ReMarket

“Does it work?” Flanks eyed the gravsphere with mild interest.

“It could.”, the vendor, Sake, promised in the optimistic way of all salesmen everywhere.

The familiar feeling of another day wasted settled in on Flanks’ soul. He had visited almost a dozen ReMarkets in as many days, and aside from two kilometers of blue cyber-wire and eating way too much greasy food, it was a complete bust. The best stuff was never on display with the legal items. Vendors tested buyers, and once satisfied you weren’t there to arrest someone, the real deal could happen.

“Which means it doesn’t.” The tiredness spilled out in his words. The search could be endless, and potentially forever fruitless. Still he had to try. “I don’t suppose you have a _paper_ collection?”

“Oh.” A pause, “Very expensive.”, the words were cryptic. They neither confirmed nor denied Flanks’ question. Paper of course wasn’t expensive, but the only kind Flanks could possibly mean was fantastically so. No one would have them on display, for fear of a smash and grab. Also, they weren’t illegal, but they were expensive enough to be kept well hidden and protected.

Sake looked his customer over once more. He had scrutinized him plenty when he first entered the area, but out of habit he did it again. He was not Police, but he wasn’t common. To Sake that was a good sign, a sign the man could pay. Their silent standoff concluded, Sake pulled off his necklace buried beneath several layers of clothing and a matted coat. On it, rested a singular key. Crouching down, he slid the key into a slot in his own personal vehicle. The vault was carefully concealed on the man’s hov-car. A lid slightly popped open, and Sake pulled it halfway back.

Getting only the quickest glimpse, it was still enough for Flanks, he saw it. In contrast to the drab greens and grays of the ReMarket, it was red, white and blue. A thrill of excitement, and a rush of relief filled him instantly. It took supreme effort to not shout or jump for joy. That would kill the deal. First they had to do this dance.

“Licked only once, this is something you won’t see everyday.”, Sake explained, and was totally correct. Flanks regarded the colored square with far less apparent interest than he truly felt. There was an elite class of people addicted to this particular glue, specifically Earther glue. Flanks feared he would have to give up the habit, since these things were so hard to find. As far as he knew, this was the closest he’d ever gotten to a second generation stamp. His typical hits were fifth and fourth generation hits, usually no good chemical on them at all. Still he had to act aloof, and play along.

“What is the symbol? A flag?”, Flanks asked. A rookie question, the image didn’t matter, only the amount of glue still virgin contributed toward value. With Earth long since imploded, the secret of their hallucinogenic stamp glue was lost to the universe.

Fortunately for Flanks, Sake was a novice at this as well. This was the first stamp he’d ever collected, so was inclined to sell it like everything else, on a platter of lies. “Oh yes. The Flag of Americuba. They produced the best sticky-licky ever.”

That was all Flanks needed to know. Sake had no idea what he had, and therefore did not know it’s value. Still the endgame must be played. “Fifty.” Flanks began the haggle. Sake got the price up to seventy before Flanks concluded the deal. They each could now go their separate ways in the galaxy, each believing they had outsmarted the other.

* * *

Alone in the silent blackness of space, Flanks’ craft floated like so much space junk. Inside the metal and acrylic bubble of protection, Flanks sat alone. Blasted by violent sound waves of spasm music, he gave into the stupor. His mind clouded, floated as free as his ship, tripping not on the long since tasted stamp, but his real prize, the unused envelop glue.