The Wizard

Gastraddar

The #71EEB8 shipyard orbited a mauve colored frozen planetoid, affectionately called Pink Eye. The 300 miles in diameter dusty snowball was the last celestial body at the edge of a system held in the sway of the Gastraddar sun. The station itself consisted of a docking port and a domed trading bazaar, both permanently attached to a gargantuan galaxy-class #71EEB8 deep space diplomatic freighter.

When Ozgold and Øregård materialized on the far end of the docking port, Mevner simply couldn't believe his eyes. The modern metropolis Redwing took him to with its neon electric lights, cars, and building reaching up to the sky did nothing to prepare him for a space station of this magnitude.

A crystal clear dome and several forcefields were all that separated him from stars and the breathtaking blackness of outer space. To his left, a distant sun rose over Pink Eye and to the right, filling a quarter of the horizon, was a massive colorful nebula shaped like a flower. The stupendous enormity of the cosmos unfolded before him. 

Outside spacecraft of varied sizes and materials moved about effortlessly in the void. Mevner understood the fundamental mechanics of the universe but had no idea technology of this level even existed. His mouth hung open to the utter grandeur of it all. 

"You're from here and you're worried about people seeing my magic?"

Øregård nodded toward the rising sun. "It's been too long since I've seen my star. Follow me." 

They passed through automatic opening doorways and entered the marketplace. Mevner had no way to comprehend the technologies available let alone grasp the symbolic languages on signs over the shops. Dancing digital lights and holographic images were hardly enough to pull his attention away from all the alien species; lizardmen, aquatics, furry bipedal mammals, blue-skinned humanoids, people with three eyes, mechanical robotoids, and terrifying giant insects. The wild variety of species were in the minority and walked with care among hordes of ogres or as they were known there; Gastraddars.

The bulky forest green warriors wore intimidating battle armor and carried vicious jagged weapons, men and women alike. Øregård with his dragon scale mail and sword of doom fit right in. Any one of them could've easily ground the wizard to dust under their steel boots.

They entered an office that looked like a bank. Inside everything was iridescent, pristine, and minimal. The employees looked exactly alike, every one of them a silver-skinned middle-aged male wearing matching seafoam green robes. Little blue and white striped bumblebees buzzed about the room occasionally landing to crawl across their bald shiny heads. 

"71s have the best ships. They're about your size, maybe you can trade for better clothes," suggested Øregård.

"Why are they all identical?"

"Clones. Genetic perfectionists." Øregård huffed at the concept and approached the central counter.

The #71EEB8 clone behind the counter immediately recognized him. 

"Øregård, you haven't been here in 147 rotations. How go your travels? What can we do for you?"

Øregård turned to Mevner and said, "I'm nothing special, they remember everything. They have profound intelligence."

He took off his helmet and slammed it on the counter. The clone was intrigued. He took a small device out of his pocket and sprayed it with a soft blue light. Then he passed the beam over Øregård. 

"Real crimson dragon. What are you looking to trade for it?"

"A ship."

"Is that all? Do you have a DNA sample?"