PCT Market station

The voyage from the border to the station premises had been nothing like they had expected. There was no one to intercept them. No official response of any kind. And most importantly: no one to enforce any border. Everyone on the bridge of the RFS Utaar were almost in awe as the ship approached the market station. They had never seen so many different-looking ships in one place before. Space around the station teemed with life.

Daath, the communications officer, however, didn't have time to admire the view. She had to constantly analyse incoming messages that she deemed as promotional messages and trade deals, though she wasn't sure yet. Ignoring them didn't have any apparent consequences.

Captain Leen reluctantly turned away from the cultural melting pot projected on the view screen and approached Daath.

"Have you been able to make heads and tails out of the buzz? Any protocols for docking at the station?" the captain asked.

"No. But if you ever wanted to acquire a hundred self-sealing stem bolts, I believe there's a great deal for you." Daath smirked.

"Heh..." The captain scratched her forehead. "Well then. Continue transmitting our request to dock."

The captain returned to looking at the view screen.

"Helm, continue our approach to those hatches. If they don't respond I believe we should simply dock and enter. Like going to the local mall."

Special Emissary Cataat merely observed what was going on. He couldn't help but to feel robbed of his great career-defining moment. The great Treecuu, treated like a common junk trader.