“What do you mean, ‘they have pumps’!?” Andromeda almost shouted, like a kid in a candy store. Jackson couldn’t blame her, neither for her enthusiasm nor her befuddlement. It was a strange experience, to be one of the first human beings to set foot on an inhabited alien world and then find what was essentially a hole-in-the-wall shop that sold casualwear. Clinton, smiling a little wistfully in the doorway, stepped aside to let Andromeda barrel past him inside. Petra seemed embarrassed more than anything. 

“Yes,” they said, “fascination with… human apparel and culture has been prevalent for some time.” In a display of what appeared to be convergent evolution, Petri didn’t seem to know what to do with their hands. “It’s considered to be a bit… offensive, although I try not to speak on behalf of others.”

“Human… culture?” Alex said, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve got to see this.” Jackson shrugged, went into the store too and was greeted with one of the most surreal experiences of his life. It was… well, a normal clothing store, but also very much not. It was like looking at a shop through a kaleidoscope. Sure, the other places they’d visited had also been built with the Core World’s large variety of resident species in mind, but those had been, well, alien. 

The food place they’d been to had felt like what Jackson had imagined an alien world being like. Food of all kinds, including things he wouldn’t even have considered edible, giant creatures in floating tanks that seemed to eat in a way Jackson very deliberately tried not thinking about as ‘goldfish-like’, some sort of rock-crab-golem that appeared to be sipping on a very small brown dwarf star, and at least one alien was eating what he was sure was a bowl of sand. 

By comparison, this place was downright bizarre because it seemed to be modeled to look like a normal vaguely-twenty-first-century store. Shirts on tables. Racks of clothes. But then there were also the tables on the ceiling, and the floating shirts the size of a door, or the shoes that were sold in sets of seven. 

“Your eyes are gonna pop out if you keep staring like that,” Clinton said, hands in his pockets and looking vaguely… bored? 

“Come on, Blake. You’re telling me this isn’t weird to you? Look!” Jackson picked up a pair of pants from the table. He only realized it was a pair of pants when he held it up. “It’s the size of a playing card!” That wasn’t even mentioning the fact that it had at least one pair of legs that seemed to be ethereal. To Jackson’s amazement, Clinton shrugged.

“Clothes is clothes,” Clinton said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, this is fun and all, but this is just…” he waved vaguely around, “variations on a theme we’re all familiar with, right? It’s never been my thing. The whole vibe makes me uncomfortable, like I’m not supposed to be there. It’s the same thing here.”

“Yeah, but…” Jackson shook his head. “Never mind.” He turned back to the store. Clinton could be infuriating, but this was something else. Jackson’s train of thought was interrupted by a passing employee who simply… didn’t acknowledge him. Wasn’t humans arriving like… a huge thing? Petri seemed to notice his confusion and joined him, the volume on their translator lowered to a whisper. 

“This is not the first time they have seen someone like you enter their store, Officer Manderlay.” Jackson spun on his heels to look at Petri. “They think you are…” Petri froze as they, Jackson assumed, conferred with the Unity to find the right turn of phrase. It was taking a moment. 

“Cosplayers?” Petri stared at him for a moment, then retrieved a small device from an unseen pocket and fiddled with it. After a moment, a little plume of gas escaped. 

“Yes,” Petri said, and nodded resolutely. 

“Are there many… uh…” Jackson awkwardly scratched the back of his head.

“Enough to sustain business like these,” Petri said. “Although there is also a sense of touristic value.” They picked up a shirt that, in big, bold, vaguely Latin-looking letters, shouted gibberish at them. It looked word-like enough, but even with all the will in the world, Jackson couldn’t decipher it as anything but ‘sausage’. If he’d seen the shirt on Earth, he’d probably have picked it up for the surrealism value alone, but everything here had these kinds of phrases on it. Besides, the one Petri was holding didn’t have a hole for a head. He tried not to pay too much attention to the shirts that had slurs on them.

“Do they just… put whatever on these shirts?” Jackson asked. 

Petri looked around. “I would presume so. Appropriation of human culture is something of a debate. Many feel they are simply celebrating the youngest member to have joined the galactic community.” Petri’s translator made a small sighing noise. “It is possible, however, that copying the aesthetics of a culture without regard for its deeper meaning could cause harm.” They motioned at what seemed to be a bright-pink four-hooded hoodie that had what appeared to be an energy drink on it. The words on the printed can said ‘osteoporosis’. 

“This is wild,” Alex said, looking at sneakers designed for digitigrade legs. “Look!” they said and bopped them together. “The heels light up!” Petri’s eyes grew a little wider. It was a small thing, and only because Jackson had been paying attention did he notice it, or the fact that they immediately seemed to try and appear disinterested. 

“You like them, don’t you?” Jackson said with a smirk. 

“I must admit,” Petri said reluctantly, “that I do have a weakness for your… footwear. It seems both snug and remarkably uncomfortable in the most fascinating way.” The way they nervously smoothed their clothes while they talked was incredibly endearing. 

“Anything catch your fancy?” Jackson asked slily. 

“I… I couldn’t,” Petri stammered. “I will see if Andromeda requires my assistance!” 

“Uh, before you do,” Jackson said, noticing the awkward segue, and decided not to make things worse. “If something were to catch my eye, how would I… pay for it?”

“Oh,” Petri said, grateful for the change in subject. “Well, because of overlapping currencies and differences in economic models, the Core World operates on a basic universal income credit system negotiated on a species-by-species basis by representatives of each member of the community. It has meant that trade to and from the Core World is, from what I have been told, a toxic miasma of regulations that I would not wish upon any species, but it seems to work out. Um.” They blinked a few times. “I apologize.”

“For what?”

“That was a lot of information, Officer Manderlay. I do not know if you wanted an answer like that or something more… concise.”

“Your answer was perfectly fine, Petri. And please,” Jackson said, and then breached all rules of galactic decorum by putting a reassuring hand on Petri’s upper arm. “Call me Jackson. Or Jack, I don’t care either way.” Petri responded by growing a bright shade of ultramarine and an extra pair of eyes. Their skin visibly rippled. 

“I… I will, Officer Jackson,” they said quietly. “A-anyway… I -- I -- I have been given a credit drive that will cover most small expenses you should wish to make.”

“Uh, sorry,” Jackson said, pulling his arm back. He tried not to grimace at how uncomfortable he seemed to have made the alien, and nodded. “Thank you, Petri,” he said. “I’ll let you know if I see something.”

“Thank you,” Petri said and escaped to find Andromeda, leaving Jackson a little stranded until he saw Alex prowling the rows and he went to join them. 

“This place is wild,” Alex said. “I can’t believe one of the first things I’ve seen on an alien world is a…”

Jackson held up a strangely conical baseball cap. “A Doctor Who reference?” 

Alex chuckled. “Yeah. Or what I think is supposed to be Dracula?”

“Nosferatu, I think, though it’s hard to tell with the tentacles.”

“Oh, yeah! The extra mouths are what threw me off.”

They both chuckled for a moment, walking through the store, pointing things out to each other. It was a strange experience, but a remarkably calming one. The past few weeks had been exhausting in a lot of ways. Not just their encounter in the Pax system, but the ensuing days of diplomacy and trying to cram several history-of-the-world’s worth of politics, culture and biology into his head. By contrast, shopping for clothes designed with eldritch abominations in mind was more than a little relaxing. 

“How are you holding up, Nguyen?” Jackson asked after a moment of silence, looking at a selection of what looked like inside-out bowties. Alex looked at him for a second, and then nodded, pursing their lips thoughtfully. 

“It’s been a lot, obviously. The fact that it’s taken us so long to get here has helped, I think,” they said. Jackson nodded. “There’s been a lot of time to process things but it’s like… Like the first time you step out of the airport in a different country, you know? Like, you read the booklet and the pamphlet or whatever, and you’ve seen the place in movies and documentaries, and then you’re on the ground and none of it matters, but like… times a thousand.”

“I know what you mean,” Jackson said. “Pictures don’t do it justice when you can feel your feet on the ground and can smell the air. It all stops being hypothetical.”

“Exactly. Speaking of which… have you noticed… y’know… the air…”

“Yeah,” Jackson said with a smirk. “It tastes…”

“I want to say ‘purple’,” Alex said. “Does that make sense?”

“With a hint of lime.” Jackson knelt down to have a look at what was a pair of shoes with two holes for feet each, both perfect cubes.

“This is weird,” Alex concluded. Jackson couldn’t help but agree. This wasn’t what he’d expected when visiting alien worlds and species. He’d expected more… jungles. Giant monsters that were easily recognizable as predation animals and weird plant life. Not… a day at the mall. Not that he minded, of course.

“It is,” Jackson said. “But I think I’m honestly having a pretty good time. It helps having a good crew with me.” He nudged Alex with his shoulder and got a shit-eating grin as a response. 

“Agreed! But keep in mind that I am immune to your flattery, Jackson,” Alex said with a grin and a cheeky wink. “I’m unflappable. I can not be flapped.” Jackson laughed, causing the store owner’s head to turn. Apparently the aliens dressing up as them didn’t laugh. 

“I’ll try to remember that, Nguyen, but gosh darnit, you’re just such delightful company I can’t contain myself.”

“Eat it, Manderlay,” Alex chuckled just as Andromeda and Petri joined them. Andy was holding a box under one arm. “Found something?”

“Yeah!” Andromeda said. “Apparently they genuinely have clothes that fit us too!”

“As stated previously, there are those who consider human culture to be something to be strived for,” Petri noted, once again flushing a light blue with embarrassment. “There are Merillim who share in that sentiment, and who take accurate costuming quite seriously.” Andy and Alex chuckled, which seemed to worry Petri a bit. “I hope this does not cause offense.”

“Not at all, Petri,” Andromeda said. “It’s just… curious.”

“You’re gonna have to show off those shoes later,” Alex said. “You can’t be the first human being to buy footwear in space and not do a little twirl.”

“Gosh, I’ve been looking at the skirts and there’s some cute things in there. I just don’t have enough spines to properly wear them,” Andromeda said, happily. “Also!” She turned to Petri. “Thank you again for paying for this. You’re sure it’s not a problem?”

Petri shook their head. “Not at all. Do report it to customs when you return to your ship. If someone from the Core World were to accuse the new member of the community of smuggling, it would be…”

“Hilarious?” Jackson offered.

“Bad form,” Petri said, although Jackson did note a slight hint of amusement in the voice coming out of the translator. 

“Where to now?” Alex asked.

“I had been considering showing you a local species sanctuary,” Petri said, to Andromeda’s delight. “There are several sub-sentient species that have artificial habitats on this planet. Several of them enjoy contact and have been deemed non-hazardous for contact with Humans.”

“Do they enjoy pets?” Andromeda asked. 

“Most species do, Petri said.”

“Yessss.”

“Hey,” Alex said, looking around. “Where’s Clinton?”