A klaxon blares loudly, three times, and the lights in the shuttle cabin dim to an uncomfortable murk.

"Please ensure you are seated during docking, and that your safety belts are properly secured at all times," announces the flight attendant with the cold sterility of a phrase repeated too many times. "You will be able to depart the shuttle in approximately 2.6 standard minutes."

You hunker down in your seat, focusing your thoughts as best you can on the moment. Within seconds, the cabin shudders, is calm, then rocks alarmingly, and in your stomach you feel the artifical gravity adjust to the station norms. From somewhere to your far left, you hear the clear sound of a single metal straw hitting the bare textured floor.

The large, midnight blue AluSteel blast doors at the very front of the shuttle make a gentle hissing noise, releasing coils of smoke from their edges as they creak laboriously towards you, then split asunder, slowly revealing the exit.

"You may now release your safety belts and depart from the shuttle in an orderly fashion," the robotic flight attendant says in a clear tone. "Thanks again for choosing IntroStel, a subsidiary of GlajexCo, for your interstellar travel needs."

You snap the belt release, and pull out the two overpacked khaki satchels that were snugly wedged under your seat. Putting alternating shoulder straps across your chest bandolia-style, you shuffle towards the flight attendant. Her passive smile widens, a melancholy look in her eyes which, despite their mechanical nature suddenly look so very human. "Thank you, please have a *gzzzzt* fantastic time, and choose IntroStel for all your interstellar travel."

You return the smile, feeling a wistful longing to somehow show her that you don't envy her role, hard as your own might be. Turning your face downwards to break the moment, you pull your bags out onto the docking bay.

The docking bay is a gargantuan example of structure and form. It spans multiple stories, each the carefully constructed result of one smooth metallic surface on another, held in place by architectural struts, many obscured by gaudy neon-coloured infoplates. There must be hundreds of species of biological creature within immediate view, exotic and varied. For every one of these creatures, there must be two mechanical lifeforms; here a squat, tracked Troid 3000 overloaded with bags and luggage, there a WeldBot working tirelessly to ensure the safety of everyone onboard.

Yet, so few people seem to notice them. As you watch, a hulking brown reptiloid creature trips over a cleaning bot, sending it flying against a outlying strut. Shards of plastic and alloy plating fly in every direction away from the damaged bot, but the reptiloid doesn't give any indication he noticed. Nor does anyone else around.

If only you knew some basic robo-mechanical skills, you're sure that poor little guy could be up and working in under an hour. As of right now, he lies like a prone tortoise, his three still-functional wheels spinning uselessly in the air as he rocks back and forth on his upturned plastic shell.

As you scan the fast-moving crowd for someone that might assist, you notice there's a spindly, vole-like creature, holding a hand-written sign with scratchy InterGal letters that appear to read "quarrixco representative". It's probably waiting for you.

If you'd like to approach the creature with the sign, turn to page 22.
If you want to rush over to the prone cleaning bot and try your best to repair it, turn to page 24.
There must be robot technicians around somewhere. To look around, turn to page 65.
If you want to make that reptiloid aware of what he did before he fades into the crowd, rush to page 92.