The Era of Hydrolite

The airlock hissed, equalizing the air pressures with a groan of stressed metal. Rudolph Green, the foreman of Cooper Heights Reclamation, stepped into the Syndicate's station tens of miles above the planet. He'd expected to see chrome and holograms, the cold sterility out of science fiction. To his surprise, the station had wood paneling lining the curved walls. There was a light scent of pipe tobacco in the air. A soft red carpet absorbed his steps.

A man greeted him at the airlock. Not in a spacesuit, but a finely tailored suit. He rose from behind an antique desk to greet him.

"Mr. Green," he said smoothly. "Welcome to the 'Oasis'. My name is Mr. Rossi."

Rudy swallowed, still trying to take in his strange surroundings.

"Mr. Rossi, I appreciate you meeting with me."

"Of course." He gestured to a plush armchair. "Hydrolite is a precious commodity. We value our partners who use it responsibly, as your factory does."