You begin your journey with no idea where you are headed, and then it hits you – the typo wasn’t carelessness, it was a clue. You’re not sure who is royally fucking with you instead of just telling you where to go, but you head there anyway as you don’t want dead cargo on your hands. However, if whatever is in there wasn’t currently living, it probably would stop producing such foul odors, which was the current situation on deck, at least for a little while.
As you arrive, and open the hatch, the space horse bucks out of the crate. Your cargo hold does NOT smell like petunias right now but at least you’ve made the drop.
The space rancher says, “Thank you for getting Mr. Ed to me. But, unfortunately, my shipment of space tacos never made it. All our space horses are going to die if we can’t feed them.”
“Wait a second, you feed your horses space tacos?” you inquire, inquisitively.
The rancher shrugs. “No, no, no, they eat space hay. And sometimes when they’re especially good, space carrots and dilithium crystals, but mostly space hay. And the only way to get the best space hay is the farmers on Trappist-1. But the fact is, they’re trapped there. So they only want to trade for goods they can’t get anywhere else, and they LOVE THE SHIT out of space tacos.”
You figure there has to be a million taco shops in the universe that will do, if the universe is anything like Southern California or Texas. “Ok, so, space tacos. So, like, Taco Bell? Albertos? Torchys? Some little space food truck? What quality of tacos are we talking about?”
“Authentic space tacos only come from one place in the universe. My supplier was always really vague about where they originated from, and he was just recently swallowed up into a black hole, so it’s up to you to figure it out. Those poor space horses are counting on you!”
Great. No one knows shit in this stupid universe. It’s up to you to figure it out. As always.