Selling Out: A Galactic Empire Space Opera Series (Mercenary Warfare Book 1) Read online

  Cabot grasped Gretch’s arm at the elbow, feeling the cool synth-skin that covered the cybernetics. He had traded with Gretch many times. Occasionally for goods, but more often for information. Gretch was an ambassador for Briv, and often used Dragonfire as a way station.

  Cabot didn’t know Brak quite as well, though he’d become better acquainted since the hospi-ship she lived and worked on, the Onari, had made Dragonfire its official home port. Brak had taken a leave of absence from her cybernetics work to visit home. Cabot was under the impression that it had been a long time for her.

  Aboard Dragonfire, neither of these two engaged in the typical Briveen ceremonies. They preferred to follow the behavioral protocols of a PAC station. His familiarity with them didn’t mean they’d be any more likely to agree to his—or rather Fallon’s—plans, though.

  “Brak, Gretch. It’s a great pleasure to see you. I didn’t realize you two knew each other,” Cabot said, looking from one to the other.

  “We didn’t, until Fallon requested these negotiations,” Gretch answered. “Funny that our paths never crossed on Dragonfire. I was put in charge of these talks, and if we come to an agreement, I’ll be the one to present it to the council for final approval.”

  “They’re too fancy to talk to you themselves.” Brak’s amusement wafted toward Cabot with the scent of sweet musk. “But Fallon mentioned to Gretch that I was visiting Briv, and since I have more knowledge of recent goings-on than most, he used his connections to get me assigned as his counterpart.”

  “You’re too modest,” Gretch chided. “That commendation you got from the PAC pretty much gave you access to anything you want.”

  “Tell my parents that,” she said dryly. “The Briv government is crazy about me right now, but my parents are not. Especially my mother.”

  They made a fine pair. They were both taller than most humans, and even a little taller than most Rescans. Gretch’s black-tinged, dark-green scales contrasted nicely with Brak’s more iridescent ones. Cabot had considered matchmaking between them before, but had always stopped himself because getting involved in such things rarely paid off.

  And now here they were, apparently getting along well.

  Brak turned to Arlen. “I’ve seen you around. It’s good to see you.”

  Arlen looked perplexed by the turn of events, and Omar and Nagali looked downright flummoxed.

  Yeah, they didn’t know what he’d been up to in recent years. They were beginning to get a sense of it, though.

  Arlen gave a small Briveen bow of thanks. “It’s good to see you too.”

  “We can dispense with the ceremonies and rituals,” Brak told her. “Gretch and I are not traditionalists, and doing without them will greatly speed up our progress here.”

  “Really?” Nagali spoke up, sounding aggrieved. “After all the preparation we’ve done, I’m not sure whether to be relieved or annoyed.”

  Brak and Gretch laughed deep growling sounds of amusement.

  Gretch nodded at Nagali. “I understand that. But believe me, by the time we got to the ceremony of accord and had to stare at each other without blinking for a full three minutes, you’d be wishing you’d never set foot on Briv. You’ll still get a chance for some ceremony once your offering has been accepted by the council.”

  “You’re probably right.” Nagali looked at Gretch, a slow, seductive smile unfurling on her lips.

  Cabot gave her a warning look and she reined herself in. The tightness in his chest loosened, thinking perhaps she would behave herself after all.

  He couldn’t resist a little salesman flair as he set the bag on the conference table. “I hope these items will be appreciated. I think we found something quite special.” Rather than reach into the bag, he nodded to Omar.

  Omar removed the scythe from the bag and put it on the table. “It’s a scythe,” he said.

  Gretch touched the handle. Cabot had always wondered what kind of touch sensitivity Briveen had. Did their cybernetic arms and hands feel more than biological ones did, or less, or just differently? He’d never had a close enough relationship with a Briveen to ask such a personal question.

  “What does it do?” Gretch asked.

  “It’s an ancient Briveen farming implement, for harvesting grain.” Arlen looked anxious, perhaps thinking an unfamiliar item would be insufficient.

  But Brak said, “How delightful. They’ll definitely love this. One of our own historic artifacts, returned home. Nicely done.”

  “Ah, but there’s more.” Again, Cabot had a hard time repressing his showmanship. He gestured to the bag. “And it’s even better.”

  He reached into the bag, extracting the box. Then he carefully removed the cat armor and set it on the table.

  Gretch and Brak looked puzzled.

  “It’s armor,” Omar said. “For a cat. You know. Cat armor.”

  Nagali rolled her eyes at him.

  Omar was usually much smoother than this. The circumstances had clearly thrown him off his game.

  “Why would someone need to armor a cat?” Brak asked.

  “They wouldn’t. That’s the point. This is a Zerellian status symbol, from its colonial days. In perfect condition. Very rare.”

  Both Briveen now looked intrigued.

  “Very interesting.” Brak leaned down to peer at it closely. “It’s masterfully made. I think it will be well-received.”

  Cabot tried not to feel smug. He didn’t let that sentiment show, projecting only his pleasant sales persona.

  Which he needed to quit doing. Briveen didn’t need it. They could smell dishonesty or disingenuousness. On the bright side, their own irrepressible scent communication made them remarkably poor liars.

  But then, what was a transaction without a little dishonesty? It felt somewhat like taking a bite of a ripe tango fruit only to find it had no flavor.

  “I’m certain these will be accepted, and negotiations will be officially approved.” Gretch ran a finger over the cat armor.

  “Is there nothing else we can accomplish today?” Cabot asked.

  “Officially, no. Unofficially, absolutely yes. Let’s skip all the posturing and bluster, shall we? Tell us what’s really going on.” Brak sat at the table, indicating that the others should do the same.

  Cabot felt a rush of gratitude that, in all this chaos and uncertainty, the right people had appeared. He felt like he’d been on a trapeze until this point, having let go, and flying through the air with his hands outstretched.

  Now Brak and Gretch were catching him.

  Maybe together, the six of them could actually make this happen.

  ***

  Cabot had to walk a careful line. He could be as transparent with Brak as he could with anyone, given her relationship to Fallon and the depth of her knowledge of current, hidden, events within the PAC. However, Nagali and Omar sat at the table with them, listening to every word. Cabot was certain Fallon would not want them hearing what he was about to say.

  He wished he could send them out to do some task, but he had no reasonable job he could assign them to assist his subterfuge.

  His only option was to be blunt. “The information I’m going to relay is of a sensitive nature, and I’m under orders to reveal it only to specific individuals. As such, I’m required to ask Nagali and Omar to remove themselves.” He looked to Gretch. “Could they be shown to their guest quarters, for a chance to relax? We’ve been working hard, on a tight deadline, and they could use some leisure.”

  His explanation was mostly truth, with a little embellishment. The best and most convincing lies were based in truth.

  Omar appeared to be just fine with the idea. Cabot imagined he’d be perfectly happy to avoid the talking part of this venture. Nagali, on the other hand, looked mildly annoyed, though she tried to cover it.

  She hated being left out of anything.

  “Of course.” Gretch touched a voicecom panel on the table in front of him. “Someone will be here momentarily to show them the way.�
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  Cabot took the opportunity to give them a reminder. “Remember all the things I taught you about interacting with Briveen and follow them to the letter. Others are not as flexible as our friends here.”

  Brother and sister exchanged a long-suffering look, and Cabot pretended not to notice. It didn’t matter whether they objected to his reminder or the content of it, so long as they did as instructed.

  The doors whisked open and, after some dutiful bowing and posturing, the Briveen attendants showed Nagali and Omar out.

  “So, what’s going on?” Brak looked from Cabot to Gretch and back again. “Gretch has convinced me that we can trust him, so you can speak freely. I believe my people deserve to have a representative who understands what’s really in play here.”

  If Fallon trusted Brak, and Brak trusted Gretch, that was good enough for Cabot.

  “Right.” He noticed how skeptical Arlen looked and patted the back of her forearm in reassurance. “I’ll preface by saying that I’m not privy to minute details of the events that have occurred in past months. You, no doubt, have seen a portion of these events unfold in a way that I have not. Just as I’ve seen them from my own perspective. So keep that in mind. I’m not asking to be filled in on what you know. If Fallon wanted me to know, then I already would, and when it comes to BlackOps intelligence, I make it a point to avoid knowing things that might get me in trouble.”

  He smelled sweet musk, mixed with anise. He imagined the musk came from Brak, while the anise indicated Gretch’s worry. He felt a little sorry for Gretch, who was embarking on more than he realized.

  Brak said only, “I understand. Please continue.”

  “The Barony Coalition’s ambition has overflowed. They are aware that the Jamestown disaster was not the controlled exercise in caution the PAC claimed it to be. During the power struggle, a few treaties were violated and they know that. How much they know isn’t clear. But by their actions, they’ve already relinquished their trade membership in the PAC. Fallon believes they’re using the non-PAC worlds that are part of their coalition as a launching pad to escalate matters.”

  “And she believes they’re headed our way,” Gretch surmised. “Which explains why Barony keeps incurring on our space, in spite of our warnings. They’re testing us.”

  “Yes. Briv would be a tactical coup, both for location and technological production. Fallon believes you’re likely to be their first big stop.”

  “What’s the plan?” Brak asked.

  “Simple. You promise to immediately swing your production toward manufacturing as many ships as you can for the PAC. In return, they will offer protection far above and beyond the stipulations of your PAC membership. A constant presence around Briv, and a small ground force as well.”

  “Do you mean we would be required to cancel all current production contracts?” The set of Gretch’s shoulders showed his tension.

  “Yes.” Cabot plunged on. “I know that’s problematic, both because of economic ties and honor. This plan minimizes the economic impact, and isn’t survival more important than honor? Honor can be redeemed, but lost lives cannot.”

  “You’re assuming Barony would go that far,” Gretch argued. “Maybe they won’t, and we’d have damaged our business relationships for no reason.”

  “The Barony Coalition hasn’t sacrificed its trade ties with the PAC for no reason. They must have a very big plan in mind. And think about it—where would they go first? What planet would be the most strategic? They don’t need food—the PAC planets are the ones at the disadvantage there.”

  “Sethanos would be a prime target.” Gretch looked thoughtful. “They have several planets rich in minerals, and a couple of them aren’t even inhabited. Having those mineral resources would be an asset to them in a war situation.”

  “And they could put those minerals right into production here on Briv,” Brak added. “He’s right. We are very attractive, strategically. Regardless of whether we’re their first target or second.”

  Gretch clacked his teeth in agitation. “That’s true. But how am I supposed to present this to the council? They don’t have the insider information that you do. All they have to judge by is some hostile behavior by Barony that hasn’t amounted to anything. The council might not think the situation is dire enough to accept.”

  Cabot smelled anise, but a calm settled over him. He didn’t share Gretch’s worry. “This is a deal that both sides need. The PAC is already committed, so we’re already half done. What’s left is to sell it to your superiors. And selling is what I do best.”

  Gretch looked to Brak as if seeking confirmation. He must have been satisfied, because he pushed back from the table. “Then the first step is for us to present your gifts to the council, who will decide if they are acceptable. If they approve, the negotiations officially begin.”

  Brak stood. “They’re fine gifts, in my opinion, but what do you think the council will say?”

  Gretch tilted his head thoughtfully to the side. “They’re perfectly acceptable gifts if they want to accept. I shouldn’t say that, but it’s true. The only question is whether they wish to hear what our visitors have to say, or attempt negotiations.”

  “Knowing what you do of them, do you believe that to be likely?” Cabot asked.

  “I can’t say. They’ve surprised me before. Probably because they know about internal affairs I am not privy to. And sometimes, our xenophobia gets the best of us, as a people. But I think the proconsuls will like your gifts.”

  “So it’s the proconsuls that are the most important to impress,” Cabot surmised.

  “Yes. The council will generally go along with the proconsuls. Those two are…what do you traders call it, the person you’re targeting…your mark?” Brak looked at him for verification.

  A pair of planetary leaders described as marks? He had to fight back a chuckle, as Brak might take it the wrong way.

  “You could say that,” he agreed. “The good thing is that I think they already know they need the PAC’s assistance. That’s most of the pitch right there. All we have to do is convince them that the price they’re being asked to pay is worth it. Time is our enemy, though. Each day that goes by without a Barony attack makes the next day more likely to be the day they hit the PAC with a blow we might not recover from. Whether that first happens here or on Sethanos or somewhere else entirely.”

  Gretch clacked his teeth. “Hopefully we can get them to approve the gift today, so that we can arrange a meeting for you with the council tomorrow.”

  “Better if it were today,” Cabot said, “but I’ll work with whatever I can get.”

  “We’ll do all we can,” Gretch assured him.

  “Be sure to use that commendation of yours to full advantage,” he advised Brak, wishing he could be there to hear the conversation among the council and proconsuls. He admired how Brak had leveraged the help she’d given the PAC into an official commendation.

  “I will,” she said. “But in spite of my present popularity with my leaders, I have no actual position with the government. I’m only here because my current status as a celebrity is beneficial to them. Gretch is the one with an actual position here.”

  “A commendation from the PAC is as high an honor as it gets,” Gretch pointed out. “You can’t blame the council for using that prestige for their own advantage. I’ve seen them make a big deal over far less.” He turned to Cabot. “While you wait, you and your friends might enjoy the museum we have right here at the station. It has a great many Briveen artifacts and art pieces. I’d be surprised if your scythe didn’t find its way there. I don’t recommend leaving the station without escorts, though. Most people will be perfectly friendly, but every now and then there’s a jerk. If they chose to confront you and it got reported to the council that you’d been involved in a confrontation…”

  “It would reflect badly. I get it. But anywhere on the station is okay?”

  “Yes. We have cameras and security in all common areas. You’ll be
quite safe, and even if someone bothered you, the instigator would be obvious, and that person would suffer a great dishonor.”

  “I see. So the jerks only act like jerks when nobody’s looking.” Cabot probably shouldn’t be amused by that, but jerks were jerks anywhere you went—that didn’t change even on a planet as unique as Briv.

  Brak reached for the scythe, removed it from the bag, and held it against her shoulder.

  “You’re going to carry it like that, out and exposed?” Gretch’s growl of amusement, in turn, amused Cabot.

  Brak chuckled. “I figure if I’m going to carry an ancient farming tool, I might as well look cool doing it.”

  Brak indeed looked fearsome with her height, muscular physique, and such a primitive weapon.

  Cabot looked to Arlen, who smiled. She was beginning to like Brak, he was sure.

  “All right then,” Cabot said. “As unlikely as it might seem, we will do some sightseeing while we wait to save the galaxy.”

  Brak and Gretch led the way to the door.

  “That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?” Gretch asked.

  “Is it?” Cabot lifted an eyebrow.

  “Maybe not.” Gretch’s jaw tightened as if fighting the impulse to clack his teeth in annoyance.

  ***

  Cabot stood next to Nagali as they looked at an ancient Briveen battle helm. Whoever had worn it had seen some hard times, judging by the large dents in it.

  “I like this better than the art,” she said. “Real items used by real people. They have their own stories and mystery.”

  He’d tried several times to move ahead with Omar or Arlen, but somehow Nagali kept ending up next to him. Looking at him with her big, inky eyes and her flirtatious, knowing smiles.

  It was maddening. He was determined not to let it show, though.

  “I agree.” He kept his voice blandly neutral. “Personal items like this certainly make me think about the people who used them, and what may have happened to them.” He moved on to the next display, which held a handmade stone ritual kit. “But look at this. It’s art. Can you imagine making a bowl of out stone, and polishing it to a shine like that? That took great skill.”