It wasn't always easy, reflected Gashvorn, running the biggest trading hub in this arm of the Galaxy. Some 30-40 different species came through every sweep; some to sell goods, some to buy, others journeying to a new home, and some just there to experience the fun of life on the cutting edge of Galactic trade here in Atrotomsk Station. He had his mandibles full juggling the countless problems that could crop up on any large hub not owned by a single species. At this moment there were 283 ships docked with the station, and another dozen awaiting an open berth to link up (And three of those were from particularly high-caste races; someone else would need to be forced out to make room). There were four different religious festivals going on in different wings of Atrotomsk – Gashvorn had spent quite a bit of time making sure that the Qholinma festival celebrating the defeat of the Wezantiki was held as far from the Wezantiki festival celebrating the destruction of the Qholinma home system as possible. It helped that nearly half the various sentient beings currently aboard were busy with the Athnatabaskan "Paean to the Gods of Food, Music, and Reproduction", but that included much of the station's own staff. Gashvorn had had to personally help security stop one of those all too common fights that start when one species' "time honored cultural trading practice" was another's "You tryin' to cheat me, you self-pollinating punk?" It had been a long cycle, and his lower rock-crushing jaws were sore from slamming heads together to help cool down angry tempers. He really just wanted to get back to his quarters, take a rest and grab a cup of Sklathvert (then maybe see if he could free up some time for the end of the Athnatabaskan party).
So when Gashvorn's assistant sent a message through to him that some unregistered new species of alien was having some kind of payment dispute in the Dremling sector Gashvorn really wasn't in the mood. Still, he thought, Dremling is a big mid-upper caste trading species, and staying aware of every new alien trading in this arm of the galaxy is an important part of keeping Atrotomsk Station as the place to be. So Gashvorn propelled himself down the corridor, leaving his security chief to finish explaining that things will go much smoother in the future if any trade agreement rituals that involve each party consuming a symbolic part of their own goods are explained before biting chunks out of the nanobot swarm you've just sold. While drifting towards the Dremling's location, he messaged his assistant back.
"Tell me this isn't some idiotic money using species problem." Gashvorn was really tired of species who are smart enough to think up the clever idea of a currency to facilitate exchanging goods, but stupid enough to assume that there's any constant exchange rate that would be accepted between the dozen's of different aliens trading here on the station. Even if you can work something out with a relatively stable trading partner, it could be completely worthless by the time you reach a new system. Atrotomsk Station doesn't use symbolic representations of value. If you want to trade here you either barter, or use the one constant value between all matter; energy. Not promises of energy, but actual light, heat or pressure. It's the one thing that is always universal, but some low caste primitives that don't have enough personal energy to ever really learn to build proper storage methods try to convince other species that tokens or data representing energy are as good as the real thing. This is a garbage idea, and Grashvorn is annoyed every time he has to explain to some yokels that they've managed to show up at a trade center with nothing of value. The reply from his assistant is both worrying and confusing.
"Um, it might be? The -hold on- 'humans' seem to be trying to give the merchants something useless that they insist should work as payment, but they've already given the Dremlings a dozen times what they would normally charge before they even asked about the price. The Dremlings aren't sure if they're being honored, pitied, insulted, or if this is some really weird con artist scheme where they demand the real payment back for the fake one, and they want a mediator here. I'm not sure what these 'humans' want. Have you met them before? Are we supposed to keep the gases they are spewing all over or give them back?"
Gases? Did these humans communicate by spewing clouds of gas particles at each other? They wouldn't be the first species Gashvorn had encountered that did, but those conversations always felt so messy. He reached the Dremling sector, where it seemed someone had set up a temporary set of double doors. Probably trying to keep all those gases inside.
As soon as the second set of doors opened, Gashvorn was struck by a wave of pressure. This compartment was flooded with gases, and it was way too hot for a normal merchant stall. What was going on?
The first being Gashvorn saw was the Dremling merchant. It was standing on a clutch of legs, anxiously rubbing it's antennae together when it saw him. "Honored station administrator!" The Dremling started speaking with relief, "Thank you for coming to help settle this situation. My reputation as a merchant is very important to me, and I appreciate having an official of your stature take the time to come visit and ensure that the trading going on here is conducted without confusion or deceit on either side."
Gashvorn gave the Dremling a short Bow-of-Equals which was the kind of slightly more polite than he needed to be gesture that kept Gashvorn popular among regulars of the station. "Never a problem. It's my job to help settle the disputes and confusions that can crop up, especially when dealing with new species. I'd like to hear your explanation of what has occurred so far, and then I'll see if I can talk to these aliens and resolve the issue." Gashvorn paused; this room was quite hot, even though he could see one of the merchant's heatsinks sitting unused in the corner. What was all this heat for? "also, what kind of gas did these creature bring anyway?"
"It's mostly nitrogen Honored Administrator, with trace amounts of other chemicals. Nearly a quarter of it is oxygen though-" "Oxygen!" Gashvorn interrupted, "This is a space station, not a comet! An explosion here in a confined space could seriously damage the whole sector. And you've got it so warm already this stuff is just asking to ignite by accident." Gashvorn grabbed his communicator, ready to call in the rest of the security team. This was starting to look less like a trading deal and more like a hostage scenario.
"I know sir! But these humans told me that this was their preferred gas mix that they filled their own ship with. And they asked about sparks, and if it would cause me any problems before they released the gas. The trading was going fine until then, they were looking over my selection of mining tools, although they seemed to be saying their translators weren't properly working on my explanation for how to use them. They asked about the gases, implying that they were interested in buying from me and that if they could fill the chamber with air, they would be more comfortable. I told them yes, and soon after the gas filled the room they started removing their outer coverings and throwing energy all over the place, mostly in all this heat. Then they grabbed several tools and started asking what kind of money I would accept. I don't want some primitive money, the energy would be more than enough, but I can't get them to tell me clearly if they are actually offering it in payment or not!" The Dremling had begun ranting. It's nervousness was clear in the small anxious jerks of its arms as it spoke. "They seemed polite at first, but for all I know they plan to keep heating this gas until it explodes and kills us all if I don't agree to take their 'money'! Please Administrator, get them to tell me what they are actually paying or get them to leave!"
"Of course Honored Merchant. Let me speak to these humans and I'm sure we can get this whole thing worked out." Motioning to his assistant to follow, Gashvorn went further in to the store. "If I give you a signal, call Drukzav and get the whole emergency crew down here," he told his assistant. "This is not a normal primitives with money problem."
As he passed around the corner and into the shop proper, Gashvorn got his first look at the humans. They were not what he had been expecting. You can't judge an alien by its looks of course, but in his head these humans had shifted between some group of ugly savages shocked by their first view of real civilization, to cunning opportunists, shifty and eager to exploit the better nature of their hosts. He was keeping an eye open for big rock-smashing muscles or concealed weapons. Instead his first impression of humans was of surprising grace and unexpected light.
They stood tall and slender, nearly as high as Gashvorn, but much thinner, almost like a line. Two legs, two arms, one head, mostly blue with white and black markings, although this was clearly some kind uniform clothing covering them. The clothing stopped below their heads which were exposed to the gas. There were three of them, each with a head in a different shade of skin, and thick blooms of softer coverings or perhaps follicles on top, two dark black, and one with golden yellow. But where their clothing stopped, they blazed with heat and light shimmered off of them mostly in the infrared. All the energy they had been dumping in the shop was clearly not from some storage heatsink, but coming straight from themselves. It wasn't quite constant, but pulsed to a rhythm, like music. Even standing still the humans seemed to move slightly, gases entering and exiting a set of small mouths in their face, still moving to that internal beat.
When they saw him, the golden headed one moved to approach. It opened a central mouth and displayed a set of polished white teeth that had clearly never been used to crunch through rock. Gashvorn didn't need the sudden chime of his translator turning on to tell him it was starting to speak. The mouth opened, and although a little gas did come out, the speech wasn't packets of gas he was supposed to ingest, or muscle movements he was supposed to identify, or even simple radio waves. Vibrations were pouring forth from the human, crossing the gas to buzz against his skin. These humans spoke by making the very air dance their message over to you.
His translator began, doing the best it could with an unfamiliar new language and mode of communication:
"Hello! // [Politeness/informality] Station-Official-Us-Help [Query?] // I-Captain Magallanes [Name or Personal Identifier] of the Gold-Metallic-Nonsentient-Animal [Ship Name or Designation, associated with the ship docked in port 137] [Declaration] // Station [Query?] [Translation not clear] [Query?] // Atrotomsk Station First-Initial Approach-Visit-Communication [Declaration] // -End of Communication."
Well. Honestly, Gashvorn had heard worse first tries from the translator. It would get better as the conversation progressed, as long as it didn't get some key concepts wrong somewhere. The human's speech had seemed so elegant untranslated, he wondered it it had been meant to be poetry. He noticed that his assistant still seemed to be staring, mouth open, and did his best to respond.
"Greetings Honored Guests. I am Gashvorn, chief Administrator of Atrotomsk Station. This is the single largest trading station within a hundred star-distances, and we always welcome new species such as yourselves here. I am here to help with any trading or communication difficulties that may have come up here. I understand you want this mining equipment?" Here Gashvorn gestured slowly with one arm to an array of tools spread out on the table near the humans. They didn't particularly seem to go together- he had no idea what the humans were planning on using them for. There weren't any unclaimed comets anywhere near Atrotomsk these days, and there weren't any at all that would have a use for an industrial tungsten concentrator. "Are you offering the good merchant here all this heat in return?" A thought struck him, "Or perhaps are you trying to trade him this gas? The Dremlings don't use oxygen or nitrogen in these quantities, he would probably prefer some amount of this heat."
There was a pause while the humans looked at a small device that was probably their translator, and then all three turned to face him, revealing again those gleaming teeth. His translator was telling him that this was probably a positive response and not a threat display. Gashvorn wasn't sure he could image these beings as threatening. They seemed more like music made flesh, and they still hadn't ceased or even slowed in their rhythmic heating of the atmosphere. They were communicating to each other too fast for the translator to catch it, and Gashvorn wondered if they were singing. The gentle vibrations of their speech slowed as they oriented towards him and the translator picked it up, hopefully with increasing accuracy.
"Pleasure to meet [Gashvorn]! Yes-Affirmative desire Mine-[Jewelry-art?]. We have traveled [Numeric-large?] distance to See-Explore-Communicate-Meet Atrotomsk Station. Our home is [Location PROBABLE ERROR too close to star for life]. We think translation error [heat/gas/money] occurring. Gas made of nitrogen-oxygen-carbon-oxygen-2 is [Gift/Offering/Output Waste], not valuable. Gas not intended as heat//money[Unclear]. We have sufficient stores on [Ship located in port 137]. Give merchant money [Desire]. Knowledge insufficient merchant money request [Query?] Iskarin credits [Query?] Xhi Scrip [?] The merchant desires gold? Unfamiliar with local trading method[Declaration]. Help appreciated.– End of Communication"
At this Gashvorn's assistant managed to break his silence. "These creatures use money? They move and speak like living calligraphy, but...Gashvorn, sir is your translator broken? They have energy enough to spare that they are spilling it everywhere like they want to bribe us and the translator says they think you can trade with money in a civilized place like this? What kind of beings are they, acting like low castes with the resources of high-castes?"
Suddenly it clicked together in Gashvorn's head. The long travel distance, the suggestion from the translator that they live practically inside the nuclear furnace of a star..."Assistant Dviir, these humans may be the highest caste species to ever visit Atrotomsk. The energy they're handing us right now is merely them setting this room to a comfortable equilibrium. They may not even notice it, they come from the very edges of a star. They aren't offering money because they don't have any heat, and need to trade representations of it. They are offering money because they think we are so low caste that we've never handled enough raw energy appreciate it on the levels they must use. To these humans, we must look like savages, out in the cold edges of space. They stuff their ships with explosive gas, heedless of risk, just for the beauty of having it dance their words. Go tell the merchant that the humans have paid with the heat here, and won't care that its more than he wants."
Now that Gashvorn understood these aliens, the solution to the problem was obvious. The humans were not going to miss the infrared photons they were throwing around, and weren't going to angrily ask the merchant to return the energy they'd left out. His assistant rushed back with the okay from the Dremling, and Gashvorn turned back to Captain Magallanes, giving the deep Bow-of-Respect-to-Superiors.
"First time visitors to our station are always welcome, and we thank you for traveling so far. You do not need to worry about paying the merchant any money; he asks that you take these tools as a gift for your presence in his shop. May I help you take them to your ship and give you a tour of the many fine parts of Atrotomsk Station?" A sudden happy thought struck Gashvorn. "Your visit has excellent timing. The Athnatabaskan Paean to the Gods of Food, Music, and Reproduction is currently ongoing. I would be honored to guide such honored visitors as yourselves to view the celebration."
The human's translator must have also been developing, because as soon as he finished speaking all three were once again revealing their glowing smiles. "Sure. Thank you for the help, and we'd love to check out your Athnatabaskan party."
Six days later the Golden Hind undocked from Atrotomsk Station, loaded down with 'gifts' from the local merchants, and carrying a tired but happy crew. Sitting in her cabin, Captain Fernanda Magallanes was composing the latest section of the Traveler's Guide to the Milky Way:
Atrotomsk Station: 9/10, but B.Y.O.A (bring your own air)
Atrotomsk Station is a long way from human space, or even any stars at all, and most of the aliens there are vacuum dwellers born on isolated comets. But don't let the cold hallways give you the wrong impression; this was the warmest welcome we've received anywhere in the Anterior arm. If you're passing through the area, it's a definite must-see. There are some great alien sculpture artists who work in stone and metal sometimes directly with their hands and claws. There's also a terrific party scene called the Athnatabaskan, although even the locals seem to think their radio-wave music isn't as exciting as actual sound (we might have accidentally started a new trend!). Expect your translators to take a few days to really connect -we still aren't sure if there's a tradition here of everyone giving gifts to new travelers, or if they just really liked humans. Not a single art gallery we tried to buy from would take any money at all. And they really really like humans; everyone wanted to spend as much time as possible with us and the most frequent comment we got from the locals was "Wow, you humans are hot!"