Significantly Advanced Tech

Tripping

Pippalotti Ritz was dancing her ass off. Modularized tribal beats washed away the lack of relevant fieldwork required for her impending career. She should've been meeting with dignitaries and political attachés but instead, she was enjoying the freedom of post-academic life. Flashing lights penetrated her body, made her arm hairs tingle, and illuminated her gray cells. 

The family made her promise to use a chaperone if she went to Jersy Jakz Disco Inferno. She watched Crystal B. Persuasion dance. She was big, blue, and beautiful; two meters of Zorr physical perfection sporting braided hair that flew around with a mind of its own.

"I gotta take a break!" shouted Pippa over the pulsating rhythms.

"Ok! Want me to come with?" Crystal took her hands and danced slower. "Are you alright? You look like you're tripping pretty hard."

Crystal's eyes were a deep blue ocean of understanding.

"I'm alright. I think I'm in a calm phase and need to change atmospheres. You stay here and dance, I'll ping you if I need anything!"

"Alright, baby, I'm here for you." She swirled away in a singular body motion that started at her wrist, moved up to her eyebrows, and darted down to her ringed toes.

Pippalotti made a beeline for the nearest exit.

After a couple of hours, she realized it wasn't as dangerous a place as people led on. Though she had to admit it was hard to keep it together with Jakz Juice pumping through her system. She opened the door out of the dance floor and left the spinning lights behind. 

The adjacent lounge had a completely different vibe. Mellow crooner music in a language you didn't need to understand swooned her over to the bar. A six-armed android bartender turned its attention to her. She hoped it had six arms.

"Water, kind sir."

"Affirmative."

The robot filled a slender glass and handed it to her. It was cool and refreshing with a hint of mint. She sipped and enjoyed the feeling of the liquid sliding down her throat.

"Oh, man, I gotta tell you," said a wasted-looking man easily twice her age, "You should have one of these. It helps."

He opened a crinkled package, took out a thin hand-rolled joint, and offered it to her.

"It's tobacco. Terrible for you, I know, but I discovered it takes the edge off Jakz Juice. I can tell you're new to the experience."

He seemed harmless, so she accepted the little white gift. He fished out another, lit the end on fire, and exhaled a thick plume of smoke that hung in the air over the bar. It smelled pretty bad.

"I'm Greg, Greg Petix. Rhymes with buttocks." He laughed to himself.

"Hi, Greg. What species are you?"

"Oh, I'm human."

"You're pretty pale for a human."

Greg coughed and adjusted his shirt. It had a crude drawing of a goat with two heads on it.

"Well, I'm American, Northern European I guess, ancestrally. Technically, I'm 50,000 Grandor cycles old. You see I'm actually from Earth. Anyway, I'm looking for a woman named X. She has a green Mohawk and..."

"Wait, are you saying you're not from the drifter colonies?"

"No, they found me in cryo-sleep and thawed me out on Grandor Prime. I'm friends with Onzaga Oblast. I recognize you but we've never officially met." He put out his hand.

Pippalotti put out her hand in the same way and held it there. Greg grabbed it, shook it a bit, and let go. She put the cigarette in her mouth and he lit it for her. She took a hit, held it a second, then coughed it out.