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There is a space station hanging in orbit around a desert planet. It's not very impressive, as space stations go- a number of domes haphazardly linked by transport tubes, placed seemingly wherever they'll fit. A vaguely spheroid tangle of architecture with no consistent direction of artificial gravity. The only feature that can be differentiated from the rest of it is its docking bay- a large platform with an old-fashioned atmosphere field stretched around it. The technology on display looks to be nearly a hundred years old, on average. It is not a place that looks to be on the cutting edge.

It is broadcasting some information about itself. Some rudimentary field specs for its atmosphere, docking instructions, a map of its facilities, language and communications information. Massively outweighing the useful data is a bulk of advertisements- hundreds of presentations in various media types exhorting visitors to drop by some shop or another. Most prominently, an ad for Auntie Matter's is listed on the facilities map- their exclusive fuel provider, it seems. Ferengi supplier, decent quality at an affordable price, probably enabled by some highly shady business practices. It'll be good enough, likely.
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Isabella considers the place.

She could just keep going, but she'll be very short on dinner options by the time she gets there, and if something happens, she won't have leeway in her fuel supply. She doesn't love buying from Ferengi, but she has the cash to go non-Federation-post-scarcity-supplies when she's out of the core neighborhood, and sometimes she is, and this is sometimes.

She collects the docking instructions. She docks Prometheus.
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Ramón rifles through the manual. Er... okay, so it's... that one, okay. He turns on the red ones- no, the yellow ones. He turns on the yellow ones. Why are the yellow ones green? That's not right. But that was the right button, certainly. Everything matches what the diagram says...

Oh, they've landed already. Erm. Okay, procedure for... scanning pole, need the scanning pole. Bicorder is set to... okay. And the radio feature in the...

"Uh, welcome, visitor! Please hold while I conduct a... Federation Standard Secure Macroimage... Search? That's... yes. Please hold while I do that, to verify... that your craft doesn't... contain hazardous... uh, what's this say..."

He approaches the ship, carrying a pole with a scanning device mounted on it that has not actually been Federation Standard for a good two decades.
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"...Holding," replies Isabella. "But it's a survey craft, nothing scary."

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"I'll, uh... sorry, it's just procedure, ma'am, it won't take more than a minute."

He holds the surface of the device flat against the hull, and takes readings. The display says something about "trace primitives" on the hull surface, but it's got a green checkmark next to it, so that's got to be fine, right? And... none of them are red, the- oh, yellow triangle... but no description? And- and now the yellow triangle is gone. That... that probably means everything is okay.

"Everything checks out, er, miss... I mean, it's all- you're free to- there's, the fuel depot is down the hall in the Mechanical Hub to... to your left, you can- there's self-serve and automated."
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"Thanks. And in case your equipment didn't pick up my identificatory, this is the Prometheus and I'm Isabella T'Mir."

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"Uh, right! Have a-"

Wait. Protocol. The manual said something about this. The captain is going to be really upset if he forgets.

"Oh, uh- you- I have to- um... please state your business?"
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"Refueling and grocery shopping."

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"And you want... is that..." Ramón looks through his manual- there's a section on refueling, he forgot the name of the thingy... "...individual... dilithium fixed-output cells, or... does it run on..."

Okay, he doesn't understand this diagram at all. He sheepishly shows her the relevant page, which outlines a few common warp fuel delivery systems.
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"Prometheus takes item three on your menu."

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"Right, okay, there's... they have a drone for those, but you can have a technician do it for a... nam- nomino- nominal fee, or you can pilot the fuel platform yourself, and... the depot kiosk is on the other side of the market, there."

He points to a nearby dome. From what you can see, it seems to be a ring of storefronts surrounding.... an enormous flea market, packed tightly with people. There is no obvious way around the bustle- the makeshift stalls are pressed up against the storefronts in all directions.
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"Probably best to pay the technician. Thank you. Anything else I ought to know?"

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He looks warily at the market.

"You're... going to want to be careful with..."

Ramón looks around at the docks. Nobody is here that needs to leave soon, and the captain did say to make sure guests leave happy...

"Actually... I should probably escort you to the fuel depot. Everyone's a little... pushy, here."
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"...I'd appreciate that, thank you. Pushy about...?"

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"They'll... they'll want to sell you things, or buy passage on your ship. And... when someone comes here and agrees to trade with one person, everyone... notices. If you're someone who'll accept one deal, you might be someone who'll accept two deals, or three, or..."

He makes a nervous gesture with his hands.
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"I don't really have a lot of room on my ship. Is there a convenient way to set up an auction?"

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His eyes widen.

"You... you'll take people? That's... they'll be upset, everyone's always upset when someone else gets to leave... there's no way to do an auction, but if you announce one... there'll, there'll be pushing and shoving, but it's probably the safest way, they'll push and shove each other more than you..."

He looks worried. There've been unpleasant incidents in the past.
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"...Is it better to categorically refuse them all just because I don't have room for more? If people want to leave that badly... Anyway, it's possible I'll be out this way again, will blacklisting anyone who pushes and shoves help?"

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"...it's what most people do, as soon as they realize what's going on- drop everything they've accepted and leave. It's a... Jenny said... a common tragedy. If you..."

He looks down, thinking.

"I'm not sure how it'd go over if you announced you wouldn't take anyone who's too rough... unless you're good at picking out faces, it'd be hard to make good on that promise if they all ignore you at once."
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"My ship can only accommodate extra passengers if we rotate sleep schedules and share the bed or people sleep on the floor. It's a reasonable constraint that they have to be well-behaved and calm with each other and me. If it's unenforceable, I'll have to think of something else."

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"I... I don't think anyone would have trouble getting along on board. It's just the ones who are desperate to leave... you could try announcing an auction, and you won't be- I mean, it's perfectly safe, no one would- there'd be a big commotion, but..."

He shuffles his feet- he's not comfortable giving any particular recommendation, it seems.
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"Has no one thought of holding an auction before? There's no track record to go on?"

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"...I... I don't know how people usually try it, I don't- usually someone else is on duty, I... if they did, it... might have gone well? I only hear about- if I'm talking to the complaints department, I hear... I mean, I think people have taken passengers without causing a scene before, but I wasn't there to see how."

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"...Is there someone I could ask who might know?"

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"I... the shopkeepers ringing the market usually have a good view of what goes on, I think. And they're... permanent residents, they won't want anything from you except business. If you're shopping for groceries, you can ask the owner of- of whatever grocery store, about what they've seen."

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"Okay, I'll do that. Anything else I ought to know?"

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