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

The man behind the counter straightened, having bent at the waist to reach into the back and extract two sticks with brown meat skewered onto them. Brak used the proferred infoboard to transfer the cubics.

  “Thank you.” She bowed, but did nothing more.

  The mandren meat seller returned the bow, and that was it.

  They exited the store, each now holding a stick of jerky. It had a thick orange sauce on it that made Cabot even more wary.

  “I somehow thought transactions like that would be far more difficult here. Greeting Briveen on Dragonfire requires a great deal more effort than what you just did.”

  She chuckled and continued on their previous path, walking down the avenue. He fell into step beside her.

  “We’re held to a higher standard elsewhere. We always err on the side of formality, because honor is important. If someone were to streamline with someone when we should have been formal and that person took offense, word could get back to someone who would care, and it could cause embarrassment. Embarrassment is not suffered well among my people. But when we’ve met someone before, and we’ve both agreed to minimalize rituals, we can informally streamline. Now, if the proconsul had been in the store, we’d have all performed every full ritual, beginning to end, no exceptions.”

  “So, do most people streamline, as you call it?”

  “It’s hard to say, since you only do it with people you’re familiar with. So I don’t know how others act when I’m not around. But in my experience, people of my generation tend to prefer the quick versions. People of my parents’ generation are about half and half. Some more relaxed, and some more formal. My mother, as an example, is relentlessly formal.”

  “That must be hard,” he said carefully.

  “It’s a lot more than that. She’s as old-fashioned as it gets. If she hadn’t been that way, I might not have been forced to leave home for all these years.”

  “This is your first time back? How long were you gone?”

  She was quiet for a long moment before answering. “Since my eighteenth birthday.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. I missed being here. Even missed my mother, though when I left, I was sure I never would. But home is home. And your parents are your parents. She isn’t a bad person, she’s just…very traditional.”

  “So that commendation was your shot at redemption. What does she think of it?”

  “It got me in the door, but only because everyone else is impressed enough to ignore my running away. What other people think matters a great deal to her.”

  It was hardly a Briveen-exclusive trait. Cabot had known many people who put great stock in the opinions of others. He had never much liked that sort, but he didn’t say as much to Brak.

  “When she sees how much people respect your work, and how well you served the PAC, she could become more accepting.”

  “Maybe.”

  Their conversation lulled, and he could no longer forestall the meat stick in his hand. Brak took a bite, chewed, and nodded to him. “Go ahead.”

  He gathered his nerve, and his guts, and lifted the stick to his mouth. With the feeling one might have when being launched out of an airlock, he bit and chewed.

  Smoked, spiced meat and a thick, sweet sauce flooded his taste buds. The flavor was somewhat like barbeque but without the acidity.

  “It’s good.” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.

  Brak laughed. “Next time, just trust me. Mandren jerky is very different than mandren steak. The cooking process takes out all the gaminess.”

  Amazingly, he took another bite, and then another. Soon, he held only a stick.

  “Next time, I’ll trust you,” he promised as she tossed them into a recycling chute discreetly located on the side of a building. He hadn’t noticed it there until she opened it.

  “Is any of this helping you at all?” she asked as they continued to stroll.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t been struck by a sudden epiphany thus far, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t found what I need. I might just need a little time to make the connection.”

  “So this ‘nose for business’ is a particular kind of intuition?”

  “Yes, that’s it exactly. Intuition, based on experience and the rules of business.”

  “There are rules?” She tilted her head curiously.

  “Not officially. They’re my rules. Rules I’ve developed over time.”

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “Like Rule of Sales Number Eleven: Share what you know if it might get you what you need, but keep some secrets for yourself.”

  “I’m trying to decide if that’s actually a rule, or if you just said that to pacify me.”

  “Why can’t it be both?”

  She chuckled. “I can see why Fallon likes you.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. And I could say the same about you,” he added.

  “Then I’ll take it as a compliment as well.”

  They walked in silence for several more minutes, giving him an opportunity to surreptitiously watch the people he was pretending not to notice.

  “What else can I show you?” she asked. “I’m not sure how to help. And I don’t want to take you somewhere that we’d have to observe all the proper rites. I get enough of that as it is.”

  “Do other people feel that way, do you think? That they are so reluctant to perform the formalities that they just avoid going places?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Doesn’t everyone? I mean, haven’t you ever wanted to go down to the boardwalk to get something, but didn’t want to have to put on proper clothes and comb your hair?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “It’s the same thing. Cultural expectations can be more than you want to deal with. Everyone works around it as best they can.”

  “Now that is a fascinating observation. And astute.” He would have to give that some serious thought. “What else might I be surprised to know about Briveen?”

  “We like to make dark jokes, often involving killing others in graphic and imaginative ways. I’ve found out firsthand that other species can find this disturbing. I have to be careful about that.”

  “I did know that,” he said. “I do some trade with Honorable Hrekk of the house Grikkod, and he likes to try to surprise me with his jokes.”

  She made a click of sympathy. “Last of his line. It’s sad.”

  “Does that have to do with genetics?”

  “Yes. It doesn’t happen often, but some of those recessive traits are hard to shake. Even a genetically healthy woman may be unable to have children. Or she might only have one clutch. Or have multiple clutches that never hatch. That’s why it’s important that all healthy females do have children.”

  Cabot tried to imagine that. “That’s got to be a lot of pressure. Being forced to choose whether to have children for the future of your people, or to follow your own dreams.”

  “Yes. I used to wish I’d been born defective so I could become a scientist and stay here on Briv. But I’m ‘lucky’ enough to have been born to the most reproductively successful house on the planet. Almost all of us are genetically healthy. Plus, we tend to have large clutches with few bad eggs.”

  She said it all nonchalantly, but it made Cabot sad. There was something tragic about the Briveen arranging their entire society toward the goal of not dying out.

  “Have advances in science helped with that?”

  “Yes. More and more. Hopefully, one day, it will stop being an issue entirely. But for now, it’s still difficult for creatures of our complexity to reproduce via eggs. Without our scientific acumen, we’d have died out long ago.”

  They fell silent. Apparently, talking about an entire species’ difficulties in sustaining itself and the ways it affected its members was a conversation killer.

  Brak lifted a contrite shoulder. “I’ve depressed you. I’m sorry.”

  “No, there’s nothing to be sorry for. There’s a reason this isn’t something that peop
le normally talk about, but I was the one asking questions.”

  “I think I know something you’d enjoy. Let’s go this way.” She turned into an alley, and he followed.

  “What is it?”

  “You’ll see.”

  He wasn’t sure he was up for more Briveen surprises. The mandren jerky had worked well, though, so he tried to keep an open mind.

  She turned into a doorway with pinwheels above spinning gently in the breeze.

  He followed, looking around with interest. He saw nothing particularly remarkable, but Brak must have brought him here for a good reason.

  She plucked a metal box off a table and offered it to him. “Ever see one of these?”

  He’d seen a great deal over the years. But inside the box was an unfamiliar device. “Some sort of grooming tool?”

  “Yes. It’s for Briveen youth who still have their biological arms. It’s for filing down talons. They tend to get sharp and start catching on everything. Not to mention poking holes.”

  She flipped the tool open and pantomimed using it.

  “Fascinating. So this is a personal care store?”

  She set the box back on the table. “In a way. It’s a courtesy shop. As you may know, we have a lot of occasions where we give others little token gifts. You can imagine so many compulsory gifts would pile up and become a hassle. To solve that problem, we buy items like these, that we call courtesies. They’re useful items that most everyone needs.”

  “Very sensible.”

  “We’re a sensible people, in general. More than most people realize.” She picked up a small item with a handle attached to a flat surface. “This is a scale exfoliator. It’s embarrassing to shed a scale in public, so we use this each day to ensure any loose scales are removed.” She ran it over her arm, just above her skin, to show how it would be used.

  “Also interesting. I’ve never seen these.”

  “Of course not. They’re too personal to buy from non-Briveen, so we only get them on Briv, and do not ship them as trade goods.”

  He leaned in close, hoping to avoid being overheard by the store clerk, who stood behind a counter, frowning at an infoboard. “It’s okay for me to be here? As an offworlder?”

  “Of course. Offworlders have even more occasion to give courtesy gifts. Besides, Prahk there is a friend of mine.”

  “So he’s not refraining from noticing us to avoid a greeting ritual?”

  She chuckled. “No. He’s just a workaholic. Come meet him.”

  They approached the sales counter and she said, “Prahk, this is my friend Cabot.”

  Cabot watched her body language carefully. He saw the posture of a greeting, but only an abbreviated gesture of hello. A very minimal greeting. He followed her lead, reproducing her posture and hand movement.

  “I see you’ve taught him well.” Prahk sounded amused, but pleased.

  “I haven’t taught him much. He knows a great deal about formalities. I thought he’d enjoy seeing a courtesy shop.”

  Prahk gave a small nod. “Take your time, and let me know if I can help with anything. Any friend of Brak’s is a friend of mine. She upgraded my arms, you know. I feel like a teenager.” He flexed at the elbows, showing off his cybernetics.

  “Wonderful.” Cabot meant that sincerely. Sometimes he forgot that Brak was the premiere cyberneticist in the PAC. Somehow, he’d collected friends in high places.

  He liked how welcoming the man seemed. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care that Cabot was Rescan. It was nice not to immediately be treated like a ripper.

  He reached for a bottle of what looked like white lotion. He gave it a sniff. “Hm. No fragrance.”

  “No.” Brak trailed a hand over the counter. “With our sense of smell, adding fragrance is not at all appealing. That’s a de-scenting cream, actually. It helps absorb some of our natural body smell. We put it on after a shower.”

  “So it’s like deodorant?”

  “Pretty much. But we use it head to toe.”

  “Wow. I bet this is a popular courtesy gift, then. You must go through a lot of it.”

  “Yes. It’s not hard to make, but it takes time. Easier to buy it if you live on Briv.”

  He put the cream back. By his estimation, she’d been away from home for fifteen years or more. That meant she’d made a great deal of de-scenting cream for herself. Or maybe she hadn’t bothered without other Briveen to worry about. He would not ask her such a personal question.

  He was curious about something else, though. “Are you thinking of staying here? There’s plenty of work for you on a planet where every adult needs a cybernetics doctor.”

  She examined another scale exfoliator, a little more closely than it warranted. “I can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind. But even if my current popularity with the council is more than temporary, I’d face pressure to have children as soon as possible. And I’m not ready to leave the Onari, my work, or my friends. Especially not now.”

  “So you’re going back soon?”

  “I was planning to get a ride with you, since you’ll be headed right where I need to go. I’d pay for my boarding, of course.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not a passenger ship.”

  “So I can’t come with you?”

  “Of course you can,” he answered. “But I don’t intend to take your money. I know how underpaid you are, doing pro bono work on the Onari.”

  “I get paid enough. I don’t need much.”

  He tried another strategy. “It’s not my ship, my fuel, or my mission. It’s Fallon’s, and I’m sure she wants you back.”

  “Very well, then. I accept your terms.”

  He wondered how Nagali would get along with Brak. Looking at his comport, he reluctantly decided his tour of Briv should come to an end. It was regrettable, but he needed some time to tease out the idea that continued to tickle his nose.

  “Time to head back?” Brak asked.

  “Yes. I’d love to see more, but I’m here on a job, and I have work to do.”

  “Of course.”

  He took care to appreciate everything he saw on the walk back. She’d led them in something of a circle, so the return to the station wasn’t long. Again, the pragmatism of the Briveen stood out. They were a practical, intelligent people, and the more he learned about them, the more he liked them.

  But how to use all that to figure out how to achieve an accord between them and the PAC?

  He’d enjoyed the tour, but was no closer to an answer.

  8

  Night fell quickly. It seemed that one moment, it was bright and sunny, and the next, Briveen was bathed in moonlight. Cabot’s distraction had caused him to miss the transition.

  As soon as Brak left after walking him back to his quarters, the others had descended upon him. They’d had no word from the council, and hoped he had. He declined their dinner invitation and closed himself in his quarters again.

  He had to figure out this puzzle. He’d hoped the answer would come to him while gazing at Briv, but it hadn’t.

  His abandoned glass of brandy sat on the table. Sighing, he returned to the chair and swirled the liquid again.

  He closed his eyes and let his thoughts wander over the day’s events. The realities of Briv versus his expectations. He’d been largely accurate, though there had been surprises. There was nothing like firsthand experience. The museum had been interesting in its choices of subject matter and arrangement. The style of the transit station had begun the spark of an idea that hadn’t quite come to fruition.

  Brak’s ideas about progressiveness, tradition, and necessity made him see her people in a new light. With more sympathy, if he was honest. More understanding. Maybe that was the key element, the thing he hadn’t been able to connect. Showing them understanding.

  Pragmatism, too. They were a highly sensible people.

  Understanding and pragmatism. What else? Those were two points on a line, but he needed a third point to create something bigger,
something rounder.

  The bolt of realization hit him, straight down the back of his neck, through his spine, and into his stomach.

  Survival. Family was key.

  The PAC’s offer to the Briv needed to be more than protection of their species right now. The PAC needed to ensure their long-term survival. To assist the Briveen in solving their reproductive issues, so they could evolve as a society, rather than cling to ways that people observed when they must but ignored any other time.

  The solution would be pragmatic, and Cabot could sell it as such. Yes. He could. He’d sell it in a way that the Briveen could wholeheartedly agree with.

  He downed the brandy and smiled.

  ***

  At noon the next day, Cabot felt more alive than he ever had. He was about to put together the biggest deal of his entire career.

  He had to play it cool, though.

  His group of four made their way to the somber room reserved for diplomacy. Wearing their cloaks, they carefully observed the Briveen customs.

  The rituals were long. He hoped Nagali, Omar, and Arlen felt somewhat mollified by the necessity. They’d seemed peeved earlier when they hadn’t needed the skills they’d worked so hard to learn. They would all use them to great advantage in the future—few traders had the necessary knowledge to deal with the Briveen, which made the skill highly valuable.

  He’d contacted Fallon the night before and gotten a response that morning. Everything was in place. He just had to make the sale.

  Rule of Sales Number Twelve: Never let an opportunity slip away.

  Gretch made the introductions, and Cabot greeted each of the eight council members, with particular respect paid to the two proconsuls.

  Showtime.

  As the speaker, Cabot stood while the others sat. It provided him with a stage, and he, undoubtedly, was a performer. He dug deep to deliver the best performance of his life.

  “Honorable representatives of the Briveen, now that all the rituals have been performed, I would like to express to you my sincere admiration. Not as a polite necessity, but in genuine wonder at the beauty I’ve found here.” He paced as he spoke, behind his colleagues, who sat at one long table. Across the room, the Briveen faced them from behind an identical table. Then he walked into the space between them. He was truly center stage now.