Trade Wars (The RIM Confederacy Book Book 9)

by Jim Rudnick

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  The RIM Confederacy

  A Message to you from the Author

  Prologue

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  Epilogue

  next Book Prologue

  Reviews

  BOOK NINE OF THE

  RIM CONFEDERACY

  Trade Wars

  by Jim Rudnick

  This is purely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book may not be re-sold or given away without permission in writing from the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, or distributed in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means past, present or future.

  Cover art by Michal Matczak

  ISBN-13: 978-1-988144-16-0

  Copyright © 2016

  Jim Rudnick

  All rights reserved.

  For my Susan…

  The RIM Confederacy: Trade Wars

  "Infighting among the top two trader planets means more than higher prices and tariff surcharges for the planets on the RIM. In fact, the two are so much at war over those tariffs that they give ultimatums to the Confederacy Council that either they intervene, or they leave the RIM.

  Led by the Baroness who really has another goal in mind, the Barony offers up it’s own instant FTL drive to all RIM only member and that means that the trader planets have a choice to make. Serve the RIM Confederacy or themselves; a choice that is further made difficult as the ancient relics found on a newly discovered alien ship wreck on Ghayth mean a change is coming to the RIM—and to the rest of the galaxy too!”

  A Message to you from the Author…

  I just wanted to say thanks so so much for reading Book Nine of the RIM Confederacy!

  As my Amazon bio says, being a youngster in the 1950's meant that I was a voracious reader in what has been called the Golden Age of Science Fiction. That meant that for me, my heroes were not on the hockey rink or gridiron - but instead in my local Library where at 12 I had a full Adult card (thanks Dad!) and took out more than 5 books a week.

  Everyone from Heinlein, Norton, Leiber, Pohl, Anderson, Simak, Asimov, Brackett, Gunn, Van Vogt and more....I fell in love with and eventually owned Ace Doubles of my own. And while I never knew who wrote the Tom Corbett - Space Cadet series, I fell in love with them and they had a place of honor on my own bookcase too!

  With that kind of an introduction to Science Fiction, it's no wonder that when I got my writing work done, I turned my own fictional side of my brain to writing same. It's one thing I know how to write - and a totally different matter to release same to the world - something that I've just started to work on....

  Suffice it to say my own works are rooted in that Golden Age and it's that era that I'd like to one day be known as a teensy contributor to in some small way...

  So once again, thanks for beginning my RIM Confederacy series and wait'll you learn about the alcoholic spaceship captain that is my hero, who fights and beats aliens but not the bottle!

  Enjoy and remember, in a series, characters develop and mature not the way we sometimes want…instead, it's like they have a life of their own!

  And while you can read the series in any order, I'd highly recommend to start with Pirates, then Sleeper Ship, Prison Planet, Ancient Relics, Hospital Ship, Desert Planet, Ruined Memories, Eons Semester and Trade Wars too…and yes, there's more coming soon too!

  Prologue ~

  Jinni wailed and as the Assistant-Assistant Port Keeper looked over toward her cage, he could see her back sail standing straight up.

  Leudies again, he thought as he tried not to give in to the frustration felt every time they landed.

  Out on the Merilda Landing Port tarmac, he could see the faint glow growing on Pad Twenty-three. They’d made good time coming down from orbit once they’d gotten the automatic okay and landing pad assignment, but then Leudies always made good time, which was another reason they’re good traders. Now that gold glow was turning a deeper red, and the growing sound of their thrusters could be heard in the atmosphere—at least they hadn’t come down on anti-matter pulses. They’d been known to lift off on same and had paid dear penalties the next time they landed, though Wiggins admitted that had been almost one sol year ago. He knew they sure didn’t like paying any landing penalties, and he gathered up the forms they’d have to fill in on their landing here on Merilda. We’re not the most advanced port, but we do our tasks honestly, he thought and felt this was true.

  Out on the tarmac, the scooter was taking out Customs, Duties, and Health to check their cargo manifests, and behind them, an empty transport with off-loaders chugged out to offload that cargo if it was allowed in.

  Hmmmph, Wiggins thought, Leudies always got their cargo in and made good credits deal after deal.

  After all, as a trading race, these aliens worked at making deals all across the RIM from UrPoPo almost eighty light years distant to Eran. They traded for one thing on one planet, moved to where it was badly needed, drew a hard bargain with the needy, and made credits on both ends. Sometimes, Wiggins thought as he smiled, they didn’t do so well, but even though they were not well liked, they usually made a profit no matter at whose expense.

  The Crux Epidermis plague of two years ago had come from inward and had threatened to eat away the skin of every RIM Confederacy citizen it found. The Leudies had moved the latest serum from more than three hundred light years inward at quite a cost to themselves for both energy and lost time and had been able to get the serum to all who’d needed it on time at a fair profit. Then they’d made a much bigger profit on what had happened next.

  All the people, no matter the species, who had used the serum broke down shortly afterward with a full depression, induced it was said due to blood—or what passed for blood—chemistry changes via that serum. So the Leudies had also bought the rights for the anti-serum to get rid of the depression from the original cure. They made a fortune on that—far more than on the original serum—and of course, they’d never told anyone about the depression side effects either.

  Leudies were not liked much nor respected much, Wiggins thought as he heard the sound of their boots climbing the three stairs to the Port Keeper’s office. Glancing at Jinni, he could see she had wrapped herself up in a ball after trying to dig under her nest in the corner of the cage. Something about Leudies made her react this way every time one came into the Port Keeper’s offices, and he wondered maybe if he should look that up later in Gallipedia. He put on a bland smile, squared around his simple uniform shirt, and faced the door, paperwork in hand.

  “Right, we’re here and we’re not paying these exorbitant fees,” the first Leudie through the door stated loudly, as his cloak brushed the doorsill and he moved in toward the counter.

  Wiggins could tell by the forest green of that cloak that this was the captain. He was tall for a Leudie, almost two meters, and built as solid as they all were. On his head rode the captain’s toque that was usual attire for a trader, the captain’s double gold bars polished and bright. On his legs were what could only be called some kind of leggings, thin flesh-hugging green pants like they all wore, and on his chest beneath the green c
loak, Wiggins could see the brass-colored shirt. While Leudies were humanoids, they were a colorful bunch, he thought.

  “Never,” said his first mate, who followed his captain in tandem. He also wore the Leudie green cloak but in a lighter shade than the captain’s darker color. He grabbed the paperwork out of Wiggin’s hands and began to jot down the data needed, a sneer on his lips.

  “What’s more,” the captain now almost shouted, “we are always appalled at the backwardness of this planet and its outdated and antiquated port landing systems. If Merilda wasn’t a hub for mining equipment trading, we would have gone right through to Duos,” he added.

  “Right!” the first mate chimed in, still scrabbling answers to the declaration papers.

  “Imagine,” the captain said, “we have to fill out a paper form here just to let a squad of your longshoremen unload our cargo—by hand!” The captain took off his gloves to reveal soft and supple hands that had rings on almost every finger.

  Wiggins cleared his throat before the first mate could chime in. “Understood, Captain. Your comments—such as they are—will be relayed to the RIM Confederacy Council when they meet next. ‘Til then, I’m afraid that you must, yes, fill in these forms by hand. May I see the Customs, Duties, and Health receipts, please?” Wiggins held out his hand, awaiting the paperwork from Customs, Duties, and Health that would certify the cargo and indicate any and all duties or taxes or even quarantines that would have to be paid or followed.

  The Leudie captain glared at Wiggins, his hand stroking at his neck. “And who exactly might you be? Some junior clerk whose only real job here is to feed your ugly balled-up Carnelian Lizard?” he said as he snorted and petted the coiled rope of muscle that surrounded his neck. Wiggins thought the coil twitched for a moment, but he knew a Leudie neck snake would never uncoil unless it was hungry or wanted affection. Each Leudie had one of these pets given to them at puberty, and the two of them formed a pair bond that was unbreakable, it was said, and wrapped around its owner’s neck was how the creature spent its life.

  “I am the Assistant-Assistant Port Keeper, Captain,” Wiggins replied.

  “Ah, yes! You’re the little clerk who seemed to think that we were exporting food items and wanted us to pay taxes on those passengers!” The captain smiled down at Wiggins and pointed a multi-ringed finger directly into his face.

  “But when we appealed, your boss and even RIM Customs agreed with us, didn’t they little Assistant-Assistant Port Keeper! They knew what we were doing was well within the legal limits—too bad that was beyond you. Could have saved you much embarrassment, eh?” the captain gloated, his voice now soft and cloying as he shook his finger in Wiggins’ face.

  Wiggins shuffled the papers before him, riding tight rein on his embarrassment. I mean, after all, he thought, if you buy seafood, even live seafood from a fish distributor here on Juno, and then try to weasel out of paying your fair share of taxes by using the excuse that you were just transporting passengers to DenKoss, a water world only sixteen light years away, anybody should have seen through that. The buyers on DenKoss had sworn they were just trying to liberate some of their like species, which didn’t hold water at all, yet the Leudies had been able to force through their exemption, and the fees that Wiggins had originally charged were negated. Score one for the Leudies.

  “That’s right—you were the Assistant-Assistant who tried to penalize us for that little stopover to pick up passengers here. That was most unfair, and as you most likely heard, we had nothing at all to do with the fact that once situated in their new home all of the passengers became food stuffs for the local population of DenKoss royalty. We didn’t know that, of course, so we’re not to blame, right little clerk?” The captain leaned down on the counter; his face was now a light gray in color, which for a blue-skinned Leudie meant he found something funny. He stomped his foot, the boot heel smacking the wooden floor with a loud bang.

  “Well, little clerk, what do you have to say about that mistake in judgment?” he said, as he roared.

  “Actually, Captain, you know yourself that while you can touch down on any of the planets out here on the RIM, if you offload or on-load anything, you may be taxed on those items. And I was only following our laws here when I taxed you on the on-loaded seafood that you took to DenKoss. And as it sounds, I was right, wasn’t I?” Wiggins looked up directly at the Leudi, whose finger still speared at his face, his laughter subsiding.

  “Not in the slightest, little clerk. We move things around; we don’t care what they are as long as there is a profit attached. It’s bureaucrats like you who do the worrying. And on this trip, we’re again looking to add to our cargo, so no more mistakes, Clerk!” He smiled down at Wiggins again and gathered up his gloves as his first mate slid the paperwork over and in front of Wiggins and then tugged at the hem of his captain’s cloak.

  “Let’s go, Captain. This one’s too unimportant to even gloat over ...” He had finished up forms and then opened the door to leave the office.

  “Far too unimportant—most likely, as I figured, he’s just the lizard’s caregiver ... and as ugly as his charge as well,” the captain said as he stroked his neck snake and twirled the cloak around him as he tromped down the stairs and back out onto the tarmac while Wiggins fumed.

  He fussed with their paperwork and thought while he was over there at Customs he’d take a moment to look up Carnelian Lizards and why they reacted so badly to Leudies as he closed the folder. Wait ‘til they find out about the new charges for mining equipment and the Faraway subsidies …

  CHAPTER ONE

  As he strode through the administration building at the naval base on Neres, he recognized that he was getting many more stares. From corporals all the way up through the non-comm ranks and the occasional lieutenant too stopped cold when he walked by. Each looked again at those silver stars in his collar and then snapped to attention.

  As usual, he grinned, threw back a quick salute and an “As you were,” and continued to walk to the naval base commander’s offices. He stopped at the door, gathered his breath, and then walked right in.

  There were three more non-comms there, one typing on his console while the other two were engaged in an argument. He walked over to the one who was working, and before he could even ask a thing, he was interrupted by one of the arguing pair.

  “Please don’t interrupt Jesse—that report is like an hour late already and the base commander is like … Sir? Sorry, Sir.” The sergeant snapped to attention and called out “Admiral in the house,” which stopped the typing as all three of them now were at full attention.

  He sighed. This was probably going to happen at every single Barony base and ship and with contacts no matter where he went, so he knew he’d better get used to it.

  “Nice to see that someone here looks to see who they’re interrupting. At ease, you three—Admiral Scott here to see Base Commander Fuelling … ASAP too!”

  They about fell over each other getting him settled on the couch near the door, as the commander was out for a moment, and he turned down three offers of coffee or tea or whatever the admiral wanted. He nodded and noted that Jesse, a sergeant too, was already back typing, and the other two were at their own desks looking very busy.

  This too I will probably see a lot of. ‘Tuk they learn to identify me on sight, it’d be biz as usual and then they’d look busy.

  He shook his head. He had really wanted this rank—and so far had a lot to learn, but that was an experience he’d not had to handle so far, he thought as he looked around the office. The commander had some military art on one wall—digital photos of most of the different kinds of ships found here on the RIM. Sphere ships from Alex’n, the curved ones from Tillion, and the normal frigates and destroyers of Seenra builds too. No Atlas, he noted, and made a note on his PDA to provide one for the wall.

  Looking out the window, he could now see the commander striding along the walkway on his way in. And moments later, the base commander came into the off
ices and went right over to him.

  “Sir—congratulations on the rank, Admiral. Knew you’d be the first to hold same here in the Barony.” He snapped a salute and grinned.

  Tanner had met the commander a few times before—Alver, his marine friend, had made the introductions a couple of years back.

  He smiled at the commander, saluted back, and then followed the commander through a doorway and was seated in front of the commander’s pretty messy desk. As the commander sat, Tanner could see behind him even more of the same kind of digital works of art of more ships. Some he’d never seen before; one looked like a floating horseshoe, another like an electric fan on its side, and a couple that appeared to be only half-complete.

  He nodded to the commander, but before he could say a thing, the commander spoke first.

  “Sir, can I ask—what is it that the admiral wants? Or needs? I have the AI on for full record as always, and so no matter how long the list is, I can get it all done for you. Done soonest too,” he added and leaned forward to listen.

  Tanner really had few requests, and they seemed pretty innocuous to him.

  “Just a couple of things, Commander, if I may?”

  The commander nodded.

  “I take it that there is a standing order for the base that the Royals—the Baroness and the Lady St. August both—have full expedited landing and take-off access to the base?” which got him an “Aye, Sir,” from the commander. Knowing that the Royals would get the quickest and best treatment was a part of being the Barony admiral, he felt.