STTC Mission Log 7 JOURNEY THROUGH THE BAZAAR Bogarde

JOURNEY THROUGH THE BAZAAR
Bogarde
by Edward H. Bart IV

        Senior Chief Petty Officer Leo Bogarde sighed, staring at the cane leaning against the side of his dresser. The silvery rod and the dark molded black handle grip laid casually in the corner created by the dresser and the wall behind it. He had been using it every day for the last seven weeks, ever since he had been released from Sickbay after reconstructive surgery on his legs.
        He had been fortunate that enough of his legs remained to be saved. He didn’t relish the thought of going through life on two biosynthetic legs. There had been times when he thought it might be more preferable than the torturous physical therapy regimen Doctor Hartman and Karel Jurgenson put him through. Granted, it was necessary due to the unusual injuries he sustained as a large chunk of a building fell on his legs during a massive spatial distortion wave.
        Through the careful use of transporter technology, Doctor Hartman and Doctor Michelanos repaired his legs, but medical science could only go so far. The rest was up to Nature and Bogarde’s physical therapist, Lieutenant Jurgenson. Bogarde wanted to walk, run and jump as well as he did before the injury on Danosm. With a little luck, he would be able to... but first, he had to stop using the cane.
        The captain announced a rotating schedule of shore leave for the crew on the ship, and his day of leave came up on the same day Jurgenson slated as the day he starts walking without the aid of the cane. He was both glad and apprehensive. He had taken several short walks around his small quarters without the cane, although there was plenty of furniture for him to rest on.
        This would be his first day of real leave in over a year. He sure as hell didn’t want to waste it sitting around in his quarters. Even though his quarters didn't have any windows, he knew the commerce station a couple of klicks away was silently rotating around, waiting to be checked out.
        The door to his quarters chimed. Bogarde glanced at a wall chrono then at the door. “C’mon in.”
        The door opened and Lieutenant Amanda Ruiz walked in. She was dressed in uniform as Bogarde was, even though both she and Bogarde were off duty. The captain had ordered all Starfleet personnel visiting the commerce station to be in uniform to distinguish themselves more easily the other visitors. It was easy to get lost in a crowd of over 75,000 sentient beings.
        “Ready?” she smiled, leaning against the door jamb, which prevented the door from sliding back closed.
        “Yeah,” Bogarde nodded. He scratched his smooth scalp, then stood up.
        “No cane?” Ruiz frowned in puzzlement.
        Bogarde shook his head. “No cane.”
        “Allright,” she nodded, watching him walk out of the bedroom to the door. A slight awkwardness showed in Bogarde’s walk. It was as if his legs had been asleep and now were flaring with pins and needles. Otherwise, he seemed normal, a far cry from his first few days out of Sickbay.
        “Looking good, Leo,” Ruiz nodded supportingly.
        “Eh,” Bogarde replied.
        They walked down the corridor to a turbolift, taking it to a deck that had a personnel transporter room. When they got to the transporter room, they saw another shore party vanishing in blue transporter beams.
        The transporter chief smiled at them. “All clear. You can take your places.”
        Three more crewmen entered the transporter room and took up the other transporter spots. Bogarde looked at the transporter chief. “Energize when ready.”
        The operator nodded and watched his console for a minute.
        “Hey, what’s the hold-up?” one of the other crewmen asked, when they hadn’t been transported yet.
        The transporter chief looked up with an air of put-upon patience, as if he had answered the question a dozen times already. “The commerce station rotates on its axis to generate artificial gravity. In addition to that, there are only about a dozen designated boarding areas that are unshielded, allowing for transporter arrivals. I have to wait until the station rotates before I commence transportation. If I don’t wait, the safety margin on transport drops considerably. Are you in a hurry?”
        The crewman shook his head. “No, not really. Sorry.”
        “Okay. Energization in 1.4 minutes,” the chief announced.

        As the haze disappeared from Bogarde’s field of vision, he immediately cased the boarding stage. He saw a crowd of people before him, with several humanoid aliens approaching them.
        “Move along, clear the stage,” one of them said, waving a hand with webbed fingers. “Step up to the entry checkpoint.”
        Bogarde and Ruiz walked forward, following other new arrivals to a large hallway. Other humanoid aliens, wearing metallic clothes similar to the alien with webbed fingers, stood in front of an thick archway. They waved devices over the new arrivals, then sent them through the archway.
        Bogarde and Ruiz arrived to the station gatekeepers, who waved devices over them.
        “Clear. Go through,” they said.
        Bogarde stepped through the archway, which thrummed as he walked through. A gatekeeper looked at a monitor, then at Bogarde. “Go through.” He looked back at the monitor when Ruiz stepped through, clearing her to continue.
        Bogarde and Ruiz walked up to a large doorway which was covered with a visible force-field. A humanoid female stood in front of a console, looking over Bogarde and Ruiz with disinterest. “Sections Three through Five are offlimits to both of you.”
        “Why?” Ruiz looked at the alien, narrowing her eyes in challenge.
        “Oh well, maybe our sensors are wrong. Can you breathe a methane-based atmosphere? Or do you have silicon-based blood?”
        “No,” Ruiz answered.
        “Then sections Three through Five are offlimits to both of you, unless you’re interested in committing suicide. Station maps are available free of charge at the visitor’s kiosk inside. Please note, station management assumes no responsibility for lost or stolen items. Have a good stay. Go through.” The woman tapped a panel on her podium, then looked at the next group of arrivals.
        Bogarde and Ruiz stepped up to the forcefield, then walked through it. A slight tingle ran up Bogarde’s spine as he penetrated the energy membrane, but as soon as he was clear, the tingle vanished.
        “Nice to know rude people exist in the Borderlands,” Ruiz muttered. “I’m going to get a map.” She walked over to a large kiosk where several other new arrivals had congregated at.
        Bogarde walked off to the side, allowing other people behind him to pass. He waited until Ruiz walked back to him. She showed him the map, which was on a transparent piece of solid plastic. “They call it a slate.” Ruiz fiddled with the controls for a moment, figuring out the controls.
        They looked at the map, which scrolled across the viewing area. All the text was in an alien language, perhaps several different alien languages. Ruiz tried finding a language option with no success.
        “Oh screw this,” Bogarde said. He tapped his combadge. “Bogarde to Courageous.”
        A distinctly translated voice replied. “Station Management. How may I direct your comm?”
        Bogarde and Ruiz looked at each other in surprise.
        “What are you doing on my ship’s comm frequency?” Bogarde asked.
        “Oh, all comms are routed through Station Management. That’s explained clearly on the visitor’s complimentary slate.”
        “Well, we can’t read it,” Bogarde said.
        “That’s odd. The slate should have identified your species and formatted itself to your language. What species are you?”
        “Human.”
        “I’m not aware of that species... please hold. I need to speak to my supervisor.” The voice clicked then a modulating tone played for a minute.
        Bogarde shook his head.
        Finally, the voice returned. “I’ve discovered the problem now. You’ve recently arrived, and your biological and linguistic databases are being processed into the station’s computer network. It should only be a matter of hours before Federation Standard is available on the slates. I apologize for the inconvenience. If that’ll be all...”
        “Now, just a minute! What if there’s an emergency and I need to contact my ship?”
        “We’ll be more than happy to instantaneously connect you to your ship. Do you need to do so now?”
        “No.”
        “Allright. If that’s all, I wish you a good visit.”
        “Uh, thanks.” The combadge clicked slightly, indicating an ended transmission.
        Ruiz looked at the slate in her hand. “Oh well. So much for that.” She tossed it onto an nearby table, where others had discarded their slates. “Just as well. You know first rule of being a tourist?”
        “Yeah... don’t drink the water?”
        Ruiz paused, the nodded. “Okay, the second rule, then.”
        “What’s that?”
        “Don’t wander around with a map.”
        “Ah, yeah...”
        “Makes you look like an easy mark,” Ruiz shrugged. “We’ll be fine. Our comm translators work, we can get by with that. Come on. Let’s walk around and see what kind of trouble we can get into.” She set off across the large entrance hangar.
        “You know, Amanda, I don’t like it when you say that,” Bogarde said, walking after Ruiz. “Sometimes you sound like you’re actually serious.”

        Bogarde leaned against one of the support column for the upper level walkway. He rubbed his knees and thighs, massaging the muscles. Ruiz turned around, noticing that Bogarde was no longer walking by her side. She walked back to Bogarde.
        “What’s wrong?”
        Bogarde shook his head. “I just need a break. We’ve been walking all morning and I haven’t seen a single bench or public seating area.”
        “What about the restaurant we passed by a level ago?”
        Bogarde twisted his mouth in a frown. “I tried to sit down there for a little bit when you were in the restroom. A waiter told me I had to buy something if I wanted to sit there. I looked at the guy at the table next to me. I swear, it looked like he was eating his own puke. I said ‘No thanks’ and just walked over to the storefront you met me at.”
        “Well this station gets a lot of traffic. Space is at a premium,” Ruiz said. She frowned sympathetically towards Bogarde.
        “I’m allright. I just need a breather. I’ve been walking nonstop for a while now.” Bogarde stood up, shaking his legs. “It feels funny, I keep thinking I forgot my cane at a store or a booth, then I remember, I left it in my quarters.”
        Ruiz nodded, smiling. She looked past Bogarde at another turnoff, leading away from the main hall. “I’m gonna check out what’s down there.”
        “Hey, hang on. I’ll come with.” Bogarde walked after Ruiz and they passed underneath the upper walkway to go into the side hall. It was getting a little traffic. Several aliens walked into it, and a few others walked out to join the main hall.
        The lighting was a little more subdued. There was less track lighting installed along the walkway compared to main hall. Bogarde noticed that most of the vendors were in mobile kiosks. There were a fewer permanent store installations compared to the other shopping sectors they had visited.
        Ruiz walked up to the cart of one merchant. It had several shelves displaying various oddly shaped objects and vials of liquids. Ruiz picked up an thin elongated object which looked like a petrified tree branch, looking at the dark robed merchant sitting on a hexagonal stool.
        The merchant didn’t object to her handling the wares. He only gave her a casual look-over, watching her. Bogarde looked at the other items on the display shelves. He picked up a squat vase-like sculpture. The mouth of the vase looked like a rotted lily. The material gleamed dully in the light. The color was as dark as Bogarde’s own skin, but had more violet than brown.
        “Weird, it feels warm,” he said to Ruiz.
        She touched it and nodded in agreement. “This is an interesting sculpture,” she said. “It doesn’t feel machined or anything. The surface feels... funny.”
        The merchant made an odd choking sound. Ruiz looked up at the merchant. “You okay?”
        The merchant shook his head. He spoke in an alien language. Ruiz shook her head. “Sorry, say something else.”
        “Klir teb wéramanquä ef prehka. Iê that enough? Is your translator working?”
        “Yes, it is now,” Ruiz said. “What did you say at first?”
        “I said I was sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh at you,” the merchant said. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Jerm Nôr.”
        “Amanda Ruiz,” the lieutenant said. “This is Leo Bogarde.”
        Jerm Nôr looked at them. “You’re female and Leo Bogarde is male? Same species?”
        “Yeah, that’s right on both counts,” Ruiz said, cocking her head at the question.
        “Just making sure,” Jerm Nôr said. “Some people may consider that a sculpture, but technically, it’s not.”
        Ruiz looked at the object in her grip. “What is it?”
        “It’s the insemination organ of a male Nawbob.”
        “Oh shit!” Bogarde blurted out. He dropped the vase onto the shelf.
        “Cool,” Ruiz smiled. “This is a replica?”
        “No,” Jerm Nôr replied. “It’s real. Every three growth cycles, a Nawbob sheds his sexual organs. Some people, such as I, collect them and encase them in a preservative. There is a nice market for Nawbob anatomy.”
        “What kind of store are you running?” Bogarde asked.
        Jerm Nôr gave a fairly long response, which was translated to “Sex toys.”
        “Aw man, what did I just touch?”
        “Now, that is a replica. A Faltha receptacle. Admirable work isn’t it? It holds body heat in, providing a more realistic simulation.”
        “I need to wash my hands,” Bogarde said. “Where’s the nearest restroom?”
        “See that gap between the two kiosks? There’s a small hallway that leads to a restroom,” Jerm Nôr pointed.
        “Thanks, I’ll be back.” Bogarde hurried down the hallway.
        The merchant turned back to Ruiz. “Your friend seems unsettled at my wares.”
        “Don’t ask me,” Ruiz shook her head. “I’ve known him for over ten years and he’s always been like that when it comes to sexuality.”
        Jerm Nôr turned to look at Bogarde, who disappeared from view. “I suppose I should have given him directions to a restroom outside of this subsector.”
        “Why?”
        “Sometimes customers will... test the wares in the restrooms, before making a purchase,” Jerm Nôr replied. “Business is conducted in there as well.”
        Ruiz frowned at the Nawbob organ in her hand. “Was this...”
        “No. That’s for display purposes only. I run a sanitary business.”
        Ruiz sighed. “Good.”
        “Are you two coupling?”
        “Leo and me?” Ruiz laughed. “No. I prefer the female of the species.”
        “Oh. I assume you won’t be purchasing that, then.”
        “No,” Ruiz laid it back down onto its display stand. “Wow,” she said, looking at the shelves again, with new understanding. “A lot of interesting biology in this part of space.”
        “May I interest you in something more to your liking?” asked Jerm Nôr.
        “No, thank you,” Ruiz shook her head. “I’m only windowshopping today. Call it cultural curiosity.”
        “I have a collection of cultural video, if you’re interested.”
        “I prefer doing, not seeing,” Ruiz said.
        “Just trying to earn credits, Amanda Ruiz.”
        Ruiz smiled, and saw Bogarde rushing back to Jerm Nôr’s cart. “I just... they were... Ugh! Let’s just get out of here.”
        Ruiz suppressed a smirk. “Jerm Nôr, how far does this red-light district extend?”
        “About a quarter of the station’s circumference,” Jerm Nôr answered. “Beyond that is the casino district.”
        “Casino?” Bogarde repeated.
        “Yes. A number of gaming establishments have a presence on this station, and of course, there are floating games which appear and disappear as each ship comes and goes,” the merchant explained.
        “I wouldn’t mind checking that out,” Bogarde said.
        “Sure,” Ruiz said. They started down the hall, when Jerm Nôr called out.
        “Amanda Ruiz! Wait!”
        “Jerm Nôr, I said I wasn’t buying...” Ruiz said, wagging her finger at him.
        “But I am,” he said. “On occasion, I create replicas to sell. I know your species is new to this area so there may be enough of a novelty value to justify the cost of production. I’d pay you a fair amount of credits for a body scan of yourself. I have a spawn-sibling who does the work for me. He is on our family ship outside the station.”
        Ruiz thought about it for a moment. She smiled and shook her head. “That’s an interesting offer, but I don’t think I’d like knowing that freighter pilots would be ‘using’ me for recreation.”
        The merchant looked at Bogarde. “And you, Leo Bog-”
        “Hell no!” Bogarde cut him off. Ruiz looked up at Bogarde and chuckled.
        “Have a good day, then. Oh! There is more merchandise on the ship that station personnel won’t allow me to bring aboard. I can take you there and show you around.”
        Ruiz shook her head. “Nah, I’m not in the market anyways. Thanks, bye.”
        “Please tell your shipmates about me!” Jerm Nôr called out as Bogarde and Ruiz continued on their way through the hall.
        “Can you believe the balls of that guy?” Bogarde glanced at Ruiz.
        “I don’t even know if he has balls,” Ruiz shrugged. “Seems like a nice enough guy. He’s just a working stiff. Heh. I think I’ll tell Lieutenant Jothan about the store. I hope I can give good directions.” She looked around at the alien signage posted at intervals.
        Bogarde shook his head. “At least it’s good to see you having a little fun. It’s been a while.”
        “Yeah...”
        “I heard that...”
        “What?”
        Bogarde waved her off. “Never mind.” He thought better of it to ask her about the time she had been spending with Major Raven at the Bajoran shrine on the ship. He didn’t want to get too personal.
        Neither did Ruiz because she didn’t press the question. The two of them walked down the hall in silence. Ruiz gazed at the different shops, while Bogarde studiously avoided the wares on display.
        As they reached another section of the hallway, clearly demarcated by thicker bulkheads and visible connecting hardware which linked this section of the station ring to the other section, they heard a loud staccato beat. They traced it to an establishment which had a good flow of traffic.
        Ruiz walked up to the entrance and peered inside, standing on her toes to look over the shoulders of other aliens. She turned back to Bogarde. “I think it’s a strip club.”
        “And you want to go in?”
        “Yup,” she smiled.
        “What is it with you and strip clubs?”
        “I told you, I like broadening my horizons!”
        Bogarde rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah... tell you what. I can see the casinos in the next section. I’ll wander around then we can meet back at this bulkhead in two hours. Allright?”
        “Fine with me,” Ruiz nodded. “Have fun.”
        “You too.” Bogarde turned and walked into the casino district, making sure not to trip over the raised bulkhead which transversed the hallway. There was a larger crowd in this section compared to the previous. Guess more people want money than sex, Bogarde thought to himself. He made his way through the crowds, seeing a casino that seemed to have less people than others.
        He noticed several seats in there with monitors set next to them. Several were empty, so Bogarde decided to grab a seat and give his legs a break. As he slid into a seat, the monitor came to life. It said something, and Bogarde thought he heard “place hand or appendage on the screen to begin” over the din of the casino.
        “Eh, what the hell?” Bogarde shrugged and placed his hand on the screen. Text appeared on the screen in Federation Standard. The station network must have processed the Courageous’s information. The screen offered him the option of playing a number of games. Most of the game names were untranslatable, so he couldn’t figure out what sounded good. He decided to go with the first game in the option menu.
        It turned out that he was sitting in one of the tutorial booths provided for new visitors unfamiliar with the games played in that particular casino. The tutorial provided simulated games with a running rules commentary and strategy tips. Bogarde ran through several different games before feeling confident enough to step up to an actual gaming table.
        The rest had done him a little good. He felt a little spring in his step as he walked into the main gaming arena. He looked around, looking at the different lights, colors, and lifeforms in the casino. He was surprised to see a few aliens taller than him. He wasn’t used to being shorter than other people since he was one of the tallest crewmembers on the Courageous. A bright flash drew his eyes to the side of the arena.
        Several aliens threw up their hands, yelling around a table. Most of them walked away, clearing up room around the table. A dealer started calling for new players. Bogarde recognized the game as Wuoro’khat. He had been curious to see it for real, as opposed to the simulation provided in the tutorial.
        He stepped up to one of the seats around the round Wuoro’khat table. The dealer, an hirsute alien with rows of braided hair down her arms and torso, looked at him. “Please, funds.”
        Bogarde nodded and reached into a pocket. He detached the pocket flap and reached in to pull out some strips of gold-pressed latinum. The dealer pointed with a stubby finger to a tray in front of him. Bogarde dropped the strips in the tray, and a cover slid over it. The latinum disappeared.
        “Hey!” he shouted, then noticed a small readout next to the tray. It showed the molecular composition of the strips.
        “Currency exchange approved. Funds transferred,” the dealer said. She looked around and started calling for more players.
        Bogarde looked at the small monitor which showed a credit amount which he could bet with.
        A high pitched voice asked “You human?”
        Bogarde turned to see a rotund olive-skinned humanoid with wisps of light green hair lining his jowls. He wore an outfit which had a bizarre mosaic of colors. He was sitting at the side of the Wuoro’khat table next to Bogarde. He was one of the few players still remaining from the last round of play.
        “Yeah, I’m human,” he said.
        “From the Courageous?”
        “That’s right. Heard of us?”
        “Not til recently. Word gets around on the station quickly. My appellation’s Glord Preea.”
        “Leo Bogarde.”
        “Played Wuoro’khat before?”
        “First time,” Bogarde said.
        “I wish you luck.”
        “Thanks, but I brought my own,” Bogarde smiled.
        Glord looked at Bogarde for a moment, then burbled, presumably in laughter. “That’s always a good idea.”
        The dealer looked at the players at the table. “Do you wish to proceed or wait for more players?”
        “Proceed,” Glord said. The two other players gave similar responses. The dealer looked at Bogarde last.
        “Let’s go,” he said.
        A warning klaxon started. The dealer called out, “All non-players, clear the Wuoro’khat zone. Game commencing.”
        Bogarde looked around at the bare stools around the gaming table. “Why aren’t there many players?” he asked Glord.
        The alien replied, “Some people don’t enjoy games of pure chance. They prefer games where strategy can give players an edge. Here, we’re dealing with one of the oldest forces in the universe, gravity.”
        “I hear ya,” Bogarde said. “Poker’s nice, but once the wheel spins on that roulette table, you can’t bluff your way. It’s just you and luck.”
        “I have no idea what you named, but I do agree on what you said about luck,” Glord said. “Oh, watch the table. I always love the beginning.”
        Bogarde looked at the center of the table, which was sunken. A forcefield sprang up into a shimmery dome, refracting light. Bogarde could see through the semi-opaque forcefield. He could see the other players on the other side of the gaming table. Their features became heavily distorted. Bogarde realized what was happening. A number of gravitational sinkholes were forming within the heavily protected gaming table. The table and decking vibrated beneath Bogarde’s hands and feet.
        Glord picked up on Bogarde’s apprehension. “Not to worry,” the alien said. “This is typical. The gravitational pulls may seem powerful, but they hardly approach the strength of yellow or red stars, let alone those of black holes.”
        “What happens if something goes wrong?” Bogarde asked, still watching the sinkholes forming inside the forcefield.
        Glord gestured to the curved wall behind them. “We are on the outer ring of the station. If something happens, they shall jettison this section of the casino.”
        “Really?” Bogarde looked at Glord. “How do we get off before they do that?”
        “We don’t,” Glord shrugged. “You’ve begun gambling when you sat down at the table, I like to think.”
        Bogarde looked around him, noting the absence of people in the area. “No wonder there’s no looky-loos.”
        “More’s the pity. A Wuoro’khat game is beautiful to behold. Ah, they’re seeding the playing field.”
        Bogarde looked at the dome. A section of the table had opened up and a powdery substance, somewhat like table salt, came rushing out of the opening. It was almost like watching a sand-filled hourglass run backwards. The white particulate poured upwards, attracted to the distortions hanging in the air inside the dome.
        Bogarde stared as one stream started forming into a miniature accretion disk around one of the sinkholes. It was almost like watching a baby galaxy form.
        “Window for betting closing in 30 seconds!”
        Bogarde snapped his attention away from the gravitational playing field. He looked down at his betting monitor. It provided him with a number of options, and a picture of the dome overlaid with a grid. Bogarde saw a timer counting down, and he hurriedly pressed several buttons. He took one last glance at the dome and pressed his confirmation.
        His betting choices showed up on the players’ board that all of the bettors had in front of them. Glord looked at Bogarde. “Interesting bets, human. You think Sinkhole Bezar and Hora will merge into a larger sinkhole? That happens only once in a quarter billion games.”
        Bogarde smiled. “I have a hunch.”
        “Well, it is fortunate you entered your bets within the time limits. Many new players are so enthralled by the spectacle that they forget to make their bets.”
        Bogarde nodded. “Yeah. Thanks a lot for reminding me, Glord.”
        “It slipped my memory.”
        Bogarde grinned and shook his head. “You just wanted an easy chance at the kitty.”
        Glord stared at Bogarde for a moment, before turning to look at the sinkholes. “Yes, that is true. Goodness, it seems as if your hunch is playing out.”
        Bogarde looked at the playing field. Two of the sinkholes which were in slow rotation around each other began spinning faster. The white matter which orbited each sinkhole began tearing away, feeding the other sinkhole. The event horizon of each sinkhole inched closer and closer to each other, before they finally merged. As the sinkholes combined, the forcefield shimmered violently and the players felt a loud crunch. Bogarde wasn’t sure, but he thought he felt some gravitational pull seep through the forcefield, making him jerk towards the gaming table.
        The dealer flashed her hand to a large lever at the end of the table. When the forcefield stabilized, the dealer moved her hand away. She tapped a series of commands out at her console.
        The distortions within the playing field softened, and the white matter began scattering, ultimately dropping down to the bowl shaped recess of the gaming table. The dealer called out winners. Bogarde’s name was on the list. He looked down at his betting console, and it showed his wins and losses. He came out with a gain, and so did Glord. However, Bogarde had won significantly more than Glord.
        “New round commencing in three minutes! All players must cash out if they do not intend to play again,” the dealer announced.
        Two of the players stood up, scooping up their winnings, if they had any, from the drawers in front of them. They walked away from the table. Bogarde noticed one of the aliens held a strip of golden latinum in his hands. It surprised him since he had heard that almost no other species used gold-pressed latinum in this sector of space. Then again, he couldn’t say if that alien used latinum or not since he didn’t know the species. He mentally shrugged, standing up to look around the casino.
        “Your winnings?” the dealer asked.
        “No, I’m not cashing out,” Bogarde told her. “Just going to get a drink before the next round starts.”
        “Staying?” Glord asked. “I should like to see how your hunches fare in another round of play.”
        “Stick around then,” Bogarde said. He turned and walked to what seemed to be a bar off to the side of the game area.

        “Yes! Snowball!”
        Bogarde laughed, watching a small white sphere float in space, amidst several accretion disks. The white particulate which had orbited one sinkhole suddenly formed into a sphere, approximating the formation of a planet.
        “Another good hunch,” Glord said. “You have been amassing quite a cache of my assets.” Bogarde wasn’t sure whether the alien’s tone of voice was bemused or annoyed.
        There were no other players at the Wuoro’khat table except for Bogarde and Glord. They had been playing several rounds and exchanging good-natured banter. A new dealer had replaced the hirsute alien.
        “Glord, if you knew the run of bad luck I’ve been having lately, you wouldn’t be surprised. I was due and it’s finally come in.”
        “I’m approaching my loss limit,” Glord said. “Be a good fellow and give me one final chance to recoup some of my losses.”
        Bogarde stared at his monitor. For the ease of playing, Bogarde’s winnings were presented in a rough approximation of what they would be worth in latinum. He realized he had enough to repay his debts on the ship and then some. He looked back up at Glord. “I don’t know. This is usually the point where I go against my better judgment and play, then lose.”
        “With your lucky streak, I would think one more round shouldn’t hurt. Wager only a little, if you must.”
        Bogarde drummed his fingers on the table. “Okay. One more. I don’t care if I win or lose, that’s it.”
        “One more it is,” Glord said. He nodded to the dealer, confirming he was staying. Bogarde took a drink from the gold mug next to his player’s console, then sat back as he waited for the gravity generators to start their work.
        The forcefield flared up. The now familiar spatial distortions appeared in the air. Bogarde’s attention was drawn to a sinkhole that was by itself at the far end of the playing field. He looked down at the grid on his monitor and tapped on it. The monitor showed the time remaining before the particulate was released. Bogarde placed a bet that the sinkhole, being the furthest from the particulate compartment, would attract enough white matter to form an accretion disk.
        It was slightly long odds, but an average and modest wager. If nobody else bet against him, he would only lose his ante and the amount he wagered. The monitor bleeped softly. Bogarde read the message alert. Glord had bet against him, and he put up assets worth 2.4 bars of gold plated latinum. Bogarde shot a glare at the alien.
        Glord shrugged. “I did say I wanted to regain my losses.”
        Bogarde was forced to match Glord’s bet, draining most of his winnings. If he lost, he’d go back to the Courageous with only a fraction of what he brought to the casino.
        “Fine,” Bogarde muttered under his breath. He looked at Glord’s bets on the monitor. Glord had spread out his bets using an obvious strategy of making moderate bets on stable odds. He’d lose some, he’d win some; with the winnings outgaining his losses. Glord’s bet against Bogarde was the only one that broke with the strategy. It was a punitive bet, forcing Bogarde to risk more. He figured if Glord bet an equivalent of two and half bars of latinum, he had plenty of assets. That was one of the risks of gambling. Some games, it just came down to who had more money to bet with.
        Bogarde crossed his arms, watching as the white particulate flew up into the playing dome. There were a number of sinkholes between the particulate compartment and the sinkhole he had bet on. According to the game rules, a certain amount of particulate had to accumulate around a sinkhole for it to be termed an accretion disk. The dealer would use their sensors to make rulings if the accretion disk was barely visible. Bogarde thought his bet just might come down to that.
        He watched the playing field, mentally willing the white matter to keep sliding through the sinkholes until it hit his own. He watched as a white stream blossomed outwards, being torn apart by two competing sinkholes. Another particulate stream rushed past another sinkhole. It curved around and shot onto the other side of the field, scattering in the absence of any strong gravitational spots. Its momentum in the general null-gravitational field led to most of the particulate impacting against the force field and bouncing back towards the center of the playing field.
        Bogarde’s breath caught as he noticed a small mass of particulate had bounced right into the direction of his designated sinkhole. He looked at his monitor. He tapped a command out, which let him see the extent of the sinkhole’s gravitational field. The small particulate cloud was slowly drifting into range of the sinkhole. The only two things which prevented Bogarde from a sure win were the question of if there was enough matter to form an official accretion disk, and if the disk would form within the allotted time. Planets and galaxies took millions and billions of years to form, which was much too long for a game of Workout.
        The timer on the monitor showed that Bogarde had barely a minute left before the gravity generators were deactivated, ending the game. The white cloud made its way sedately towards the small distortion in space at the end of the playing field, much too slow for Bogarde’s preference. He clenched his fists. He didn’t want to lose just because he ran out of time. That ranked right up there on his list of worst ways to lose.
        Bogarde stared at the particulate cloud, wishing he were a telekinetic species so he could give the matter a push. It didn’t matter to him that the tremendous strength of the force field, vitally needed to contain the primal gravitational forces, was an effective barrier against such manipulations. Suddenly, a spear of particulate matter sliced through his cloud. Bogarde traced the origin to another gravitational sinkhole. Apparently some particulate had been in an instable orbit before finally gaining breakaway speed.
        The cloud scattered, like Bogarde’s hopes scattered. He sighed and looked at the sinkhole. Faint movement caught his eye. He thought it was a trick of light, but a look at his monitor confirmed it. About half of the cloud had been nudged by the breaking away particulate. It had gained speed, headed directly for the sinkhole.
        The timer was now in double digits, rapidly diminishing to zero. The leading edge of the smaller, barely imperceptible cloud was snagged by the outer reaches of the gravitational sinkhole. The cloud started shearing off as the rotation of the sinkhole pulled away particulates. A harsh beeping indicated the end of the playing round. There was a brief lull as the dealer instituted shutdown procedures. A moment later, the distortions faded from view and a white rain fell down to the basin of the playing field.
        Bogarde immediately looked up at the dealer. “I want a measure.” The dealer understood what Bogarde’s request meant. He wanted to know if enough particulate had entered orbit around the sinkhole to qualify as an accretion disk. The dealer looked at his sensors, which recorded the round of play. Glord stroked his cheek, waiting to hear the dealer’s findings.
        The dealer continued studying the readings on his monitor. Bogarde tapped his fingers on the counter at his side, while staring impassively at the dealer. Finally, the dealer raised his head up. “Accretion disk confirmed.”
        Bogarde pumped his fist in the air in victory. A glance at the monitor showed the microscopically narrow margin of victory. The mass that had formed around his sinkhole was barely a fraction larger than the minimum requirements. He heaved a loud sigh, shaking his head. He became aware of the knots at the base of his neck, formed from the tension.
        “If it weren’t for the high degree of improbability for cheating at Workout, I should accuse you,” Glord declared.
        Bogarde snapped his head around to meet Glord’s look. The rotund alien continued. “However, what I shall do is congratulate you. Providence clearly is yours today. As much as I am loath to part with them, all I can say is, enjoy your winnings. I need to make a prandial excursion, so dealer, I shall take my leave.”
        The dealer nodded, deactivating Glord’s bettor console. The alien got to his feet and walked away. He paused and turned to Bogarde. “I have enjoyed meeting you today, in spite of the losses you have inflicted upon me.”
        “Sorry about that,” Bogarde said. “It was nice meeting ya, though.”
        “It would be nice to play you further,” Glord said. “I shall be returning later, so if you wish, you may find me here.”
        “Allright,” Bogarde nodded.
        Glord held up a palm. “Only- no more Workout.”
        Bogarde laughed. “No more Workout.” He stood up and looked at the dealer. “Sign me out, and cash me out.” A whirring sound, the same one that occurred when he deposited his latinum earlier, attracted his attention. The same drawer opened. A thin translucent sheet was the only thing Bogarde found.
        “Excuse me, what’s this?”
        “Your winnings,” the dealer explained. “You have a great number of winnings, so you need to go the Assets Control Room to withdraw your new funds.” The dealer pointed to one end of the casino.
        “Oh, okay,” Bogarde nodded, looking at the writing on the sheet. Part of it was printed in Federation Standard, a summary which converted his winnings into the equivalent of his selected currency, gold-pressed latinum. It was a large number, which brought a smile to Bogarde’s face.
        He looked at the dealer. “You sure I still can’t tip you?”
        The dealer waved his hand. “It is forbidden, but the sentiment is gratifying.” What Glord had said about cheating was true. It was highly improbable, which didn’t stop people from trying. The best method was to have an insider, and Workout dealers were always suspect. Tipping Wuoro’khat dealers was prohibited, and also unnecessary. They had higher salaries than most casino dealers, due to the high-risk, and the high salary counteracted the lure of accepting bribes.
        Bogarde walked out of the Workout game area, flicking the winnings sheet with his hand. He looked around in the direction that the dealer had indicated, looking for some sort of casino official.
        “It’s about time,” a voice said by Bogarde’s side.
        “Huh?” Bogarde looked to his side. Ruiz was there, falling in step alongside him. “Oh, Amanda.”
        “I was watching you for a little,” said Ruiz. “They wouldn’t let me go to the table to watch. Something about the risk. I couldn’t even comm you.”
        “Yeah,” Bogarde nodded. “They don’t let people comm in or out. They’re paranoid about cheating at that game.”
        “I followed it on a visitor’s monitor. I have no idea what you were doing but apparently you won.”
        “You bet your ass I did,” Bogarde grinned, waving the sheet. “I’m going to cash out. I can pay you back. Hell, I can pay everyone off and have a nice chunk to send home to Leonard.”
        “That’s good news, I’m sure your son will appreciate that.”
        “Yeah, now he can move off planet if he wants to, after finishing college, or whatever he wants. It’s his money.”
        They found a small queue of people holding translucent sheets, waiting to step up to a booth. Bogarde stood in the short line. Ruiz kept him company.
        “So did you have a good time?” Bogarde asked her.
        “Yep, I did. There was this one dancer who looked like she had two tongues, a short one and long one. But upon closer inspection, it was really just one tongue.”
        “Upon closer inspection?”
        “Yeah. I had some chits. You know, they wouldn’t take my gpl. I had to go to a currency exchange booth.”
        “Yeah,” Bogarde said. “Latinum’s not really used that much around here. I could use my money here. They have some sort of equivalency thing going on here.”
        “Oh, okay. Anyway, I had this chit, it’s like a long octagon, and she came down to where I was sitting and stuck her tongue out at me. I could see that there were two halves to the tongue. The top half was pretty much like ours, only a little bit pointed at the end. The bottom half was this long thin tongue, at least 30 centimeters long. It was prehensile too. She used that to grab the chit from my hand. Then she went on down the stage, picking up more money with that tongue of hers. Hell of a thing.”
        “I’m sure.” Bogarde looked at the line. “What the hell is up with this?” The person at the front of the line was still waiting at the teller’s booth.
        “We’re not due back to the ship for a couple of hours,” Ruiz said. “Relax. Are you in such a hurry to spend your money, huh?”
        “It’s a short line. Short lines are supposed to move faster.”
        “Never the line you’re in,” Ruiz shrugged. “Corollary to Murphy’s Law. Come on. You can afford to wait a bit. You’re gonna get three bars of latinum!”
        The chief grinned sheepishly. “Well two and a half, but allright. I’ll shut up. Hey, you want to grab some chow here before we go back? I think it’s almost suppertime. Definitely my treat... unless you’ve got a date? Maybe with Two-Tongue?”
        Ruiz chuckled. “Nah. I’m allright enough to go and see a show, but I’m not ready to date anyone, not even a two-tongued stripper.”
        “That’s still good. It’s been a while. Time to start getting out there,” said Bogarde. “I’m happy to see you do that.”
        “Thanks. You’re a good buddy. Oh, look you’re up.” Ruiz pointed to the alien in front of him, who was walking away with a large brown box with metal etchings. Bogarde turned and stepped up to the teller, a short, pale and hairless humanoid.
        He set the sheet down on the counter of the booth. The teller read the sheet, then looked up at the much taller Bogarde. “Congratulations. We don’t see too many large winners at Workout.”
        “Are you making fun of my height?”
        The teller froze then stammered an apology. “No, I don’t no, I meant the size of your winnings, sir.”
        “Oh, I’m just playing ya,” Bogarde grinned. Ruiz punched Bogarde in the arm.
        “What?” Bogarde looked at Ruiz.
        “Don’t fuck with short people,” the lieutenant looked up at Bogarde. She looked at the teller. “Don’t worry, he’s mostly harmless.”
        “Sorry, I’m just in a good mood,” Bogarde smiled at the teller. “So... where’s my money?”
        “One moment, please.” The teller typed at a computer console in front of him. He paused, reading the monitor, then walked to the rear of the booth to a large console, which looked like a replicator. He tapped in a code on the monitor above a large recess. A hum sounded and a tray appeared in the recess, full of black obsidian rods. The teller carried the tray to the counter, setting it next to Bogarde. “One more moment, please.” The teller returned to the back and repeated the process. He returned to the front, holding a metallic document. He handed it to Bogarde.
        “What’s this?”
        The teller pointed to the tray. “That’s 61.6 credit chits in Elaysian currency. You can exchange that any currency exchange unit.”
        “I can show you where I went,” Ruiz said. “It’s close by.”
        “Okay,” Bogarde nodded. “How much’s that in latinum?”
        The teller consulted his monitor. “Approximately six strips of latinum.”
        “I came here with eight strips! Where’s the rest of my money?”
        “You have a deed to property that belongs, or I should say, once belonged, to a Glord Preea. It is currently housed at an Asset Storage Facility. I can mark it on a station map, if you possess one.”
        “Here,” Ruiz said, handing the complimentary map slate to the teller. The teller took a stylus and tapped on the slate. While he marked the map, Bogarde asked a question.
        “So, the rest of my money’s tied up in this property? Can’t I just get my original latinum back?”
        “I’m sorry, but your original currency has already been distributed to other winners.”
        “Aw, man,” Bogarde dropped his head. “So I have to sell this property to get my money back?”
        “Yes.”
        “Can’t I just sell this deed to you, the casino, right now, and then get some money instead of dealing with this whole hassle?”
        “In some cases, we would be willing to make such arrangements, but it’s not the casino’s policy to accept this sort of property,” the teller said. “Sir, the facility has personnel there who are more qualified to answer your questions than I am.”
        “Okay. Thanks for your help.” Bogarde picked out two black sticks and set them on the counter in front of the teller. “Here ya go.”
        The teller stared at the two rods.
        “Not enough?”
        “An Elaysian pan-handler earns more than this a day.”
        “Oh frell it,” Ruiz sighed. She grabbed a handful out of the tray and put them in front of the teller.
        “Thank you very much,” the teller said, smiling.
        “But that’s my money-” Bogarde said.
        Ruiz just pushed Bogarde away from the booth. “You’ve got about 2 bars’ worth of latinum waiting for you. Quit griping. Let’s go to the exchange booth first, it’s closer.”

        The corridor that housed the Asset Storage Facility was less noisy and crowded than the other sections of the station Bogarde and Ruiz had been through. The clientele for the businesses in this corridor was different as well. Though Bogarde didn’t know enough local cultural information, he got the sense that the people were dressed more professionally.
        The teller’s directions were clear, and both Ruiz and Bogarde found the facility with ease. They entered the rounded lobby. Bogarde’s trained eye noticed that several of the people standing casually around the lobby were actually security of some sort. They had no weapons, ostensibly due to station regulations.
        “You noticed the muscle too?” said Ruiz, seeing Bogarde study one of the guards.
        “Yeah. Trying to see if any of ’em have concealed weapons.”
        “I can’t see any.”
        “Me neither,” Bogarde replied.
        “Hello, new faces. I’m the customer care manager, Twya’e. Are you here to open a new account?” A tweedy figure approached them, dressed in a slate grey outfit with a white sash. The alien epitomized the idea of thin. Her face was thin. Her shoulders were slender. Her nose was aquiline, with four nostrils which flared daintily each time she took a breath to speak.
        “No,” Bogarde answered Twya’e. “I’m here to pick up something that’s being kept here. Here.” He handed the metallic document to the alien.
        The manager looked at the document. “Of course. It appears you have done spectacularly well today. Glord Preea is one of our preferred customers on the station. He must be sad to part with this particular item.” She gestured to a black outfitted alien, of the same species as herself. The alien nodded and walked into a large doorway.
        “Well, I have to return to my ship. So if there’s any, uh, paperwork to fill out, let’s do it.”
        “No need,” the manager said. “Everything’s taken care of. All that remains is for you to sign a receipt for the goods, then you can take it with you. This way, please.” Twya’e led Bogarde and Ruiz to an alcove where a pedestal stood. The manager tapped on the computer screen on the pedestal and handed Bogarde a stylus.
        Bogarde read the monitor, which showed Federation Standard. It was a fairly long contract. Bogarde scrolled to the bottom. A short paragraph appeared to condense the document.

                “Glord Preea transfers ownership of Item 4 Bezel Elp,
                also known as Ambgris, generation IV. Bazaar Asset Storage                         Facility certifies that said item has transferred from its
                holding area to ______, on this date 98970-21/1226.”

        “There’s a blank spot. I put my name there?” Bogarde asked.
        “Yes,” Twya’e said. “You are military, are you not?”
        “Uh, well,” Bogarde mumbled, not sure of how to explain the dynamics of Starfleet to the manager. “Close enough, yes.”
        “Please mark any rank and identifiers, if you will.” The manager clasped her hands together.
        Bogarde inputted his name, rank and serial number, then looked back up at the the manager.
        “Excellent. A technician should be in the storage area. We can complete the transfer. One more thing. According to Bazaar Law, I must inform you that your DNA has been recorded to guard against fraud, and may be used in any tribunal proceedings we may choose to bring against fraudulent customers.”
        “How’d you get a sample of my DNA?”
        Twya’e gestured to the stylus in his hand.
        “Okay. Well, everything’s on the up and up here,” Bogarde said. “I just want to get the thing, sell it, then go back to my ship.”
        “Hm,” Twya’e murmured. “If that is what you wish. Follow me.”
        The manager led them through a large doorway, past several rows of thick doors. Apparently they were entering the vault area. The air got colder and more metallic tasting the further they went.
        “Of course, we are meticulous about climate control,” the manager said. She went on, extolling the virtues of her business, speaking by rote. Finally after several twists and turns, they arrived to a hall. Rectangular doors lined the one wall, at least two stories high. The same blacksuited alien stood by an open door. A coffin-like box had been slid out from the recess in the wall. The alien was peering at a monitor on the top of the ‘casket.’
        “Aketa, is it ready to be released?”
        “Yes,” the technician said. “It is waking up.”
        “Whoa, whoa,” Bogarde called out. “Did I hear that right? It’s waking up?”
        “Yes,” Twya’e said. “We’re releasing it from suspended animation. I apologize, did you want it to remain in suspended animation? I had assumed you wanted it aware and mobile. I saw no conveyances in the lobby to transport it-”
        “Stop!” Bogarde snapped at the aliens. “Number one question. What is it?”
        The casket beeped, and the lid started sliding down the length of the box. Twya’e looked at the technician. “Has it been imprinted yet?”
        “I do not know,” the technician answered.
        “Quick, away! Do not speak!” The aliens hurried off to the end of the hall.
        The casket slid open and a silver-skinned humanoid alien sat up. The alien had short, spiky black hair, with tinges of blue. It was dressed in a metallic dress which had wiring attached to the front. It was a woman, a young woman by Bogarde’s standards. Her almond shaped eyes had electric blue irises with large dark pupils. They stared at Bogarde and Ruiz, since they were the only ones nearby in view.
        “What is that?” asked Bogarde.
        Twya’e stepped back to the casket. “You don’t know what an Ambgris is?”
        “No,” Bogarde said. “Like you said, we’re new faces here.”
        “Ah,” Twya’e paused. “In simple terms, an Ambgris is a genetically cultivated recreational concubine model.”
        “A test-tube sex slave?” Ruiz prompted.
        “Not a slave in the sense of the word,” Twya’e said. “It is created specifically for this purpose. Therefore, it cannot be forced to do something for which it was created for. You would not call a shuttlecraft a slave, since it does its function.”
        Ruiz shook her head “But it’s sentient!”
        “No, it is not. It is no more sentient than a holographic person or an android.”
        “Well, back home, I know one or two people who might argue with you on that,” Bogarde said. “Anyway, why do you keep calling her ‘it?’ Unless I’m mistaken, it’s all woman.”
        “Yes, that is it’s current gender. If you wish, you can reassign its gender at any Ambgris service outlets in this sector. Ambgris DNA contains a number of genetic markers which can be deactivated or activated, to obtain a favorable appearance or physique.”
        During this exchange the Ambgris stared vacantly at Bogarde and Ruiz, blinking languorously. Bogarde met its eyes and looked away quickly. “Look, I don’t want this... thing.”
        “Yes, you had said you wished to sell it.”
        “Leo!” Ruiz tugged on Bogarde’s arm. “You’re not going to sell her!”
        Bogarde grabbed Ruiz by the arm, pulling her to the side, away from the manager. “Look, Amanda. I came here with eight strips of latinum. That’s all my money. Right now I have four strips in my pocket, thanks to your big spender tip. I’ve got about 2 bars of latinum tied up in that!” He pointed at the Ambgris. “I’m not leaving without my money. I need it. I don’t like this any more than you do. But I’ve got to try and figure out how to straighten this situation out. So either shut the fuck up, or leave.”
        “I’m going back to the ship,” Ruiz said after a moment’s pause.
        “Yeah, you do that.” She slapped the map slate into Bogarde’s chest and he took hold of it. He watched Ruiz walk down the hall, exiting the vault area. Then the chief turned to look at Twya’e.
        “Okay,” he said. “You already know I want to sell it. Can I sell it to you, this bank?”
        “We are not a bank. We are a storage facility,” Twya’e said. “We hold assets and facilitate transactions between parties.”
        “Well can you find someone to buy this?”
        “Not in a matter of hours. The majority of Ambgris consumers buy directly from Ambgris service outlets, however. The illegal markets might be productive, but we only deal with Bazaar markets on the station only.”
        “Is there an outlet on this station? Maybe I can sell it back to them.”
        “No,” Twya’e said. “I can find and provide you with coordinates for the nearest one. You can transport her there.”
        Bogarde shook his head. “I can’t take her, I mean, it onto my ship. I need to get rid of this here and now.”
        “Perhaps you should speak with Glord Preea. This used to be his property after all.”
        “That was my next thought,” Bogarde said. “I’m going to go back to the casino, see if I can find him there.” He turned to walk out of the vault area.
        “Sir, you’re forgetting something.”
        Bogarde turned back to look at the manager. “Oh, that. Can I leave her- it, here?”
        “I’m afraid not. You’ve already signed it out. I can open a new storage account for you, if you wish.”
        “How much?”
        Twya’e walked to a wall monitor, tapping on it. “In your currency, approximately eight strips of latinum.”
        “For two hours?!”
        Twya’e wobbled her head. “That is a full day’s fee. We do not charge by the hour.”
        “Well, even if I had the money, I wouldn’t waste it just for two hours. I’ll take the Amber thing with me,” Bogarde said, gritting his teeth. He stepped up to the Ambgris. She continued to stare at him, blinking silently. “What do I say to it?”
        “Simply speak to it. It will understand you. There is a translator built into its tunic.”
        The technician had already unplugged the wiring in the metallic tunic. Bogarde looked at her. “Come on out.” He helped her step out of the casket and onto the deck. The tunic was one piece, reaching down to her knees. Her feet were covered in dark grey moccasins. The tunic made a soft crinkling sound as the Ambgris moved.
        “Follow me,” Bogarde said. She fell in step behind him as they walked down the hall and out into the station.
        “What is your name?” the Ambgris asked, speaking for the first time. Her voice was soft and melodic. It vibrated slightly more than a normal human’s voice. Bogarde looked down at her.
        He sighed and frowned angrily. “Just call me Massah.”
        “Yes, Massah.” Bogarde winced the moment the words came out of her mouth.
        “No, forget that. Bad joke.”
        The Ambgris blinked placidly. “What shall I call you then?”
        “It doesn’t matter. You’ll be off my hands soon anyway.”
        “Why? What have I done? How have I displeased you?”
        “Stop talking. Just... stop talking,” Bogarde said. “Just follow me and stay quiet.”
        The Ambgris nodded obediently.

        The casino was still as crowded and noisy as before. Bogarde continually looked behind him to make sure the Ambgris was still there, following him. She remained true to his orders, following him closely. Bogarde turned his head again and scanned the gaming tables, looking for Glord’s figure.
        He found Glord in another section of the casino, speaking to a waiter. Bogarde walked up to the table, looking at the alien. “Glord.”
        “Bogarde, back so soon?” He caught sight of the Ambgris behind Bogarde. “Ah... enjoying your winnings already?”
        “No,” Bogarde said. “That’s why I’m here.”
        “Is there a problem with the Ambgris? Tell you what, I’ll pay for the gender reassignation if that’s the problem. Consider it my thanks for the magnificent rounds of Workout we played.”
        “No, no, that’s not it,” Bogarde waved his hand. “Look, I don’t want it. I want the money I won.”
        “You know this casino works on a barter system. All transactions, losing or winning, are final. Isn’t that right, dealer?” Glord looked at the card dealer on the other side of the table. The dealer nodded.
        “But I didn’t know I was going to win an Ambgris. All I know was that you owe me two bars of gpl, and some strips.”
        “I’ve already paid you,” Glord pointed at the Ambgris. It’s not my fault if you were too focused on how much my assets were worth than at what they were.”
        Bogarde glowered at Glord, but refrained from saying anything for a minute. He took a deep breath then forced a smile. “Okay. How about this? I’ll sell it back to you in exchange for real currency. I’ll round it down to just two bars of latinum.”
        Glord looked at the Ambgris again. “How long has it been awake?”
        “What?” Bogarde thought for a minute. “Twenty-five minutes, maybe thirty.”
        “Ahh... it’s been imprinting for quite a bit already.”
        “Yeah, I think I heard that,” Bogarde frowned. “What’s that?”
        Glord looked at the dealer. “I concede my cards. I’m out until further notice.” He turned to answer Bogarde.
        “When an Ambgris first awakens from its suspended animation, it imprints on the first voice it hears and first person it sees. The process is not instantaneous, but it does happen quickly when in close proximity. You were there when it awoke, were you not? And it has been by your side since then. It has been studying you, learning the sound of your foot fall, your breathing. It’s been learning your preferences, whether or not you tend to your left or your right. It’s learning the intonations of your voice. All to serve you the best it can.
        “Now, the imprinting process is not permanent. Any Ambgris service outlet can remap its brain, although that takes a significant amount of money and time. Additionally, in the Ambgris consumer community, an Ambgris which has never been awakened and imprinted is called a fresh. Typically, those who can afford them, rather than remapped ones, awaken them in the privacy of their own homes in complete isolation. That way, the Ambgris never has any benchmark for comparison. Confidentially speaking, that’s part of the allure for a small niche of consumers, the sexually inadequate. Not me, of course.” Glord chuckled.
        Bogarde smiled politely, although his jaw muscles twisted underneath his dark skin.
        “Nevertheless, once a fresh begins imprinting, their value drastically drops. Now, I’ll be willing to buy it from you, but not at its previous value. Now, I’ll give you oh...” he thought, making mental calculations. “One of your bars.”
        “Half!” Bogarde hissed incredulously.
        “It was fresh, and remapping takes money as I’ve said. I’m giving you a good deal, a fellow winner to another.”
        “I don’t think so. You’ve been screwing me. The storage bank screwed me. This casino screwed me. I’m not gonna bend over and get screwed one more time.”
        “Fine,” Glord said frostily. “In the spirit of full disclosure, the value will go down with each minute. If I were you, I’d take the money and go back to your ship. I doubt you’ll be able to get a better deal anywhere else on this station, except maybe in the market outside. I doubt you’ve been here long enough to cultivate any contacts. You know where to find me if you reconsider.”
        “Yeah. Don’t hold your breath.”
        “Oh, another minute has passed. Soon, the Ambgris will be worth only strips instead of bars.”
        Bogarde nodded, his mouth compressed in a tight line. He turned and stomped his way out of the casino.

        Once away from the lights and glitz of the casino district, Bogarde leaned against one of the thick bulkheads that punctuated the station corridors. He tapped the back of his head against the bulkhead. The Ambgris stood quietly at his side, looking up at him. She reached out to touch his arm tenderly.
        “Don’t touch me!” The chief jerked his arm away violently. “Stop standing so close to me!”
        The Ambgris took several steps away, always keeping her eyes on Bogarde. He turned and stared away from her, looking down the corridor. The familiarity of the corridor jogged his memory. He stood up. “Come on,” he said as he started down the corridor. He walked quickly past the vendor booths and storefronts, looking for a particular alien.
        After a moment’s of rapid walking, he saw the man he wanted to see. “Hey!” he called out.
        Jerm Nôr was rearranging items on the top shelf on his cart. He turned to see Bogarde. “Ah! Leo Bohgar!”
        “Hey... you.” Bogarde shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”
        “Maybe my name, yes, but apparently not me,” Jerm Nôr said. “What brings you back to my corner of the Bazaar? Oh my, is that a Ambgris? Where did you purchase that?”
        “You like it?”
        The shopkeeper circled the Ambgris, nodding approvingly. “Oh, it’s very lovely. Mild touches of Hemarti genetics, a little Torig coloration... very nice,” Jerm Nôr said. “I would have not thought you would be the sort of person who would purchase such an item. Did an outlet open up on another level of the Bazaar that I’m not aware of?”
        “No, not as far as I know,” Bogarde said. “Really, I won it in a game in a casino.”
        “Oh! Congratulations!”
        “Thank you,” Bogarde smiled.
        “I’ve often wished to sell Ambgris models through my shop, but it’s very difficult to do so. Ambgris outlets tend to frown on reselling their products outside of official channels, so I never have been able to purchase any for myself.”
        “Ah, I’ve heard that. Tell you what. I’ve been thinking about what to do with the Ambgris. I can’t take it back with me onto my ship. I’ve been thinking that I should just liquidate it and get cash value off it. Maybe we can work out a deal?”
        “Truly?”
        “Yeah, sure, man.”
        Jerm Nôr picked up a PADD-like tablet. “What figure were you thinking of?”
        “Two and a half bars of gold-pressed latinum.”
        “I’m not familiar with that currency,” the shopkeeper said. “Let me call up a conversion database from the station computers.”
        Bogarde nodded and waited, watching Jerm Nôr. The shopkeeper snorted quietly. “That is a large sum of money.”
        “It’s a fresh,” said Bogarde. “That’s why.”
        “Ahh, yes. Still, that is very steep. I don’t even have that amount of money in my lockbox here!”
        Bogarde nodded, moving onto the next step. “Okay. I can see that’s a problem. I’ll knock a half bar off.”
        Jerm Nôr recalculated the figures on his tablet. “Still quite an asking price.”
        “I have a deal from the man I won this from. Turns out he doesn’t want to part with it. He’s willing to give me cash instead.”
        “Then why don’t you go to him?”
        Bogarde leaned in close, speaking softly. “To tell you the truth, I don’t really like him.” He laughed. “I thought I’d look elsewhere, and I remembered you. If nothing else, I can always get special dispensation from my commanding officer and sell her back to an outlet, but that’d cost money.”
        “Her?”
        “It,” Bogarde corrected himself, smiling. “Anyway... I know you have contacts out there.” He gestured upwards, to the ships that were outside the station. “I know you can make money off this.”
        Jerm Nôr looked silently at Bogarde for a moment. “Let me speak to my spawn-sibling. Perhaps we can arrange something.”
        “Take your time.”
        The shopkeeper choked a few times, laughing softly. “Time is not something we have, but then you know that already, don’t you? How long has she been awake, eh? Yes, you conveniently neglected to mention that.”
        “Ah-”
        “It is allright. One expects a certain degree of deception in such negotiations,” Jerm Nôr said. “Nevertheless, it appears you and I may be able to do something for one another. A moment please.” He went around the back of the cart to speak in a communicator unit.
        Bogarde crossed his arms and waited.
        Several minutes later, the shopkeeper walked back to Bogarde. “We agree that it would be a boon to purchase this Ambgris model from you. Nobody can buy one on this station because none are for sale. Even if we find no buyers, there are still other uses for it.”
        “How much?”
        “The most we can really pay is approximately 1.67 bars of latinum.”
        “How about we skip the haggling, and you tell me your bottom line.”
        “1.78 bars of latinum. There’s remapping fees to consider, and so on. This is the best offer you can get right now, from me and I’d wager anyone else. Two bars is much too steep.”
        Bogarde stared at the reflections of light off his black boots, thinking. He looked back up. “Fine. I’ll take it.”
        “Excellent. I’ll need the certificate you got when you acquired the Ambgris.”
        “Yeah, it’s in my pocket.” Bogarde pulled it out and showed it to the shopkeeper. Jerm Nôr pulled out a small safe from a hidden drawer in the side of the cart. He dialed in a code and opened the safe, revealing metallic shards and other currency. He started sorting the currency.
        “You’ll have to excuse me,” Bogarde said, “but I’d rather you went and exchanged the currency yourself. I don’t want to go to the exchange and find out you shorted me out of my money.”
        “I understand,” said Jerm Nôr. He filled a small bag with currency. “I’ve heard interesting but good things about the Federation so far. I’m fairly sure I’ll see you when I return.”
        “I’m not going anywhere without my money.”
        Jerm Nôr gestured to him, then walked off down the corridor. Bogarde turned to look at the Ambgris. She looked more forlorn than before. He looked away from her, not wanting to be reminded of her presence. He looked at the objects on the cart, grimacing with distaste.
        The twisted stuff people do with sex toys... he thought to himself. He was a traditionalist at heart. Two people in a bedroom, having fun together, that’s what it only needed. Bringing in foreign objects just made it seem a little more artificial to him.
        Some of the things on the shelves had functions that were unidentifiable to him. In the end, most of them looked simply like replacements for a real person.
        Like the Ambgris, he thought to himself. It was beyond anything on Jerm Nôr’s shelves, however. It lived, breathed, and could speak and understand language. A question suddenly arose, unbidden in his mind. Why was Twya’e so blase about the Ambgris’s sentience?
        He wasn’t much for history, but he vaguely recalled some of the philosophical and moral questions that were raised when cloning became more perfected on Earth in the past. He shook his head, as if to shake out the thoughts and questions in his mind.
        He noticed Jerm Nôr returning with an glittering bar of latinum and his currency bag. He set the bar down on the counter of the shop cart and emptied the bag.
        “You may count it, but there is actually two bars worth of latinum there,” the shopkeeper said.
        “Two?”
        “I can read customers,” he said. “I know your goal was two bars. Jerm Nôr hissed. “We may be able to pay you your two bars for an additional thing.”
        “Yeah? What?”
        “I did make you an offer earlier. For informational purposes...”
        “You mean the body scan?”
        “Yes, you remember,” Jerm Nôr nodded. “We’d be paying you against the future income we generate from your product. If you really want to recoup your winnings, that is how you can get it.”
        Bogarde stared at the shopkeeper. Finally, he broke away, shaking his head. “People have been fucking me ever since I stepped onto this station. Why should it stop after I leave?”

        Bogarde had finished counting the money, sorting it into stacked piles.
        “Do you need a box or sack for the money?” Jerm Nôr asked.
        “That’d be handy,” Bogarde said. The shopkeeper gave Bogarde a small wooden-like box. The chief stacked his money in the box, then closed it. He hefted it underneath his arm.
        “Pleasure doing business with you,” Jerm Nôr said. “Again, thank you for the body scan.”
        “Just shut up about that, okay? We did it. It’s done with. I’d like to forget about it.”
        “I apologize. Not everyone appreciates the kind of immortality we offer.”
        “I have to go,” said Bogarde. He set off down the corridor. “Bye,” he said, not looking back at the shopkeeper.
        The Ambgris ran up to Bogarde, walking alongside him. Bogarde looked at her. “No, I told you, you have to stay with Jerm Nôr.”
        She struggled not to speak, but it was clear she wanted to say something. Finally, she just shook her head, a human gesture she had picked up from Bogarde.
        He took hold of her arm and escorted her back to the shopkeeper’s cart. “Look, you have to do what I say. And I said, stay here.”
        She grabbed at his arm, causing him to drop the box with the latinum. It fell onto the floor, spilling the golden strips and the bar.
        Jerm Nôr hissed. “Looks like it’s fully imprinted. Not to worry. I won’t ask for any of your money back. We knew we would need to remap it anyway. I know there are people who like Ambgrises who have already imprinted on other people. They like the struggle, you know? Might even pay for the remapping itself.”
        Bogarde stared at the merchant in disgust. He slowly knelt down to gather the money back into the box, closing the lid. He stood up, holding the box in front of him.
        The Ambgris stared at him, frowning plaintively, whimpering slightly. “You stay here,” Bogarde slowly said. He gripped the box of money tightly and turned, heading for the nearest exit. He managed to tune out most of the whimpering of the Ambgris behind him.
        He made it to the transporter coordinates and transported back to his ship. The transporter operator looked at the box Bogarde was holding. He looked down at the sensors on the console. “Whoa, that’s a lot of latinum you have there.”
        Bogarde’s frown turned into a smile. “I won it,” he said, showing all his teeth.

        The door to her quarters chimed. Ruiz looked up at the door from the floor. Her leg was twisted around her other leg as she continued stretching. “Come in.”
        Bogarde stood in the open doorway. She gave him a hostile stare.
        “I’m here to pay you back for the money. There’s a little extra too. Kind of a ‘I’m sorry’ for snapping at you earlier,” Bogarde said, holding up two small strips of latinum.
        “I don’t want your slave money. Get out.”
        Bogarde knew better than to try to argue with Ruiz. He just turned around and stepped out of her quarters. The door slid shut behind him. He stood there for a minute, tapping the strips against his open palm.
        Suddenly he threw down the strips against the deck, screaming “Fuck!” The strips bounced off the padded carpet and tumbled across the corridor. Bogarde walked down towards the turbolift.
        He stopped and turned around to pick up the strips.