"Where now?" I asked.
"Up," Strawberry pointed to the ceiling. "Even though Clark's is an unfinished wheel, it still works the same way. We are currently walking on the outermost wall. Going up to the other levels gets us closer to the central hub, but we won't be going anywhere near that far. I believe this station only has ten levels for habitation. We're on the bottom one. Next one up should be the markets."
"Will there be a noticeable change in gravity between the different levels?" I asked. I hated sounded like a noob, but some questions begged to be asked in a new environment. I would have likely been the same way on a cruise ship back on Earth.
"Probably not," Cinnamon told me. "The top floor might have a five percent lower g-force. We won't be going that high and wouldn't likely notice the difference if we did."
We spotted the closest lift and rode it up to the next level which was indeed labeled as markets. It was also the floor that contained two of the three eateries that had been listed. The overwhelming aroma of exotic cooked food tantalized our nostrils as soon as we stepped out of the vertical transport car.
The girls groaned about their impatience for getting a proper meal. They had spent weeks stranded on the planet where they found me. It was by far the longest period in their lives for not being able to eat out. Though our galley’s provisions were good by my standards, some of the crew members were occasionally so bored with the offerings that they lost their appetite.
We approached an information desk with a neatly groomed young man standing behind it. He looked up from his computer screen when Strawberry rested her elbows on his high counter. He smiled immediately at the sight of the pretty redhead. Unable to see her body, her lovely round doll face was enough to excite him.
"Hi there," she said to him, going easy on the charm. "Can you please direct me to the best companies to sell our cargo?"
"Sure, miss..."
"Strawberry," she replied sweetly.
"Of course," he answered, taking a barely noticeable sniff at the her scent. "What are you selling?"
"We have some building components, tech parts, and a few crates of exotics," she told him. He didn't seem surprised by her vague descriptions.
"Start with Clark's One Corporation with the builds and techs," he told her, pointing to his left. I quickly spotted the large sign at the first shop. Based on its appearance and company name I assumed that it was the largest that the station had. "Our primary buyer of exotics is Jafferties. You'll find them nearly to the end of the same section. Is there anything else I can help you with? Do you need currency perhaps?"
"Currency?" Strawberry showed mild surprise. I had been told that physical money was mostly a thing of the past.
"Yes," the guy explained. "Clark's personal service industry operates on a programmable chit basis. I can advance you funds which you'll need to pay off after selling your cargo. Your ship is the Mavdaios, is that correct? An interesting name. I like it. For a C17 vessel we typically front you twenty-thousand credits so your entire crew will be able to eat and shop right away. To give you an idea, the average meal at Snookers, the place by the lift, is less than forty credits. How many chits would you like?"
Strawberry glanced back to me. After seeing my dumbfounded expression, she turned back to the young man that was digging round items that resembled poker chips from a drawer. A tingle ran down my spine as I thought about the possibility of gambling on this station.
"We'll take three chits," Strawberry told the guy, continuing with her flirty voice. "Can you put ten thousand on one, and five each on the other two?"
She handed me one of the fives. The flat disc had a small screen on it that read five-thousand. As we walked away she explained that she kept the ten in case there were any large purchases to be made before we return to the ship. The girls had a personal shopping list ready long before we docked.
Inside the Clark's One spacious office I was surprised to find only one desk. It was toward the back of the large rectangular room. Four plush sofas sat along the walls in the fancy front section. The lone employee visible at the desk was already with a customer, so we took a seat on the couch farthest back. Beside it was a table with a decanter and several clear plastic cups.
When I reached for a cup, Strawberry instructed me not to drink the fluid provided. When I asked why she whispered that many companies put substances in their drinks to make their customers more agreeable to the terms that they were offered. Considering this station's reputation, she thought that it was likely the case here. Huh, a commercially used roofie.
On the wall across from us was an elaborate pricing display. It was a mix between a restaurant menu and a stock market ticker, only with upscale flare. It listed selling prices for dozens of items, none of which we had to sell. Purchase prices for exports were listed on a separate board. Then a third screen held contract offers.
Cinnamon clarified things for me before we left the ship. Contracts were reliable income since a buyer was already lined up at the destination. However, a savvy negotiator like Strawberry could often make us more money by purchasing goods and then selecting where she
