FINANCIAL FREEDOM
A Tech Infantry Novella
by
Edward Stasheff & Marcus Johnston
Copyright © 2011
Chapter 14: Material Compensation
By the time the Avarice approached the New Madrid system just nineteen days later, Heth's body ached with the pain and fatigue of a lifetime. Heth was sore in muscles he didn't know he had, stressed to the point of breaking, and too exhausted to care… and, technically, the Smythe contract hadn't even begun yet. To add insult to injury, Narrah made it abundantly clear that a mere twenty days was woefully inadequate to turn Heth into a real hunter—and the old cat showed no sign of letting up on them anytime soon. Narrah pushed his hunters hard, true... but he also got results.
Heth didn't particular like having his mane cropped, and felt positively naked without his jewelry. But as Narrah drilled them endlessly, Heth slowly learned the basics of paw-to-paw combat, how to rip out a human's throat with his armor's fore claws while simultaneously disemboweling them with his hind claws. At least, he learned the theory... in practice, his various training partners still kicked his tail every time. And, lest Narrah's troops forget what they were going up against, their Captain bombarded them with horror stories of human wartime atrocities. Heth would never forget the lurid tale of Alistar "Dead Boy" Dimiye, who ate the raw hearts of K'Nes he killed in the Battle of Midgar.
When Narrah eventually got around to giving the mercenaries their rifles, they were missing the power cells. First, they had to learn close combat techniques for when their rifles ran out of energy. Heth stumbled through learning to use the half-oval blade mounted under the barrel, part spear and part axe, to stab and hack at his competitor. When Narrah finally gave them the power cells for their weapons, Heth gradually learned how to operate and fire a gauss rifle—although his aim was still pathetic.
Finally, Heth learned to use his power armor—sort of. Long practice improved Heth's skills with the suit's maneuvering thrusters… but he still lagged behind the other hunters, who were more brushing up long-dormant skills rather than learning them anew. Worse, the details of the suit's technology utterly baffled Heth. K'Nes weapons and armor were designed, above all else, for stealth. They were cats, after all—they stalked their prey, silent and invisible, then pounced. Their cloaking technology went far beyond mere nanotech camouflage—it sent out an inverted-phase mirror image of the armor's electronic emissions, thus canceling them out and making it near-impossible to detect on sensors. It could even imitate the background emissions of its environment. Unfortunately, this meant the armor also had a bazillion settings and options. Heth was hopelessly lost, and simply didn't have the time to master them. He just hoped he could muddle through the contract with the default settings and come out alive.
And when the training sessions were done, it still wasn't over for Heth. Narrah worked him and the other younger K'Nes overtime, giving them extra training in the areas they needed, all the while drilling them endlessly on military basics—rank, structure, jargon, standing orders, basic tactics... it never ended.
Until now. It had to—for Heth, at least. Once the Avarice arrived in New Madrid, whether Narrah liked it or not, Heth would need to skip training to attend the negation with Chairman Smythe. As Heth was psyching himself up for the uncomfortable conversation with his mercenary captain (and hoping he'd survive it with a minimum of scarring), Narrah preempted the discussion by suddenly and unexpectedly granting Heth an eighteen-hour pass for shore leave. Heth was delighted. He seriously doubted the meeting with Smythe would take that long (although such marathon mediations were not completely unheard of in K'Nes culture), which meant Heth might be able to sneak in a few extra hours of sleep.
By the time the New Madrid commercial jumpgate generated an immensely powerful gravity field to tear open a portal into the fabric of spacetime for the Avarice to cross over into realspace, Heth was in super-freighter's command center, rested, licked clean, and in his best business attire, waiting to open a comlink to the biggest customer of his life.
If this is the leader of half the galaxy, Heth thought, I hope the other half is wealthier.
The K'Nes was supremely unimpressed with the… admiral? Er, chairman? Did he have an official title?
Joseph Smythe sat in an overstuffed armchair, nursing a scotch as he watched a tri-d newscast on the riots sweeping the former Ministry systems. He was dressed in a simple tunic and breeches, his graying brown hair trimmed quite short in an unsuccessful attempt to downplay a deeply receding hairline. In short, he looked like any number of people on the streets of the Earth Federation. There was no sign of authority, rank, or any wealth whatsoever. In fact, the chairman didn't even seem to notice when Captain Gergenstein, Heth's Federation contact, led him into the windowless officer's mess aboard the small warship EFS Bandar Abbas. For a moment, Heth simply floated there in awkward silence, not sure if he should initiate the conversation or wait for a cue from his host.
"They're calling it the 'Red Spring' now," Smythe commented absently. His accent was stranger than most humans, more clipped and formal than Heth had dealt with before.
"Indeed?" Heth said cautiously. He had no idea what the human was talking about.
"Reporters and their bloody buzzwords…" the chairman muttered, gestured to the holoproj with his glass. "You'd think all the rioters were pro-Imperial cultists."
"Well…" Heth said, struggling to keep up his end of the conversation without revealing his ignorance. He'd been so busy with mercenary training, he hadn't kept up with current events—and with the galaxy at war, a lot could happen in twenty days. Heth hated not being informed, especially in crucial situations like this. "I'm sure that many people must have several different motivations for their actions."
"Quite so." Smythe shot Heth a quick approving glance, then turned back to the newscast with hollow eyes. "More than a few simply want independence from the Federation. They don't trust us anymore, I'm afraid… not since Chief Minister Ramirez was assassinated, at least." He let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry the lady's dead, truly, but… well, she choose a damned inconvenient time and way to die." He paused to sip his drink. "Ah, well… just another problem I'll have to deal with if the Federation is to survive."
Heth was silent a moment, struggling to find something appropriate to say. "It's my experience that most people act in their own economic self-interest," he offered. "Find a way to make loyalty to the Federation profitable for the former Ministry citizens, and you'll find them much easier to negotiate with."
"Wise words," Smythe acknowledged with a nod… then paused, considering. "Unfortunately," he sighed, "for far too many people, faith trumps greed. And the Cult of the Emperor fanatics leading some of the rebellions won't negotiate—ever." He gazed a moment longer at the ghostly holographic footage of red-clad Cultists chucking improvised firebombs in the streets, then finally switched off the holoprojector and turned his attention to Heth. "But forgive my poor manners, M. Heth; I believe we have business to discuss?"
"Why, yes indeed!" Heth nodded. "I must say, though, I'm rather surprised to find you here. I was led to believe you were on your flagship...?"
"My apologies for the deception," the chairman said as he produced a bottle of scotch and refilled his glass, "but it was necessary."
"I'll admit to some confusion, yes…" The cat floated closer to Joseph. "I was told to leave my ship at the hyper limit and take this… er, destroyer?... to meet with you aboard the EFS Poseidon."
"Exactly." The admiral took a sip. "And since we broadcast that on an open channel, no one would suspect that I'm actually on this destroyer." Joseph looked up at the K'Nes, evaluating him with cold eyes for a moment before continuing. "Terribly sorry, I'm such a rude host. Would you care for a seat?"
Heth took a glance around—there was no other furniture in the room. "Well, yes, of course, but…"
Smythe tapped some buttons and the furniture grew right across from his armchair. As the object formed before them, Heth couldn't suppress a pleased smile when instead of a human chair, it took the shape of a traditional padded K'Nes perch. Once it solidified, Heth deflated and landed on it with uncommon pleasure. He had to discretely knead the stuffing with his paws; this was a business negotiation, he had to look professional. "Why, thank you!" the K'Nes purred. "That's quite thoughtful of you."
Joseph shrugged. "I've found it useful to never stay in any one place longer than twenty-four hours," the chairman explained, "so I've come to rely on nanotech for the ordinary creature comforts."
"A wise investment," Heth replied, "for one in your position."
"Yes. So many of my contemporaries have found their careers unexpectedly ended by relying on routine."
"Even if it annoys the hell out of his staff," Captain Gergenstein muttered openly.
Joseph shot an icy stare at his subordinate for a moment. "Yes, I'm sure it does, Herbert." Returning to Heth with a smile, he continued, "May I offer you anything to drink? Eat? Sniff?"
Heth was growing impatient with these pleasantries; they seemed designed to put him off his edge, so he took a more direct approach. "No offense, M. Smythe, but I'm currently juggling two major shipping operations, my upcoming nuptials, and a threat to my life. I didn't come all this way at top speed to engage in idle chitchat." The K'Nes took in a deep breath. "Now, with that in mind… what can Miao Mercantile do for you?"
Joseph stalled by taking another sip of scotch. "Yes, I suppose we should dispense with the pleasantries. After all, time is not on our side." Leaning forward in his seat, he said, "You'll be happy to know you come highly recommended. Captain Gergenstein here has informed me of the volume of Federation refugees you've managed to smuggle out of Imperial space in the last few months. Quite impressive."
"Why, thank you, sire," Heth purred at the compliment. "We Miao take pride in our customer service."
"I could use a man—er, person—with your talents just now, M. Heth." Smythe leaned back in his armchair. "Gergenstein tells me you have some commercial contacts in the Cronos system?"
"Indeed I do." Heth nodded. "Rachel O'Reilly of Zivat Ram Agribusiness on the New Israel colony—though we haven't met since the Caal Invasion."
"I see. And tell me, M. Heth… what do you know about the… uh, political landscape of Cronos?"
The K'Nes took out his datapad and quickly found an encyclopedic entry. "Let me see… previously a Federation core system—after the Caal Invasion, a coup by the Cult of the Emperor overthrew the Federation planetary governor, Edwina Smythe, Agrarian Democrat fro—wait…Smythe?" He looked up at the chairman. "Is this a member of your clan?"
"Worse." Joseph grimaced. "She's my mother."
"I see…"
"I don't believe you do, M. Heth," Joseph interrupted, looking up at Gergenstein. "Herbert, kindly tell our furry friend our little problem."
The captain seemed pleased to finally be included in the conversation—unlike Heth, Gergenstein had nowhere to sit. "His mother is still on Cronos," he explained. "Shortly after the Imperial coup seized power, a resistance movement sprang up and launched a guerilla campaign against them."
"And… your mother is in the middle of that?" Heth asked.
"She led it," Joseph answered with a touch of bitterness. "The old bat's always been uncompromising…"
Gergenstein ignored the interruption and continued. "The fighting on Cronos escalated and got ugly fast. It lasted for months before the pro-Fed resistance was finally defeated a few weeks ago—that's when we called you. Currently, the last of the Resistance's members and leaders are being hunted down by the Imperial Army."
"So the job is quite simple, M. Heth." Smythe's eyebrows rose. "Since you're an accomplished smuggler, you just need to smuggle my mum—with all the resistance members, of course—out of Cronos into Federation territory."
"It doesn't sound that simple to me," Heth spat back.
"It never is." Joseph smiled. "But we're ready to compensate you handsomely for your trouble."
"Profit is no use to the owner if they're dead!" The K'Nes fur bristled in frustration. "You drag me out here, offer me the moon—then promise me a quick death! No. No deal."
"And yet I don't see you leaving." Smythe crossed his legs. "What did the great Praetor Urrkkak say? 'Damn the cost-benefit analysis, surely my credit rating is good enough for one more assault'?"
Heth's eyes widened. "You know K'Nes history?"
"Fascinating little culture you have, M. Heth." Joseph smiled. "Though I have to admit, your military exploits are not exactly the stuff of legends… but I suppose even merchants need heroes."
Heth's tail twitched at the backhanded
compliment. "With all due respect, M. Smythe, what's your point?"
"Even Praetor Urrkkak didn't charge the Heights of Rrarow
Meeor without knowing the risk. Yet he did it."
"Only because he knew his portfolio would collapse if the rebellion against the first emperor Horrath the Great wasn't crushed," Heth explained. "But I don't even have a cost-benefit analysis—nor time to get one, I suppose."
"Just hypothetically," Gergenstein asked, "if you were to pull this off… what would you need?"
"More information," Heth spat back. "A lot more! Who are my contacts? The drop-off and pick-up points? You're asking me to go to the heart of Imperial space, steal Public Enemy Number One, Two, and Fifty-Three, and get back... and you haven't even told me where in Cronos they are!"
Herbert shrugged. "Well… that's where it gets interesting. Have you ever heard of the Cialt Brotherhood?"
"Should I have?"
"Not really." Gergenstein shrugged. "They're a small religious sect spread through the… old Federation."
Heth was puzzled. "What's so special about this particular sect?"
"These guys are not your typical monks." Gergenstein rolled his eyes and shook his head. "To begin with, Saint Cialt believed in drug-induced meditation to 'commune with God on the spiritual plane'… or something like that."
" 'Our Lady of Junkies,' you might say," Smythe added, chuckling at his own joke. "I wouldn't say that to their faces, though."
That only confused the K'Nes more. "What does any of that have to do with this contract?"
Gergenstein held up a hand. "I'm getting to that. All the Cialt Brothers are also Tech Infantry veterans—mages and werecreatures and the like—as was Saint Cialt himself. He also believed daily physical and military training was essential to promote a healthy spirit, mind, and body. So, due to the Religious Protection Act of 2237, not only is the Cialt Brotherhood allowed to legally grow their own narcotics for religious ceremonies... but also to posses military-grade firearms. Their abbeys are built like defensive fortresses, too."
Heth's eyes went wide again. "Old Chairman Clarke allowed that?"
"Arthur Clarke often drank with the Father General," Smythe chuckled. "Werewolf constitution. Heh."
"The point is," the Captain explained, "there's a Cialt chapter on Cronos—and they've steadfastly refused to acknowledge Vin Dane as a living God. It wasn't that big of a deal at first… but the issue got thornier as the fighting between the Imperial Army and the Resistance grew nastier."
Joseph smiled. "To quote an ancient human leader, 'you're either with us or against us.' "
"However," Gergenstein continued, "since the Cialt brothers basically contained themselves voluntarily within their own abbey—and as they won't fire unless fired upon—the Imperial forces more or less ignored them. They even allowed the monks to evacuate Cronos for an abbey on another planet," Gergenstein explained. "Until a few days ago, that is. I've gotten reports that with the Resistance smashed, Imperial forces are targeting the Cialt monastery next."
"But why?" Heth replied, wondering where this was going. "I fail to see what relevance this has—"
Joseph interrupted. "The Imperial Army recently discovered that the Cialt abbey on Cronos has now evacuated more people than the abbey has members… yet there still seem to be just as many monks as before."
"But then who were they…" Heth stopped, then blinked. "Oh. I see. The Resistance… including your mother, I assume?"
"Among other pro-Federation refugees, yes." Smythe nodded. "According to our intelligence," he glanced over at Gergenstein, "the Empire is planning a raid on the abbey any day now. It may already be too late."
Heth cocked his head. "Attack it? What for? Wouldn't a single nuclear bomb destroy it in an instant?"
"They want to capture Edwina Smythe alive," Herbert answered. "The mother of the Federation Chairman, their prisoner? The propaganda value alone would be priceless."
"More to the point," Joseph took another sip, "it forces me into a terrible quandary. Either I launch a pointless and doomed attack on Cronos to rescue her… or the press," he nodded at the holoproj, "demonize me as a heartless, cowardly villain who's willing to abandoned my own mother to my enemy. Neither is acceptable. That's where you come in."
"But why me?" Heth asked, perplexed. Didn't he just say K'Nes hunters weren't the stuff of legends? "Surely, your Tech Infantry are far better equipped for a rescue mission—"
"The Empire won't allow Edwina Smythe to leave the system alive," Gergenstein explained. "They'll kill her if they can't capture her. The second a Federation warship or even a Fed freighter approaches Cronos, they will drop a nuke. Now, a K'Nes cargo ship entering the system… for a routine delivery? That wouldn't raise any red flags."
"So in other words," Heth spat, "you want to outsource the risk—to me."
Smythe's brow rose. "Isn't that the point of hiring mercenaries?"
Heth winced; the chairman had a point. "This is all assuming I can get there in time," he objected. "Even at top speed, it will take my ship well over a week to reach Cronos. What if we don't arrive until it's too late?"
Joseph shrugged. "That is a possibility," he admitted, staring into his scotch as he swirled it in his glass. "And if that's the case, then our contract is canceled and you leave Cronos uneventfully."
"Still, we've got good reason to think the fighting will still be going on by then," Gergenstein said, sounding fairly confident. "Between the Brother's fortifications, firearms, training, and discipline—not to mention their general level of fanaticism and more than a healthy dose of paranoia—we're fairly certain the Cialt Abbey can hold off an Imperial assault for a quite a while. Several days, at least. Possibly even weeks."
"Sky Father above…" Heth hissed softly. It's not just a military raid, he realized, it's a full-fledged battle! I'm floating into a siege!
"Hopefully long enough for you to extract them, at least," the Chairman added, "if you can do it. Can you?"
Heth hesitated, scratching behind his ear with a hind claw to buy some time as his mind raced. Something was wrong with this situation; it didn't feel right. Suddenly it all clicked into place: the siege, the rescue… it was all too big an investment for such a small return. For both sides.
"M. Smythe," Heth began slowly, "surely you don't expect me to believe the Imperial Army would go to such lengths, commit such resources, risk so many lives… all just to capture one old lady who might be worth some minor propaganda value?" He narrowed his yellow eyes at the chairman. "Or, for that matter, that you would go to such trouble, risk, and expense just to avoid some potentially bad publicity?" Especially since you don't seem terribly fond of her, Heth mentally added. "Besides I'm sure your propaganda machine could spin your mother's death as a 'noble and selfless sacrifice for the good of the Federation' or whatever such nonsense you ap—er, humans are always going on about."
For an instant, Chairman Smythe looked irritated. He shot a quick look at Captain Gergenstein, then turned back to regard the K'Nes silently, thinking. He sipped his drink and said nothing.
"Why are Empire and the Federation fighting so fiercely over this woman?" Heth cocked his head. "There's something important you're not telling me. I need to know what it is."
"I've told you all you need to know," Smythe replied evenly.
"No, you've told me what you think I need to know," Heth corrected him, "and if you're wrong, it's my personnel who might die—including myself!" Heth shook his head. "No, I can't risk undertaking this enterprise unless I have all the information you do."
A long silence drew out as the Chairman and the Captain exchanged another glance. Finally Gergenstein shrugged. "Might as well tell him."
Joseph cocked an eyebrow. "Can we trust him?"
"No," Gergenstein replied bluntly, "but we can trust that he'll follow the contract to the letter."
Smythe considered that a moment, took another nip of scotch, and gave a single tight nod. "Fair enough, then." He turned to the K'Nes and leaned back in his armchair. "What you need to understand about my mother, M. Heth," he began, "is that she is an insufferable busybody and gossip, forever sticking her nose in other people's business."
Heth blinked, puzzled. "And?"
"Such women tend to learn a lot of secrets about a lot of people. Especially important people. Mummy dearest utilized this talent of hers to… promote her political career, so to speak."
It took Heth a minute to figure out what Joseph was saying. "Oh. You mean she blackmailed her way to the top?"
"Well, into a planetary governorship, at least. Oh, she has a dozen tasteful euphemisms for what she does, but… yes, I believe you've summed it up quite nicely." He paused for another quick swallow. "Edwina also had a habit of collecting proof of her gossip, and keeping it on hand—'political insurance,' she called it." The chairman let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "My dear mother's collection is rumored to be quite extensive—even I don't know for sure how far her tentacles reach."
"However," Gergenstein interrupted, "given how far the Empire is going to capture her alive, I think it's safe to assume Edwina took her files with her when she abandoned the Cronos governor's office and went into hiding. And even if she destroyed the evidence, she still knows the skeletons in everyone's closet."
Heth looked at the captain blankly. "Skeletons in…?"
"An expression," Smythe clarified with a wave of his hand. "It means she knows their secrets—and we'd prefer that information not fall into Imperial hands," Smythe said firmly. "As you can imagine, M. Heth, the possibility of many Federation military or government officials being incriminated and discredited—or, worse, compromised by the enemy—could have a rather disruptive effect on the Federation. And lord knows it's fragile enough as it is, especially with the current unrest in the old Ministry systems." The chairman hesitated a moment, then added, "Edwina's files could also be very… inconvenient for me personally."
Heth's yellow eyes widened suddenly as the realization hit him. "Sky Father above!" he hissed. "She's got something on you, doesn't she?"
"Of course she does," Joseph replied calmly. "She's my mother. She has everything on me."
"But what?" Heth wondered aloud. "What could she possibly know that would be so damaging to you that it…" Heth's voice trailed off as he saw the Smythe's face darken.
The chairman leaned close to the K'Nes as his eyes hardened into cold blue stars. "M. Heth…" he began in a very low, very soft, and very frightening voice, "there are some things you simply do not need to know to complete this mission… things that, if you knew them, would guarantee you would not leave this room alive. Now… do we understand each other?"
"Perfectly." Heth nodded… and struggled to keep his tail from bristling.
"Good." Smythe stared into Heth's eyes a moment longer, perfectly still. Then, slowly, he leaned back in his armchair, sipped his scotch, and said nothing.
A long, uncomfortable silence ensued. Gergenstein finally broke it by clearing his throat. "Of course, we could make use of Edwina's files too—against the Empire."
Heth turned to Gergenstein and widened one eye in surprise. "She has evidence against Imperial officials too?"
"Keep in mind, M. Heth," the Chairman said, his voice still a little stiff, "that it was only last year, after Vin Dane stopped the Caal Invasion and declared himself Emperor, that half the human systems declared their allegiance to him. Before that, the Empire was the Federation. And mummy's been hoarding these juicy little secrets for decades."
"They won't bring down the Empire, true," Gergenstein admitted with a shrug… but his smile had an unmistakably hungry look to it. "But they might buy us some breathing room to get all the riots and revolts under control."
"And just in case you're considering using mother's files for your own profit," Smythe added with a glower, "you can be sure we'll be adding an airtight clause to the contract preventing that. Break it, and we'll inform the head of your corporate clan of your treachery. You'll be terminated, your career over. That, and I'll hunt you down and kill you."
Despite his best efforts, Heth couldn't keep his fur from bristling slightly in fear of the threat. Luckily, the humans didn't seem to notice. "You have nothing to worry about on that count, Chairman. We Miao have a motto: A deal is a deal. We live and die by it—and I assure you, I'd much rather live by it. It's far more profitable than the alternative."
That drew an unexpected chuckle from the chairman, and the tension in the room eased a little.
"So…" Heth continued, taking advantage of the moment. "Officially, this is a rescue mission. Unofficially, it's stealing a particularly insidious weapon from your enemy to use for yourself. Correct?"
"That's about it, yes," Joseph answered, with another nip of his scotch. "And our best chance of accomplishing such a covert mission is through a neutral third party—such as yourself."
"And all I have to do," Heth summarized, with a touch of sarcasm, "is sneak into the heart of Imperial space, pluck your mother, the Resistance, and the Brothers from the middle of raging battle, and bring them all back to New Madrid alive and well. Correct?"
"Exactly. The only question is…" Smythe leaned closer to Heth. "Can you do it?"
A strange calm came over Heth; he felt as if this was a crucial moment in his own life, the one decision that would affect every other that followed it. The risk was enormous… but so was the payoff. So he asked the only logical question. "What are you drinking?"
Smythe blinked and looked at his glass. "Springbank, ten years old."
"May I have a glass?"
The Chairman of the Earth Federation shrugged, reached down, and pulled the bottle and a glass out from the other side of his chair. He poured and handed the K'Nes a drink. Heth took a sip and, from long practice, acted calm while pretending not to gag. "I have an idea how it can be done. But the price will be high."
"How much?" Herbert asked. "A million? Two million?"
"Please!" Heth took another sip; the shock of the alien liquor keened his business instincts. "This is not a matter of money. Members of my own clan may die during this contract. As a student of K'Nes history, I'm sure you know how expensive a proper funeral is. Not to mention lawyers for wills, pensions for the widows, life insurance riders…"
"I get your point." Smythe was growing annoyed. "How much?"
"A jumpgate."
"What?" Both of the humans practically jumped.
"A jumpgate. Specifically, the Nhur commercial jumpgate that you humans destroyed during the Battle of Andesrvald. We want it rebuilt."
Smythe's eyes sparkled with conflicting thoughts. "No. Too much."
"I'm not asking this just for myself, but for my clan… and for you as well," Heth answered. "In addition to saving your mother and her files, you'll be simultaneously removing the Federation's biggest enemy in the K'Nes Llan."
Joseph's brow furrowed, confused. "Explain," he ordered.
"The new jumpgate—to the Miao-owned system—would raise our stock price. Miao Mercantile's LEO would use the money to buy more shares in the K'Nes Llan. We only need 1% more to replace Gurrmew & Yeomurt LLP on the Executive Board."
"They're the Fed's most outspoken critics," Gergenstein elaborated.
"Call the new jumpgate a gesture of goodwill," Heth smiled, "of peace, and economic cooperation between the Federation and the K'Nes. It would go a long way not only with the K'Nes, but with the former Ministry worlds… who I'm told don't quite believe the yakuza had Aisha Ramirez mur—"
Smythe held up a hand. "A jumpgate is a serious drain of money and resources. During a war…"
"The Miao, of course, will finance building the jumpgate on the Nhur end of the hyperspace route. That would cut your costs in half."
Joseph sighed, then nodded… reluctantly. "It should be possible, then. Speaking of history—despite what you K'Nes might think, the jumpgate on that side was already gone by the time our fleet arrived in Nhur." He narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "We had nothing to do with its disappearance... I don't suppose you know who did?"
Heth suppressed a smile and repeated his clan's official story. "Yes… in the chaos following the human invasion and collapse of the K'Nes Tor, I'm afraid looters dismantled that gate and sold it for scrap. A tragedy, I'm sure you'll agree."
Herbert smiled. "And the fact that Miao Mercantile now owns several freighters equipped with hidden jump drives is… what? Just a coincidence?"
"A shift in the market," Heth replied—and decided to let his claws show. "Much like the one that suddenly doubled the value of the Sukhoi-Grumman Corporation after the Earth Fleet's liberation of Minos. You own stock in that company, don't you, M. Smythe?"
Joseph lowered his scotch and glared at Heth. "You K'Nes would sell your own mothers for a profit, wouldn't you?"
"Certainly not. We would, however, sell your mother—and the price is quite high. Shall we draw up the contract?"
It took hours for the exact terms and wording of the Cronos contract to be hammered out. Although it was fairly quick by K'Nes standards (whose contract negotiations had been known to drag out for years), it was clearly much longer than Smythe had anticipated; he was cranky and exhausted by the time the datapad finally drew their blood signatures to close the deal. The chairman departed soon after for his flagship, while Gergenstein returned the K'Nes to his super-freighter.
Heth thought it was strange that the Captain was escorting him to the shuttle bay—a much lower-ranking officer could do that. He wants something, Heth thought.
"There another high-value target I'd need you to get out of Cronos safely," Gergenstein said.
I thought so, Heth thought. "Certainly, Captain," he said, pulling out his datapad. "I'll modify the contract immediately. I'm sure the chairman won't mind signing it again…"
"That… won't be necessary," the Captain said quickly.
"Yes, I thought as much," Heth said, narrowing his yellow eyes at Gergenstein. Whatever he wants, he doesn't want Smythe knowing about it. "I can draw up a separate contract if you'd like…"
"I'd… prefer there was no written record of this transaction, M. Heth. I'm sure you understand."
Interesting… "No offense, M. Gergenstein, but I'm not sure I trust you enough for a tail-tap deal."
"No offense taken," the Captain replied. "I'd think less of you if you did,"
"If you want me to take such a risk, I expect to be proportionally compensated. What are you offering?"
Gergenstein was silent a moment, thinking. Finally he sighed. "A favor, called in whenever you need it."
Heth raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? Such a vague and unspecified payment could easily be abused."
"I'm not sure what else I can offer," the Captain said with a shrug. "I haven't got another jumpgate shoved down my pants, you know."
Heth considered it a moment, then nodded. "Your terms are… acceptable." After all, a favor from such a powerful human could be quite useful in the future. "Who is this high-value target?"
Silently, Gergenstein transferred an Earth Fleet personnel file to Heth's pad. Heth stared at the strange name. He prided himself on his English… but couldn't even begin to pronounce it. The clan name, though, looked familiar... "O'Reilly?" He looked up. "Is that the same clan Rachel O'Reilly belongs to?"
"You could say that." Gergenstein nodded. "He's her father."
"I see. And why is… Ex…uh, Exinj…"
"Xinjao," the captain clarified. "It's pronounced 'Chin-jow'."
"Er… yes." Heth pushed ahead. "And what exactly makes M. O'Reilly so high-value?"
Gergenstein hesitated a moment, his face betraying the hint of an internal struggle. "He's… an old friend."
"Indeed?" Heth didn't believe it for an instant. "I didn't think men like you had friends."
"I don't—too much of a liability." Gergenstein scowled at the K'Nes. "But there are always exceptions."
"And I suppose it's just coincidence," Heth said, glancing over O'Reilly's Fleet profile, "that this 'friend' of yours has an impressive battle record… and that's just the parts of his dossier that aren't classified."
"He'd be useful to the Federation war effort, yeah," the Captain nodded. "And he's got no love for the God-Emperor Vin Dane, I can tell you that. He's Jewish, you see."
He didn't. Jewish? What's that? Heth wondered. He figured it must be something expensive.
"He's stubborn as a mule, too," Gergenstein continued. "You'll need to sweet-talk him to get him to do anything. Oh…" Gergenstein shot Heth a disturbing smile. "And the latest issue of Kinky Kittens might help, too."
