It might have once been a small planetoid - lost to the gravity of its star, sent hurtling out into the frozen void to spin between other lonely systems now. The great sloughs of ice on the surface reflected what little starlight remained, reflecting the sullen rays from it in fitful patches; it seemed nothing more than a grim opal, tumbling through the darkest stream of all.

Two ports pierced through opposite sides and into the center of the lost planetoid, coring it through. Within that borehole, minimally shielded from the ravages of empty space, were dozens of ships, their lights dark, their hulls pitted with long years of particle radiation and no repair to their shielding. Equally numerous were their build styles: some with the sweeping arcs and smooth lines of the Tarlgen Republic and their civic duty towards art, others with the more boxy and practical nodes of the younger spacefarers, who were more enchanted with pragmatism than with the ability to show off how little they cared about making planetfall.

Eventually the showline of silent hulks comes to an end, and the rows of shuttles with actual care evidenced upon them begin, but there is a mere handful of them, all crowded about a docking module near the center of the planetoid. Here, with space vacuum-shielded away by a gravitic field, the buyers of the Umbral gather. Here, they'll bid on the motionless hulls behind, along with whatever mysterious cargo and baggage may remain aboard. It is a black market with little regard for class. The majority of the attendees are blacked out; they have chosen to ride in small evo-buggies rented from the Ringmaster, their windows tinted and voices muffled to ensure anonymity. A few stand out, such as the massive, multi-legged form of a Transhadan, its centipedal body towering over the doorman by an entire meter, where he stands by the portcullis leading deeper into the pirateer's planetoid.

"Good to see you, Al-him." the doorman states, voice mild. "Go on in, your fee has been paid in advance as per usual. Welcome aboard."

Al-Him, tsvar of an entire asteroid mining chain magnate, hissses something incomprehensible and scuttles onward, his insectile legs clacking against the ground in staccato rhythm.

"Pleasure." The doorman murmurs dryly, rubbinng a hand over his face in an obvious show of exhaustion. He is middle-eastern, skin dark even without the constant solar radiation of his ancestral homeland, eyes dark chocolate and hairless but for a light dusting atop his head. He taps a keyboard beside him, transmitting a short message, before he glances up at the next visitor. His robe, a long affair that drapes him from elbow to neck to ankle, ruffles slightly with the movement; it would look silly if it were not obviously so warm and comfortable, in comparison to most spacefaring gear.

"You are a newcomer, yes?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "I think I'd remember you. Can you show me your invitation, if you would?"

A beautiful blonde stepped up to the doorman. Celine Dahl was not particularly tall, but she could tell from the reaction of the some of the aliens outside the establishment that she was quite a sight to see. The young woman was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a low cut black sleeveless shirt. She also was wearing a bomber jacket to try to make herself look like a tough black market dealer, however her curves were quite easy to see. Still looks can help sometimes…

The Directorate had heard about the auction a while ago. The Umbral had been selling ships whose registrations had somehow been deleted making the vessels hard to track. This made it difficult to track any slaver who was using these vessels to transport their female cargo. Worse was that the ships being sold included whatever cargo was already on board. This could be anything to parts and mundane cargo to powerful weapons to even female slaves themselves!!! There just was no way for the Directorate to find out.

Celine had been sent to purchase one of the vessels to find out exactly what one these ships had onboard. If the blonde was really lucky she could even learn the exact process the Umbral was using to change the registration of the vessel. It would give the Directorate a better way of detecting and catching such vessels. To that end, Celine had been give an invitation from a smuggler that was busted by a Lieutenant Rocha. The undercover agent had painstaking changed the invitation to her name so she could get in.

Yes, this is my first time. I was lucky to get an invitation. Here you go.

"They're not common." the doorman agreed, taking the small, black-enamelled card with one lean arm and scrutinizing it. "We only get perhaps ten attendees at a time, and send out twice that. Travel times make some usual customers unavailable, unfortunately."

The lines spark with energy and a brief image of a face overlays the card, prompting a nod from the serious-faced young man and the release of an almost unnoticeable amount of tension. "You're in order. Caliban sets three rules on Umbral: no killing, no removal of unbought property from Umbral, and everyone leaves when the auction ends two days from now. Aside from that, anything goes."

He slides the invitation into a part of the robe - which a practiced eye would note was actually into the robe, as the fabric parted seamlessly and swallowed the trinket - and turned to regard Celine. "Fair warning." he says evenly. "You and I are the only humans here. A lot of predatory xenos come through here, and they can and will jump you. Either stay in view of the staff - that's me, Caliban, and Marlin - or find a way to safeguard yourself, because they won't hesitate."

Warning delivered, the guard folds his hands behind his back in military parade rest, the effect somewhat ruined by the pervasive folds of his not-robe. "Grim business, but you need to know. I'm Doge - name drop me if you have to."

The Main Door is now accessible to Celine, an enormous metal portal that leads into a dark lounge with a number of automated tables capable of serving any number of body types. Enormous, hulking shapes pepper some of the tables, usually alone, sometimes in pairs. They murmur and buzz to each other, relaxed and unafraid of attack or eavesdrop.

Doge stands guard outside, eying another vessel approaching the dock.

Celine at least now had an estimate of how many aliens were expected to be hear for the auction. It sounded like there would only be about ten at the most. That made moving around a little safer, though harder for the blonde agent to go unseen.

The auction had extremely simply rules it appeared. Which meant that anything else was fair game for anyone wanting to do what ever they wanted. It made just being at the auction dangerous for the deep cover agent even as she trying to learn as much about the action as possible.

Being a female, she was fair game for any xeno that decided they wanted to jump her. They could do whatever they wanted with the blonde, as long as they didn't kill her. If the agent wanted to avoid that fate she would have to stay with view of the staff. Of course, she would not be able to do anything within view of the staff. It was going to be a challenge to walk a fine line between safety and getting her job done. Fortunately, the blonde loved danger.

Celine decides to head through the main door to see what her competition looked like.

The main lounge is dimly-lit, with soft lights set at distant points in the ceiling, leaving the room nearly completely dark - suitable for those with nocturnal vision. The furniture consists of large poufs, immense cushy bags that can support nearly any body type, that surround central automated tables capable of dispensing most anything.

Al-him, the mining tsvar, is the most immediately obvious. His tremendous, insectile body, like that of a mantis's, skirrs to a lone pouf and immediately settles on it, pressing half a dozen buttons on the table with his multiple limbs and an ease that speaks of long practice. His expressions and body language are utterly alien, but he does not visibly seem to direct any attention to the rest of the room.

At the Far Corner, a matched set of quadruped xenos, their bodies scaled and centauric, kneel side-by-side, playing some kind of board game against a three-armed alien with no visible head or other obvious sensory extremity. The tauric aliens are easily identifiable as Axlimi, a warrior race of vain and bloodthirsty killers, but whom have developed a curious and twisted code to compensate and prevent themselves from self-extinction. They appear to be twins, or at least, very closely related, and the synchronicity they move with accords great cooperation. Their opponent, by comparison, is unidentifiable and bizarre.

The Pole stands on the other side of the room and bears host to the most eye-catching of the room's attractions: a red-haired humanoid, curvaceous and beautiful, that is held standing by a set of handcuffs attached to the top of the steel pole. Her naked, sweat-slick body twists in ecstasy as a mechanical phallus, set in the floor, ceaselessly thrusts up between her legs, dripping with her arousal. A leering green-skinned patron nearby manipulates a remote as he watches the scene. His companions, a silver slime being and a - a giant hand? - mostly look bored with the show.

The Auction Stage, wide and at the moment empty, is home to only a single thing: a tremendous ogre-like titan with a white, lion-like mane that hangs from a single foot, its talons hooked into the ceiling grate above. It hangs near a podium with a box of tools placed near its inverted head, fiddling with a removed panel and the circuitry behind. Oddly enough, it hums a low tune as it works, fiddling with tools steadily.

Celine takes a moment to gather in the ambiance of the room. The room was largely a dark room enabling anyone to keep any deals they wanted in peace. The room was filled with many cushy bags that the blonde could only be assumed to chairs meant to hold any body human or alien. The undercover agent could not help for

The main lounge is dimly-lit, with soft lights set at distant points in the ceiling, leaving the room nearly completely dark - suitable for those with nocturnal vision. The furniture consists of large poufs, immense cushy bags that can support nearly any body type, that surround central automated tables capable of dispensing most anything.

Al-him, the mining tsvar, is the most immediately obvious. His tremendous, insectile body, like that of a mantis's, skirrs to a lone pouf and immediately settles on it, pressing half a dozen buttons on the table with his multiple limbs and an ease that speaks of long practice. His expressions and body language are utterly alien, but he does not visibly seem to direct any attention to the rest of the room. She could hear a yelps of the red-haired woman who was tied to pole, her body bounced as something thrust up and down into her. There was nothing the undercover woman could do at the moment, as she it would blow her cover.

Looking for a distraction, the agent moved over the far corner. The aliens were playing some sort of board game and it would let her take her mind off the pole. The aliens playing the game had a reputation for violence, but fortunately there was a standing rule that she could not be killed. That at least would mean she could find out more about some of aliens who had come to the auction.

The Axlimi turn in unison to stare at Celine as she approaches, though neither stands. Their tauric bodies are thickly muscled and cloaked in some kind of black silk that winds its way about their limbs and flanks, but doesn't flutter with the weak airflow provided by the overhead fans at all; it seems tougher than it would appear on first glance. Their faces are hidden behind a pair of masks, one red and leering, the other blue and somber, and only dark eyes are visible through the gaudy masks, without iris or pupil, merely gleaming pits.

"Stranger comes." The red notes, making an odd side-to-side motion reminiscent of a cat stretching. His voice scratches painfully, a grating sound that comes up through a rusty iron throat. "New. Human."

"Obvious." Blue notes, and though her voice is deeper, it is unmistakeably feminine, husky and amused. "Welcome to our little gathering, heinsch. You chose well. The others would not welcome you. They are - not hospitable company. Save for Caliban, if he looked up to notice you there."

The blue-masked mare raises a languid hand and gestures at herself with it. "Frey." she names. "My companion is Surtr. Sit, if you will."

The other alien does not respond to Celine's approach at all, still considering the board in preparation for its move.

The undercover agent was a little unverved by the centaur like creatures turning in almost a uniform fashion towards her as she approached. The creatures did not stand but that did not mean they were not intimidating, each of the creatures had massive muscles that stood out out even underneath their dark clothes. They wore masks that hid their expressions, making hard for Celine to look for visual clues. It would at that point come down to what conversation Celine could make with the aliens at the table.

It was the blue one that spoke to the undercover agent first, welcoming Celine to the table as the red one stretched. The creature introduced the aliens at the table, the one that was not four legged was Caliban, the others were Frey and Surtr respectively.

I am Celine Dahl. It is good to meet you. I take it you are here for the auction as well. Is there any particular ship that captures your interests?