The transfer clears, and the service bot folds back its sensor array with a tiny chirr. The woman sags with relief, one hand still clutching Tar’s arm as the corridor crowd flows around them.
Tar guides her through dim, pressurized hallways toward a nearby air bar. The doors hiss open on humid, filtered air and a low throb of music, while industrial blowers push clean oxygen through the room.
She lowers herself into a booth like her joints have given up arguing. Color starts creeping back into her face as she draws slower, easier breaths.
Osoablae
Thanks. That kiosk kept rejecting my serial. Vin bin, hold, hold, hold. I thought I was going to fold in the street.
Tar
Tar paid for the air.
Osoablae
You did not have to. I’m usually not this helpless. This city just chews through offworld lungs.
The service bot remains outside the booth line, idle now, while the bar’s blowers hum in steady layers. A server drifts past with a tray of sealed drinks, and the woman finally lets her shoulders drop.
Osoablae
Stay a minute? I can talk properly once the air stops feeling like punishment.
✓ Quest Accepted
Learn the blue-skinned woman’s true reason for traveling