Selling Out: A Galactic Empire Space Opera Series (Mercenary Warfare Book 1) Page 3

  “That’s very thoughtful.” He had a sophisticated system in place already, but he didn’t want to deflate her puff of pride. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome!” She looked at her comport. “I’d better get home. Mom will want me to set the table. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  This time, she remembered her proper PAC bow and her purposeful stride to the door.

  He returned the bow in equal measure, making her giggle. As an elder, and a tenant of the station, he didn’t owe the teenager an equal gesture of respect.

  When the door closed behind her, he felt like a tornado had spun through his quarters and back out again. A good tornado, though. Nix’s friendship had become dear to him, and seeing her was a bright spot in his every day.

  “Oh, no,” he sighed. Thinking of Nix and the future she should inherit, he saw danger and uncertainty. He didn’t want her coming of age in a time of war, or to ever see war firsthand. Her people had already experienced too much of it already.

  He had to play his part, however unlikely that part was, to get the PAC past this Barony situation.

  “My life in ruins, all for the love of a beautiful girl.” He laughed at the absurdity. She wasn’t even his kid. But the little devil had wormed her way into his heart, and he knew he’d never forgive himself if she was one of the casualties the PAC counted.

  For the second time, he sat on the couch with a sigh.

  “I’m such an idiot.”

  ***

  Though he already felt the noose of obligation around his neck, Cabot didn’t call Fallon. He wasn’t ready to officially commit himself to her plan just yet. First, he had to think through how he would pull off such a task.

  Rule of Sales Number 5: Don’t leave business to chance. Know your market, and be ready to adapt.

  If he were to undertake the negotiations with the Briveen, he would want a partner. Serious negotiations were always better when done with someone else. A partnership allowed a wider range of strategies, as well as providing an opportunity for multi-layered data gathering. Two heads were better than one, as they said.

  If he were foolish enough to take this job on in the name of the PAC, there were only two people he’d do it with. The first was Fallon, as he had every confidence in her ability to work both above board and within the shadows. Since she was not an option, that left Arlen Stinth.

  He lifted his hand to open a channel to her, but paused. Did he want to involve her? She was irritatingly scrupulous, which rubbed him the wrong way almost as much as it earned his respect. How had she ever made a profit with her distaste for gray areas and unspoken arrangements?

  But she was brilliant at reading people, and she had a tremendous nose for business. She had an uncanny knack for finding goldmine opportunities that no one else knew to look for.

  It was that eye for detail he needed. If he was going to endeavor to work a deal that was more politics than it was business, he wanted her sharpness on his side. In the privacy of his own quarters, he could acknowledge he also wanted her moral compass.

  He opened the channel and waited.

  She answered quickly and there she was, a handsome, young Rescan woman with strong features and an inscrutable expression.

  He recognized the small bit of background behind her: her ship, the Stinth. It wasn’t uncommon for a trader to name a ship after herself, but Arlen herself was far from common.

  “Hi, Cabot. I’m still on schedule. I expect to make it to Dragonfire in seventeen hours. The trip has been entirely uneventful.”

  “Glad to hear it,” he answered. He noted her assumption that he was checking up on her, and decided to examine that fact later. Was he too concerned about her? Did she find him intrusive? Was his interest in her well-being likely to cause him trouble?

  Their friendship was an unlikely one. He, the ruthless older trader, should have belittled and dismissed a young upstart who had far too much regard for rules and regulations for effective business ownership.

  But he liked her very much. She was a scrapper in a way that reminded him of himself a couple decades ago. She had a spark, too, and he’d unintentionally become her mentor.

  The galaxy was funny like that sometimes.

  He gave her his most calculating look, knowing it would put her immediately on her guard. “Do you have another job set up after the one here?”

  “Not yet. Working on it. Why?” She gave him her own calculating look, and he had to admit it was darn good.

  They were like a pair of prizefighters, circling each other and sizing one another up before someone threw the first punch.

  “I have something on the hook. It’s big, and I need backup.”

  “But?” she asked pointedly.

  “But I haven’t decided whether to reel it in or not.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Complications?”

  “A couple of big ones. It’s high-profile and high-risk. High personal risk.”

  The corners of her mouth turned down. “Sounds like a bad deal.”

  At this point in his career, when he was comfortable with both his income and his place in life, he was far more risk averse than she was. But his assessment made her warier than she might have otherwise been, and that was good. He wanted her wary.

  “It has potential to lead to other big things.” If he established himself as an official asset to PAC intelligence, he would likely be pulled into other endeavors. He had acquired goods and services for Fallon in the past, but nothing more. This job would open a new door.

  Change was his biggest objection. Not the risk or the difficulty, but his status. He’d worked hard to get where he was: a pillar of the trading community, respected by official and private entities alike. He had a comfortable, problem-free lifestyle.

  If he became a representative for the PAC—never mind if it was just for a trade negotiation—he’d be selling out. He’d become a government stiff, and problems would start rolling his way because he’d be expected to help solve them.

  He grimaced.

  “A bad kind of big things?” Arlen asked, her expression growing even more doubtful.

  “Possibly. Or possibly good, but just better than I want to be.” He sighed. He was too old for this. He didn’t want to sell out. He wanted to live the life he’d earned, comfortably away from any official PAC channels or duties.

  “Sounds like you should pass on that deal. You could spend that time doing something that’s more of a sure bet.”

  “You’re right,” he agreed.

  She was right. He wasn’t the hero type. He was a trader. He’d have to be out of his mind to do what Fallon wanted.

  But…

  “I think I have to do it, though,” he admitted.

  A sense of resignation swept over him. Nix had unintentionally convinced him that he needed to do it, and he’d wanted Arlen to talk some sense into him. She had, and it still hadn’t worked.

  It was official, then. He was out of his mind.

  3

  Arlen’s arguments after her arrival on Dragonfire didn’t change his mind.

  “Barony won’t accept that you’re just acting as a mercenary. If they find out you brokered a deal between Briv and the PAC, they’ll never see you as a neutral party again. This isn’t just a trade. This is politics, and politics are bad for business.” Arlen sat across from him, tapping a thumb against her knee.

  “I know. And I don’t want to do this. But I can’t not do it.” He couldn’t explain to her about Nix and how he wanted her to grow up with a secure future. Or that he wanted the same thing for Arlen’s future. He had too much pride to admit to such sentimentality.

  So he played the profit card. “Some pretty big doors would open up to me. Imagine the cut I’d get on PAC military trade. I’m already working on a PAC station. Might as well go all in.”

  Arlen’s thumb stopped drumming. She sighed and sank back into the couch cushions, looking up at the ceiling. Then she sat up straight and put her mercenary face on
. “All right. Let’s make a plan.”

  “Like I’m going to cut you in,” he scoffed.

  A small smile tweaked her lips upward. “That’s why I’m here. You need me. You know it. I know it.”

  A reluctant smile stole over his own face. “If I agreed to let you come along…I’d be willing to give you a twenty percent cut of my fee.”

  “Thirty.”

  “A third for tagging along on a job you had no part in getting? I’m being generous with twenty percent.”

  “Except my name will be as black as yours as far as Barony is concerned. I’ll never do business with them again.”

  He smirked at her. “You’re too moral to work with them anyway. I’d wager you haven’t given them so much as a sack of tango seed since their power grab became apparent.”

  She had a good poker face, but he knew her; she was struggling not to smile.

  “Twenty-five percent. Final offer.” He narrowed his eyes at her.

  She gave up her struggle and grinned. “You’ve got yourself a copilot.”

  ***

  Cabot needed supplies and a ship. He didn’t own a vessel because it wasn’t profitable to do his own cargo runs. He outsourced that kind of thing to colleagues like Arlen. Her ship would be serviceable for the job, but he’d put the matter of transportation in Fallon’s lap.

  He and Arlen joined her the next morning in the office used by Avian Unit and their colleagues.

  Access to Deck Four had always been restricted, but it was even more locked down now. Dragonfire now had an admiral sometimes in residence, liaising between the station and the rest of PAC command at Jamestown. It was a big deal to have an admiral there even part-time, especially when Dragonfire’s intelligence division consisted only of Fallon’s team of four plus two other members of Blackout. As far as public records went, Admiral Krazinski was the senior officer in charge of PAC intelligence. On the internal, more highly classified side of that department, he also headed up Blackout.

  Not that Cabot knew anything about Blackout or its presence on Dragonfire. Nope, that kind of thing was way above Cabot’s pay grade, even now, and he continued to be entirely clueless about it.

  He also didn’t know that Captain Nevitt had begun working with them. Nor did he suspect that Arin was also an asset to Blackout. Information like that was far beyond a simple shopkeep like him.

  He liked Fallon’s teammates, though. Peregrine was as clever as she was tough, Hawk was as much of a teddy bear as he was a tank, and Raptor… Well, Raptor was charismatic, unmatched in his hacking skill, and hopelessly in love with Fallon.

  Yet another thing Cabot knew nothing about. Dragonfire sure had a lot of things going on these days that he remained utterly ignorant of.

  Cabot and Arlen submitted to a DNA scan to gain access to the lift that exclusively served Deck Four. Once the doors closed, they each entered a temporary code to match their biosign.

  “This is some serious security,” Arlen said, giving the interior of the lift a good once-over.

  Cabot had been through this procedure only twice before. Fortunately, Fallon rarely had a reason to want to speak to him under such strict conditions.

  The woman herself stood in front of the lift when the doors opened, and she escorted them to the meeting room. As they walked through the corridor, Cabot glanced at Arlen to see how she was handling the overbearing sense of procedure.

  She appeared calm and self-assured. Good.

  Many traders he knew would be nervous under these circumstances. But then, many had reason to fear interrogation and imprisonment.

  Arlen did not.

  Cabot would hardly have presented PAC intelligence with a criminal as his partner.

  Fallon gestured them into a meeting room, then followed. The doors swished closed behind her with an odd sense of finality.

  Like it was sealing his doom.

  Cabot was surprised to see Captain Nevitt awaiting them. She gave them both a slight bow from the shoulders, which was a compliment from the captain of the station to give to two traders.

  Cabot had gotten to know the captain better over the past few months. Almost eight years now he’d been on Dragonfire Station, and Nevitt had been the captain for nearly four of them. Until only recently, she’d held herself away from the crew, staunchly devoted to her job and her ambition. As a result, he barely knew her.

  “Good to see you, Cabot. Arlen. I’m pleased you two have agreed to take on this mission. I don’t envy the work you have ahead of you. Better you than me.” Her posture remained relaxed and regal, but a smirk hinted at humor.

  He liked this version of the captain much better, and hoped he’d one day get a chance to know her better.

  “We all serve the alliance in our own ways,” he answered smoothly, with a touch of amusement. “So I’ll get right to the point. We’re ready to put this together, but need direction regarding ship and supplies. Plus funds.”

  “Funds for the mission, or your fee for undertaking the mission?” Rather than sit at the table, Fallon leaned one hip against it, her arms crossed.

  “Both,” Arlen answered.

  Apparently, she wasn’t content to let him do all the talking. He didn’t mind, but it was something to note. He’d never partnered with Arlen in this way for a business venture. It might prove interesting.

  “Fair enough.” Fallon brushed back a lock of hair that had slipped forward. One side of her hair was cropped short, but the other side was chin-length and had a few blue streaks in it. The asymmetric, edgy look suited her. Compared to Arlen, she was skinny and fragile-looking, though he knew her to be as tough as they came. He’d done some research on her genetic and cultural lineage, which was particular to Earth. He’d found that her body type was typical for one of Japanese descent.

  Rule of Sales Number 6: Know your customer. A little research goes a long way.

  “Let’s talk about your fee first.” Fallon shifted to half-sit on the table. “Rather than a flat fee for the entirety, you’ll split a bounty of fifty thousand cubics upon successful completion of the negotiation, plus a half-percent commission on all trade that results from it.”

  Cabot wasn’t sure what to focus on—the fact that Fallon was deliberately adopting such a casual posture, or the massive windfall she was offering. Both were notable and worth further reflection. But then, keeping him off-balance might be her plan.

  Arlen opened her mouth, and Cabot knew she was about to argue. A good trader never takes the first offer. But the offer was already tremendous, and Cabot didn’t want to be predictable.

  Cabot put his hand on Arlen’s arm. “Accepted,” he agreed.

  Arlen speared him with an intense look, but remained silent.

  “And our ship?” he asked.

  Fallon looked briefly at Nevitt, and something passed between them. Cabot would have given teeth to know what it was. But Fallon’s attention returned to him and Arlen.

  “Although the Stinth is a fine cargo vessel, and I’ve seen firsthand that it can hold its own in battle, it isn’t as fast as the Outlaw. Since speed is a critical factor, I’m going to loan you my ship. It has standard parts, so you can burn hard from point to point, and I’ll have mechanics waiting for you, ready to break records in replacing your burned-out fuel coils and realigning the crystal-matrix converter.”

  Cabot felt his eyebrows raising. He pulled them back down and fixed his face, hoping the others hadn’t noticed. It was just such an unusual offer. Fallon was a phenomenal pilot, and as attached to her ship as a mother was to a child. But she was going to loan her ship to them and arrange constant repair so they could abuse it.

  The rental cost of such a ship would be huge.

  “And your fee for that?” Arlen asked.

  “No fee.” Fallon looked straight at Arlen, unblinking. “This mission isn’t about money. It’s about shortening a war we all know is coming, and saving as many lives as we can.”

  Cabot sighed inwardly. Grudgingly, he had to admi
t he’d just been outmaneuvered. By an officer.

  It was embarrassing.

  Fallon had just shut negotiations down, and she knew it. What’s more, Cabot and Arlen both knew they were now in her debt for the loan of her ship. An interstellar starship was a precious possession, and the Outlaw was dear to Fallon. Since she wasn’t charging for its use, a personal debt was implied. The kind that gave her the right to call in a future favor.

  Deeper and deeper, into the abyss. But he wasn’t the type to just knuckle under.

  “We’ll need an expense account. There are supplies we’ll need.” He said it as if it were entirely normal for the PAC to give a trader such a thing.

  “What supplies?” Fallon’s bottom lip pulled down a fraction of a millimeter.

  Cabot smiled, but only on the inside. Outwardly, he maintained his pleasant, courteous demeanor. “Are you sure you want to know, Chief? Once you know, you can’t un-know, and we have an important mission to complete, don’t we?” He smiled benignly. To do business with the Briveen, there were things he’d need, and he might have to go to unsavory places to acquire those items.

  The lip pulled down further, then Fallon pushed away from the table, standing. “Fine. But the expense account will be capped. The PAC is looking down the barrel of hard times. Now isn’t the time for excess.”

  An ugly truth he didn’t like but couldn’t deny. He needed the PAC. Without it, life would get very uncivilized, very fast. People like him who possessed valuable things would quickly be relieved of them.

  There was a reason he lived within the PAC zone. Life outside of it tended to be fast and brutal.

  “Of course,” he agreed.

  Throughout the meeting, he’d surreptitiously watched the captain. He was unsure about her role in the PAC these days. Being a captain was no small thing by itself, but she had an obvious alliance with Fallon and Avian Unit. Therefore, she likely had a relationship with Blackout. He could only wonder what that might entail.

  He was living through a difficult time to be a member of this galaxy, and a dangerous time to know things he shouldn’t.