PREDATORY PRACTICES
A Tech Infantry Novella
by
Edward Stasheff & Marcus Johnston
Copyright © 2011
Chapter 15: Business Partners
As Heth's transport docked in the Avarice's shuttle bay in the New Madrid system, Heth sniffed a pinch of nepeta, his mind racing. He had some half-formed ideas on how to smuggle the pro-Federation resistance out of Imperial space… but he also had more details to work out than an economist in a recession. Thankfully, it would take over a week to reach Cronos—so he had some time to fine-tune his business plan to perfection.
Heth felt himself relax a bit as he floated back aboard his own freighter, already underway for the nearest commercial jumpgate in the New Madrid system. At least he had the best ship for the job—Miao super-freighters were quite literally built for a job like this. If any K'Nes ship could get the refugees out of Cronos successfully, the Avarice could.
Thankfully, he had several hours of "shore leave" left before Narrah expected him back in hunter training. Heth would have loved to catch up on his sleep… but he had so much to do, and no time to waste. First things first. Heth went straight to his executive suite and opened a secure communication channel to his LEO on Nhur, Miao K'Nhur K'Yawr, who had apparently been eagerly awaiting the call. Not one to waste time with pleasantries, he cut straight to the most important detail. "Well, cub?" he demanded. "What price did you claw out of Smythe?"
"Well, sire," Heth said, taking a deep breath. "We got the jumpgate—if I can fulfill the contract."
But the difficulty of the contract, however, didn't seem to interest Yawr, no matter how many times Heth explained the details. The old cat was simultaneously ecstatic and nervous about the deal, and gave Heth a stern lecture about the bottom line and how important it was for Heth to do anything and everything necessary to fulfill the contract, reminding Heth constantly that the long-term profitability of his entire corporate clan now rested on him. Then he promoted Heth to a Senior Director (of Human Operations—a position that Heth was fairly sure Yawr had simply made up on the spot), promised him a substantial performance bonus if he fulfilled the contract successfully (and put it in writing), and ended the call.
Next Heth balanced on his perch, opened his financial files, and did what he did best—make a profit. He still had a reproductive auction to win, after all. He wasn't making any money directly off the Smythe deal… but he could fix that. Heth took as much of his rather substantial net worth as he dared and sunk it into purchasing shares in the Nhur Llan. If he fulfilled the contract and Smythe announced the building of the Nhur jumpgate, then those shares would skyrocket in value and Heth could sell them at a huge markup to financiers suddenly interested in investing in Nhur—and that should more than cover the cost of Miu's auction (he hoped). If Heth didn't fulfill Smythe's contract… well, he'd probably be dead anyway, so it wouldn't really matter; just more assets for his next of kin to fight over. It was ironic, in a way. Before his demotion, Heth had always been a cautious and conservative investor, never a gambler… and yet now he found himself risking everything on a single bet—and the odds were against it.
Just then, the hatch of his suite rolled aside and a black K'Nes floated in amongst the swirl of his braided mane. "You, uh… wanted to see me, boss?"
"Ah, Rameth." Heth looked up at the Avarice's Manager. "Perfect timing. I need you set a new navigation course."
Rameth looked at Heth silently for a moment. "You dragged me up here for that?" he asked with a twinge of annoyance; running the massive super-freighter kept him very busy. "You could have just used your comlink, you know…"
"Not if I want this conversation to remain private," Heth replied. "I'm sure you understand."
Rameth widened an eye, intrigued, then nodded in understanding. "Yeah, sure. 'Loose tongues lose funds' and all that… I'm guessing this means we got that Federation mystery contract, huh?"
"Yes indeed." Heth nodded, then waved a paw at a guest perch. "Have a roost, and I'll bring you up to speed." As Rameth deflated onto it with a hissing belch, Heth began explaining the contract's objective, requirements, and their business plan for completing it. Rameth nodded, his expression neutral… but when Heth got to the part about jumping into the middle of a raging battle, the Manger began unconsciously twirling a thick black braid around his paw, a gesture Heth had long recognized as a nervous habit. Frankly, he couldn't blame him.
Heth only told Rameth what he needed to know as the ship's Manager; for example, there was really no point in mentioning Edwina's Smythe secret blackmail files. To K'Nes, information was a commodity—and secrets created scarcity, driving the value up. Despite how strictly their society enforced contracts, any K'Nes could be tempted to break one if the price was high enough—and with a contract this dangerous, the last thing Heth needed was a disgruntled employee selling them out to the Empire for a bounty.
"…so only share this with crew members you can trust, preferably from your own pride," Heth said, wrapping up. "And even then, tell them only what they need to know."
"Yeah, of course," Rameth replied absently. He stared into the middle distance with unfocused green eyes, running over the action plan in his mind. "Alright, then… I'll go lay in a new course for the Cronos system right away. Top speed again, I assume?"
"Between New Madrid and Minos, yes." Heth nodded. "But once we enter Imperial space, only go as fast as the ion drive can take us."
Rameth scowled, confused. "But, boss… if the humans need an urgent pick-up, using the gravity drive for acceleration will get us there a lot faster."
"Yes, I know," Heth admitted, "but getting there in time will do no good if we can't get the humans back out again. The Avarice's concealed gravity drive is our way to escape from the Empire—so we can't risk letting the Imperial Fleet know our ship has one, or we lose that element of surprise. You know as well as I do that no stealth suite can cloak gravity waves strong enough to propel a ship this size, so the only safe option is to power down our gravity drive until we need to use it. So between Minos and Cronos, stick to commercial jumpgates, regular hyperspace shipping lanes, and the ion drive."
Rameth hesitated a moment, thinking it through, then nodded slowly. He may not have been happy about the decision, but he could see the logic behind it. "If you say so, boss. We'll power it down before we leave the Minos system."
Heth smiled. "The good news is that we'll also need to make trade stops at the systems between here and Cronos—thank the stars there're only two of them. Any K'Nes freighter not stopping to trade while passing through might draw attention. Besides, we'll need to pick up some Cronos-bound cargo if we want to justify our presence in that system without raising suspicion."
Rameth's ears perked up at the news. "Well, the crew'll be glad to hear that!"
"Well, don't get their expectations too high," Heth warned. "We'll still have to make the stops brief as possible, so prepare your crew for flash trading."
"At this point, they'll be happy for the chance to do any trading!" Rameth assured him, launching off his perch and floating for the hatch. "I'll announce it immediately—trust me, it'll do wonders for morale… and productivity!" And then Rameth was gone, zooming down the corridors of the super-freighter, long braids fluttering behind him.
Heth glanced a chronometer, checking how many hours of shore leave he had left, then turned back to his work with a sigh. There was still so much left to do… Heth quickly itemized and organized it all his mind. Top priority: find a legitimate reason for a K'Nes ship to visit Cronos, and preferably an excuse to be near the fighting. Well, the Avarice was a freighter, and freighters made deliveries… now all Heth needed was a contract carrying cargo to Cronos—but that, thankfully, was an area where Heth excelled.
A military contract shipping supplies to the Imperial troopers surrounding the Cialt Abbey would be ideal. Heth had no doubt Imperial supplies lines would be providing the military equipment, of course, but with the Holy Terran Empire currently fighting a war on two fronts—three, if you counted the Bugs—and their resources already stretched thin, Heth suspected the Imperial Army would be employing a lot of local civilian contractors to pick up the slack moving the more mundane merchandise, men, and material.
A little research proved his hunch correct—but the Empire outsourcing military contracts to aliens, even ones they were on good terms with, was a different matter altogether. Heth quickly realized getting a contract directly from the Imperial Army was a long shot, especially on such short notice. So he focused his search on the civilian contractors the army employed instead. It took a long time, a lot of smooth-talking, and a little bribery (although Heth didn't know or ask why the man wanted a Freaky Felines video), but Heth finally found an Imperial supplier willing to subcontract a Cronos run to the K'Nes… for a considerable kickback, of course. Heth had haggled—it would've been suspicious if he hadn't—but in the end, he let the ape negotiate a better profit margin than one would normally expect from tight-pawed K'Nes merchants. Heth couldn't afford to blow the deal over a percentage; he needed the subcontract too badly. Time was short, opportunities were scarce, the pressure was on, and it wasn't really about commerce anyway—it was about camouflage.
From that point on, it was a simple matter of filling out and submitting all the cargo manifests, travel itineraries, customs forms, tax documents, and billion and one other legal and diplomatic paperwork that needed to be prepared well in advance in order to slice through red tape faster than a tailor on a deadline. But that was second nature to Heth by now; he could do it in his sleep (and had). The bottom line was that when the Avarice arrived in Cronos with a cargo full of provisions, medical supplies, and manufactured goods for the Imperial Army, the bureaucrats would be expecting them.
There was one small problem, however: Heth didn't actually have the cargo he'd promised to deliver. He wasn't too worried about that, though; the Avarice still had two trade stops before reaching Cronos, and no species could scrounge quite like the K'Nes could. Rameth, in particular, was a master of that art. If necessary, he could find a Jurvain neuralware processor on short notice (and had—although the lawsuit was a headache; the cyborg in question had apparently been unwilling to part with it).
But that was a challenge for another day; for now, Heth's shore leave was up—and if he reported back late, Narrah's recruits would be treated to a quick game of Catball (where Heth was the ball). He had zero desire to repeat the experience—he'd had more than his fill of being kicked, dribbled, and spiked—so Heth lost no time climbing into his power armor.
In truth, Heth hated hunter training. It was grueling and exhausting, true—but, worse, Heth simply wasn't very good at it; in fact, he was about as useful to the swarm as lead boots in a swimming pool. Heth wasn't used to coming in last place (or second place for that matter), and he found it extremely frustrating. He was the runt of his litter, small and weak even by K'Nes standards; he simply wasn't born for this kind of employment. It had occurred to Heth (on many, many occasions) to simply quit, to lock himself in his suite, pull rank on Narrah, and even fire the old veteran if he had to. But… well, Heth would have to go down to Cronos—and dying was rather counterproductive to collecting on his long-term investments.
But there was something else, too. Heth remembered clearly the scorn and disdain the Miao Mercenary Company had greeted his with when they first met in the transit bay. But during the course of their training, that had slowly, gradually changed into a grudging acceptance. Heth may have been the worst hunter in the swarm… but at least he was in the swarm. He was one of them, whether they liked it or not.
Heth hadn't fully understood the change in their attitude until he'd overheard a trio of hunter joking about him during mealtime. "Sure, the runt may be a joke," a loud and sassy calico said, hissing out a chuckle, "but I'll give him this, at least: this ain't my first mercenary company—but it is the first time our boss actually fought with us on a mission."
Her fellow hunters were silent for a moment. Then one of them growled and nodded. "Yeah… that's true. The runt's either real brave or real stupid. Probably both."
"I tell ya what," the third added. "If the Tor Army had more bosses like him, maybe we wouldn't a lost the war!"
There was a general growl of agreement, and then the three hunters were off analyzing and reanalyzing what had gone wrong in the Second Vulthra War that had resulted in the K'Nes Tor's defeat and the Human Occupation. (It was a favorite pastime of all K'Nes hunters; each seemed convinced they could have won the war if they'd been in command.)
It was a very brief exchange that Heth overheard, and he gave no indication that he'd noticed it, but it stuck in his furry head for some reason. One thing was clear now: if Heth gave up now, he'd lose whatever little respect the other hunters had slowly been gaining for him. And for that reason alone, Heth felt he had to continue the training.
So with a sigh, Heth turned, inflated, and floated out the hatch toward the transit bay for another round of missing the target, losing sparring matches, and screwing up his armor's camouflage settings.
That was his life for the next few days while the Avarice sped towards Minos: training, planning the mission with Narrah, training, scrounging for cargo, extra training for the inexperienced hunters, and yet more training. Finally, just when Heth thought it would never end, there was more training.
In what little down time Heth had, he tried not to fall asleep as he poured over the Federation intelligence reports on the Cronos Resistance and Cialt Brotherhood that Captain Gergenstein had given him, searching for any detail that would help him complete the contract successfully. One thing looked useful: it appeared that the Resistance had been resupplied from off-world (at least before it had been defeated). It provided a possible way for Heth to contact or even infiltrate the Resistance—or rather, what was left of it.
Unfortunately, they had been waging a guerilla war against the Imperial forces, and using a widely-distributed cell structure to protect the group as a whole. In other words, it was purposefully structured so that how much any one person knew about the organization was rather limited. None of the refugees who had managed to escape to Federation space knew exactly how the Resistance was being resupplied, much less by who… and it appeared at the Imperial Army knew even less.
Although Heth had no idea who the Resistance's off-world patrons were, he was curious to meet them. As a Senior Director of Miao Mercantile Inc., the industry leader in extra-legal shipping, he had a professional interest of how weapons and equipment has been smuggled to the Cronos Resistance for months without being detected—even by their own side, apparently.
Finally Narrah allowed his hunters to sleep; not a fully eighty-four hours—only seventy-two—but it was enough to refresh and re-energize Heth just in time for the Avarice to arrive in the Minos system (which just happened to coincide with another eighteen-hour shore leave, thank the stars). Heth needed it—he had a lot to do, and as always, not much time to do it in.
Minos was the Avarice's last completely safe port of call—but it was also a border system between the Federation and the Holy Terran Empire, and consequently very heavily fortified. And entire task force of Earth Fleet warships patrolled the area, guarding not just the system and its commercial jumpgates, but the Fleet shipyards in orbit and the starfighter construction yards on the planet below. Heth wasn't too worried—they were, at least theoretically, all on the same side.
This was also Heth's best chance to scrape up enough cargo to fill the Imperial Army supply contract, and he threw himself into the job with an industrious zeal. There were plenty of options to chose from—Minos was a highly developed, densely populated planet, heavily industrialized…and heavily polluted. Huge swaths of the plant's surface were hidden beneath a thick grayish-brown haze that stung the eyes and burned the throat. It was said a "clear" day on Minos was when one could go outdoors without a respirator, and there were rumors that the foul-smelling smog clouds were thick enough to swim through. Although the floating felines were ideally suited to try, K'Nes had never been overly fond of water, and Heth had no desire to put that theory to the test (he'd never get that smell out of his fur!). Besides, almost all the necessary cargo transactions could be conducted at any of the multiple transfer stations in orbit over the planet.
Heth almost felt guilty when Rameth released the super-freighter's large crew for their brief shore leave—but he had no choice; if he didn't, he'd almost certainly be facing a merchandising mutiny that would throw off Heth's timetable. The crewcats, deprived of their retail rights for weeks and with only a brief trading window, descended on the orbital marketplaces like a swarm of locusts, buying and selling, wheeling and dealing, unleashing their pent-up purchasing power in a shopping frenzy of legendary proportions.
What made everything worse was that by now, most of the crew had learned that their ultimate destination, Cronos, was a sparsely-populated former mining colony with little or no local industry. Although nominally able to (barely) feed its tiny population, all but the most basic manufactured goods had to be imported—and thus commanded a stiff price. Consumer goods of all sort could be bought comparatively cheaply on Minos and sold for a substantial markup on Cronos—and nothing increased literal cutthroat competitions among K'Nes like a high profit margin.
When human crewmen from the nearby Earth Fleet warships went on shore leave, the space stations responded by putting extra security on the bars and brothels. But when K'Nes spacers flooded the stations, they put extra security on the marketplaces. Theft wasn't the problem (well… not too much), but rather the intense competition between K'Nes crewcats over limited merchandise. Almost immediately, reports began pouring in to station security of fights breaking out between K'Nes. Yowling, spitting furballs spun through the air and ricocheted off walls as two cats fought tooth and claw over who got to buy the last case of datapads or pallet of Yangtze Cola (often causing enough accidental property damage in the process to drink up whatever profit they hoped to make in the first place). Not surprisingly, the fighting felines where almost always from rival prides.
Poor Rameth spent practically his entire shore leave bailing out his overzealous crew members and dragging them back to the super-freighter (without their merchandise). One crewcat even ended up in a station's brig for shoplifting some nepeta. Heth managed to get the charges dropped by reimbursing the shopkeeper, bribing the officers, and convincing station security that they wouldn't be able to get a conviction anyway because the evidence had disappeared (although it was noted that the accused crewcat was very relaxed). In fact, Heth went through a quite a bit of nepeta himself as he dealt with one crisis after another, all while trying to scrounge enough cargo to fulfill his shipping contract for the Imperial Army on Cronos. When the Avarice managed to launch on time, with a cargo bay full of manufactured goods, medical supplies, and non-perishable provisions, it was nothing short of a managerial miracle.
Unfortunately, Heth wasn't able to convince any Minoan merchants to buy some Mungunwha algae. He was beginning to wonder if he'd ever get rid of the cursed stuff.
Of course, the fact that the Avarice was departing Minos for Proxima and the Holy Terran Empire with several cargo bays full of supplies for the Imperial Army was a cause for concern. Normally, that would have been a big issue with the Earth Fleet checkpoint, and a fantastic way for Heth to get his super-freighter and its payload impounded in record time. But Heth had been assured that Captain Gergenstein, if not Chairman Smythe himself, would take care of that problem—and, sure enough, the Avarice was granted passage through the Minos-Proxima commercial jumpgate with no more than the usual bureaucratic delays.
With their extra energy burned off by shore leave on Minos, the K'Nes calmed down quickly… perhaps too much. Something had changed; there was a subtle shift in the mood on the ship. The Avarice's crew went about their jobs, subdued but focused, and the mercenaries continued their endless drilling, but with a grim seriousness this time. An unspoken tension lingered in the air that wasn't there before. Heth suspected he knew why: there were in the Holy Terran Empire now. This was when the danger began.
Despite being stressed out and exhausted from the chaos on Minos, Heth barely had time to catch his breath before he was due back in the transit bay for combat training. Narrah pushed his hunters harder and longer than ever, demanding nothing less than perfection (although excellence was occasionally tolerated). In addition to the extra training for the younger hunters Heth was required to attend, Narrah even began giving Heth personal tutoring in the areas he needed to work on (which was pretty much everything). Frankly, wasn't sure if it was a privilege extended only to the mercenary company's employer, or a punishment for being the worst trainee.
And when all that was over, Narrah joined Heth in his executive suite aside to plan their upcoming contract on Cronos. Alone in Heth's executive suite, Narrah's demeanor changed completely—he was courteous and obedient, addressed Heth as "sire" and "boss," and even cowered politely. It was a complete social reversal, and it put Heth off his game. They occasionally argued over elements of their mission—but frankly, Heth was so sore and exhausted that he agreed to almost everything Narrah proposed, only taking the occasional stand when he thought Narrah was simply mistaken. Heth, after all, had far more experience interacting with humans—at least, in ways that didn't involve killing them.
"And how exactly do you plan to get us inside the Cialt Abbey, sire?" Narrah asked.
"Easily." Heth shrugged weary shoulders. "This ship has transit antennae. We teleport in."
"That's… not a good idea, sire," Narrah warned him.
Heth's whiskers twitched in annoyance and he had to swallow a hiss. "Alright, why not?"
"Because it'll be detected, sire. Instantly."
Heth cocked his head. "Narrah, the Avarice has the most advanced stealth suite in the—"
"—which does an outstanding job masking physical and electronic emissions, yes," Narrah conceded, "but not magickal energy. And transit devices are magitech equipment. Do you realize how much magickal power it takes to generate a transit portal to a planetary surface from orbit? And keep it open long enough to get an entire K'Nes swarm through? Any Imperial patrol ship with an ethereal scanner is bound to detect it."
"Oh… right. I'd forgotten that." Heth rubbed his face will his paws. He was so tired he was beginning to slip up—and he didn't like that at all. "We usually do our covert cargo pickups from middle orbit in isolated areas," Heth explained, "then use the gravity drive to generate a jump point and disappear into hyperspace long before any patrol ships have time to respond... but in this case…"
"Well, that strategy can still work, sire—for getting the humans out of the Abbey. But if we use it to get us down to the surface of the primary inhabited planet in the system? With Imperial patrol ships in orbit? And then the Avarice hangs around in geostationary orbit right over the Cialt Abbey? Even the apes could figure out something suspicious was going on. Sky Father alone knows how long we'll be down there, sire. Could be hours, could be days. Either way, it's more than enough time for an Imperial patrol to—"
"Yes, yes, I see your point," Heth hissed with a wave of his paw. It always irritated him when Narrah was right. "Alright, so we'll have to get the mercenary company down to the surface some other way—but that shouldn't be too difficult. We'll have cargo deliveries to make, after all."
"I agree, sire." Narrah nodded. "But my question was: how do we get inside the Cialt Abbey?"
Heth sighed, more weary than ever. "Well, we'll have to sneak in, I suppose." He paused as a thought suddenly occurred to him. "And, given that it's surrounded by Imperial forces, I imagine that will be quite difficult."
"It may be harder than you think, sire," Narrah said. "Do they even know we're coming?"
Heth's whiskers twitched. He hadn't thought of that. "I don't know. All we know about the situation down there we learned from the refugees who managed to escape. Given that the Imperial Army cut off communications to the abbey weeks ago... presumably they don't."
"Please, stop and think about this, sire," Narrah said. "Imagine you're besieged, surrounded by your enemy, and you catch a bunch of alien mercenaries with guns and armor trying to sneak past your perimeter. Would you stop and ask who sent them—or open fire?"
"Yes, I see your point," Heth said, narrowing his yellow eyes.
"What we need, sire," Narrah said, "is a contact on the inside who can get us in. Some who knows you, maybe even trusts you. You said you had a business contact in the system—right?"
"Yes, Rachel O'Reilly." Heth nodded. "And apparently her parents are inside the abbey, true… but that means she's almost certainly inside there with them—assuming she's still alive at all, that is. All of which means I can't reach her through the Imperial communication blackout."
"I admit it's a long shot, sire," Narrah said, "but succeed or fail, it will cost you nothing to try. So why not?"
"Oh, very well," Heth sighed, too tired to argue the point with the old hunter. So he opened a comlink to Rameth in the command center, who promised to have the Avarice's communications administrator try to contact Rachel O'Reilly through the interstellar network by any means possible. Heth didn't hold out much hope… but at least it got Narrah off his tail.
So it came as quite a surprise when, the next day, Rameth informed Heth that the com admin had Rachel on the line. For the first time ever Narrah, understanding the importance, excused Heth from training in the transit bay to take the call. Heth had the comlink relayed to his datapad and, after double-checking that the line was secured and encrypted, opened the connection. He searched his memory for the proper greeting. "Uh... shalom, M. O'Reilly!"
"Gainful day, Miao K'Rrowr K'Heth!" Rachel returned the pleasantry. She was an odd-looking ape—sharp features, long nose, narrow eyes, and brown hair with a tiny hint of red. "So, what can Zivat Ram Agribusiness do for our K'Nes… uh…" Her smile faded. "Good Lord, Heth... what are you wearing?"
Heth hesitated, but only for a moment. She certainly doesn't sound like someone who's trapped and desperate... "It's, uh, power armor," Heth replied, suddenly feeling rather self-conscious. "It's part of the contract I'm currently working. That's why I wanted to speak with you, actually."
"Sorry, Zivat Ram already has a local security company under contract…" her voice trailed off as she leaned toward the camera, squinting. It took Heth a moment to realize she was looking over his shoulder at Narrah roaring orders at armed K'Nes zooming through the air. "And that level of security is way more than we need, anyway. Wow. So... I guess you're not calling about the contract for next year's Pesach grain shipment, huh?"
"Not this time, no." Heth shook his head. "I'm, uh... well, I'm here to rescue you, actually."
Rachel stared at him. "Rescue me? From what, exactly?"
Heth sniffed the air, confused. "Aren't you trapped in the Cialt Abbey, surrounded by Imperial troops?"
"Um… no." Rachel cocked her head, puzzled. "And thank God—it's under attack! Besides, why would I be in the Cialt Abbey? I'm Jewish. That's on Cronos 3, anyway. I'm here on New Israel."
"Oh." Well, Heth thought, that explains why I was able to get in touch with her. He remembered the subterranean colony where Rachel lived and worked. It was on a large moon orbiting Cronos 4, a superjovian gas giant in the outer system... and several million miles away from the Cialt Abbey on the primary inhabited planet of Cronos 3. "I'm sorry, Rachel… I just assumed you were with your parents."
Rachel blinked. "My parents?" Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Heth, you're not making any sense. What are you talking about?"
Heth was growing confused now, too. "Rachel… you do know where your parents are, don't you?"
She tensed for the briefest of instants, the shook her head. "No, of course not." Her voice was easy, casual… perhaps a tad too casual. "They ran off to Cronos and dropped off the grid months ago. I haven't heard from then since."
She doesn't seem very concerned, Heth thought, puzzled—then it hit him. She doesn't even know yet. "Uh… but you do know that they're still on Cronos… right?"
"Maybe. I don't know." She rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Look, my folks are both ex-Fleet hardcores and Federation loyalists—so of course they ran off to Cronos to join the resistance about half a freakin' second after the Imperial coup!" She was trying hard to sound nonchalant... but Heth thought he detected a slightly guarded undertone. "But I stayed behind on New Israel. Hell, I'm no soldier, I'm just a businesswoman! They went to OCS, I got a MBA. So no, I don't know anything about their little crusade," she said, her tone beginning to creep towards the defensive. "Well, other then what I hear about the Cialt Siege on the Imperial newsvids, obviously." She glanced over Heth's shoulder again at the armed and armored K'Nes, then frowned at Heth. "What did you say your current contract was for again?"
"Well, not hunting down traitors to the Empire, if that's what you're worried about."
"I'm not," she said, a little too quickly. "Why would I be? I've got nothing to hide."
Heth cocked his head and narrowed his yellow eyes. "Who said anything about you?"
For a split second, he saw the fear and panic in her eyes—she'd just slipped up, and they both knew it. Then her face froze into ice as she leaned toward the camera. "Look, M. Miao, I'm a busy woman. What do you want?"
"I need your help, M. O'Reilly," Heth implored her. "I need to get inside the Cialt Abbey."
Rachel burst out in (somewhat nervous) laughter. "Sorry, I can't help you there, Heth." She shook her head, grinning. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know anything about that."
Heth decided to play on a hunch. "Oh, but of course you would, Rachel," he objected, doing his best to sound warm and friendly. "I mean, you've been funneling supplies to the Cronos Resistance for months, after all!"
Heth was bluffing, of course. He had no idea who'd been supplying the Cronos Resistance, or how. No one did. But… well, given Rachel's connection to the Resistance through her parents and her mildly anxious reaction to Heth's rather innocent questions, his suspicion was aroused. Besides, in matters of life and death where secrecy and trust are crucial, people tend to fall back on their clan.
When Rachel just sat frozen, staring back at Heth unblinking and speechless, he knew he'd guessed right.
"Oh, don't worry," Heth assured her with a wink, "I made sure this line is secure. You'll have to delete the logs on your end, of course… but I suspect you already know how to do that, right?"
Rachel blinked, suddenly seeming to regain her composure. "That's an absurd and insulting accusation," she replied in a cold tone, narrowing her eyes. "There's absolutely no evidence to support such a wild theory, anyway."
No, Heth thought, I'm sure you covered your tracks quite well… or you'd be in a cell right now, not an office. But he gave Rachel what he hoped was a friendly smile—without fangs; humans tended to find them rather intimidating. "I'm afraid you misunderstand, M. O'Reilly—if I wanted to turn you into the Empire for the bounty, I could have done that already! No, I have no desire to reveal your actions to the Empire… unless you turn me in, of course. One must cover their tail, after all."
Rachel cocked her head, puzzled but suspicious. "Turn you in to the Empire for what?"
Heth took a deep breath and made his sales pitch. "My current contract. You see, Chairman Smythe has hired Miao Mercantile to extract the Federation loyalists cornered inside the Cialt Abbey and smuggle them out of Imperial territory. And… I'm so sorry, Rachel, but... your parents are trapped in there, too."
Telling her was a risk—Heth could quickly find himself in an Imperial prison (or, worse, his ship impounded)—but Heth's gut was telling him the gamble would pay off. He watched Rachel's face closely, waiting for her reaction.
For a moment, Rachel just drummed her fingers on her desk. "And you expect me to believe that?" she scoffed. "I find it rather insulting you think me that gullible, M. Miao. I know emotional manipulation when I see it—my mom was an expert at it. Hell, guilt trips are practically a Jewish tradition."
"I don't, of course, expect you to take my word for it," Heth returned, "so I'm sending you a copy of the contract. Hopefully that will convince you." His claws tapped over his datapad as he sent her the file. "You'll need to destroy that copy immediately after reading it, of course." Heth glared at the camera through narrowed yellow eyes. "Although if that contract should find its way to the Empire," he growled, "I can make sure the Imperial—"
"Ah, quit kvetching, you already made your point clear," Rachel replied, dismissing the thought with an irritated flick of her wrist. "Nice to know you trust me."
"I'm afraid trust is a luxury in my business."
"In any business, really…" Rachel's voice trailed off as she skimmed the document. "Seems authentic, alright…" She finished reading and looked up with a sigh. "Looks like you're telling the truth."
"But of course!" Heth cocked his head and smiled. "What convinced you? Smythe's blood signature?"
"No, the price tag." Rachel sighed. "A dozen K'Nes lives for a jumpgate? Miao Mercantile would take that deal in a heartbeat."
"Why, thank you!" Heth purred the compliment. "We Miao pride ourselves making the hard but practical cost-benefit decisions. Not all humans understand that."
Rachel rolled her eyes (although Heth wasn't sure why). "Look, you said my parents in the Cialt Abbey… but are you certain?" she asked. "I mean, how could anyone possibly know that for sure?"
"From Federation intelligence reports," Heth explained, "of debriefed refugees who managed to escape the Abbey before the Imperial Army surrounded it. And according to them, your parents are still trapped inside."
Rachel shut her eyes for a moment, then looked away and hissed out a deep sigh. "Yeah… yeah, I was afraid of that," she said, shaking her head. "I'd hoped they'd jumped ship when the Cronos Resistance began to crumble… but they were always the stubborn types who'd fight to the bitter end, even if it's a lost cause. 'The captain goes down with the ship' and all that other Fleet crap… well, at least that means they're still alive. That's something, I guess." She looked back up at Heth. "So how do you plan to get them out?"
"I'm… still working out the fine points of that particular action plan," Heth answered evasively. He wasn't about to reveal the details to Rachel, even if he was fairly sure she could be trusted. "But I think it's safe to say that getting everyone out and back to Federation space will be the easy part—well, comparatively easy, at any rate—and I'd give you a money-back guarantee on that! But... it's getting in to the Abbey that will be difficult. They don't even know we're coming."
"Yeah, I can see that would be a problem." Rachel nodded. "They're probably hoping for Earth Fleet, or at least a Tech Infantry extraction team, not a bunch of ca—er, K'Nes."
"Exactly. Rachel... do you know of any way to get us inside the Abbey?"
"Past an Imperial siege?" The businesswoman looked down for a moment, thinking and frowning, then shook her head. "Not off the top of my head, no." Heth opened his mouth, but Rachel cut him off with a raised hand. "No, honestly, I don't. I've never even been to the Abbey—in fact, I've stayed away on purpose; it's safer that way. But…" She looked back up at Heth. "I can work on that problem and get back to you. On one condition."
"Yes?"
"You take me with you. I've got a lot of vacation days saved up I can cash in; I'll just tell Human Resources it's a 'family emergency'."
Heth hesitated. "Rachel…" he cautioned, "look, this could be very, very dangerous…"
"What, you got another human who can vouch for you with the Resistance?"
"Uh…"
"That's what I thought. Besides, I wouldn't mind getting out of Imperial territory myself. So swing by New Israel and pick me up on your way to Cronos 3."
Heth got a sinking feeling. He'd haggled with Rachel O'Reilly before, and knew when she'd made her final offer. "Are you sure there's no way I can talk you out of this?"
"None."
Heth sighed. "Very well; you have a deal." Heth stroked his whiskers, thinking. "To avoid any suspicion, though, I'd better come up with some legitimate business need for detouring to New Israel… just to be safe." His face lit up as a sudden thought occurred to him. "I don't suppose Zivat Ram Agribusiness would like to invest in some Mungunwha algae? I hear it makes excellent hydroponic fertilizer!"
"No, thank you," Rachel countered, "but we've had an excellent citrus harvest. Strawberries, grapes, and tomatoes all fetch a high price... assuming you can deliver them before they spoil."
…which Heth knew would happen long before his current contract was completed. His face wilted. "That… sounds expensive..."
Rachel flashed the K'Nes her own predatory grin. "It is."
Heth suppressed a growl. He still didn't know if Rachel would be any help at all on Cronos… but at least one thing was now certain:
One way or another, the Avarice would be leaving New Israel with a cargo bay full of fruit.
