Selling Newark Station

[Guest]

***Uplink established***
***Broadcast data: Enter comm ID***
***Unknown Comm ID: Don't care***
***Broadcast: Public***
***Your transmission can begin***

Sounds of rummaging can be heard, suddenly a tired sounding voice speaks


Oialloo there! Whoever you are...durr, dunno' anyways' that guy ...told me that, yah, paid him...stuff and...anyways, i gots you an offer you can refuse. Eghhhpsshhhh...

I mean! Offer you cannot not...durr, anyway, that bartender guy...whatshisname told me that hell gimme this 5$ and all and...i forgot, anyways, I asked the guy summut and...yeah he told me something that sounded like a yes or...something close to it and... ehhh, anyways *hick* anyways, here's the deal, you give me...5$ more and...i sell you this...let's see 'ere.


Some silence


Eghhh, this, whatshisface, im selling this "New...wrak Sta..ti...un"...yeah, for 5$ so I can get home. That bartender guy, whatshisface, good guy, sold me good stuff and...yeah, i kinda ran out of money...and i need to have like...10$ to get to Los Angeles and ehh...I gots only 3$ Left so, I asked that bartender guy and...

Yeah, he said i could do that, anyways, selling this...whatshisface...Newark Station for 5$ and all and...send the money to my wallet. It's right there...I just saw that guy take it, anyway, you send me the money there and you can have this place. Don't care...

ah, also, there's some guys in the bar who want some drinks and...wait, anyway, selling Newark for 5$.

***Transmission ended***
***Insufficient funds***
***Thank you for using the service***

[Cris]

LPI just had a cardi smuggler get away with it

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[Guest]

The man looked sick as he woke up on a bench near the public transport zone, blinking grogily he looked at his handheld...

I bid half a sandwich.

He blinked a few times sleepily, the aftermath of drinking so much so very noticable...

[Seth Karlo]

I bid 1 million credits for it.

-Unknown

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Signature by Sleipnir.

[darthbeck]

i bid a ride to los angles in my ship, a bottle of my best product, and of course, ten credits.

and yes, the drink is a hell of alot better then the recycled urine they serve on newark.

you still in the bar?

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<span style="font-family:Century Gothic">Violence is Golden</span>

[Cris]

I bid 3 kusarian geisha? *hic!*

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Join DHC today! Click >>here!<<

[RockCrystal]

I bid over a ton of boron, one slightly paranoid Samura rep, and a cursed alien artifact.

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Be kinder than necessary, because everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.
J.M. Barrie

[JakeSG]

As a member of the Interspace Neuralnet Division, and therefore a major shareholder in the workings of Newark Station, I am interested in what exactly my cut of the deal will be.

Signed,
- Ted Wesley, Interspace Neuralnet Division

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For the Core.

[chovynz]

Deep within the confines of Newark Station, lights blink on and off in a rapidly increasing staccato of light and noise, the information data-miner registering an influx of tagged entries for perusal.

"Sale of Newark", and logs of vid-com addresses and addressed as well as transcripts of the vid-coms themselves are collated, read, analysed, and put into a folder labeled "concern.future.reference."

By themselves, the entries were nothing. But the data-miner was programmed to gather a whole heap of "nothings", so that out of nothing, something comes. What does this something mean? The data-miner didn't care. It continued on monitoring the neural net.

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Seek fun and you shall find it. Seek stuff to Q_Q about and you'll find that, too. I choose to have fun.

[eyvind]

In the Deep Space Engineering office block of Newark Station, a confused shift manager worries about his livelihood a short minute after the arrival of a memo to his terminal is announced by an throaty, apathetic, and much too synthetic voice. He waves a nearby accountant over:

"Dicky, what you make of this?"

The two frown in unison at the screen.

"Think we should start packing?" Richard eyes the side of his bemused coworkers head as it insistently faces the memo.

"That would be dumb, wouldn' it?"

"I 'spose." The accountant sighed, shrugging off his worries, and sat back down in his Calcotronic cubicle with a final mumble before the keyboard tapping resumed. "I wish I was a lion tamer."

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<span style="font-family:Agency FB">Good Morning!</span>