FINANCIAL
FREEDOM
A Tech Infantry Novella
by
Edward Stasheff & Marcus Johnston
Copyright © 2011
Chapter 5: Cash and Carry
Heth's claws clicked on his datapad screen. He had a lot to do, not much time to do it in—and as always, time was money.
The Impossibarium deal with the Jurvain had been closed and its consequences managed. Now Heth had to pick up Federation families on St. Michael's Star within the Holy Terran Empire, smuggle them out of the Empire into Federation space, and then—hopefully—get the chance to negotiate more lucrative refugee smuggling operations with someone high up in the Federation. Then he had to get back to Urrin in K'Nes space in time for the first Impossibarium shipment to the Jurvain… oh, and somewhere in there, he had to prove his innocence of breaking the Imperial power armor contract. Well… he'd manage that challenge later; right now, he needed to focus on the immediate supply-side issue of the Federation refugees.
He had the right tool for the job. When passing through Urrin, he'd managed to requisition (thanks to knowing which paws to grease) one of Miao Mercantile's special covert cargo containers, specifically designed with hidden compartments for smuggling, and swapped it out for one of the containers on his freighter, the Bountiful. His crew had complained about the unnecessary work transferring the cargo, of course, but a 2% overtime bonus fixed that problem. After off-loading the mineral shipment to the Jurvain at Laang, he had refilled the covert cargo container with harmless, inoffensive merchandise that would (hopefully) cause no problems with customs.
Unfortunately, navigation was a bit of a problem. At times like this, Heth dearly missed his old super-freighter, the Avarice—secretly equipped with a hidden gravity drive, it could enter hyperspace where and whenever it needed. Sure, it came in useful for smuggling, but more importantly it drastically reduced travel times—with a corresponding increase in profit margins! Managing any of the Miao's three super-freighters was a hard-won competitive advantage and corporate privilege…which meant, of course, that once Heth broke a contract and his stock fell, he was immediately demoted from managing the Avarice to the Bountiful. Like all standard cargo freighters, the Bountiful was not equipped with the extremely large and hideously expensive grav-drive—meaning it was limited to traveling along existing hyperspace shipping lanes through commercial jumpgates. If Heth's convoy stuck strictly to commercial jumpgates, it would mean a long, long detour through Jurvain space, taking him far out of his way—and he had a schedule to keep.
Of course, Heth had anticipated this, and simply attached a rider to the Impossibarium contract with the Jurvain, buried in the fine print, that guaranteed him one-time access through the Jurvain's military jumpgate from Ilbo to Chalfont in Imperial space. The Jurvain were not necessarily pleased about discovering the addendum, but they stood by the contract they had signed. Heth's constant whining might have had something to do with it, of course.
Getting into the Holy Terran Empire was easy enough. His paperwork was in order. His use of the Jurvain military jumpgate was explained away as having friends in high places in the Commonality (with the implied threat that he had friends in high places in the Empire as well). When it came to justifying to Imperial bureaucrats why his convoy happened to be passing through Imperial space on the way to the rump Federation—who the Empire was currently at war with—fortune had smiled upon Heth. Normally, he explained, his convoy would have passed through the Kalintos system—but there was currently active fighting between the Fed and the Empire in that system. So Heth's convoy had to take a detour—through the Empire. Luckily, they understood; it was just business, nothing more. The K'Nes were neutral, after all, and the Empire needed their trade to supply the war effort.
Heth's cargo, however, did raise some red flags, along with a few eyebrows. Huge biosigns always do. Heth was relieved when his explanation caused more puzzlement than suspicion.
"Algae?" The customs official looked dumbfounded. "You're hauling a thousand tons of algae?"
"Among other cargo, yes," Heth answered. "And not just any algae—Jurvain Mungunwha algae! It contains all the essential vitamins and minerals required to sustain any carbon-based life form in the known galaxy! With the proper processing, it can be turned into emergency nutritional supplement meals. It tastes foul, of course, but it'll keep you alive—and you'll be amazed what people will eat when they're hungry. I don't suppose I could interest you in some…?"
The bureaucrat looked incredulous and slightly disgusted. "I've never heard of this Munga… this algae before."
"Well, it's a Jurvain commodity, obviously," Heth explained, "and when the Federation conquered and quarantined Jurvain space, commerce was severely limited. What little trade that was allowed didn't bother with Mungunwha algae—it's a high-bulk, low-value commodity, you see. Sky Father above, it takes a cubic meter of algae just to produce one emergency meal! Very low profit margins. But now the border has opened up to trade again. And… well, with the Caal invasion and the subsequent chaos and breakdown of commerce throughout the galaxy, Imperial lords are once again concerned about feeding their subjects and soldiers. Demand has increased. Profit margins have grown. And wherever there's profit, you'll find a K'Nes cargo convoy!"
"Um…okay." The young customs officer blinked. "Well, uh… we'll still have to check it out for biological contaminants and stuff." Luckily, the cargo was obscure enough for him not to have the procedure memorized.
"Of course, of course," Heth nodded. "And we'll comply completely. But do be quick about it, please. We have a schedule to keep, and time is money."
The convoy passed inspection with flying colors. After all, Heth had nothing to hide—yet. Mungunwha algae had one more characteristic that was extremely valuable—to a smuggler, at least. With that much biomass on board, it would hopefully drown out the biosigns of human refugees being smuggled across the border.
While they were inspecting the cargo, Heth gave them a constant sales pitch about the virtues of Mungunwha algae, and would the Grand Count of Chalfont like to buy some? Eventually the customs officials agreed to pass on the message, presumably just to shut Heth up. Still, when all was said and done, Heth managed to offload a few tons of algae at Chalfont—the local presumptive nobility seemed to understand that nothing created an angry mob faster than empty stomachs.
Heth wasn't about the waste the empty cargo space, of course. Before they left the system, Heth sent as many members of his crew as he could spare down to the human settlements on Chalfont with a single, simple order: hit every pet shop they could find and buy out their stocks of a certain product.
And that brought him here, to St. Michael's Star, Heth's rendezvous point with the Federation families. When Heth first saw the holoproj display of the system, his tail bristled in nervous fear. The system was a swarm of space traffic. Cargo transports and commercial space stations surrounded the wealthy and prosperous planet, and the nearby Harrington Shipyards buzzed with activity building new freighters; the chaos of capitalism at its finest. But what worried Heth were the warships.
St. Michael's Star was on the border of the war between the Empire and the Federation—and the Harrington Shipyards made it a tempting prize. Consequently, the system was heavily fortified with orbital defenses and Imperial warships to protect it from the Federation's Earth Fleet, just one jump away in the Ashdown system. And, if the Imperial Navy picket was big enough to repel an Earth Fleet invasion, it could certainly capture or destroy a small unarmed freighter like the Bountiful caught smuggling loyalists to the enemy.
So Heth only had one option: Don't get caught.
Luckily, St. Michael's Star was also corporate colony—it was founded by the Harrington Industries megacorp, after all. All the politicians in charge were, ultimately, businessmen. Heth could work with them. He spoke their language—fluently. They both understood that empires rise and fall, dictators come and go, but real power, money, lasts forever.
To begin with, they quickly understood the potential economic value of Mungunwha algae, at least well enough to invest in a small amount, before Heth even left the Bountiful. The resulting empty cargo space in Heth's convoy kicked off yet another pet store raid. During the shuttle ride down to the planetary capital of Port Prosperity, Heth armed his crew with extensive credit and strict orders to leave no merchandise behind, no store unturned.
Heth, meanwhile, visited with the various corporate and government officials, looking for the right paws to grease. The meetings were not shady deals in back alleys or smoke-filled rooms; oh no, everyone involved was far too sophisticated for such disreputable venues. Rather, negotiations took place in picturesque sidewalk cafes in the suburbs of Port Prosperity, overlooking the beautiful white sand beaches of Tranquility Bay while sipping creamy but sickly-sweet concoctions called "mochaccinos." Heth never asked the bureaucrats he met to break the law on his behalf—Sky Father forbid, he would never dream of such a thing!—but rather to… stretch legal loopholes wide enough for Heth's gray market transaction to slip through unnoticed.
Of course, the gold rings and bracelets Heth left behind on café countertops might have played a role. Not bribes, of course, merely… gifts, a sign of respect to promote a profitable business partnership. The agreements were unspoken, but thoroughly understood by both sides.
And they were only eight carat! The chumps!
So when, in all the confusion of loading and unloading cargo from the scores of freighters orbiting St. Michael's Star, when a single unmarked and unscheduled transport made its rendezvous with the KLS freighter Bountiful, no one in any position of authority noticed… or if they did, they looked the other way.
Heth found himself holding his breath as the shuttle docked with the Bountiful. Preening himself one last time as the airlock cycled, the businesscat waited to receive his very profitable guests. But when the airlock opened, instead of families, Heth saw only one man shoving a large rectangular box mounted on anti-grav skates. The man was unremarkable, almost as if he tried hard to be that way: scuffed shoes, nice but creased clothes, and a layer of dust that made him blend into the background of the displaced masses that drifted the universe since the Caal Invasion. Heth's whisker rings suddenly kicked into full gear; it felt like the air was full of static electricity. Heth realized instantly what that meant, and his tail twitched nervously.
Of all Heth's jewelry, the most unremarkable were the two tiny, plain silver rings slipped over a whisker on either side of his face. They did one simple but important job: they detected magick. They were standard issue for all Miao middle managers—in a world where you could never be sure if the person you were negotiating deals with could read your mind, the whisker rings leveled the playing field somewhat. Usually, however, Heth had to concentrate just to notice if his whisker rings were detecting anything. The fact that they were practically quivering now meant that the man in the airlock was not just a mage—he was an extremely powerful one. Heth swallowed, then straightened his tie.
The stranger looked bored when he finally peered up from under his hat. "You Heth Miao?"
"Miao K'Rrowr K'Heth… and you better hope so," the black cat spat, "otherwise, I just emptied several pet stores for nothing. Where are the Federation families, and… what is this, exactly?" Heth pointed his tail at the large box.
"Your shipment." The mage nodded towards the box. "Where do you want it?"
Heth stared at him, aghast. Scat up to the claws, Heth cursed mentally, I arranged a per-head deal. One person? Where's the profit in smuggling that? "But…" he sputtered, "our contract specified transporting family members..."
"She is family… in a way." The stranger looked down at the box. "It's a stasis pod. We couldn't risk her waking up and alerting those watching for her."
The K'Nes was silent a moment, thinking through the implications of that statement. So… I'm transporting this person against their will. This isn't an escape… it's an abduction. This deal keeps getting worse and worse. The cat floated closer to the mage. "Look, whoever you are…"
"Wells," the man nodded.
"M. Wells, there was no mention of stasis pods in our contract."
"So?" Wells shrugged. "She's in suspended animation instead of awake. What difference does it make?"
Heth suppressed a hiss. "It makes all the difference! Smuggling is a long and honorable profession, M. Wells," he explained, "but for it to work, it needs to be precise. The electronic emissions of an active stasis pod is much harder to hide than the biosign a normal breathing person." The K'Nes wasn't sure if that was true or not, but he needed some leverage in this negotiation if he wanted to achieve a more profitable outcome.
"I…" The mage seemed at a loss. "Just stick it in a corner, or…?"
"And now," the K'Nes continued, ignoring him, "without any prior notice, you expect me to sneak a type of cargo I'm not prepared for across an active war front into a neighboring enemy system?" Heth narrowed his yellow eyes, pressing his advantage. "What if I get caught and boarded? Have you noticed the large amount of warships in orbit, M. Wells?" he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I've arranged to have enough biomass onboard to disguise a person, yes, even several… but not electronic contraband!"
Wells blinked. "Well, what do you want me to do about it?"
"You can either pop her out of there and—"
"No!" Wells nearly jumped out of his skin. "We need her… as she is. She has a medical—"
"Or," Heth continued, "you can put her back and your shuttle and find someone else insane or stupid enough to risk running an Imperial blockade for a measly ten thousand credits!"
Wells narrowed his eyes. "Don't you cats have laws against breaking contracts like that?"
"Of course we do!" Heth snapped. It was far more than a law, though… more like a taboo. "But not if the other parties involved fail to live up to their terms of the contract first," he said, pointing a claw at the human, "like delivering a lone woman in a stasis pod instead of multiple refugee families on their feet." Heth flashed the ape a fanged smile. "That claw cuts both ways, M. Wells."
The mage looked down at the pod, worried and a little frustrated. "Look… we don't have time to find someone else! We need to get her out as soon as possible, before St. Michael's Star is—" He stopped suddenly.
Heth looked at him sharply. "Before what, M. Wells? What's going to happen in this system?"
"Nothing. Forget it." The mage sighed. "Look, a neutral merchant has the best chance of getting her across the border to the Fed, and word on the street is you Miao are supposed to be the best K'Nes smugglers there are. Isn't there something you can do? Look, if it's a matter of money…"
That was what Heth was waiting to hear. He concealed his satisfaction under an exasperated sigh. "I supposed I could try to rig up a cloak to disguise the pod as part of the ship's systems… but that's going to take time and money, not to mention the risk. I expect to be compensated for the additional expenses."
"Sure, take it up with—"
"No, M. Wells. Before this ship moves another meter, I want some assurance that I will receive the full amount I'm charging for this transaction—one hundred thousand credits—half up front, half on delivery, as previously agreed in our contract."
The mage's eyes bulged. "What… you think I have that kind of cred on me?"
"No, but I'm sure you've got something I can use as collateral. Your choice—work with me, or try your luck with the Imperial Guard. I'm sure they'll understand why you kidnapped a woman and tried to sneak her to Ashdown."
"Shebing cats..." Wells cursed as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick golden ring. "This should compensate you."
Heth's whisker rings fluttered like they were dancing. Powerful magick, he knew, and magick items are very valuable. He pretended to think about it for a few seconds, then nodded. "Yes, I suppose that will do."
"Good," Wells said, relieved, "but I expect it back when you deliver her!"
"Of course," Heth purred. "And I'll contact you… how?"
Wells rolled his eyes, exasperated and impatient, as he dug into his pocket and slapped a clearplaz business card into Heth's paw. "Here. Look, just get the ring back to me when you reach New Madrid, okay?"
"New Madrid?" Heth sniffed the air, confused. "No, we agreed Ashdown—"
"Before you tried to shake me down, yeah, it was Ashdown. But you want that kind of coin, you go to New Madrid."
"Oh, very well!" Heth agreed grudgingly. "Now lay the ring down on the deck plate—carefully. M'Rowr's got you covered with a plasma cannon."
Wells shrugged off the threat and placed the ring down. "Anything else?"
"No, we'll take it from here. Thank you for your business, it's been a pleasure working with you."
The mage snorted a laugh and walked back through the airlock. Once the shuttle flew away, Heth let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding, pulled out his snuffbox, and sniffed a little pinch of nepeta. He let out a long sigh as he felt the pleasant, calming effects of the herb settle in. Finally, he looked over into the shadows and yowled, "M'Rowr, get out here already!"
"I hope you didn't expect me to use this thing," his pilot shook the plasma rifle strapped lazily over his body. "With a Piccone .50, I would have done more damage to the ship than anything else."
"Then get some target practice. The universe is a dangerous place."
M'Rowr shrugged. "High risk, high reward, right?"
"Absolutely. There's hope for you yet, M'Rowr. Now pick that up." Heth pointed to the gold ring, practically glowing with its own aura. "I've got to scan this pod."
"Oooh, shiny… you know, K'Heth, I supposed to be on my nocturnal cycle right now..."
"Nap off the clock, M'Rowr. That's what autopilot was invented for—or did you think I didn't notice?" Heth went to work, floating over to a computer terminal embedded in the wall. The sensor comp immediately ran diagnostics, running the full spectrum of detectors over the stasis pod. The readout picked up life signs, but no explosives, no gas, no radiation… the thing was what Wells said it was.
Once his pilot picked up the ring, Heth felt confident enough to float over to the stasis pod. As he approached, he felt the static electric quiver of his whisker rings growing with every meter. He risked a quick glance through the clear plastic over the inhabitant's face. A pale, red-furred human female lay inside, her features calm and relaxed in an endless sleep. But this female ape is a mage, Heth realized, and a powerful one, too. No wonder they want to keep her in stasis. If she ever woke up…
The K'Nes felt a shiver of fear go through his body. "Okay, M'Rowr. Help me push this thing."
"Where?"
"The Miao covert cargo container. Come on."
"You mean the inner—"
"Yes! Now help push!"
On top of everything else, Heth now had a new problem to deal with: What the scat am I going to do with a thousand tons of algae?
Things began to go wrong the minute Heth applied for departure through the Ashdown jumpgate. It was taking far too long. Unlike the corporate lords on the planet below, who understood the relative priority of revenues to regulations, the jumpgates were monitored by Imperial Guards—and they were far less prone to corruption. Not immune… just less prone. A bribe might work… or Heth might get thrown in prison for trying to bribe an Imperial official. There was nothing he could do but wait.
Finally, they got back to him. "Bountiful, we're reading some discrepancies between the cargo on your manifest and what our checkpoint scanners are showing. Please explain."
"Discrepancies?" Heth kept his cool. "Oh dear… just small ones, I trust?"
"Well, yes… but all cargo needs to be on the manifest before—"
"I'm terribly sorry," Heth cut him off, "that manifest must be out of date. I filed it before this convoy departed—but then we had to detour around Kalintos."
"Yeah, so?"
"Well, as you know, K'Nes buy and sell at every planet we visit," Heth explained. "The long detour meant we had to stop at more planets, and consequently the exact nature of our cargo has changed somewhat since we filed our original manifest. I'll send you our updated manifest right away. You're free to double-check it with the Chalfont port authority, if you wish."
They did… and that worried Heth. Normally, his excuse would have been sufficient—given the choice between a halfway plausible explanation or a bunch of extra paperwork, apes usually just waved him through. That the Imperial Guard was actually taking the time to verify his story meant that more was going on here than just the usual bureaucratic red tape. This was a checkpoint, and the Empire were clearly searching for something… and Heth had a bad feeling that what they were looking for was concealed in his covert cargo container.
They finally got back to him. His story checked out, and the manifest had been updated... but now there was another problem. "Bountiful, we're reading massive biosigns in one of your cargo containers," the official said.
"Of course you do!" Heth let a bit of frustration leak into his voice. "That container holds hundreds of tons of Mungunwha algae! Now please, I have a tight sched—"
That's when they said they were going to board and inspect that cargo container personally… just to verify that it was algae. Heth had no choice to agree, doing his best to sound simultaneously bored and impatient. Never let them see your fur bristle, he told himself. He turned to leave the bridge for the boarding airlock.
"Hey, Heth… you want me to cover you again?" M'Rowr hoisted his hand cannon.
Heth ran a quick cost-benefit analysis. Even if M'Rowr could get the drop on a pair of Imperial Guards—which was extremely unlikely—it wouldn't solve their long-term problem. In fact, it would probably make their predicament worse.
"No, M'Rowr. Stay here and be ready to contact the Miao for help." The Miao maintained a small but well-armed and highly-trained army of lawyers. "Hopefully you won't need to… but…"
M'Rowr nodded, and Heth went to meet the Imperial inspectors (sniffing a quick pinch of nepata on the way). The bureaucrats inspected the cargo container, tested the algae, ran all sorts of scans… and came up empty.
"Are you satisfied now?" Heth asked impatiently. "Can we leave for Ashdown yet?"
"Well… here's the problem, M. Miao," the plump head inspector said. "Every algae sample we've tested is just fine, 100% pure," he explained. "But when we scan the cargo container as a whole, it doesn't completely match the algae biosignature. There's a small, anomalous reading."
"Our cargo was already tested for contamination at Chalfont!" Heth insisted, frustrated (and frightened). "You've seen the reports yourself!"
"Yes…" the inspector agreed, "which is what makes this anomaly even more peculiar."
Heth threw up his paws in exasperation. "Trace elements! This stuff happens when you've got a thousand tons of biological material!"
"Or you're hiding something in here," the inspector said firmly. "My partner is running a structural analysis of this cargo container. If he finds something… well, M. Miao, it'd be better for you to fess up now."
"Wha—I have nothing to hide!" Heth insisted.
As if on cue, the second inspector spoke up. "Sir! I've found something! Here, in the bulkhead!"
His boss spared Heth a nasty glance, then hurried over to his partner.
"Your equipment is malfunctioning!" Heth insisted, floating along behind him. "My ship is clean!"
"Oh yeah? Then how do you explain this?" The inspector pressed a bolt in the wall, and a hull panel slid down to reveal a hidden compartment.
Heth was speechless. He was caught, and he knew it.
The inspector turned to look inside the hidden cache. "Wha—what the hell is this?"
