AETHER MIDNIGHT

A Logical Barter

Morning on Level 1313 of Noctis Reach was never marked by the rising sun. At this depth, dawn was merely a shift change at the smelting factories and the neon lights being dialed up to pierce the permanent pollution smog hanging in the air. But this morning, The Garage was far noisier than usual. The air felt tense, heavy with paranoia and rumors.

News of the chaos and the "bloody incident" at the upper port last night had seeped down to the lower sectors as fast as toxic waste leaking from a main pipe.

On this moon, panic is a highly marketable commodity. Suddenly, everyone felt an urgent need to fix their obsolete shield generators, recalibrate their rusty rifles, or simply ensure their junk ships could start in case they needed to flee the sector at a moment's notice.

My workshop was flooded with anxious faces. I clamped a power converter in a hydraulic vise, sweat soaking my collar. In front of me, a Skarix gang member slammed his scaly hand on the table.

"Two hundred credits for this piece-of-junk power converter?! Are you crazy, L?! On the Sector 6 black market, it's only one hundred and fifty!" the Reptilian grumbled, spitting on the floor.

"That's a stolen converter with thinned-out copper coils," I replied flatly, not taking my eyes off my sonic screwdriver. "This one has coils I just rewound to industry standards. Two hundred credits, or you can push your own ship when the engine dies in the vacuum of space."

The Skarix sneered mockingly, preparing to start yelling and cause a bigger scene. I held my breath, getting ready to kick him out the hard way.

Suddenly, a cold voice cut through the noise, as sharp as ice slicing through glass.

"Based on the market price fluctuations of Class C components in Noctis Reach this morning, the fair value of a power converter with copper-plated hexsteel coils is two hundred and twelve credits. L has already given you a six percent discount due to your ignorance of local inflation."

The Skarix and I turned our heads simultaneously.

Standing right behind the thug, a human woman crossed her arms over her chest. Her long black hair flowed down a stiff, utilitarian shirt, impeccably neat without a single oil stain—a very bizarre sight in my workshop. At her feet lay a slightly smoking portable air conditioner. However, the most striking thing about her was her right eye. A cybernetic ocular implant that now glowed a dim red, staring unblinkingly at the Skarix.

"Who are you?!" the Skarix snapped, pointing at her face.

"I am the person who has wasted twenty-two minutes of my valuable time standing in this line because you refuse to understand basic math," she answered in a flat, emotionless tone. The red light in her eye flickered slightly as she scanned the Skarix's pockets. "You have three hundred credits in your left pocket, extorted from the fruit vendor on the corner. Pay the two hundred, take the converter, and leave, or I will report your income anomaly to the Nexhold cartel debt collectors in this sector."

The Skarix fell silent. His green face paled slightly. Muttering a quiet curse, he tossed two one-hundred credit chips onto the table, snatched the power converter, and hurried away.

The woman stepped forward, placing her portable AC on my workbench. The red light in her implant dimmed, returning to a normal dark glass lens.

"You're L," she said. It wasn't a question. "My name is Cora. My apartment's cooling compressor burned out in the middle of the night. I need a series seven freon coil to fix it."

I picked up the credit chips from the table, looking at her with a raised eyebrow. "A series seven coil is a rare item on this level, Cora. It can cost up to five hundred credits, not including the installation f*e."

"I know," Cora replied calmly, her organic eye looking straight into mine. "And I currently do not have that much liquidity. My savings are being allocated for something else that is irrelevant to discuss."

"Then why did you bring it here?"

Cora didn't answer immediately. She scanned the entirety of The Garage. She saw the piles of unlabeled spare parts, dusty receipts haphazardly skewered on a wall nail, and the line of customers starting to fall out of order. Her ocular implant blinked once more.

"Because I see an ecosystem that is failing in efficiency," Cora said, pointing at the stack of receipts. "In the past hour, I calculated you lost a potential profit of thirty percent simply because you are not good at negotiating fluctuating market prices. You are a precise mechanic, L, but your administrative system is a disaster."

I wiped my hands with a dirty rag, waiting for the point.

"I offer a logical barter," Cora continued, her tone flat but incredibly convincing. "You fix my AC with your series seven coil. In exchange, I will take over the administration desk, manage the bookkeeping, collect debts from delinquent customers, and ensure no more thugs waste your work time. I will work here until the value of my services covers the cost of the AC. After that, we can discuss a salary percentage."

I stared at her. Very calculative. Very bold. I glanced at the pile of receipts that always gave me a headache at the end of the month. I hated dealing with credit numbers and talkative customers. I just wanted to fix engines.

"The terminal desk is in the corner over there," I finally said, pulling her AC closer. "Dust it off yourself."

Cora just gave a small nod. No smile, no excessive gratitude. She pulled a notebook from her shirt pocket and walked toward the corner desk, beginning her work sorting out my bureaucratic mess as if she had worked here for years.

A few hours later, as the customer line began to clear thanks to Cora's terrifying efficiency, the roar of an engine shattered the street noise.