single, silent moment, Solo felt truly seen.