Chapter 18

  Eteren One Orbital StarbaseMottmor System, Venddral Raidezel SectorDate: Zeran 19, Year 4731

  Kmarez moved briskly through the crowded promenade of Eteren One, weaving between travelers. Several passersby cursed, throwing their hands up, or shot irritated gres as he narrowly avoided them. He countered each with a friendly smile, undeterred.

  His destination was Ynd Junk and Gems, a shop tucked away in a narrow side corridor on Level 5 of the station’s merchant center.

  The store had come highly recommended by Clyden Galre, the Resilience’s maintenance technician. Its reputation stretched far beyond Eteren One, known for recycled and refurbished parts. Yet reliability was never guaranteed, especially for specific components. The shop’s allure y in its unpredictability—its shelves always stocked, though their contents depended entirely on recent salvages.

  Much of its inventory came from a ship recycling pnt orbiting the moon of Ynd. Whispers abounded about the questionable origins of these ships—and the rumored fates of their crews.

  Ynd Junk and Gems was part of a rger chain spread across the Mottmor system, serving scavengers, traders, and opportunists alike.

  Its exterior didn’t inspire much confidence; the shop’s name was hastily scrawled onto the wall.

  Still, Kmarez wasn’t discouraged. From experience, he knew the most unassuming pces often held the best finds. He recalled countless battered trade ships limping into Calio Landing, their rough exteriors concealing surprisingly valuable components. Many times, he had traded his maintenance skills for a good deal—or even free parts.

  Today, he was only interested in paying in Credits.

  This shop, he sensed, might hold that same kind of potential.

  The musty scent of old electronics greeted him as he stepped inside, mingling with the sharp tang of scorched metal. Narrow aisles were crammed with mismatched components—a chaotic jumble where any attempt at organization had long been abandoned. Dust bnketed the higher shelves, untouched for what seemed like years. Finding anything truly valuable or specific, he realized, would demand patience.

  Behind the counter stood a Loquar, his rough bck fur showing beneath loose clothing. His sharp nose, angur chin, and still, high-backed ears gave him a rigid appearance.

  The proprietor, Nexil, hailed from Ynd, a moon orbiting Jaxus Jantara, the Uxian homeworld. Ynd was renowned for transforming discarded tech and broken ships into valuable resources. Its underworld, however, was home to factions like the Vanicktus Syndicate, whose influence stretched far beyond the Mottmor system. Despite its wless reputation, Ynd’s formal government held a pivotal role in the Mottmor Trade Union.

  Nexil’s eyes, swirling shades of white and green, tracked Kmarez. Loquar techno music pulsed softly in the background, the deep bass hinting at restrained power, a vibration that could rattle the shelves if turned up. Behind the counter, station ads and news tickers scrolled across mounted screens.

  “Good day to you, I’m Kmarez.” His eyes scanned the shelves, a brief grin fshing his fangs. Better get started, he thought, gncing at his PDA to check the time.

  The Loquar gave a slow nod. “Nexil,” he said, then paused. “Camerians are a rare sight around here,” he remarked, his monotone voice punctuated by a slow draw from his vapor device. He exhaled deliberately, releasing a cloud of vapor that drifted toward Kmarez, who shifted slightly to avoid it. Definitely new around here.

  “Not many of us come out this way, I guess,” Kmarez said, offering a faint, toothless smile. Camerians were scattered across the gaxy, so widely dispersed that he wasn’t sure what the “average” Camerian even did anymore. Calio Landing represented only a small fraction of the overall Camerian popution.

  “Just passing through, then?” Nexil said, his eyes never leaving Kmarez.

  Kmarez nodded. “Yes.”

  “Need work?” Nexil asked ftly.

  “Oh, no,” Kmarez replied quickly.

  “Too bad,” Nexil said.

  “I’m looking for parts,” Kmarez crified, gesturing toward the cluttered shelves.

  With a zy gesture toward the aisles, Nexil said, “Got plenty. What do you need?”

  Ynd Junk and Gems catered to those who knew exactly what they needed. Across the gaxy, countless species combined technologies from different worlds—more out of necessity than preference. Traders, in particur, relied on this expertise. Their ships, worn down by constant travel between systems, required frequent repairs, often with parts sourced from other factions or worlds.

  Skilled engineers were indispensable, their expertise keeping ships running smoothly and repair costs manageable. Shops like Ynd Junk and Gems served as critical lifelines, essential for sustaining trade routes and ensuring profitability. The ability to adapt, repair, and innovate made these engineers highly sought after—for good reason. Without them, traders wouldn’t survive the relentless grind of interstelr commerce.

  The Camerians, as a species, were particurly renowned for their ingenuity. Rather than inventing new technologies, they excelled at refining and combining existing ones in a manner so distinct it became recognizable as Camerian tech.

  “Ship components,” Kmarez said, pulling out his PDA and dispying a long, detailed list he had carefully compiled.

  Nexil gnced at the list. I can’t read that, he thought, his attention already shifting to a nearby screen broadcasting system news. The report detailed a new trade agreement between the Mottmor Trade Union and another star system, brokered by the Seven Worlds of Rhyus. Nexil’s brow twitched in irritation. Humans. Always meddling.

  Keeping one eye on the report, Nexil said, 'You’re in the right pce, then,' his tone disinterested, his focus still fixed on the screen. 'Help yourself,' he added with a dismissive wave, leaving Kmarez to navigate the shop on his own.

  The store was a byrinth of refurbished components and equipment. Power regutors, computer chips, circuit boards, couplers, and thermal regutors were scattered across shelves and crates. Dust clung to some items, while others looked freshly salvaged.

  As Kmarez looked trough a mix match of conduits and cables, a subspace transceiver caught his eye. He inspected it briefly before adding it to his haul.

  He began filling a crate, stacking it until it threatened to spill over. To a casual observer, his selections might have appeared random, but Kmarez had a clear purpose for every piece. In his mind, he could already visualize how each item would integrate into his projects.

  Most of the components avaible were Mottmor system species-tech, common but useful. Mixed among them, however, were rare items from distant corners of the gaxy. Whenever he spotted tech from the Seven Worlds, he snatched it up—whether or not he had immediate pns for its use.

  Sliding the bulging crate toward the counter, Kmarez noticed a smaller, partially hidden box behind it. “What’s in that crate?” he asked, leaning forward on his toes to peer over the edge of the counter.

  He took his time, puffing his vapor device before exhaling slowly. His eyes narrowed as he gnced at Kmarez, gesturing at the crate. “You mean this?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Kmarez replied, his ears perking slightly.

  “Unsorted items,” Nexil said with a shrug that could barely pass as effort. “Nothing special.”

  Kmarez’s face lit with a quick, broad grin. “Are you saying I can have the first look at them?”

  Another shrug. “Yeah, if you want to, I guess.”

  Kmarez’s excitement was barely contained. “I’ve dreamed of this,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

  Nexil grunted, hoisting the crate onto the counter with visible effort. Vapor swirled zily as he exhaled. “Here you go,” he said, as if the task had cost him dearly.

  Kmarez leaned over the crate, sifting through its contents. Then he froze. What the flux? His heart jumped—it was a Flux Transistor Interface. Slowly, he drew it out, careful to mask his excitement. If Nexil notices, he’ll double the price.

  “Find something useful?” Nexil asked, gncing at Kmarez from the corner of his eye, his focus still elsewhere.

  Kmarez shrugged, forcing a ugh. “I mean, who gives a flux about these things anyway?” he said, tossing the part casually between his hands. If he recognized its value, he didn’t let it show.

  “I certainly don’t give a fuck,” Nexil said dryly. “I just work here.”

  Kmarez turned back to the crate, resuming his search. He rifled through the remaining items, wires and parts spilling across the counter in his wake. Nexil’s gre sharpened with each movement. Finally, Kmarez swept the scattered pieces back into the crate and stepped away with a satisfied nod.

  Nexil shifted his attention from the crate to Kmarez. “You ready to pay?” he asked.

  Kmarez threw his head back with a booming ugh. “I’ve barely looked around.”

  Nexil groaned as Kmarez turned his attention elsewhere. Spotting a nearby bin overflowing with sensors, Kmarez grabbed a few, turning them over in his hands. While he examined one, a figure approached, casually browsing the shelves beside him.

  “The old power distributor regutors—fascinating pieces. Uxian make, I believe,” the Netraxian remarked, tilting the item in his hands and inspecting it from various angles. His melodic voice immediately caught Kmarez’s attention.

  “You can never have too many, right?” Kmarez said with a grin, extending his hand. “Kmarez.”

  The Netraxian’s shimmering skin shifted subtly as he returned the gesture. “Lylor,” he replied smoothly, his eyes fixed on the piece in his hand. “They’re more than useful—they’re art.”

  “Art?” Kmarez echoed, his ears twitching in surprise as he gnced at the piece Lylor held. “I take it you’re not an engineer, then.”

  “Oh, no.” Lylor made a face as if to say absolutely not. “I collect them as art,” he replied, gesturing toward the bin. “Their designs tell stories. Where was it made? What inspired its creator? What challenges were overcome to achieve its design? Absolutely fascinating.”

  Kmarez gnced toward a nearby converter. “That one might fit your style.”

  Lylor’s expression soured instantly, his features twisting with scorn. “Your taste in art is clearly… cking,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. With a dismissive noise, he turned sharply on his heel and strode away with exaggerated movements, leaving Kmarez blinking in surprise.

  “What the flux was that all about?” Kmarez said under his breath. He shrugged, brushing it off, and turned back to his search.

  In his search, Kmarez unearthed a crate filled with vintage data drives, interface panels, and an old dispy monitor, along with other assorted items. Pleased with his haul, he dragged the overflowing collection back to the counter, making several trips. Some pieces were too rge to fit in a crate, forcing him to create a precarious pile on the floor beside four stacked crates.

  "I'm all done!" Kmarez said, eyeing the collection he had assembled.

  Nexil groaned audibly, eyeing the mountain of components. Really? Rather than sort through each item, he started to calcute the total value in his head.

  “Clyden Galre sent me,” Kmarez said, watching Nexil closely for any reaction, hoping it might earn him a discount.

  “Who?” Nexil groaned, barely gncing up from his mental math. He raised a hand, signaling for Kmarez to stop talking.

  Kmarez shifted awkwardly, his ears twitching. Maybe Clyden’s never been here, he thought.

  “6,043 standards,” Nexil finally announced.

  “For everything?” Kmarez asked, struggling to mask his disbelief.

  Nexil gave a slow nod.

  “5,000,” Kmarez countered with a wide grin. Worth a try.

  Nexil didn’t respond immediately. “No negotiations,” he said firmly.

  “Very well,” Kmarez said, pulling out his PDA to complete the transaction. 6,043 for all this? I think I just committed robbery.

  “You gonna carry all that yourself?” Nexil asked dryly, raising an eyebrow.

  “Ahhh,” Kmarez stammered, suddenly realizing the logistical issue.

  “You got a ship?”

  “I do indeed.”

  “What bay?”

  “N-7.”

  “I’ll get it delivered,” Nexil said. “Consider it a thank-you for your business,” he added with little enthusiasm.

  “Appreciated. I’ll make sure to sing the praises of this establishment,” Kmarez said.

  “Sure,” Nexil replied with a shrug. Then, raising his voice, he barked, “G.U-19, get out here. Now.”

  From the back of the shop, a synthetic emerged, its bipedal frame moving with grated slowness. The grinding of gears grew louder as it neared the counter, each step nding with a heavy clunk.

  “Help this customer take his goods to the docking bay,” Nexil instructed.

  “Input accepted,” the synthetic droned, its voice as mechanical as its movements. It disappeared into the back where it had first emerged. Moments ter, it returned, pushing a trolley whose wheels emitted a sharp, unpleasant squeal that made Kmarez wince, his ears flopping at the sound.

  Instinctively, Kmarez reached out to help load the crates, but G.U-19’s monotone voice halted him. “I do not require assistance,” it decred, stacking the crates and parts. The trolley, burdened with its load, looked more suited for the scrapyard than for practical use.

  Once the task was complete, G.U-19 turned to Kmarez. “I will follow you to your ship. Proceed.”

  “Right this way,” Kmarez said, gesturing toward the exit as the synthetic trailed behind. As they walked, he peppered G.U-19 with technical questions.

  “I do not converse,” the synthetic stated ftly.

  Back in the shop, Nexil leaned against the counter, watching as G.U-19 wheeled Kmarez’s crates out the door. He waited for the entrance to slide shut before turning to his computer console. Keying in Kmarez’s name and the docking bay information for N-7, he initiated a database search.

  Lines of code scrolled across the screen. When the results appeared, Nexil’s mouth curved into a sly grin. “Well, well,” he murmured, taking a slow drag from his vapor device and exhaling deeply through his nostrils.

  From the pocket of his coat, he retrieved an old Stat comm, its scuffed surface bearing the marks of years of use. Inputting a connection, he held it in front of him and spoke. “Mira.”

  “What do you want, Nexil?” came the sharp, impatient reply.

  “Just calling to talk to you, beautiful,” Nexil said.

  “I don’t have time for this,” Mira snapped.

  “Are you sure?” Nexil’s tone turned smug. “I found one for you—a Camerian named Kmarez. Just came in and bought some parts. He owes your people a hefty debt, doesn’t he? Oh, and he’s got a ship.”

  There was a brief pause. “Send the details. Now,” Mira replied.

  “Always happy to help,” Nexil said, already transmitting the information.

  Another pause followed. Mira’s tone softened slightly. “Nice find.”

  “I’ll see you ter?” Nexil ventured.

  The connection cut abruptly. Nexil stared at the comm, his grin fading. With a low, humorless chuckle, he shook his head and muttered under his breath. This was his routine with every customer who walked into his store. He’d run their name through a database linked to encrypted syndicate forums—a network where debts, bounties, and other unsavory details were cataloged. If a match appeared, Nexil wasted no time contacting a syndicate member, angling for a finder’s fee.

  It wasn’t personal. Just business. Sometimes those ships ended up tracked, and when their crews mysteriously vanished, that didn’t bother Nexil either. He never asked questions, and he never dwelled on the aftermath. His role ended with the transmission—and the finder’s fee.

  The bell at the shop’s entrance chimed, announcing a new customer. Nexil straightened, slipping the Stat comm back into his pocket. His expression returned to disinterest as he took a long puff from his vapor. Exhaling slowly, his sharp eyes shifted toward the visitor, already sizing them up.