Caution was the creed of the careful criminal, and for those managing the fourteenth Retchela Market, security was top priority. As a sanctuary of secrecy, it designed to keep anyone not invited out of reach – a necessary precaution to protect buyers, sellers, and facilitators. 

The market’s location was inaccessible and  well-concealed. Nestled in a “cove” of empty space, it lay within the protective reach of Yelthx’s Cradle – a massive and turbulent Class III nebula. Yelthx’s Cradle was known for thick clouds of ionized gas that shimmered in different hues of blue and green, quite beautiful as long as one could view them from a distance. Once in its reaches,  they disrupted most attempts at communications, isolating the cove almost entirely. Any signals sent from the market could be transmitted only within a narrow corridor – a heavily restricted narrow corridor. Only specially vetted shuttles, fliers, and fighters were allowed in and out, keeping an iron grip of control on the flow of visitors.

Those lucky or well-connected enough to be chosen were ferried to the freighter that hosted this forbidden, but very enticing, gathering. All other ships were forced to wait in designated locations far beyond the nebula’s reach, secluded from each other by light-years of distance. It ensured that no one could scan, spy, or so much as notice at another visitor. Anonymity was key, and breaking protocol – whether by attempting unauthorized transmissions or drifting out of the assigned holding area – meant certain consequences. At best, offenders would be ejected, stripped of any right to return. At worst, well… they had a matter reclaimer without safety protocols for living tissue for a reason. 

This year’s market was hosted by the Huelgh, a hulking Boslic freighter that had long ago abandoned any semblance of her original form. Extra holds for contraband, reinforced hull plating, added weapons, and sensor arrays. 

The freighter’s security was handled by a group of Kobheerian mercenaries, as it had been for the last three markets. Tall and imposing, the Kobheerians wore sleek black uniforms bearing the unmistakable mark of a ridged, skull-like emblem. Ranged weapons were permitted only for these guards and the crew of the Huelgh. As for the market’s visitors, they could carry nothing more than ceremonial blades and other unpowered melee weapons. 

All visitors, whether they came to buy or sell, were briefed on the Huelgh’s rules before they even left their vessels. In the hands of the mercenaries, the briefing was blunt but effective.

1. This is a place for business. Vendettas are left at the door.  

2. Ranged weapons may be sold but not wielded.

3. No consumption of narcotics or alcohol, except for sampling products in moderation. 

4. No eating in the wet market. No drinking in the dry market. 

5. Food may only be consumed in the yellow-marked zone. If you can’t perceive yellow, ask a guard. 

6. No littering. 

Beyond the entrance checkpoint, the Huelgh was alive with noise, colors, and activity. Shouts rang out from hawkers advertising their poisons and contraband bioweapons. Trails of cooking smoke curled up from the yellow-marked cafeteria, where thick slabs of meat turned over open fires, wafting a charred, greasy aroma. Every corner of the ship held its own strange wares. In the wet market, exotic creatures – some barely sentient, others highly intelligent – were caged and waiting to be bought or sold. The dry market held weapons, armor, and tech of every description – sleekly polished phasers, gauntlets of exotic metals, portable shields, and armor systems as advanced as they were illegal. 

Every nook and cranny of the Huelgh had been transformed into a trading post or workshop. Sellers of all species, clad in costumes as varied as their wares, had set up their tables. There was no merchandise too rare or too profane. Or too dangerous. 

But among the hundreds of objects being hawked and bartered, only a few were truly priceless. Federation contraband lay hidden in the captain’s own “booth.” Displayed on tables of her own devising were tools, weaponry, and tech scavenged from the Federation’s most secure outposts. A Starfleet anti-grav sled held neatly arranged PADDs, combadges, and tools of high precision: laser welders, sealers, and microcomputers. But amidst these ordinary objects was an exceptional find, tucked among the others so casually it was almost overlooked. 

A pair of advanced Starfleet holoprojectors, along with a PADD loaded with their schematics. They appeared simple at first glance, but they represented a leap in holographic projection far beyond the technology available to most buyers. With the right knowledge, one might have recognized the holoprojectors as Federation prototypes…