The all-encompassing light dissipates before Donovan even registered it’s painfully bright existence, the throbbing glow remaining within his sight as he coughs up the water he was drinking at the time. The man goes to place the glass down on the kitchen bench he was standing next to, but discovers with an ear-shattering smash that either his direction is wrong or there is no bench. As his eyes adjust to the grey space around him, he realises the latter is to blame for his misjudgement and instinct kicks in; bending down to gather the broken pieces of glass.

Reaching down to the shards, Donovan is stopped short by the strange material they rest on. It is metal, though a shade closer to what one would define as ‘gunmetal grey’ than of any metallic sheeting he is aware of and definitely not his faded brown linoleum kitchen floor. The full realisation of his predicament sets in.

“Where the hell am I?” The questioning tone seemed to be amplified by the chamber, but no echo returned. Blinking his eyes into a better state of sight, the man looks around the room; his guess at a ten foot cube is for the most part accurate with an inch-wide blue outline of a circle as wide as the room etched in both the floor and ceiling. Donovan could just barely tell the blue was fading away before it returned to the same colour as the rest of the surfaces. “Hello?”

Donovan ignores the glass, instead brushing his unruly strawberry blonde hair from his face as he steps over to the wall. At 6’5" he was by no means short, but only barely able to reach the ceiling by jumping Donovan felt a sense of smallness as the overbearing metal walls seem to loom. The man nervously plays with his moustache and goatee as he ponders his surroundings. Realising he is all alone, the thirty-something man decides to voice his concerns aloud.

“Okay brain, think.” He runs his hand along one of the metal walls, fingertips tingling as though a small current were trying to build enough oomph to spark. “No visible source of light, so it must be coming from the metal… don’t be stupid.” He waves the thought away as he turns to look at the glass. Wanting to test a theory he jumps a few times, purposefully trying to land hard. “No flex, so not a plated plastic then.” He sighs “What is this place…”
Donovan harrumphs. “Okay, rule out the logical and what’s left - however improbable - must be the truth, right?” The question lay unanswered as he starts pacing the room.

 

“This metal is unlike anything I’ve heard of, even from the net; so that’s something. I was… Teleported?” He looks down as the glass and the droplets of regurgitated water strewn about the center of the room “Yes, definitely teleported. Which means,” he begins counting on one hand “-I’ve been abducted by either a highly advanced secret society or aliens.” A moment of silence follows Donovan’s declaration before he bursts out laughing. A laugh that after a while turns from jovial to nervous. “Shit.”

Donovan circumnavigates his cell, running his hand along the metal surface as he goes from wall to wall looking for an exit. Several minutes of this significantly bores the man enough that he drops to slouch against one wall. He raps a knuckle against the metal behind him, the solid thunk indicating the thickness of the material. He sighs again. “I don’t know what your reason for bringing me here is…” He grumbles to nobody in particular “-but by my guess you’ve only got a couple hours before I die of asphyxiation.”

A whir and click snags the mans attention, gazing up to the ceiling just in time to see a circular slab of metal just shy of a foot wide slide back. Donovan stands slightly panicked as a black glossy sphere descends from the gap to hover just beneath the ceiling.

“Name.” The tinny voice caused ripples across the sphere’s surface. Donovan wasn’t sure what unnerved him more; whether it was the tone the sphere demanded the information in, or the fact that a blob of gravity defying black goo was speaking to him in English.

“Donovan… Donovan Lane.” He stammered out, edging closer to the corner of the room to get as far from the ball as possible.

“Unrecognised. State intent.” The blob rippled again, it’s larger crests and troughs echoing the increased volume of the statement over the last.

“Intent?” Donovan questions, trying to think fast. “Intent? How can I have any intentions if I don’t even know where I am?”

“You did not plan your transfer?” The ball’s ripples die down as it adopts a softer, more accusatory tone.

“Plan? No, I didn’t plan for this!” The strangeness of the situation overriddes Donovan’s reasoning, the weight of the moment tearing away his facade of politeness and fear of the unknown. “I had just woken up,” he tugs on his beige bath robe’s lapel, revealing the burgundy flannel pyjamas beneath “I grabbed a glass of water,” he points to the shattered remains in the center of the room “And then BAM! I’m in this metal box!” His heart beating furiously he jabs a finger up at the slowly receding black ball. “You better let me out and send me home, or I’ll… I’ll..”

“Please wait.”

“I’ll think of something, and you probably won’t like it.” The ball disappears into the ceiling as the circular metal panel covers the hole seamlessly once more. Donovan facepalms. “Shit… ‘Probably won’t like it’? That was stupid…” He slides back down the wall, resting against the corner in a huff. Just as he begins to relax, all the pent up adrenaline and rush of excitement seems to just disappear; leaving the man shivering slightly, feeling very small and alone.

Donovan attempts counting the seconds, having wished he’d grabbed his mobile or watch before heading to the kitchen. After a few minutes he gives up, deciding it would be better for his sanity not to know. His heartbeat eventually slows, his shivering stops and he just sits, humming various songs to himself to keep his mind occupied.

Halting him mid-verse is the crack of light down one of the walls opposite him; stretching from floor to ceiling at the exact center of the wall and opening fast. Donovan holds his hand up to shield his eyes from the bright light, but as they adjust he can see an assortment of people all peering in at him. One of them rushes over when the gap is wide enough.

“Donovan?” She inquires, her thick French accent penetrating his mind as he nods in agreement. “Donovan Lane is it?”

“Yeah?…” The nervous response is in part to his eyes adjusting to see a ringleted ginger checking the pulse from his wrist, and partly because he could swear one of the people outside the door was wearing a full-body black rubber catsuit.

“Australien?”

“Yes, but where am I now?”

The woman looks over to the blackened figure, who seems to nod. “You’re in orbit,” she grins excitedly “Above the Earth.” She stands, offering Donovan a hand up. “Dr. Ensoleillé Janvier.” She says as he takes her hand.

“Wait… Janvier? Isn’t that January?” Donovan realised questioning the knowledge his high school French-language classes now may not be the best time. “Sorry, pleased to meet you…” He hauls himself upright as she leans back.
Releasing his hand she blushes slightly. “Ça ne fait rien, My parents were hippies.”

“Ah, I understand.” Donovan straightens his robe in an attempt to look at least halfway decent in front of the thirty-something doctor. “I knew someone called Moon-Rainbow Starlight at university, I think she ended up changing it though…”

The woman motions for Donovan to follow her out into the well-lit chamber. The room is much larger, though retaining the same ceiling height. From what he can tell, it seems to be made of the same metal except shining much brighter than the room he arrived in. With eyes mostly adjusted he takes a good look at he room’s occupants. Besides Donovan and Dr. Janvier there were five other figures in the room, all but one of them quite obviously human; most dressed formally but comfortably with the exception of a man in military garb.

The figure that stands seven feet tall - clad entirely in what Donovan recognised as the same consistency of shiny black material that was rippling at him not too long prior - was quite obviously not human, but definitely trying to look like one. The body is feminine in form with slight curves, but the limbs seem to the man to be too long and move as though there were no bones. When she turns to face him, Donovan controls his urge to yelp in shock; staring back at him is a completely featureless surface like some glossy black mannequin head.

“Donovan Lane.” Ripples extend outwards from the centre of the creature’s ‘face’. Donovan holds his ground and nods as she approaches. “Your arrival is not scheduled, you are required to wait in this room until the Tribunal decides.”

“Decides? Decides what?” He tries protesting the point but knows deep down that he’s going to be waiting regardless.

“What to do with you.” The figure gestures to a section of wall which morphs a ledge from the strange metal at approximately Donovan’s knee height. “Please take a seat. Could all other arrivals please follow me, there is much to discuss before your meeting.” Behind the already somewhat silhouetted body a sliver of light parts the wall, opening to a narrow hallway running past the room; the walls indistinguishable compared to those inside the room with the exception of a pulsing blue line moving from right to left.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.” The Doctor said, though her voice seemed not to hold quite the same amount of certainty as her words. “Their intention is not to hurt us. Quite the opposite in fact-”

“Janvier!” The military man bellows to the Doctor. “We mustn’t keep the Tribunal waiting…” Donovan had never thought you could shout through gritted teeth until that moment.

“That’s ‘Doctor’… ass.” The woman mutters to herself as she turns to leave, patting Donovan’s robed shoulder. “I may see you later, you seem like more approachable company than some… others. Bonsoir.” Dr. Janvier waves goodbye as the black figure ushers the last of the humans through the rooms exit, its featureless face pausing momentarily as it appears to ponder the unexpected man before placing a hand on the wall.

With a thud the gap closes and Donovan is once again in a very plain room; despite mysterious dark metallic surfaces somehow emitting ambient light. “At least I have a chair now…” He resigns to himself, leaning back against the wall to wait for his ‘decision’.

At first the seconds tick past slowly but as soon as Donovan stops thinking of the immediate problem of being locked in an alien box, the minutes blur and coalesce; until eventually Donovan’s stomach utters a terrible growl. He reasons correctly that with hunger this bad it must be well past his normal lunchtime. “So, do I get an in-flight meal or what?”

The silence of the soundproof chamber overpowers the mans words, forcing his own mind to respond to the nothingness. “Or is it a last meal?” He slumps down to one side, laying across the bench-like seat to stare at the ceiling in the hope it may abate the growing pains in his belly. Donovan counts the disgruntled moans of his stomach as a way to pass time until after the tenth cluster of burbles the wall opposite him begins to part.

Beyond the entryway stands a figure that causes the man to blink in confusion. She - and given the curves most definitely a she - stands the same height but with a great deal more curve than the mysterious figure from before; though that is where the similarities end. Where the darker one was oily black and quite lean, this one is neon-blue to the point of glowing slightly and a great deal more voluptuous. Her head also seems to display a somewhat alien face; thick blue tendrils directed back like hair to flow over her shoulders while her large dark blue eyes and lips stretch wide across her nose-less face.

The figure stands patiently waiting for the gap to finish widening before entering; a small box in one four-fingered hand and an odd glass-like orb in the other. She moves to within several feet of him before speaking. “Is it satisfactory for me to approach?”

Of all the things the man thought this creature would say, that was certainly not on the list. Donovan stumbles through his mind before mentally slapping himself and answering. “Yes, that’s… fine.” She moves to within arms reach and holds up the box for him to take. It’s small enough to fit in the palm of his hand and still barely have his fingers wrap around it.

“Its a nutrient supplement.” The earnestness in her voice was tinged with excitement as she stares down at the man with curious eyes. “We are still unsure of Human’s specific dietary requirements, but a scan of your body showed a nutritional deficiency in specific areas.” As Donovan turns the box over, inspecting it; the figure presses a small panel on one side. A click precedes the spring-activated door opening to reveal a stack of close to a dozen green cubes each about the size of his thumbnail. Donovan looks at them then the figure.

“You eat it.” She tries to say, helpfully.

“I figured as much, it’s just…”

“So small?” A smile creeps across the figures lips. “I’ve seen how you humans prepare your food; so inefficient.” She sighs. Holding up the orb. As Donovan stares at it he notices a ripple across the surface. “Water. About the right amount for now.”

“How do I… drink it?” He says, tapping out a cube from the box before closing the lid and pocketing it. He sniffs the green substance experimentally, not surprised when it smells nothing like he immediately recognises; a mid ground between the smell of wasabi and cheddar with a hint of fig just to confuse him.

“You humans are close to this technology; it’s an edible protein string capable of withstanding extended contact with water.” It seems to Donovan that she is glowing with pride at that statement. “Just bite a hole and drink.”
“In for a penny…” Donovan mutters as he flicks the cube into the air, expertly catching it with his tongue as he had many pieces of popcorn before. The taste was pleasant but unexpectedly powerful, with the immediate smack of the flavours above slowly giving way to a more fruity aftertaste. As the strength of the food fades he takes the orb and holding his head back he bites the skin firmly. It was a substance thicker than water yet much thinner than jelly that was trickling down Donovan’s throat, helping to cement the foods taste on his tongue. With a lick of his lips he sucks down the now empty protein casing and breathes out contentedly.

“So?” The blue figure seems to be pulsing vibrantly with blue light as her hands grasp each other nervously. “What do you think?”

“That was…” Donovan was trying to come up with a word other than ‘different’ or ‘interesting’ to describe the orgy of flavours that had just assaulted his senses “the most amazing thing I have ever eaten.” He inwardly sighs at the unoriginality of that comment, though the blue figure doesn’t seem to mind at all; her grin spreading ever wider as large eyes squint with what appears to be happiness.

“Excellent!” Her face almost stretched by her mouth, the figure’s cheeks start to turn a slightly darker shade of blue as she attempts to compose herself. “I am glad you liked it.” With a bow, the being then turns to leave.
“Wait,” Donovan calls out, standing in protest of her departure. “Wait a sec.”

“What’s a ‘sec’?” She turns to face him, the curious look plastered across her still grinning face.

The man stumbles with an answer; he’d never had to explain that phrase before, and the more he thought about it the less sense it actually made. “What I mean is, I’d like you to stay for a moment; I have a lot of questions.”

The blue figure glances at the gap in the wall. “I am one of the ship’s cooks, so I don’t really have that much authority to speak with you about anything that involves you being held here or what the Tribunal is discussing.”

Donovan nods in understanding. “Well, let’s start with names. I’m Donovan Lane.” He holds his hand out to the figure who stares at it puzzled.

“I am Djerra Galfa Nolvera, but you can call me Galfa if it is easier.” She sticks her hand out next to his, and surprisingly holds it; shaking it up and down in an interesting version of a handshake. “Is that right?” The sensation of her ‘skin’ on his was beyond anything the man had ever felt before; it felt slippery like oiled latex but was grippy in parts as though millions of little suction cups were latching on.

He managed to work out a sentence from his overworked mind. “Yes, though less rough; like this.” Donovan uses his free hand to press down upon their clasped fingers and slow her pace. The two share a moment as they stand in silence shaking hands, each one savouring the feel of the other. It was Galfa who broke the silence.

“Your skin is much softer than most species we encounter.”

“Thanks?” Donovan attempts, unsure of the meaning behind such a statement.

“So many species either have to wear special spacesuits to survive in this atmosphere, or have evolved to have… ‘harsher’ appendages.” She pulls her hand away, brushing a few tendrils back over her shoulder. “It’s not a bad thing, it’s actually quite a nice change.”

Donovan smiles at her compliment, noticing Galfa’s blue blushing cheeks as she smiles at him. “And you…” He curses his mind for not keeping up with the relatively strait forward situation of being on an alien ship, conversing with a sentient jelly being “feel great.” He shakes the stupid from his mind and tries again. “Your skin is, well it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

“May I?” Galfa points to the bench. Donovan gets the hint and gestures for her to sit before descending onto the seat himself, turning to face her as she turns to him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He was beginning to get into the mood of his heightened politeness, bowing slightly before gesturing for Galfa to continue.

“I am a Guvaan. We are a synthetic species created to fulfill many different roles that may be harmful to other species.”

“Synthetic?” Donovan interrupts “As in ‘created’?”

“Yes.” her smile turns somewhat more serious as she explains. “We were created by the Colverai initially as soldiers; our physical construction makes us almost impervious to damage from blunt or sharp instruments, we are fireproof, waterproof, shockproof and do not have any internal organs; which means we also don’t breathe. We gain our sustenance through chemical compounds similar to your ‘glucose’.”

“Sugar?” He offers, trying to let all this sink in.

“Effectively, yes. It means we can be replenished with minimal resources necessary.” She nods appreciatively at his assumption before moving on. “But eventually our durability was required in other fields, so the ‘Colours’ were devised. I am blue, so I am required in food preparation. Grey Guvaan work in medical fields, Green in research, Red in construction and the Black ones are Soldiers repurposed as guards or guides.”

Donovan motions for Galfa to stop. “So if you’re all the same species, why do you have a… um… ‘Face’, while the other one was blank?”

“To begin with it was a matter of shock value, but Vuula does it to watch species reactions. She’s a bit of an - I think you call them - asshole?” It was the his turn to blush now as he remembered back to his reaction to the oily black Guvaan from earlier.

“When I first arrived, there was a big ball of ‘stuff’ asking me questions from the ceiling. Was that Vuula too?”
“Yes. We Guvaan can draw our matter to a central point, allowing the best ratio of surface to volume to protect us even further. The whole hanging from the ceiling thing was just her showing off.” She holds a hand out, gesturing to one of Donovan’s hands. “May I have a proper look?” He offers his limb gladly. “It really is so… Different.” Galfa turns his hand over and back again, her own fingers exploring his as they grab and slide against his skin.

The sensual rolling of he strange latex-like skin over his own was beginning to have an effect on the man; Donovan shifting on the seat to hide his arousal. “Uh, so yeah…”

“Your heart rate has increased, are you okay?” Galfa squeezes his hand, attempting to comfort him.
“I’m fine, it’s just - uh - a lot to take in.” He shifts again, the added pressure from her hand causing a further reaction from his pyjamas. “So are there any other colours? Do you interbreed?”

Galfa laughs, her ample bosom bouncing from the force. “We do not breed in the same way you humans do.” She takes Donovan’s other hand and turns toward him like a child about to tell a secret. “When our population is required to increase, those who are able to detach a portion of themselves do so, with all the parts added together to create a new individual. They choose their own name and after they have acclimatised to their surroundings, they begin work.”

“Wow, no sex…” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

“Well, we have developed a love of certain sensations. Our race is highly empathic, and we are able to draw on that energy from a reasonable distance. Some of the more ‘addicted’ of our kind spend their off-work time near brothels or the like; but there are few species that pretend to reproduce recreationally, so they have a tendency to get over-excited when such life forms are near.” Galfa blushes a deep shade of blue, almost looking like she had two sets of deep indigo eyes.

“And I take it proximity heightens the sensation?” Donovan battles internally over the urge to halt this line of questioning versus his curiosity of the whole thing, with the hardon in his pyjamas adding weight to the latter’s argument.

“Yes, but most species regard us as ‘unrefined’, so we tend to be asked to leave if we get too close.”
“So no ‘species’ has ever - you know - had ‘fun’ with you?” Donovan knew he was stepping pretty close to a conversation killer, but figured he had a once-in-a-lifetime chance ahead of him and didn’t want to think back on how he’d not tried to sleep with an alien.

“What?!” His heart stops at the Guvaan’s outburst, but starts again once she lets loose a guttural laugh; her whole body rippling from the sudden movement. “I have never heard of another species even considering that. Given our appearance, and our… status…” A worried expression slides across Galfa’s face as she turns away from Donovan, but he holds her hands tight, forcing her to look at him.

“Don’t go, I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.” He takes a hand off Galfa’s own to place it on her upper arm, gripping it gently. “I actually think you’re pretty cute.” Donovan almost jumps out of his skin when Galfa’s entire body shifts from her usual neon blue to the same dark indigo of her cheeks; instead he just grips her tighter.

"Ahem." Vuula stands in the doorway, hands on hips. For a being with no facial features the Guvaan was giving off a Hollywood-amount of attitude, helped greatly by her black, oily latex-like skin covering every inch of her gel body. "You, back to work." She flicks a finger in Galfa's direction. "You, with me." Galfa quickly steps through the doorway and high tails it away from her bossy kin. Donovan on the other hand takes his time as a way of punishing the dark figure for interrupting the man's time with his new friend. She sighs in frustration before heading off down the passage, head rippling as she speaks "Tour time, Mister Lane. Try to keep up."

Donovan steps into the hallway and follows the speedy alien down the halls. He passes several intersections leading to other rooms and dead ends, all constructed from the same metal, and all with pulsing blue lines along the wall leading to this corridor and down the direction they’re going. The man reckons he’s crossed a distance as long as a football field before finally coming to a different-looking space. And it couldn’t have been any more stark of a change.

A sound-dampening wall slides open to reveal a large area with a glass roof looking up at the Earth; the southern half of Africa clearly visible under scattered clouds. The rest of the massive room is like a kind of market; an area that appears to sell fresh foods next to what may be to Donovan’s reasoning a restaurant. He couldn’t tell why but for some reason he just knew that the stall on the far side of the space sold a coffee-like beverage, and another was purely there for the sale of this civilisations version of audio visual entertainment.

Vuula pushes ahead through the throng. As Donovan races to keep up, his olfactory senses are assaulted with scents just as powerful and confusing as the cubed food he’d had earlier. And just as his curiosity of the smells, sounds and sights of the market were overwhelming him, so was his presence being noticed by the other beings socialising in the large area.

Grinning sheepishly he half-salutes, half-waves to the onlookers as he tries to follow the brown-robed figure through the crowd. The assortment of alien beings weren’t as varied as he’d thought compared with Cantina or Market scenes from the myriad of Sci-Fi films in his extensive collection, but were impressive nonetheless. He could make out seven distinct species, all of whom had subtle variations in size, colouring and some possibly gender.

The most prolific seemed to be a cat-like race with four eyes, four ears, and hand-like appendages at the ends of both their arms and legs resembling that of an ape but with sharp claws. From what he could see in this room they were all varying shades of earthy colours, from emerald green to dusty orange, some with stripes, spots or both. Standing they seem about six feet tall, but their thin tail extends another six feet behind them, ending in a rather large puff of brightly coloured fur. Their eyes were highly visible though, and that’s what caught Donovan’s attention the most; each pair flashed fluorescent green like a cats at night, but when lit well from all sides. He put the effect down to the intensity of the situation and tried to think no more of it.

Another numerous species is what Donovan recognised as being almost the exact definition of a Naga from the various fantasy games he played; a humanoid torso - some with two arms, some with four - transforming at the waist into a long serpentine tail. Their hands were almost human, except with lengthened digits, and an extra thumb below the little finger. The head was like that of a python’s but with very small eyes, though their ‘eyebrows’ were quite pronounced and seemed to have several holes in them as he paced past one of the larger ones. Their sizes seemed to range dramatically as well, with some nearly twice the size of the man, and others barely up to his waist. They all seemed to have a similar grey/orange colouring with the occasional exception of white/red or black/blue.

One species with only a couple members spotted in the crowd were very large, fur-coated creatures who’s heads are to a cow as a bulldog is to a boxer; squat but broad. The difference between these figures and the others is they quite clearly had breasts, or breast like protrusions; four in fact, one set above the other. Their fur was long and thick and they seemed quite happy to wear no clothes, also unlike the other races in the now almost silent space. As Donovan ran near one he estimated them to be well over nine feet in height, and while their limb proportions are similar to that of a human, their legs are most definitely animal-like; with the limb proportions like that of a dog but with the thickness of a bears. One stood gawking as a long tongue hung out nearly three feet to lap up a syrupy, green drink held between dexterous paws.

There were also several mechanised suits approximately five feet in height, all of which housed beneath their glass-domed helms a slug-like creature. Unable to see anything but the green-gold head, Donovan was drawn to how eerily human the face looked; the eyes were a little larger than normal and entirely black, but the jawline and proportions were like that of a half-starved female supermodel. And they were all like this. From that point on though, there were obvious alien traits. Two fleshy stalks protrude out from the eyebrows, and a frill of skin runs down from the back of the jaw, down the neck into the metal suit’s interior. All surfaces of skin visible appear to Donovan to be glossy, as though oiled.

A few Guvaan figures could be made out amongst the mix, all with feminine humanoid body types but ranging in colour, size and build. All of them seem to be keeping to themselves or purchasing items, lending credence to Galfa’s statement about them not socialising with the other races much.

The last species for Donovan to notice was almost missed entirely; the figure was at the back of the crowd attending to the coffee-cart-thing and was barely visible past the bright holograms between him and the structure for most of his mad dash. However just before disappearing through the gap in the wall, he got a good look behind the cart. The curvy body seemed female in form, but bright red in colour. Behind the figure he could barely make out either a pair of large deep-red wings or a long flowing cape. From the glimpse of the being’s face he could make out feminine human features with unmistakable alien ones; glowing eyes, pointed ears, and horn-like protrusions from her temple. The image conjured in the mans head was that of a demon, but he was already in the hallway before he could take another look.

Then Vuula comes to an abrupt halt. "What do you mean 'Finished'?" She holds a hand up signalling Donovan to stop, despite his already stationary form. "I'll be right there." She turns to the man, her impatience seething from her faceless form. "Humans are good at socialising, yes?" Donovan nods, an eyebrow raised. "Good. Socialise." She shoos him back towards the market before disappearing through a newly opened doorway.

The man stands there for a moment, turning on the spot as he now stands in a narrow thirty-foot long hall with no visible exit. Shrugging, he sighs. "Sure, socialise." The words flow lonely into the air as Donovan assures himself the way back to the market was the wall he was facing, and steps forward. Looking about the busy room, he spies the beverage stall that had the demon-like woman and heads over.

Just as he reaches the stall, a heavy robe shoots into view from behind the counter. "Hello Human." The feminine figure sighs as she welcomes him, the newly donned robe keeping all of her features hidden. "It would be best for me to inform you now that the beverages I sell were not consumed nor enjoyed by those of your kind that came through earlier."

"Ah," Donovan nods "an acquired taste."

"That is what one of the females said, yes." The figure replies, Donovan thought he could detect a smirk behind the shadowy hood, but knew that was impossible. As he hadn't left yet, the figure sighs again and starts her spiel. "These are drinks brewed from plants that originated in your realm, but were grown and harvested in another. The seeds and bark are infused in a selection of consumable liquids for times relative to each drink before either heated or cooled to preference."

"Hmmm..." Donovan scratched the hairs on his chin. "What would you reccomend?"

"I just said, the other humans did not like any of the ones they consumed. One even spat it out." That last sentence seemed to be spat out as well; Donovan had a feeling the Major may have been responsible for that.

"Well, that was them. I have different tastes." Donovan states proudly, hoping desperately not to be making a huge mistake. "What's your favourite?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." The man left no pause or hesitation to raise any doubt in the woman's mind that he was sure.

"Okay..." Gloved hands begin fumbling with the ingredients, various brightly coloured leaves and berries picked from their respective plants behind the counter.

"You don't need to worry about those with me." Donovan smiles.

"Heh, trust me, you don't want to see me without them."

"It's okay, I saw you before." The figure pauses, dropping a couple of berries on the counter. A second or so later she picks the errant fruit up and places them in a large mortar and pestle.

"So you are unconcerned?" She mutters, Donovan sensing some embarrassment in her tone.

"Not particularly." He shrugs as the being behind the counter pours what looks like water into the mortar. Half the concoction is poured into a nearby cup before more fruit and some dried strips of something are dropped into the mix. "I think the Sci-Fi channel has helped in that regard."

"Translation of your language is ongoing, I am not aware of this siye-fiye you speak of." The mixture seems to be heating up in the stone hemisphere, and becoming redder by the second.

"Lets just say I'm used to stories including all sorts of beings of many different shapes and sizes, and I'm not a part of one of the religious groups that would be..." He tries to find the right word, his eggshell-walking easily observed by the robed figure "worried as to your appearance."

The alien beverage maker continues the rest of her actions in silence, pouring the remaining liquid into the cup before sliding the red drink over to him. "I suppose you don't have any credit either?"

"Dammit!" Donovan exclaims, padding his pockets for his wallet before realising it was both thousands of miles away and containing only Earth currency. "I'm sorry, and I don't really have anything to barter with. Can I help you somehow? I dunno..." He runs a hand through his hair in embarrassment "-do the dishes or something?"

"Drink first." She smirks, expecting him to fold like the rest. Donovan lifts the beverage; the glass is cylindrical and nearly full to the brim of a steaming red broth, berries floating freely within but no trace of the leaves from before. The bottom appears a much lighter shade of red than the top, and glistens somewhat.

Raising the glass as though in a toast, he bows to the robed figure before him "Fortune favours the brave." Bringing the glass to his lips, odd scents infiltrate his mind; raspberries, nutmeg, and beef among them. Closing his eyes he takes more than his usual sip, not wanting to look too afraid of the result. As the heated liquid hits his tongue, Donovan has the immediate urge to spit it out; it is bitter like lemon and as salty as a cube of beef stock, but far more intense than any other food he'd had before. He swills the liquid to either side of his mouth, lashing it over his tongue repeatedly seems to calm the effect. A quick gulp disappears the warm fluid and he takes a breath. "Interesting..."

"Hrmph, I knew-" the words were no sooner out of her mouth when Donovan went for a second slog. This time, he barely flinched as the meaty fluid trickled over his tastebuds and down his throat.

"This is great," he said smacking his lips. "- intense - but great. Like drinking a lamb roast." He took another swig, with just a bright red glittering eighth of a glass unable to be taken in. "And the layering of flavours, it's the same overall taste, but you've shifted the focus from the salty to the sweet." He downs the last of the mixture, the last few beads of red fluid trickling back down to the bottom. "That is unlike anything I have ever experienced! How do you DO that?"

His exclamations had left the being dumbfounded. "You like it? You actually like it?"

"Don't get me wrong, it's got a massive kick to start with, but the flavour is intense! It's like having ten meals worth of flavour in one go. No wonder it's your favourite." Donovan licked his teeth, trying to savour as much of the flavour as he could.

"Most beings tend to avoid that one, I only know three people on this ship that like it; My sister, Myself and... You." She takes the glass and inspects it, not knowing what she's looking for if anything. "Don't worry about paying for that, you seem honest enough. Maybe if I see you round after hours you can buy me a drink at 'Zeeks'."

"Are you sure? I feel like I'm getting off light after something that... Amazing..."

Ka'len thinks for a moment before shrugging to herself. "Well, I'm almost out of Mala fruit, you could head to the Arboritum to pick some for me?"

"That sounds fine; but I have no idea where the Arboritum is. Or what a Mala fruit looks like." The man's eyes go wide. "I'm sorry, I don't even know your name!" He coughs, dusting himself off for what little use it was, and offering a hand to the figure before him. "Donovan Lane."

"Just call me Ka'len." She holds a gloved hand out as well, confusion making way for shock as the man takes it and gently shakes vertically. "A human greeting?"

The man nods. "Yep. Standard human greeting. Just make sure it's this hand," he raises his right palm "using the other one is a bit... Tricky..."

"Well you've got the translation program," She smiles. "so head over to the 'Charge & Drain'." a red finger is thrust in the direction of he shop Donovan figured would sell electronics. "Ask whomever's on - should be Dusty - that you need a basic 'Connection Service Pack'. That'll set you up with an information service, map, and a few other things."

"Thank you; both for the help and the drink." Donovan grins shyly as he heads off towards the electronics store. "I'll be back with your fruit in a bit."

The large open space had stalls scattered throughout the area forming makeshift paths and alleyways. Most stalls of similar content seemed to stay far enough away from each other that Donovan assumed it was in interests of business and courtesy.

One of the big fuzzy females spots him from a few stalls ahead and sidles up. "So, how was the drink?" She seemed to snicker somewhat as she patted him on the back. To Donovan's credit he didn't break stride.

"Not too bad. More meaty than I expected, but plan on giving it another shot when I'm more awake." The being stops in shock, staring at the man slack jawed before racing over to Ka'lens stand. "Heh."

A few more delicious smelling stalls and Donovan arrives at the 'Charge & Drain'. Whatever he was imagining this place to be was not what he was presented with. The stall before him involves a dentists chair - or at least the alien equivalent - with magnifying-lens-light, a stand with a selection of tools and an occupied stool; which became unoccupied as soon as Donovan made his presence known. The cat-like being is clearly getting on in years, and appears to have red-coloured goggles strapped to both sets of eyes.

"Dusty I presume?" Donovan nods in interest at the equipment.

"You presume correctly, Human." Four goggled eyes scan the man up and down. "You're not with the others, are you."

"Not exactly, no." He admits with an upturned eyebrow. "Why?"

"You dress different. And smell different. And your Aura is... odd." The being indicates an area around Donovan's left shoulder "Especially that bit. Watch out for that bit." He seems to realise what he's saying and straightens up, dusting himself off. "Eh, Welcome to the Charge 'n Drain; experts in software, hardware and decoware installation."

"Decoware?"

"Yeah, Decoware. You got some right there," Dusty picks up a tool that looks like a bent nine-inch nail, prodding the flat end against Donovan's small wrist tattoo of a smiley face. "Hmmm, where'd ya get this one? Seems defective."

"Defective? It's just a-" the assumption hits Donovan like a smack to the face "-wait, are you telling me I can get a computerised tattoo?"

"Ta-to? Is that what you humans call it? Says here it's just pigment alteration." He tries showing the tool to Donovan, but Donovan shrugs. "Ah, can't see the readings eh?"

"Can't say I do. Ka'len said you could help me out with a-"

"Connection Service Pack. Don't suppose you got any cred to show?" Dusty asks, grinning to reveal several broken teeth.

"Uh, not as yet." The man replies. "I kinda wasn't expected here, so I'm not sure if they're gonna organise anything for me. Apparently the others haven't been given anything yet either."

"Nah, Vuula got me to give 'em access to specific accounts a short while ago. Figured you might have been given the same directions." Donovan frowned, annoyed. "So I see you've met the gooey witch then. They say she's a 'necessary evil', don't know any other Guuvan like her though." Donovan shrugs. "Take it you don't know much about the species here?" Dusty offers for Donovan to sit in the big modular chair, and he does so with a little help.
"My sepcies is known as the Shylar. We are one of the older Alliance species, second only to the N'gaa and Colverai, and have been Uplifted for close to two hundred thousand of your Earth years."

"Two hundred thousand?" Donovan asks, mouth a gasp.

"Four hundred, ninety-three years and a small amount short of that, but otherwise correct." He prods the man with another implement, some machine in the background emitting a sharp 'ping' as he does so. "Those ones," He points towards one of the snake-like beings in a stall opposite "they're the N'Gaa. After the last Fall, the Colverai tasked 'em with keeping order in the galaxy, preventing the more warlike races from causing too much damage to those that have not been Uplifted yet."

The tool was jabbed at another being, this time a large furry one walking past. "Kagash. They conceded 'technological' might to the N'gaa, and agreed to aid in the protection effort. Even during times of peace, most ships in known space will have a couple of them on board, just in case. They prove useful when the need for muscle outweighs the more tactical aspects of a conflict."

He shoves a thumb over his shoulder where Donovan had walked in. "You met Ka'len. She's a Da'Jen, a race from the Aether."

"The Aether?"

"You humans call it the 'warp' or 'hyper space' I believe." He prods with yet another tool, this time causing a small static shock on the back of Donovan's hand. "Ancient race them. Older than all of us. Some say, older than time." He taps the tool against his chin, thinking. "I suppose the only other species you're likely to talk to on the station are the H'sha."

Donovan thinks back. "Are those the ones in the metal suits?"

"Quick learner, Human. Yeah, they need 'em or they'll dry out in this atmosphere. Come from a jungle moon or somethin'. Very squishy. Fortunately they rarely ever get the 'decoware'." He selects two more tools - one thin and steely-blue, the other thick and glowing slightly orange - motioning for Donovan to lay back.

"Wait up, what's the plan?" The human asks, concern and suspicion in his words.

"Well, can't have you runnin-round without the basics. And besides, the ship told me to." The sentence sounded perfectly normal, and Donovan could hear no tone indicating it were a joke or sarcasm. But the fact that it was said was worrying enough for him. "And if you feel like paying me back, then you're more than welcome to when ya got some creds." He smiles, those broken teeth peeking from behind stained gums.

"Why do I keep agreeing to these things?" The man mutters, laying back and closing his eyes.

"Character flaw is my guess." Says Dusty, taking the blue implement and placing it square between Donovan's eyes as he moves the orange one around from temple to temple. "Aaaaaand done." He places the tools back on the tray and offers the man a hand sitting up. Picking up what looks like a long cigarette, he holds the orange-tipped end in front of Donovan's eyes. "Follow it." He moves it back and forth, up and down like an optometrist. "Any action prompts?"

"Any what?"

"Prompts. Something telling you how far it is from you, how fast it's going, that sort of thing?" Donovan shakes his head. "Have you enabled the display?" The human's look of confusion says enough. "The other humans were told when they arrived, I assumed you had too. No matter, its easy." Dusty sits down on his stool, replacing the tool after he's comfortable. "Close your eyes and look as far to the left as you can, you should see a small triangle. Stare at the triangle and you should be right as sun."

"Don't you mean right as rain?" The man asks, closing his eyes.

"What's so good about rain?" Dusty counters, shrugging. "Working?"

"Hold on, I see it, and I'm..." Donovan freezes for a second before opening his eyes. Whether it was projected into his eyes, or integrated into his mind he could not tell but a wealth of information was now streaming across his view. "Holy hell this is cool!" He blurts out. Looking at the tray beside him he can see small tags attached to each tool a hovering in nothingness - telling him what each one was called and when he focused closer on individual tags he could see a description of what they all did. Dusty picked up the tool marked 'Identification Wand' and passed it over Donovan's forehead.

"Wait, this ain't right." The Shylar mused "I installed Basic; you've got Advanced in there. No wonder you were lookin' at me tools all funny." He makes another few passes over the man's head. "Hold on, that wasn't installed by me, it was installed with the Translation service. The others didn't seem to have that..." He put the tool down again and scratched at his jaw with a foot-hand.

"Wait, so I've had this from the moment I got here?" Donovan stands, a little giddy but more confused than anything else.

"Seems like. Looks like someone out there really likes you; that package is expensive. Wait... It was you?" The man looks around, trying to figure out who the Shylar was talking to. Seeing no one he glances back, but takes a step towards the path out of instinct. "But you told me to help him... Oh, I get it."

"So the ship gave me that package then?" He asks, still curious but wondering if he should have left by now.

"Yep. She's got an eye out for ya. You better treat her nice after that." Dusty jabs a finger in Donovan's direction "Look out fer ya ship, she looks out fer you."

The man takes one last look around the stall; the 'Illuminator Plus' and the 'Recliner 12-1-42' popping up as tags that float just over and above the objects themselves. "Well, thank you very much for all this, I might be back for some of that Decorware before I leave." The man smiles and nods as the Shylar waves him off.

"Travel light and swing smart." Dusty grins again before returning to his stool to reorganise his tools.

Donovan looks around, bombarded with information from all the various signs, people, objects and pathways. He tries flicking through various items, but was finding himself trapped in the Wiki effect. Finding a seat next to a Dirulian Vegetables stall, he tries some verbal commands.

"Show Clock." A series of shifting rings appears at the bottom of his view, just about where his left cheek is. The rest of his view is littered with translation information and descriptions. "Okay, things are getting really cluttered. Can I turn off tags?" Immediately the bombardment of information disappears, with just the clock left in the corner next to another small triangle. With the heads up display restrained by a decent amount, Donovan's mind clears as well, and the task at hand once more pops to the forefront.

"To the Arboritum." A small map appears, showing a green line leading from where he assumes he is to another section of the ship. The hallways are much as they were before; made from the same metal with a pulsing blue line directing him back to the market. Except as he closes in on the indicated area, the line colour changes. Now it is lime green, and moving in the direction Donovan is headed. An info box pops up near the map.

'The guide line directs crew and guests to the nearest social hub; blue indicates the market, orange indicates 'Zeeks' club, green indicates the Arboritum, purple indicates the observation deck, and red indicates the leisure center. All hallways show a line corresponding to the nearest social hub where additional directions can be granted if needed.'

Donovan continues on his way, observing a hallway to one side leading away with a purple pulsing light. He was surprised at how few beings he passed in the halls, as he made his way to the Arboritum there were only a couple of N'gaa and a very frantic Shylar; who came past from behind him, obviously quite late for something. It wasn't long though before the wall ahead of him opened to the fragrant scents of a forest.

Stepping through onto a gantry, Donovan had a good line of sight to the fifty-foot tall room; its ceiling dotted with systems dispensing water and mist to varying plants, while others radiated heat and light. The width and length of the room he was less sure of, with the ridiculous amount of shrubbery, trunks and flowers blocking his sight. The map in his head informed him of the most direct route to reach the Mala vine.

All around him, alien flora and fauna thrived. Small centipede-like mice skittered up tree trunks to his left while a large creature resembling a squid - with a body the size of a sheep covered in a thick layer of green fur - was using its near twenty tentacles to slowly hoist itself from tree to tree to his right. What confused Donovan though, was a sugar glider - an animal he was familiar with - completely unfettered by the presence of all these beings swooped down from the trees to land on his shoulder; affectionately attempting to curl up in the collar of his bath robe.

"Looks like you made a friend." The man turns carefully for the tiny creatures sake, to see the calm but jovial face of a Kagash grinning at him from a branch of an oak-like tree with dark orange bark; her ivory fur standing stark against both it and the surrounding deep-purple leaves. She jumps down and while Donovan prepares for a massive thud, not so much as a whisper of the action is conveyed to his feet; the massive yet incredibly graceful being landing better than a championship gymnast. "One of yours I think."

"Yeah. 'Who's a cute little sugar glider? You are!'..." He scratches the critters chin with a finger, its head rolling back in pleasure. The Kagash chuckles at the cutesy display. Donovan extends a hand to the large furry being "Donovan Lane."

"Ah, I've heard about this custom..." She greets his hand with hers, enclosing the massive paw around the man's own. Vigorously but not violently, the Kagash raises and lowers the coupled limbs, in a way only a human with a huge ego and great need for compensation would. Donovan grinned at the strange familiarity of the experience. The big fuzzy paw was retracted with much mirth, it's owner deciding the grin across the man's face was that of approval. "Po'Meeka Shadrashi Ka. Just call me Meeka."

"You humans are causing quite the stir." Meeka continues, turning to the direction Donovan assumed the rest of his species were located. "It's not everyday the Shylar are out-done technologically."

"Sorry?" Donovan asks confused.

"Ah," she mutters, clearing her throat "I should let the Tribunal fill you in on that." The man knew better than to pry despite the curiosity building in the scientific part of his brain. Instead the two just stood there staring at the plants for several seconds in silence.

Donovan leans over to shoulder bump Meeka in the same way he would do to friends while trying to break the awkward silence of an elevator ride, but unlike his friends back home the contact just barely moves the Kagash's massive frame. A broad grinning face turns slowly to look down at the human with one raised eyebrow. Now fearing the worst, Donovan readies himself to be shouted at. Instead Meeka just huffs and returns the action; more of a shoulder barge than nudge given the difference in size. He stumbles, but retains his footing just before falling off the edge of the walkway. Before he has a chance to get his balance properly, he is tackled off the gantry by a fuzzy, ivory blur.

Preparing to hit the ground hard, the human is surprised to land on a very spongy surface, the little of it viewed through the fur pressing down on his face appears similar to the brain-like coral he'd seen in documentaries, though it's texture definitely closer to the latex foam of crash-mats remembered from years prior in P.E. class at school. Not much else could be considered about what he'd landed on before his attention returned to the Kagash atop him. Feeling the flora beneath him shift under their combined weight, Donovan shifts instinctively, pushing his head back and legs up.

Meeka bleats in surprise as her prey disappears beneath the canopy of the pillowy bush they had landed on. Her confusion doesn't last long as Donovan springs up from beside her - pyjama top and bath robe left somewhere in the underbrush - and does his best impression of a pile-driver. It doesn't make much of an impact, but nevertheless, Meeka looks impressed. "There are not many strong or stupid enough to actively challenge a Kagash," she says as Donovan rolls off her to lay beside the big furry being "and you don't seem either. So..."
"For fun." He responds without skipping a beat.

"Fun?" Meeka blurts out before laughing uproariously. "You have a strange idea of fun. I like it." She nudges him with her elbow, softer this time. Donovan responds in kind as the two of them stare up at the alien leaves above them. "So why aren't you with the rest of your people?"

"Yeah," Donovan ran fingers through his slightly oily hair, reminding him he heeded to take a shower. He sniffed the air and aside from his own scent he could also smell something faint, but intoxicating. Choosing to ignore it for now, he sighs "I'm here by mistake." Meeka turns to stare at him inquisitively, a confused look on her face. "Not sure why, I got a whole bunch of software too-" he taps his temple for emphasis "stuff that the others didn't."

Meeka turns her head back to the canopy above them, and the stars beyond. "So you're not a warrior or scientist..." she paused hoping to lead him. It failed. "A cook perhaps?"

Donovan laughed. "I'm handy with a frypan, that's for sure." A leaf falls from above to land on the man's chest. He picks it up by the stem and inspects it. "No, I'm an artist." The Kagash's response was not what he hoped, with her sniffing, displeased at the notion. "What?" He asks, still trying to be jovial in tone.

"We do not see a purpose in what you races call ART." Meeka says, almost spitting the last word.

"And why's that?" Donovan asks, propping himself up on one elbow to stare down his competition. Meeka huffs at the attention.

"We do not see what useful purpose an artist serves within the tribe."

"Surely your people have designers or storytellers?" Donovan tries, hoping it might just be a 'visual art' issue.

"Those that report stories report fact. And what occupations could ever require designers? If it is engineered efficiently then design doesn't enter into it."

Donovan knew he would not win this fight lying here. "Fine." He says, decisively. Meeka blinks before turning to face him, her nose mere inches from his as she mimics his pose. She stares into his eyes expectantly, wondering where his admission would lead. "I'll admit my entire profession is useless IF-" she rolls her eyes, returning his gaze with a cynical glare "if you let me draw you. If I change your mind, great. If not, then I'll admit I've wasted my life for nothing."

"Done!" Meeka places one hand behind Donovans head and gently headbutts him. He blinks the blow from his mind as she smiles. "Here's my contact." She presses a finger against the man's forehead. At the same time a small image of her appears in a little box at the bottom of his internal display, blinking once before disappearing entirely.

"I have some errands to run." She looks his toned  frame up and down. "I don't mind, but you should probably find your clothes, you humans seem weird about that." With those words, Meeka rolls off the side of the brain-like plant and into the underbrush, her Ivory fur soon swallowed by the multicoloured leaves that surround the now somewhat lonesome Donovan.

Reaching blindly down below the spongy structure, the man retrieves his clothes. A sugar glider happily munching on some ancient sultana it must have dug up from one of his pockets. "Cheeky bugger... I was saving that." Donovan joked as he flung his clothes on, the sugar glider safe in his lap. Doing up a few buttons he wills the map into existence again, flicking his eyes around to discover the Vines are only a few feet beyond the underbrush. The sugar glider seems to understand his motives to move as it scrambles from Donovan's lap over to a nearby tree. Regarding the human one last time with a look of glee, it then shoots up the tree with practiced speed.

"Time I did the same..." Donovan slides off the plant and stumbles through the foliage to a wide tan tree trunk. It's surface was almost entirely covered in various vines, the one bearing orange banana-like fruit being highlighted in his display as the Mala plant. The computer informs him that Ka'len is allowed 2 per day, and she has 2 remaining to be picked.

With two of the strange fruits in hand, Donovan now thinks about an exit. The map highlights a path through the trees to a ramp on the other side of the arboretum. "The scenic route it is." As he moves through the bushes, saplings and various forms of plant life, Donovan only spies one other creature he recognises as being from Earth; a sloth hanging from an iridescent blue vine as it lazily looks down at him. The two regard each other with the same puzzled but understanding expression before the map once again informs the human of the direction he intends to go.

A couple hundred feet more and Donovan is at a spiralling ramp leading back up to the main gantry. A perturbed Shylar groundskeeper stares at him as the man gives a sheepish salute and breaks into a jog down the metallic hallway leading to the Marketplace.