Chapter 3

An hour later, Aliki blinked at the screen, which she could smell was on the brink of despair—or perhaps that was just the faint odor clinging to her own clothes, an impressive blend of smoke, old coffee, and stale air. She sighed, stretching to take in her surroundings, a reminder that the universe was, in fact, operating on a level of chaos far greater than she could have foreseen.

It was around this moment, as she considered pressing the NEXT button one more time, that she realized her primary issues boiled down to two unalterable facts: she was hungry, and her clothes had experienced better, far fresher-smelling days. In fact, they’d probably gone sour somewhere around 17:30 yesterday, during the incident that had reduced her night’s sleep to a thoroughly pointless few hours.

“Right,” she muttered, pushing back from the desk. Clearly, any attempt to tackle the mysteries of power outages, Tira’s upcoming wedding extravaganza, and humanity’s deep-rooted love for unhelpful technology was going to require a change of costume. Preferably one that didn’t remind her of burnt toast.

With the matter settled in a hazy corner of her brain, Aliki trudged toward the shower in her apartment, tossing her jacket onto a chair in the living area as she passed through and wincing as it landed with a damp-sounding flumph. There was no salvaging dignity from this situation. But the promise of a shower was enough to lift her spirits, even if only by a degree or two.

Earth’s idea of a ‘shower’ was a luxury Aliki had once found baffling. Back on Sanctum Station, her first experience with Earth-style bathing had come as a surprise; like most people in the galaxy, she’d only ever known the EchoSpritz system, a brand of sonic-shower that cleansed with vibrating sound waves instead of water. During her orientation at the HIS center on Sanctum Station, she’d been assigned a small studio apartment with “Earth-normal” amenities, and her counselor had carefully explained the concept of a water shower. “Earth has plenty of water,” she’d said with a reassuring smile. “People there actually enjoy using it for bathing.”

Aliki had watched skeptically as the counselor demonstrated how to adjust the spray’s volume and temperature, finishing with instructions on the use of towels, thick absorbent fabric meant to dry the body afterward. She’d been left alone to try it herself, eyeing the setup with more than a little apprehension. The idea of submersing herself under falling water was strange, and her first attempt had been nerve wracking. She’d quickly stepped out dripping wet, water pooling on the floor and clinging to her skin in an uncomfortable film.

But after a few days she found herself looking forward to these showers. She learned to adjust the nozzles for a gentler spray, even discovered how to add soap to one of the intakes, creating bubbles that made the experience unexpectedly pleasant. Now, as she washed the stale smell of smoke from her hair, she thought she might actually prefer water showers over the EchoSpritz.

Stepping out, she grabbed a towel and dried thoroughly before returning to her bedroom to palm open the wardrobe door. Her “fashionable” Earth-standard wardrobe greeted her in all its limited glory: two outfits, neither particularly inspiring. They were functional, certainly, but compared to the soft, adaptable quillen she’d practically lived in, these felt rough and heavy. Still, with a sigh of resignation, she took down one of the outfits and began to dress, already missing the way her old clothes had warmed to her skin and breathed like a second layer.

She tucked the loose ends of the blouse into the pants and surveyed the result with a frown. She’d have to order more Earth outfits soon-- maybe she could find something that she actually liked. But, for now, this would have to do.

At least the hair and makeup routine was getting easier. Her personal care instructor would’ve been proud—well, assuming they weren’t expecting perfection. After dabbing a subtle wash of color onto her cheeks and lining her eyes just enough to look awake, she pulled her hair back into a tidy tail and gave her reflection one last critical glance. “Functional. Functional is fine.”

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped out of the bathroom. As she passed the door to the guest suite, she caught the low rumble of voices, unmistakably Zoron and Tira. Apparently, her new housemates were up and active. Perhaps they, too, were feeling the strain of yesterday’s incident.

With a small sigh, Aliki continued silently past the door, making her way toward the common area, where her day’s challenges would inevitably be waiting. Coffee first.

The dealership’s common area consisted of the large showroom, two multi-species rest rooms, and a snack room, which was really not much more than a corner of the showroom occupied by a few tables and chairs, some cabinets and a small cooler. The NebulaFlow machine waited in the corner, humming faintly as if it had been preparing for her arrival. She selected the strongest coffee option, a blend called “Solar Roast,” and watched as the machine produced the dark, steaming liquid with mechanical precision. The first sip wasn’t great—it never was—but at least it was hot.

Armed with her mug, she made her way back to the office. Her tablet was waiting, its surface blinking politely. She contemplated continued research into station power outages, but after discovering the hidden logs yesterday, she didn’t want to accidentally destroy anything that might be evidence. No, she’d wait for Mitch to return to point out what she found.

“That’s his job now,” she muttered, pulling up her notes on the wedding, “and apparently this is mine.” She began thumbing through the ideas she’d already rejected. “Why does everything have to sparkle or glow?” She scrolled past yet another painfully extravagant suggestion involving a procession of crystal-encrusted swans illuminated by bioluminescent butterflies. Were all Earth weddings this ridiculous?

Aliki tapped at the tablet, sifting through the overwhelming suggestions until she stumbled upon the search term “traditional.” In stark contrast to the modern options—one promising “cosmic carnival grandeur”—this term led to less extravagant choices. She noted anything that seemed, if not reasonable, at least remotely possible. A floral arch, perhaps. Simple table decorations. Something that wouldn’t require smuggling in a cargo load of interstellar diamonds or a living menagerie.

Her fingers slowed as another thought crept in: who was paying for this? Zoron? Someone else entirely? If this wedding was anything like the rest of her life recently, it would involve more questions than answers, but one thing was certain: the dealership budget had no money available for extravagant purchases. In fact, she’d used most of it for the purchase of the Metsu. Now, what remained of the ship lay across the parking lot like the aftermath of a botched fireworks display—smoking, scattered, and entirely unsellable. Any hopes of it providing a profit margin had gone up in smoke. Literally.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a faint hiss from down the hall—the apartment door opening. Aliki froze, coffee halfway to her lips, and listened. The rhythmic sound of footsteps approached, each one measured and deliberate. Zoron appeared in the doorway, his tall frame filling the space.

“I see you’re already hard at work.”

Aliki straightened in her chair, setting the coffee cup down carefully. “I’ve been reviewing potential ideas for the wedding,” she replied, gesturing to the tablet. “There are a lot of considerations. I’ll have some ideas ready by the end of the day.”

Zoron stepped further into the room, his expression unreadable. “Good. Tira has high expectations, as you’ve probably noticed.” He folded his arms, studying her for a moment before continuing. “I need you to handle this efficiently. There’s enough on my plate already.”

Aliki nodded, keeping her posture firm even as she felt the weight of his words settle on her shoulders. “Of course. I’ll make sure it’s taken care of.”

He glanced around the office before turning to leave. “One more thing,” Zoron said, pausing in the doorway as if the thought had only just occurred to him. He glanced back at Aliki, his tone deliberately casual. “There should be some chocolate in the building. Tira wants a few bars. Go fetch it for me, would you? Ask Emmett for help if you have problems finding it.”

Aliki blinked, momentarily thrown. Chocolate? Here? She hadn’t seen so much as a stray wrapper in the snack room. Still, she kept her expression neutral and nodded. “Of course. I’ll look for it.”

“Good,” Zoron replied, his gaze lingering for a fraction longer than necessary. “You can bring it to us in the manager’s suite.”

With that, he strode off down the hall, leaving Aliki to sit back in her chair, her mind already spinning. She couldn’t remember seeing any chocolate anywhere, and the request itself felt oddly specific. But orders were orders, and if Zoron wanted chocolate, she’d have to find it—even if she wasn’t quite sure where to start.

She placed her tablet down with a sigh, grabbed her coffee cup, and stood. Her gaze flicked toward the hall as she considered the possibilities. Chocolate. Where on Earth—or rather, in this building—could someone have hidden it? She knew it wasn’t in the apartment kitchen; she’d combed through the cabinets multiple times since her arrival and eaten the few sad remnants left behind. The snack room in the dealership seemed a better bet, and the thought stirred a faint grumble in her stomach. Maybe she’d missed it in the back of a cabinet. She wouldn’t mind a piece herself.

As she made her way down the hall, the faint scent of coffee clinging to her cup reminded her of another time, another place. She’d first tried coffee and chocolate during a workshop at the HIS center. The counselors had staged a party—a hands-on exercise meant to teach Earth-returnees like herself the finer points of popular human foods, conversational skills, and social niceties. She hadn’t been particularly thrilled by the assignment at first, but the food had quickly won her over.

Mitch had been there, too, awkwardly folding napkins while one of the counselors cheerfully explained the importance of matching cutlery to plates. She remembered the spread of dishes—savory, sweet, and utterly overwhelming—but chocolate had stood out. Rich, smooth, and slightly bitter, it had been unlike anything she’d ever tasted before. She’d also liked the coffee and had been pleased to find that the dealership’s NebulaFlow offered it. But the memory of trying her first piece of chocolate was vivid enough to make her mouth water, even now.

Of course, chocolate wasn’t exactly easy to find in the galaxy. As she’d learned later, it was outright banned by the Galactic Government. There were chemicals in chocolate that some species couldn’t metabolize properly, turning what was a simple indulgence for humans into a dangerous poison for others. Tyroks, for instance, had an entirely different reaction. It would take a lot of it to kill them, but smaller amounts made them high. Blissfully, irrepressibly high. And, unfortunately, highly addicted.

Which is why Tira probably wanted some, Aliki thought. Losing her father must have been harder on her than she’s willing to admit. It wasn’t surprising, really.

Aliki stepped into the brightly lit showroom, blinking as the morning sun streamed through the expansive windows. The room looked almost cheerful—if one ignored the empty holographic displays sulking on their pedestals like children who’d been told they couldn’t have dessert. Strategically placed to guide prospective buyers on a journey of excitement and impulse spending, the projectors were now silent and blank, highlighting the showroom’s current inventory of absolutely nothing.

The walls, meanwhile, tried valiantly to lift the mood with colorful posters advertising ships that had been cutting-edge about the same time hoverboards were still a novelty. Now, they only served as a reminder that even optimism could lose its wheels over time.

Her eyes landed on Emmett, who was engaged in something distinctly un-Emmett-like. Instead of standing watchfully by the door or pacing the showroom with his usual mechanical efficiency, he was meticulously wiping down one of the holographic projectors. The cloth in his hand might have been white once, but now it resembled a relic unearthed from an ancient junkyard. His movements were deliberate, almost reverent, as though polishing the projector might somehow conjure a fleet of gleaming ships to fill the empty room.

“Emmett?”

He straightened, the sunlight glinting off his plating as he turned toward her. Had his optical sensors always glowed so warmly? “Aye, Aliki?” he replied, his Irish brogue as warm and inexplicably cheerful as ever.

She hesitated, gripping her coffee cup like it was a shield against the memory of finding the hidden logs. “Do you know where the chocolate is kept?”

Emmett tilted his head. The movement seemed unsettlingly human for someone who could also assemble a starship with a screwdriver and a bit of duct tape. “Chocolate, is it now?” he said, his tone loaded with the kind of suspicion that implied she’d just asked for the moon on toast. “And what would you be needin’ that for?”

“Tira wants it,” she said quickly “I’m just trying to help her out.”

“Ah, Tira. Sure, it’s her that wants it, then. And I s’pose you’ve no interest in snaggin’ a wee bit for yourself?”

Aliki glared at him. “No, it’s for her,” she insisted, though she could feel her face heating as if she were already guilty of chocolate theft.

He made a sound that could only be described as a mechanical snort, even though he technically didn’t have nostrils. “Fair enough,” he said, though his tone suggested he wasn’t quite buying it. He set the cloth down with all the gravitas of someone performing a sacred ritual. “Come on, then. I’ll show ya where it’s stashed.”

With that, he gestured for her to follow and headed off, walking with the confident stride of a man—or rather, a droid—who was absolutely certain he could blame someone else for whatever they were about to find. He led her back down the hallway to the control room, where the door slid open automatically, revealing the nerve center of the dealership—the place where all of the business’s technical functions were controlled, and possibly the scene of yesterday’s crime. Aliki couldn’t help wincing as that memory crossed her mind.

She didn’t, however, remember seeing any storage cabinets here before, and she certainly would have noticed if there had been chocolate lying about. She stopped. “It’s in here?”

But Emmett continued across the room without pause, heading straight for the door at the back.

“This way,” he said, not bothering to look back.

They entered a rather large, dim and somewhat warm utility room containing a maze of pipes, panels, and the occasional blinking light but nothing unexpected. Emmett walked straight to a door that was somewhat concealed behind a dirty white tank sporting a label marked “HOT WATER” in red letters. Unlike the other doors she’d encountered so far, this one had a certain gravitas, mostly due to the glowing biometric lock mounted at hand level. It wasn’t labeled, which was suspicious in itself, but the glow was the real warning. It suggested that whatever lay beyond was either highly important, highly illegal, or both.

“This is it?” she asked, glancing at Emmett.

“Unless you’d prefer to keep guessing,” he replied with a faint edge of sarcasm that she chose to ignore.

The lock blinked expectantly as she stepped closer. She hesitated. “And I’m authorized to open this?”

“If you weren’t, I wouldn’t be wasting my processing power on this conversation,” Emmett said.

“Right.” Aliki placed her palm on the panel. It scanned her hand with a faint hum, followed by a quiet click as the door unlocked and slid open.

The cool air that greeted her felt almost unnatural after the stuffiness of the utility room. The storage room was pristine—rows of unmarked cardboard boxes stacked on industrial shelving, each one identical to the last. A central table stood in the middle, its surface meticulously clean, surrounded by neatly coiled cables and tools that seemed to demand questions she wasn’t ready to ask. The faint scent of chocolate hung in the air, enough to stir a pang of hunger and a rising tide of questions.

She stepped inside cautiously, her eyes sweeping over the space. “This is... a lot.”

“It’s chocolate,” Emmett said from behind her, his tone matter-of-fact.

“I can see that,” she replied, moving toward the nearest shelf. “But why does it look like... I don’t know, a weapons cache?”

Emmett’s head tilted slightly, the mechanical equivalent of a shrug. “Weapons, chocolate—both fetch a high price if you know the right buyer. Now, are you goin’ to stand there admirin’ the inventory, or fetch what you came for?”

Aliki stepped closer to the nearest shelf, eyeing the large cardboard boxes. Each one was neatly sealed with packing tape. She ran her fingers along the edge of a box, then glanced at Emmett.

“Which one should I open?” she asked.

Emmett tilted his head, the faint whir of his servos adding an air of mock deliberation. “Well, let’s see,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “They’re all the same, but I suppose you could try using your highly advanced human instincts to pick the perfect one. Or, you know, just open the one in front of ya.”

Aliki bristled, her jaw tightening as she glanced at the table in the center of the room. A small electronic box cutter lay there, its sleek design entirely at odds with its mundane purpose. Without a word, she grabbed it, activated the blade with a soft whir, and sliced through the tape on the nearest box with far more precision than the situation required.

The packing tape separated with a sharp shwick, and Aliki pried open the flaps of the large box. Inside were smaller, plain white boxes stacked in precise rows. She pulled one out. It wasn’t particularly large, but it was heavier than she expected—solid, like it was packed with something dense.

She placed it on the table and lifted the lid. Inside, a row of chocolate bars lay nestled in their foil wrappers. The aroma hit her immediately: rich, earthy, and just slightly bitter, with that unmistakable hint of sweetness that had made her first taste of chocolate at the rehab center unforgettable.

Her stomach grumbled. She hesitated, her fingers brushing the foil, before glancing up.

Emmett wasn’t standing where she’d left him. Instead, he was across the room, peering at something.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, letting the box lid fall back into place.

“Dunno yet,” he replied. “But somethin’s not quite right.”

Aliki left the chocolate bars on the table and crossed the room, her footsteps echoing faintly against the polished floor. As she moved closer, a wave of heat hit her—a distinct change from the otherwise climate-controlled coolness of the storage room. She hesitated, then extended her hand toward the wall Emmett was studying. The metal surface was hot to the touch, radiating an uncomfortable warmth that made her pull her hand back quickly.

“Why is the wall hot?” she asked, her voice edged with concern.

“Power outages,” Emmett replied, not looking up. His hands hovered over a small control panel embedded in the wall, his fingers moving with mechanical precision. “Must’ve damaged the cooling system. I’m runnin’ a diagnosis now, but... well, this isn’t lookin’ good.”

Aliki’s gaze drifted from Emmett to the nearby stack of cardboard boxes stacked on a shelf against the hot wall. The sides of the boxes glistened faintly, as though something inside had started to seep through. Frowning, she grabbed the box cutter from the table and returned to the stack.

“This can’t be good,” she muttered, sliding the blade across the tape with a quick, precise motion. She pulled open the flaps and reached inside, lifting one of the smaller boxes out. It was flimsier than it should have been, and as she lifted it higher, the bottom gave way completely.

A cascade of melted chocolate and foil wrap poured over her hands, oozing like lava from its ruined container. With a sharp yelp, Aliki jumped back, holding the box out at arm’s length as though it had turned radioactive. The hot, sticky liquid dripped onto the floor in thick, viscous blobs, leaving dark trails across her fingers and splattering her boots. The rich aroma wafted upward, mingling with the sharp tang of her rising irritation.

Behind her, Emmett finally turned, his glowing eyes locking onto the scene. “Oh, brilliant,” he said, the sarcasm in his tone thick enough to rival the chocolate dripping from her hands. “Now it’s not just the system that’s melted down.”

Aliki shot him a look, her fingers twitching uselessly against the chocolate-slick box remains. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”

“I’d love to, but it’s hard to compete with this comedy of errors,” Emmett replied, stepping closer to inspect the damage. He shook his head as he surveyed the sticky mess spreading across the floor. “That’s at least twenty bars’ worth,” he said, his tone both bemused and exasperated. “Zoron’s not goin’ to be happy.”

Aliki frowned, still shuffling the ruined box awkwardly away from her body. “Why not?” she asked, her voice edged with irritation. “It’s just chocolate.”

Emmett’s glowing eyes shifted toward her, narrowing slightly, as though weighing how much to say. “Ah, but it’s not just chocolate, is it?” he said, his brogue curling around the words like smoke. “This isn’t exactly a sweets shop, lass. That visit from Sufsa yesterday—ye thought it was just to size you up, did ya? No, no. It was cover. There’s a courier comin’ tonight to pick this up. Sufsa was supposed to meet with him.”

Aliki blinked, her gaze shifting to the towering rows of boxes stacked against the walls. Her stomach churned as the weight of what Emmett was saying began to settle. This wasn’t just a few boxes of chocolate bars; this was a warehouse of contraband.

“You mean…” she began, gesturing vaguely at the room with one chocolate-covered hand, “all of this is being smuggled?”

“‘Course it is,” Emmett replied matter-of-factly, turning back to the panel on the wall. “And if this cooling system doesn’t start cooperatin’, there’ll be nothin’ left to smuggle but puddles of chocolate soup.”

Aliki’s fingers twitched, the sticky warmth of the melted chocolate seeping uncomfortably through them. “Can you fix it?”

“Aye, I can fix it,” Emmett said, his tone defensive as he fiddled with the control panel. “But you’d best go tell Zoron there’s a problem. He’ll need to know before this turns into a chocolate tidal wave.”

“Why me? You’re the one who knows what’s going on!”

Emmett turned to face her, folding his arms with an air of exaggerated patience. “Because you’re the manager, lass. This sort of thing’s your responsibility now.”

“I wasn’t exactly briefed on handling smuggling operations when I took this job,” she shot back, gesturing at the sticky mess on her hands. “And I didn’t break the cooling system!”

“No, that’d be the power outages,” Emmett said, nodding toward the control panel. “But Zoron’s not stupid—he’ll know that already. Just go tell him what’s happened and ask him to call up a tech. It’d go faster if I had some help.”

Aliki groaned, throwing her hands up, inadvertently spraying Emmett with chocolate. A dark streak splattered across his forearm with a soft splut, and Emmett froze mid-motion.

He turned his arm to inspect the damage, his glowing eyes narrowing. “Wonderful,” he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now I’ll smell like a dessert tray.”

He flicked the chocolate off with a quick, precise movement, the residue landing on the floor with an undignified plop. “Just be quick about it,” he added, turning back to the panel with a shake of his head. “This room’s getting hotter than a soldering bench on overdrive, and I’ve got work to do before the whole shipment’s ruined.”

Aliki watched for a moment as Emmett worked the control panel while muttering something incomprehensible about circuits and diagnostics. The heat in the room began pressing against her skin, but it wasn’t nearly as stifling as the realization settling in her chest.

This wasn’t in the job description.

She wiped her hands awkwardly on a corner of her blouse and stepped toward the door, the sticky-sweet scent of chocolate following her out. Somewhere in the building, Zoron was waiting—and she had no idea how she was going to explain any of this.