Black Velvet

As they stepped through into the main habitat of the station, Zuki faltered, pausing by the door to take it all in. Before them was what looked almost like a city street, with a concave ceiling and a flat floor that extended into the distance in both directions, eventually curving out of view. The roof above their heads was adorned with a painted mural, depicting a blue sky with fluffy, white clouds. Great lamps were spaced out at intervals to provide light and warmth, approximating the glow of a sun, and there was even an artificial breeze coming from the ventilation system. If one closed their eyes, they could almost convince themselves that they were standing on solid ground.

The deck beneath their feet was made from a matte-white material akin to polymer, and everywhere they looked, it was packed with people of all races and species. There were humans in both military and civilian clothing, the throngs parting before towering Krell, packs of Borealans weaving through the crowds of smaller beings as they went about their business.

To either side of the street were the facades of buildings, extruded from the white hull material to give the impression that the occupants were planetside, rather than walking through an artificial structure. It was reminiscent of something that you might find in a theme park, or on a movie set. Behind those sculpted bricks and fake wood panels were hundreds of feet of machinery, air vents, and water pipes. Beyond those vital systems was the armored hull that protected the occupants from the vacuum of empty space.

The planters packed with foliage and flowers added to the illusion, carefully tended trees and shrubs adding some color to the station, their leaves rustling in the breeze. The designers of this great machine had done all that they could to conceal the fact that it was a space station, and for the most part, they had succeeded. When Jules was standing on the torus, the sense of claustrophobia could almost be silenced, that niggling voice in the back of his mind that reminded him that deadly vacuum was only a few hundred feet away.

"It's a world," Zuki whispered, Jules barely able to hear her over the loud chorus of a thousand blended conversations. "A world inside a ring."

"More like a city," he replied, "but it is rather impressive the first time you see it. Come on, we need to book a hotel room. I'd usually make a reservation before we arrived, but the Borealan accommodations are never fully booked."

He was especially glad of the helmet now, the noise on the station would have driven Zuki crazy, and the sun lamps were configured to mimic a sunny day on Earth. She didn't seem too bothered by the crowds, she was more curious than anything, her head turning to track every new person that passed her by. He took her massive hand is his, struggling to get his fingers around it as he guided her along the walkway, following the colored lines that were drawn on the floor to guide pedestrians. They were in the military quarter right now, and they needed to get to the tourist quarter where the hotels were.

They passed by barracks and other such structures, transitioning into another quarter of the station, the spartan and functional facades replaced with more elaborate stores and food stands. The sights and smells were a ceaseless distraction for Zuki, her head snapping around each time she found something new and interesting.

She practically dragged Jules over to one of the large windows that faced the street, other pedestrians veering out of her path, pressing her visor up against the glass and staring at the wonders contained within.

"What are those?" she asked, prodding the pane with her padded finger.

"That's a souvenir shop," he replied, looking past her at the shelves stocked with mugs and keychains.

"Souvenir?"

"It's like an item or some kind of token to remind you of where you've been. They sell toys, shirts and cups with logos on them, scale models of the station. Things like that. Do you want a keychain?" he added, looking up at her as she fixated on the trinkets. "We can get you a keychain, they're only like two creds."

"I don't know what those are," she replied.

"Come on, I'll show you."

He took the lead and guided her into the store, Zuki ducking under the low doorway, the ceiling inside high enough that she was in no danger of hitting her head. There were a few other people browsing, but they paid her no mind. Anyone who spent more than a few minutes on the station would soon become accustomed to the sight of the ever-present aliens that populated it.

"Don't pick anything up, and try not to knock anything over," he warned. "These items are for sale, so look with your eyes, not your paws."

While Fort Hamilton was primarily a Naval base, the sheer size and scope of the station made it an engineering marvel that attracted sightseers and tourists from across known space. It hadn't taken long for civilian businesses to begin operating in order to serve the personnel, and then the tourists, until the station had quickly exceeded the scope of its original design. Stores and restaurants occupied vacant space, unused barracks had been converted into hotels, street vendors hocked their wares to Marines on shore leave and visiting dignitaries alike. There was scarcely an inch of space on the torus that wasn't put to good use by someone who wanted to sell something or provide a service.

Jules led Zuki past a rack of hats and sunglasses, then past a shelf stocked with chocolate gifts and candies. There was clothing, bags, novelty postcards, snow globes, models. All kinds of tat that might entice a tourist with a loose wallet. They arrived at a spinning rack that was laden with colorful, enameled key chains, located beside a shelf that was stocked with travel pillows. There were some in the circular shape of the station, others adorned with text, Jules gesturing to them as Zuki crouched down to get a better look.

"Let me know if you see one that you like."

"I can touch these ones?" she asked, her hand hovering near the rack. She had taken his earlier warning very literally, but considering how likely she was to drop things or break them, that was perhaps for the best. He certainly wanted to avoid a bull in a china shop scenario.

"Yes, you can touch them. You have stores back in Araxie, right? You understand the concept of buying and selling?"

"The Patriarch provides us with what we need to live and to work, but we trade for unnecessary things."

"Do you use money?" he asked.

"Money...tokens that can be traded in place of goods? Yes," she replied as she fished inside one of her pouches. She withdrew a handful of square coins, passing one of them to him. They were large and heavy by human standards, each one stamped with some kind of marker in their native language that he couldn't read. "We don't have much use for them in the village, they're mostly used when we trade large quantities food and tools between settlements, or when a pack visits another village without bringing anything to barter with. I thought that I should bring some with me."

"What are they made of?" he asked, weighing the coin in his hand.

"Iron, it can be smelted and used to make tools."

"Interesting. Rather than using a gold standard, you guys have an iron standard, because it's a practical material that retains its value..."

"People will always need iron," she said with a shrug. That was something that he should bring up with the council, they didn't want to decimate the Araxie economy overnight by introducing advanced materials and goods too quickly. In a way, these simple coins held more value than the currency that the UNN used, which existed almost exclusively as ones and zeroes hidden away in digital bank accounts. He certainly couldn't melt down his credits and make a trowel out of them, that was for sure.

"Well, credits are like these coins. We don't really trade, at least not in the way that you do, we use money for all of our transactions."

He handed the coin back to her, but she insisted, closing his fingers around it.

"Keep it, it will pay for one of these," she said as she plucked a keychain from the rack. Jules didn't refuse, it was an interesting keepsake, perhaps he would display it beside his prized Krell jug. She held up one of the little enamel badges by the chain, Jules chuckling at her odd choice. He had expected her to go for one of the ones shaped like the station, but instead, she had chosen a garish I love Pinwheel badge with a large cartoon heart in place of the love.

"You sure you want that one?"

"Yes," she replied adamantly.

"Can you read it? The red symbol stands for love, it says that you love the station."

"I like this one."

Well, there was no accounting for taste. Jules led Zuki over to the counter, and she watched with interest as he tapped at the screen of his phone in order to complete the transaction. The woman who was tending the register wrapped the keychain in brown paper and give it to Zuki, who immediately stashed it in one of her pouches

"Where is the money?" Zuki asked, the cashier looking her up and down. She soon realized that the alien was new to the station, her confused expression turning into a smile.

"The money is digital," Jules explained, before quickly realizing that the word held no meaning to her. "I mean...the money doesn't have to be on my person, it's stored somewhere else. I use my phone to transfer a sum, the recipient accepts it, and then it all happens automatically. Somewhere, a computer will automatically move the money from my account to theirs."

"Enjoy your stay, Ma'am," the cashier said as she tried to suppress her smirk.

"Oh, I am!" Zuki replied enthusiastically.

On their way out of the store, Jules stopped her and asked her to give him the keychain. She rummaged in her pouch and did as he asked, Jules opening the packet and reaching up towards her chest.

"You're supposed to wear it," he said, "do you want it on your vest?" She nodded, and he affixed the keychain to one of the many buttons that secured the leather pockets, the gaudy enamel badge dangling there. "What do you think?"

"I like it," she replied, no doubt grinning beneath her helmet. "Now all the people here will know that I love their territory."

"Indeed," he chuckled. "Come on, let's get going."

Jules led Zuki through the tourist quarter, the innumerable distractions slowing them down considerably. It was her first time visiting the station, not to mention her first experience of interstellar society, and so he didn't want to rush her. She seemed to stop at every shop window, sniffing around every food stand and restaurant. She was fascinated by the simplest of things, like holographic menus, and interactive kiosks with maps and station information. These were all things that even most visitors to the Pinwheel took for granted, but for Zuki, it was all new. The idea that she could see her location on a three-dimensional representation of the torus filled her with a child-like wonder that endeared her to all passers-by.

"What is that smell?" she suddenly asked, stopping Jules dead in his tracks as he tried to pull her along.

"What smell?"

"Don't you smell that?"

"Nope," he replied, "we humans don't have very sensitive noses."

"Come on, this way!"

She took the lead and dragged him through the throngs of people, a pack of Equatorials clad in blue uniforms and black combat armor growling at her when she got in their way, but she paid the surly aliens no mind. As they neared this mystery destination, Jules began to smell it too, the scents of cooking meat rising to his nose.

Zuki stopped before a replica storefront that was built into the hull of the station, sandwiched between two larger establishments. It was scarcely five feet wide, adorned with a colorful awning that made it resemble a food cart that might be found on the streets of a major city. There was a printed menu taped to the side of the building, it was apparently a sandwich shop. The smells were emanating from inside, and from the darkness emerged a large, furry shape.

It was a Polar Borealan, a variety of the species that hailed from the frozen poles of the planet. Her body was covered in a coat of thick, white fur with spotted patterning, her width as impressive as her height. The aliens had insulating blubber that made them appear fat by human standards, but this one was unusually large to the point that the overhang of her pudgy belly rested on the countertop, and her unwieldy breasts threatened to spill out of the oversized t-shirt that she wore beneath her apron. She looked like a giant marshmallow that had been crammed into the tiny booth.

"Hello there. What can I do for you?" she purred in a vaguely Russian accent, her question directed at Zuki. She looked the helmeted Borealan up and down, cocking her head as she narrowed her blue eyes. "I've never seen a Borealan like you before, little one. Where did you come from?"

"I am Araxie," Zuki replied.

"Araxie?" the Polar asked, her eyes widening and her round ears pricking up. "The only stories I've heard about that territory tell of impenetrable jungles and ghosts swooping down to carry away the unwary. But you don't look like a ghost..."

"She's here to represent her people in their bid to join the Coalition," Jules explained.

"And to sample the best food on the station, apparently," the alien added with a sly grin.

"What is making that smell?" Zuki demanded from beneath her helmet.

"That would be my unique blend of Borealan and Earth cuisine," the alien replied without missing a beat, "you won't find the same dishes served anywhere else."

"Can we buy it with money?" Zuki continued. The Polar pretended to consider the request for a moment, scratching her fuzzy chin with a black claw, the mountain of furry flesh that made up her bust wobbling with every movement.

"Money, you say? Well, it's a little unorthodox, but since you asked so nicely..." She gestured to the menu that was taped up beside her, leaning on the counter again, her breasts seeming to pour across its surface like an avalanche. "You can pick something from the menu, but the longburger is the house special."

"Longburger?" Jules asked skeptically.

"A sandwich of my own invention," she replied proudly, placing a hand on her chest and making it jiggle. "I take minced beef sourced from free-range cattle raised on Franklin, I lay it out on a sesame roll that I split down the middle, then I layer on cheese and vegetables. I heat the cheese so that it melts just enough to hold the whole thing together," she added with a wave of her fluffy hand, "and then I lather it in oils and sauces from the homeworld."

"Can we, Jules?" Zuki asked excitedly, bobbing on the spot.

"Alright then," he conceded, unable to refuse her. "But let's make it to go, I want to get to the residential quarter before the sunlamps are dimmed."

"One longburger coming right up," the Polar said, swinging her immense weight around and making her way towards the back of the booth. The smell was enticing, but Jules had eaten on the Courser not too long ago, so he wasn't quite ready for another meal yet.

After a couple of minutes, the Polar returned with a truly enormous sandwich, wrapping it in a long paper bag and slapping it down on the counter. It was long and wide enough that one could have split it into maybe six regular-sized sub sandwiches, and used it to feed a whole group of humans. Zuki was transfixed by the sight, watching the steam slowly spiral towards the ceiling as it rose from the open end of the bag.

"One longburger for the cute couple," the Polar said with a smirk, giving Jules a knowing wink.

"Oh, we're not...this is strictly a professional thing," he insisted as he tugged at the collar of his shirt and averted his eyes.

"The customer is always right," she replied with a toothy grin.

"What do I owe you?" Jules asked, reaching for his phone.

"Twenty-six credits."

"Twenty-six...for a sandwich!?" he complained. Oh well, at least Zuki was happy. He couldn't rob her of her meal at this point, and the Polar probably knew it. "Daylight robbery," he muttered as he authorized the transaction. Zuki picked up her giant sandwich and flipped up her visor just enough that she could get it into her mouth, taking a large bite and cooing happily as she chewed.

"Come again!" the Polar called after them as they headed off into the crowd.

"Not likely," Jules muttered under his breath.

***

They eventually arrived at the residential quarter of the station, rows of buildings lining the walls to either side of the walkway. This was where officers, civilians, and other people who weren't assigned to the barracks lived. The facades of the apartments were even sculpted to look somewhat like row houses, helping to sell the illusion that the occupants weren't living inside the hull of a space station, but rather on a city street. Jules' apartment back home might have been on the eightieth floor a high-rise tower block, but there was no space to build up on the torus, only out. It gave the whole place an oddly quaint feeling that contrasted with its technological nature, at once archaic, yet undeniably modern.

The Borealan-sized apartments were at the far end of the quarter relative to the direction that they were traveling, and so they walked past the smaller human-sized examples as they made their way along the subtly curving street. These were always packed, it was very difficult for a civilian to get a reservation on the station, as there were always more visitors than there were rooms to accommodate them. The Borealan apartments, on the other hand, were usually vacant. Those were only reserved by the more adventurous souls who were willing to deal with the oversized furniture and the borderline unusable household appliances that had been scaled up for use by the eight-foot aliens. The UNN had anticipated far more Borealan visitors when the planet had first been contacted, but their interest in tourism was almost non-existent, with the vast majority of the felines on the station living in the barracks and serving as Shock Troopers. The Krell had no interest in vacations either, they remained in their own barracks, where they had access to the basking pools and heat lamps that their kind so enjoyed.

"There are so many dwellings," Zuki mused, finishing off the last few bites of her sandwich. The sheer quantity of food that the Borealans could eat never ceased to amaze Jules. He was amused to see her stow the empty paper bag in one of her pouches, perhaps to be discarded later.

Amidst the rows of buildings was one that had been converted into a sort of lobby, like you might find in a hotel or an apartment complex. This was where the quarter was managed by the station personnel. Jules instructed Zuki to wait outside as he stepped into the building, or rather moved deeper into the station's hull, as the outward appearance of the lobby was purely for show. He was met by a concierge who was standing behind a counter with a faux-wood finish, who looked up from her work to greet him with a polite hello. After a brief inquiry as to whether any of the Borealan apartments were available for rent for a party of two, she checked her holographic display and presented him with a key card.

He waved it at Zuki on his way out, and she cocked her helmeted head.

"It's a key," he explained, "we have a place to stay while we're here."

After checking the number on the card, they set off again, seeking out the corresponding apartment. After a few minutes of searching, they found it, Jules stepping up to the door and flashing the card in front of a reader that was embedded in the frame. There was a click as it unlocked, the door sliding into a recess to allow them entry.