Alan meets an unusual shopkeeper…
Alan scurried along the corridor past restaurants and tax-free supermarkets away from his Human companions. He had enjoyed his little bit of playacting but Humans were so easy to manipulate, rarely seeing a deception unless it was presented and explained to them. The Gren were not victims of the same stupidity. When Alan’s ancestors first encountered the people of the Earthworld, they were confused by the disorganisation of their race, so unlike the strictly ordered Gren culture. Which was why Alan had been chosen to study the Earthpeople, particularly those that broke their society’s few laws.
Soon he had come to be in the service of Mr. Graves. A criminal who, much to Alan’s initial surprise, didn’t believe himself to be so. Alan found this to be a common trait amongst Humans thinking that, in a largely lawless culture, the scant rules there were would be held in high regard.
Alan’s current task was to involve breaking one of these laws and required the visiting of an unusual establishment far below the public deck he was now moving along. At the end of the corridor, past a particularly unpleasant smelling café, was a service elevator. Alan glanced around, checking that he wasn’t being watched, and pressed the elevator’s call button.
The little store was secluded away in a dark corner of the station’s lowest level, far away from the eyes of tourists who might mistake it for a simple souvenir shop. The store dealt in various specialist items that buyers would have shipped in unmarked containers to avoid any unwanted attention. There was one on every station large enough to hide it and like many others, the owner of this store was an Overseer.
The Overseer had taken the form of an elderly human male and seemed to relish in it, his hair was silvery and unwashed, his beard matted and yellowed from centuries of smoking and he emitted an odour of alcohol and decay amongst the tobacco. He was a perfectly odd proprietor for such an odd place of business.
When Alan exited the elevator and approached the stall, the Overseer greeted him in a language that Alan was sure had once been the English of his current employer but was coupled with such a thick and curious accent that he couldn’t understand a word of it, it seemed cheerful enough. Thankfully, the task at hand did not require much in the way of conversation.
“Greetings, my good friend.” Alan spoke slowly and strained to lower his voice, Gren vocal chords not being wholly similar to Human, speaking their languages was often a chore. “I have a package to collect for Mr. Graves.” He handed the order slip to the Overseer who bleated something which sounded either obscenely cheerful or cheerfully obscene and disappeared out to the back of the shop.
As the old man busied himself in the back, Alan looked about the shop’s more overt fare; an umbrella stand in the shape of a large Earth mammal foot held several ancient rifles, several clearly broken clocks lined the shelves. Alan wondered how the old man ever made a living. Just as the Overseer returned, a small parcel in his hand, Alan was struck by a worrying thought. “Has payment been arranged?”
“Aye.” Said the Overseer, placing the box on the counter between himself and Alan.
Alan reached forward and released the catch on the box, opening it. Inside, laid in a bed of protective foam, was a small orb the size of a baseball and made from a glassy mineral that caught the light in a slightly unnatural way. Alan reached into the box and picked up the orb to inspect it more closely feeling it strangely warm to the touch. As he did so, the old man’s arm shot out and grabbed Alan’s by the wrist, a look of worry had crossed his face and he spoke in a voice with none of its usual good humour. “Tek care, boy!”
Alan returned the ball to its case and closed the lid. With that the Overseer seemed to forget the whole incident and made his way back to the rear of his shop, mumbling cheerily as he did so. Alan picked up the case and headed back to the elevator.
Alan arrived at the ship just as Mr. Graves performed his vanishing act and transported to the small craft he had waiting not far away. Jan spotted him approaching and looked less than pleased to see him.
“I trust your discussion was a success?” inquired the Gren.
“You could say that.” Jan replied. “But I’m not sure who for.” with that Jan made his way into the ship in search of the cockpit. Alan followed close behind, closing the ship’s rear doors as he went.
The rest of the ship was much like the cargo hold, old and far past the end of its natural life, the cockpit seemed to be cobbled together from several different ships. None of the three chairs matched and none of them looked like they belonged.
Jan sat down in what he presumed was the pilot’s chair and began stabbing at buttons, flicking switches, trying to get the ships systems online while simultaneously figuring out what they were. He soon noticed a distinct looming presence over his shoulder. “What?” he asked without turning.
“I know that this is now your ship, and I am merely your crew member, but I am fully trained in the operation of this vessel and would be more than happy to offer any assistance.” said Alan.
“You want to help? Then sit down and keep quiet. You work for Mr. Graves and the last person I had on my crew that worked for Mr. Graves tried to kill me. So forgive me if I don’t trust you. Now, I think I’ve got this figured out.” There was a thud and a whine as the engined kicked to life. “Lets go find someone I can trust.”
