Galaxies: The Edge Of Paradise

Chapter One: Not Everyone Knows

TW: Mentions of Slavery, Fantasy Racism, and Violence

Space is filled to the brink with thriving life. The ones blessed with endless coin, free to travel to the ends of the void and further, whilst the ones cursed with little too null coin, forever trapped on their birth planets. The star spattered inky cosmos stuffed with ships that vary in size and quality, planets either made from natural causes, or by the hands of experienced travelers. Many metallic planets scattered the vast emptiness, marketplaces and trade centers, medical bays and rescue stations, an endless void of possibility. 

The aforementioned coin is a cross-terrestrial currency that every alien that touched the outside of their world used. Coin can buy a beings dream, or be the end of their reign when conquered. Coin isn’t truly a physical thing, even though it could be; instead, it’s a digital interface currency, transferred via portable tablets called transmitters. Reaching eight inches in width, and sixteen inches in length, the portable transmitter can shrink into the size of a pen, depending on the model. More advanced, expensive models have a larger interface, and a smaller compaction size. And, like any currency, coin can be stolen, by hacking or pirates, or blackmail, no matter which dark path taken, there is always a benefit of coin.

Despite outer space being near endless, there are specific rules set in place, most held by the rule of honor. Laws protect against pirating, or blackmail, or things like that, yet there are no severe consequences except for if any of these situations occur, the owner of said stolen coin can defend their belongings as they please. If an alien were to choose a coward to illegally obtain coin from, then they would be off Scott free. The most illegal, yet most providing job, is the slave trade.

The slave trade includes sentient beings, no matter which species, trained into submission to be used as the owner pleases. Illegal, on many levels, yet despite the democratic laws in place, the most profitable profession in the entirety of space. Most slave trades take place in black markets; small handmade metal planets hosted by shady vendors and dealers. The most illegal things, sold in the most illegal ways, can be found on the metal planets that civilian aliens dubbed ‘Shrouded Outposts’. A backhanded way of calling said market places shady, an accurate representation.

Pogtopia, one of the most popular Shrouded Outposts, was nestled in the blank space between the convergence of five different galaxies. Despite its smaller size, it’s crammed full of endless booths, defensive creatures, and the best deals known too any. As Pogtopias’ usual bustle traverses onwards, a small and rundown ship entered the docking area, a place crowded from panel to panel with unauthorized ships. The little ship docks at a small outlet, powering down and connecting to the haphazard airlock of the metallic planet. Planets such as the Shrouded Outposts have manufactured atmospheres, designed for whichever species created them, meaning each one had the potential of having a different air composition. Most visitors to these types of planets had filtered masks strapped tight against their faces, and make their trips quick as to not risk damage to their own systems from the foreign air.

The little ship seemed to be of Transit Ship origin, built for speed and maneuverability, yet had the outward additions of something similar to an explorer ship. Whilst a transit ship was usually run by a small family, and was adapted per species, an explorer ship was meant to handle a crew of about fifteen too twenty. Explorer ships had added radars and photography add-ons to the more protected panels of the ship, and more evenly distributed thrusters, instead of the single directional ones to be found on a quick Transit Ship, the distribution making it easier to hover in the endless void of space.

The owner of the rundown ship finally stepped out, the ships bay door closing behind them with a sort of finality, as though promising a life changing occurrence by the time the owner returned. Speaking of the owner, the alien towered a good four meters tall, body hidden in the folds of a thick, dull brown cloak. What could be seen was half covered by a mask, it’s face a grayish blue color, with speckles of silver, and green eyes that reflected a light glow if light hit them just right. Their head was draped in cobalt and forest green feathers, it’s ears little nubs of cartilage marked by straight and grey feathers. The mask was an ugly thing, black and heavy, filters popping out from both the left and right sides of the creatures muzzle, yet it did its job, transferring the thin air into a much richer version, suitable for the aliens lungs.