We're in Space ... So What?

Chapter 2: Ain't No Rest for the Witty

The spaceport of Grix-9 was bustling. All around, stalls lined the busy marketplace, selling everything from plasma rifles to rare spices. Neon signs blinked overhead, casting an almost cheerful glow on the otherwise seedy underbelly of this planet.

Jamie, Judah, and Ryan had just docked their ship, the *Barely Functional*, and unloaded their latest haul: a pile of random junk, alien weapons, and a few pieces of armor, mostly dented beyond recognition.

"Alright," Judah said, eyeing the crowd. "Let's split up. See if we can get some decent credits for this stuff."

Jamie winked. "Don't worry, I'll work my magic. Who can resist this face?"

"Anyone with working eyes," Judah deadpanned.

Ryan chuckled and slapped Jamie on the back. "Just don't get us kicked out of another market, okay? Remember what happened on Telvar 7?"

Jamie winced at the memory. "That was one time, and that guy totally deserved it."

The three split off, heading toward different vendors.

Judah approached a grumpy-looking dealer with a scar running across his face and a mechanical arm, standing behind a stall cluttered with all manner of tech-some of it still smoking.

"Hey," Judah said, setting down a battered alien weapon. "How much for this?"

The dealer squinted at it, then at Judah. "This piece of scrap? Five credits, tops."

Judah narrowed his eyes. "Five credits? That thing's worth at least fifty. It's a Vortan Blaster, Gen 3."

The dealer snorted. "It's a Vortan Blaster Gen 1, *barely*, and missing half its parts. I'm being generous with five."

Judah sighed. Negotiation wasn't his thing, but he wasn't about to let Jamie handle it either. He leaned forward. "Look, we both know you'll flip it for more. Let's settle at thirty and call it a day."

The dealer scratched his chin, clearly weighing his options. "Fifteen, and that's final."

Judah groaned but shoved the blaster forward. "Fine. Deal."

Jamie was having a very different kind of experience. He was already leaning on the counter of a stall selling shiny alien gadgets, chatting up the vendor, a bubbly young woman with bright green eyes and purple skin.

"So, I tell him, 'That's not a space slug! That's my lunch!'" Jamie said, grinning widely.

The vendor laughed, a high-pitched giggle that echoed around the stall. "You're funny! What else are you selling?"

Jamie laid out a few odds and ends: some glowing crystals, a small alien trinket he didn't recognize, and a dented helmet. "What do you think?"

The vendor picked up the crystals, eyeing them with interest. "These might fetch a decent price. I'll give you seventy-five credits for the lot."

Jamie grinned, sensing an opportunity. "How about eighty and I throw in a drink later?"

She giggled again, blushing a little. "Alright, deal. You're lucky you're cute."

Jamie winked and scooped up the credits. "I know."

A few hours later, the trio reconvened at a local dive bar, *The Rusty Blaster*. The place was dimly lit, and the air smelled faintly of spilled beer and cheap perfume. A couple of rowdy patrons were arm wrestling at one of the tables, while a robotic bartender served up drinks.

Judah tossed his meager earnings on the table. "Fifteen credits. Can you believe it?"

Jamie rolled his eyes. "You need to work on your charm, man. I got eighty."

Ryan grinned. "I got seventy for a bunch of alien scrap. Not bad, considering I almost didn't know what half of it was."

Judah sighed. "At this rate, we'll be flying that rust bucket forever."

Jamie leaned back, sipping his drink. "Come on, we did alright. Could've been worse."

Just as he said that, a group of rough-looking alien thugs entered the bar. One of them, a hulking brute with gray skin and sharp tusks, spotted the trio and lumbered over.

"You three," the alien growled. "You sold me a broken grav-boot last week."

Jamie raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't me, friend. I don't sell broken stuff. Unless you wanted a discount."

The alien didn't look amused. "You owe me, human."

Ryan leaned forward, his voice calm but firm. "Hey, let's not make this a thing. You want to sit, talk it out?"

The alien snarled and slammed his fist on the table, rattling their drinks. "I don't talk. I take."

Judah, already on edge from the market, stood up. "You're not taking anything from us."

The bar went quiet as the alien's companions began to circle the table. Jamie sighed. "Really? A bar fight?"

Ryan stood up, trying to stay diplomatic. "Look, we don't want any trouble-"

But before he could finish, the alien threw a punch. It missed Jamie by a hair as he ducked and rolled to the side.

Judah was already swinging, landing a solid punch on the brute's jaw. Ryan grabbed a nearby chair and swung it at another alien thug, sending him crashing into a table. Chaos erupted in the bar as fists, chairs, and bottles flew.

Jamie, dodging another punch, grinned. "I love this job!"

Within minutes, the trio had fought off the thugs, who stumbled out of the bar nursing their wounds. Judah wiped his forehead and sat back down, breathing heavily. "We can't go anywhere without this happening."

Jamie shrugged, unbothered. "Hey, at least it's never boring."

Ryan sat down, shaking his head. "Next time, can we *not* start a fight?"

Judah chuckled. "No promises."

The bartender, a tired-looking robot, shuffled over. "You guys owe me for the damages."

Jamie, still grinning, tossed a few credits onto the bar. "Keep the change."

As they left the bar, Judah turned to the others. "Alright, we sold enough junk to refuel. Next planet?"

Jamie laughed, slapping Ryan on the back. "As long as they've got a bar, I'm in."

Ryan smiled. "And maybe a planet where we don't get into a fight."

Judah shook his head. "You know that's impossible."