Welcome to the Far Side of Forgettable

Aliki Martin had only just set foot on Earth’s surface for the first time since… well, technically since ever. Her week-long flight through the Sol system ended with the shuttle docking at Gate 42, where she stepped off and glanced around, feeling the silence as much as seeing it. The arrival gate area was brightly lit, its pristine surfaces reflecting the spaceport’s dedication to cleanliness and order.

Somewhere, barely noticeable over the quiet, a soft tune played—a smooth, lounge-lizard melody with a strangely laid-back tempo, like it wanted to murmur, “Welcome to Earth, the least stressful place in the universe.” It hummed along in the background as if to reassure anyone who might be listening, though no one seemed to be.

“Emmett will be there to meet you,” they’d told her, as if the mention of his name could make him materialize on cue. But the spaceport was as vacant as a forgotten luggage carousel, the only movement coming from the activity outside the windows where the shuttle crew reloaded and prepped for departure with an urgency that suggested they’d rather be anywhere else.

With a twinge of uncertainty, she scanned the empty rows of seating and signage for any sign of life or direction, her steps echoing softly. Just past the arrival gate, she noticed a convenience store, its bright lights spilling onto the walkway like an invitation. It seemed as good a place as any to ask about Emmett. Maybe he worked there, or maybe they’d seen him recently and could point her in the right direction.

Taking a steadying breath, Aliki headed toward the shop, the distant melody trailing off behind her as she crossed into the glow of the store. She almost expected to have to open the door herself, given the halfhearted energy of the place, but it slid open automatically as she approached, hissing like it had been startled into action. Inside, the store was no larger than it had appeared from the walkway, brightly lit and filled with rows of items that seemed utterly unrelated to each other. She ran her hand across a rack of folded cloth at the entrance, trying to guess its purpose, before wandering deeper past shelves crammed with sundries that looked both universally useful and strangely irrelevant.

It seemed the shop had anticipated every need for an intergalactic traveler: a box of auditory plugs for beings with one too many ears, nasal plugs for those with delicate respiratory systems, and an impressive array of appendage warmers to suit every conceivable limb type, color, and shape. The walls above the racks advertised the latest in vid entertainment, each poster stamped with a “universal resource locator,” listing out where the content could be legally streamed across several planetary systems.

Toward the back, a handwritten sign taped to a white chest caught her eye: Glow Worms. Below, in red ink, it read: “Per Code 147.32, All purchased worms must be deceased prior to boarding any spacecraft at this facility. Please use the designated eating area outside to ensure compliance. Disinterment strictly prohibited.” It was signed “Management.” She swallowed and took a cautious step back, deciding it was best not to peek inside the chest.

“Kin I ‘elp ya?”

The voice startled her, and she spun around, catching her arm on a shelf as two boxes toppled to the floor, spilling bright blue goo. The goo immediately began to bubble and spread, looking suspiciously alive.

“Now why’d ya go and do that fer?” The source of the voice—a slim-framed droid with more dust than dignity—stood in the aisle, tsking with audible annoyance.

“Sorry,” Aliki murmured, stepping back from the mess only to find herself cornered between the droid and the expanding puddle of blue.

The droid made a long, suffering sound. “Hope yer plannin’ to cover the damages. I’d hate to have to involve Security. All that paperwork.” It gave an exaggerated sigh, as if rehearsed.

“Damages? For two boxes?” she asked, glancing down at the goo.

Ignoring her, the droid turned and began shuffling toward the back of the shop. “Don’t go anywhere. I need to get a broom.”

Naturally, she ignored the directive and followed. “I’m looking for someone named Emmett. He’s supposed to work here?”

The droid continued through a door marked Employees Only. “Customers are not allowed back here,” it intoned in a voice that suggested it really didn’t care if she followed or not.

“Is Emmett here?” she called after it.
The droid reappeared a moment later, broom and dustpan in hand, somehow managing to look annoyed despite its lack of facial features. “Does it look like there’s anyone else here?”

Aliki hesitated. He had a point—the shop seemed entirely empty aside from the droid and herself.

By now, the puddle of blue goo had solidified, forming a glossy, gel-like stain across the floor. The droid made another tsking sound and swept the mess into a bag. “Lubricant gel,” it muttered, more to itself than to her, with a tone that hinted she should be ashamed.

“What kind of lubricant?” she asked, her curiosity winning out over her better judgment.

“For mating Tyroks,” it replied tersely, adding what sounded like a sniff of disdain.

Her cheeks grew warm as she quickly looked away. “So… do you know when Emmett will be back? I was told he works around here.”

The droid stuffed the refuse bag into a disposal unit and closed the hatch with a loud clunk. “I do na know any Emmett. And I don’t expect to know any Emmett anytime soon.” It turned, its sensors focusing on her. “Now, would you like anything else? Or will ya just be buyin’ the lubricants today?”

“No—no, I don’t want any lubricants,” she stammered, waving her hands in mild horror. “I’m just here to meet Emmett. I was told he’d meet me here at the spaceport.”

“You were misinformed.” The droid gave a sound somewhere between a groan and a hum. “I did not meet you, you met me. And I am most certainly not Emmett.”

She frowned and pulled out her comm unit. “I suppose there’s been a mistake,” she muttered.

“It happens,” the droid replied, as if such mistakes were a staple of its daily existence. “That’ll be fourteen point two credits.”

“What?” She blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean about the… spill. I meant… my meeting here.”
The droid gave a philosophical shrug, one that managed to convey deep indifference despite its stiff mechanical joints.

“Fourteen point two credits.”

She sighed, reaching into her bag, only to remember the obvious: “I… don’t have any credits yet.”

The droid stilled, seemingly taking its time to process her response as though she’d just declared that gravity was a matter of opinion. “Al’right.”

A small click sounded. Behind the counter, a comm unit crackled to life and an automated voice announced, “Security will arrive in ninety-three seconds.”

Her jaw dropped. “Wait—no, really, it’s just been a misunderstanding.”

“Security will arrive in eighty-five seconds.”

She looked at the droid, searching for any glimmer of flexibility. “Look, I’m not kidding. I was just looking for Emmett. There’s no need for security. Maybe there’s some other way to take care of this?”

The droid stood immobile, its silence making it clear it was either lost in thought or entirely devoid of sympathy.

“Security will arrive in sixty seconds.”

She reached over the counter, waving a hand in front of the droid’s sensors, hoping to snap it out of its stubborn trance. “Hey, listen, are you even—”

It moved faster than she would have thought possible, catching her arm in a grip that felt uncomfortably solid. “Don’na try t’ harm me. I am a KINDABRISK Automated Service Droid, model M-8, and I can break yer bones faster than ya can blink.”

She froze, considering this information and filing it somewhere under unwelcome details before forcing herself to relax, even though her mind raced with unlikely escape scenarios.

“Security will arrive in thirty seconds.”

They waited while Aliki silently contemplated her options as the countdown ticked on, echoing softly through the empty store.