“They’ve ordered… forklifts? I’m almost afraid to ask how many they want.”

Since the aliens had made contact, fourteen months earlier, Earth’s economy had been turned upside-down. Suddenly we could export to a market of nearly 500 other planets, and so we proudly showed off our most advanced computers, our most intricate machinery, our most unique materials. But while the aliens understood trade, they really were alien in their desires, and they were only interested in things like teddy bears and ornamental brass nails and styrofoam cups. What could we do other than rework our entire global manufacturing infrastructure to suit their demands?

The CEO’s assistant looked at his clipboard; flipped some pages. “Just under 900 million. They, um, want them all painted pink, too.”

The president of the largest industrial conglomerate in the world just sighed and shook her head. “And in return?”

“Antimatter production tech. And… immortality.”

“I guess it’s worth it. We’d better start tooling up.”