by Purple Hazel
At the distribution market located in the middle of the Tribal Confederation assembly arena, the different tribal chieftains lined up for their customary allotment of new slaves, taking turns (albeit not so patiently at times) to receive their share of the plunder from the Warthog. It was a comical scene, even if it was at times also a bit chaotic. But Vlad just sat back and soaked it all in. His victorious Arian Knights brigade had increased their already growing legend as a fighting force; and everyone had been thrilled at their homecoming. Yet now they had topped everything by returning with such beautiful females like most other Nausties had never—or rarely—seen in their entire lives.
Vlad got all the credit; and for that matter why not? His brigade had faced a similar challenge in the Earth Environ against strong opposition. They’d faced almost the same troops as the Smilodons did… yet returned with only a handful of casualties. And the dead? They had all been buried back on Frabrak 3. Of course half of them were Zorgs, but few recognized the oddness of that. Battles lead to casualties; soldiers get killed. Everyone accepted that as fact. But still, how could so many Zorgs (mostly crewmen) have died in a firefight? At this point, Vlad was above reproach, and when Captain Razorback gave his report to Solomon Mwanga, the Terminal Chief, that’s when the truth finally came out.
Razorback reported that in reality, almost all the Zorgs had just gone AWOL, fled the ship and melted into the jungle, never to be seen again. Likely, those giant birds ate them all and absolutely nothing could be done for them. Hunting parties couldn’t find more than a few survivors and those poor bastards were so chopped up they didn’t live more than a day or two. Solomon agreed with Razorback, just to let it go. No use blaming anyone. The Zorgs had been derelict of duty, ran off into the jungle for weeks, disappeared without any word and well, there wasn’t anything left of them to bury in most cases.
Besides, why start a controversy now? What good would that do? Just look at what they’d brought back! The Warthog even saved a case of Scotch for Solomon and had packed a massive onboard walk-in freezer with assorted sea creatures caught from Frabrak 3. Solomon graciously accepted the Scotch but later traded a couple bottles of it for some tasty exotic fish… for his new companion Felina!
Yes, the scene in the Tribal Confederation assembly was quite a sight to see. Tanned, beautiful, quite well-rested women from Star Pussy posed and looked about at the quite battle-hardened warrior chieftains of New Australia, along with their bodyguards. Naturally some cowered in fear or shook with anxiety. But many winked and flirted; having found out already just how much more fun it was to be in the care and company of burly pirates than wimpy pasty middle-aged wealthy merchants and businessmen from across the galaxy. Most had discarded their costumes from Star Pussy and fashioned mere loin cloths to wear out on the beach back on Frabrak 3. Now they stood proudly and bare-breasted before the snarling murmuring throng of lusting warriors and miners.
The ones with good attitudes had the right idea. Getting selected by one of the wealthier stronger tribal chieftains meant a relatively comfortable life for them. Pleasing and satisfying that chieftain also meant a safe existence and preferential treatment. Failing to accomplish either one of these things could very well mean being discarded or passed down to one of the lowly Spleef tribes; and few human females lived very long in their caves.
Solomon watched the event in the Tribal Confederation Assembly after meeting with and debriefing both Captain Razorback and General Vlad. They both told him similar stories about their exit from Star Pussy, and their decision to avoid Star Fleet by hiding out on Frabrak 3. Solomon was satisfied with their decision… couldn’t blame them a bit for wanting to avoid a headlong race back to New Australia with the potential of being chased by a Star Fleet Patrol ship and giving away the location of their pirate base. That would have been a disaster! Solomon accepted their explanations and their logic.
However, neither of them had anything like a working theory—or even the foggiest idea—what might have happened to Admiral Snout and the Anarchy.
Even when half a year had passed and there’d never been any sign of the Anarchy… no one heard anything about it on or even off the planet. Not even a blip or a peep about it. Not on inter-space communications, not even on the IPN News broadcasts; which Naustie trade ship Captains could pick up in route to Porkonji. The shocking story about the attack on Star Pussy had even faded from the news over time. It just seemed like the Interplanetary Authority was sweeping the whole thing under the rug; once again. Something must have happened, but the news was either not reporting it or was not yet aware of the outcome.
Sensing that the whole thing had blown over—regardless of what had really happened to the Anarchy—the Tribal Confederation gave permission for Solomon to finally send out clandestine missions to establish trade relations. Trust was tentative at best for a while; but sure enough, within a few months of negotiating and reconnecting with old sources, trade had been established between a few Porkonji black market ports; and even with the occasional Zorg freighters who found they could take on mineral deposits, gemstones, and giant raw crystals from Naustie ships for a mere shipload of fresh fruit and vegetables or dried meats and frozen fish. All trade was done via bartering; and it maintained a safe balance between peaceful trade and the necessary discretion to keep New Australia supplied with food while not drawing too much attention.
Kscheeech spear-headed the trade missions now, having spent the past few years flying with Snout as well as acquiring a newly-updated knowledge of the galaxy’s not so legitimate trading centers. Many were the same old ports he’d visited as a pirate years before; and some were new.
But all these were indeed legitimate ports, technically under the jurisdiction of the Porkonji and Zorgolongian governments. Some were colonial ports too; which could maintain black market trade far from the watchful eye of their planetary governments. Naustie ships just had to move in fast, do their business, and then scamper off. Captains only had to know who they could really trade with at those ports. That’s all. But it wasn’t difficult to find traders who didn’t ask too many questions about the origins of goods. Not when the price was outstanding. Naustie ships started hauling out tons and tons of mineral ore and crystals once again; and the old mines of New Australia retooled and resupplied labor to do the work necessary to get ore and gem-laden rock up to the planetary surface crushing plant.
Slarts even went along with trade missions and aided in the negotiations. They turned out to be very wise and shrewd businessmen that black market traders could really work well with. Incapable of lying; direct and to the point, Slarts quickly identified a barter level that was comfortable for all; and the traders loved working with them. Very little haggling. Never any drama to it. The Slarts merely stated how much minerals or gems they had to trade, and how much food or supplies they needed. Porkos and Zorgs flew the crafts. Pumalar Marines stayed hidden on board in case of any attempt by port authorities to seize the vessels, if it ever came to that. But Slarts gradually did most all of the trade negotiations.
And in the six months since the return of the ships from the Star Pussy raid, not only was the new service terminal garage completed, but construction was begun on the first of the massive five square mile solar domed farms. Construction materials were (mostly) easy to come by; and the more industrialized colonies on Frabrak 3 were perfect for finding them in large quantities. Wood panels, fabricated building sections, steel beams, all could be purchased there. Frabrak 3 was booming; and construction there had been chugging along feverishly for several years. Mostly it was prefabricated modular housing and partially constructed building components that could be connected and “zipped up” once placed together on a site. But the best thing about Frabrak 3 was the great supply of building equipment, machinery, and vehicles for digging out a foundation and pouring concrete to set support beams. Everything came factory-direct from Porkonji or from Earth colonies. Food was plentiful to trade for too.
On the black
market though, finding tinted glass sections to construct a dome… those were not so easy to find… and not so inexpensive either. However just like any black market anywhere in the universe, if it could be got, it could be bought. Eventually those glass panels were indeed acquired, and before long when the frame was nearing completion, a source for them was identified and a chain of traders developed across the galaxy to discretely complete the transaction. This made the panels much more expensive, yes. But it kept the ultimate buyer’s true identity concealed well enough that the factory source really had no clear idea where their product was ending up (even if they really cared—which they didn’t).
Refurbished ships (fresh from the new terminal where they were given a makeover inside and out) flew into Frabrak 3 ports looking like new. Porkonji officials admitted them without many questions, and even when they did, higher level authorities had been paid off to override any customs officers disputing the questionable paperwork. It wasn’t smooth, no not by any stretch, but it worked. Soon New Australia was ferrying supplies back from trade missions all over the galaxy; and hauling away tons of ore and gemstones to trade with.
Slart engineers and agricultural specialists next started planning for the layout of the farms; and the proposed crops to be planted. Soil would need to be engineered; using a combination of manure and fertilizer. However with their specialties in mining acquired over the years Slart planners had developed quite a system for producing rich soil. This would lead to achieving regular abundant harvests of healthy fruits and vegetables for the population of the planet below.
Spleef tribes took over the not-so-appealing task of gathering manure and other organic waste throughout the planet using service tunnels, mining tunnels, and elevator shafts. They scooped it up with shovels into dump haulers and drove these vehicles all over the planet like legions of garbage men. Heretofore, waste and dung in each tribal territory had been collected in caves, then buried with sand and dirt. Now these same dung heaps were to be excavated and the decomposed compost could be processed into fertile soil.
Spleef work crews made for a perfect solution to the gathering of this stinking filth… they didn’t seem to be bothered by it in the least actually. And their massive work details of twenty to even five hundred workers at a time; had no problem moving the rather pungent natural resource up to the surface to be processed into soil. Massive pits were dug using earth movers driven by Porkos in breather suits. But otherwise, “soil production” became a monopoly business for the Schpleeti tribal chieftains. To the Spleefs, this task was no less honorable than farming or mining—and no less valuable to the greater good of the planet, than the bravest of warriors defending Naustie ships as they flew across the galaxy. Shit haulers? Maybe. But the Tribal Confederation referred to them officially as “Soil Production Engineers”, and the Spleefs relished this moniker proudly.
Next came the issue of irrigating the farms; and since this was the first of the water pumping facilities to be constructed; everything was theoretical at the outset. How much water would be needed; and how would the oxygen generation processes perform? Only time would tell; but the ingenious Slarts meticulously planned every phase of the construction and implementation. It was quite diabolical in its scope; but the custom-designed facility for pumping water and producing oxygen most certainly had a reliable and infinite source of electrical power: the intense rays of the Rijel sun. Slarts merely tapped into this by ordering and having constructed their own independent solar power station for the plant.
Solomon was quite proud of the project; and to his credit, stayed out of the way; preferring instead to just let the project come together without being much involved personally. Tribal Confederation wisely selected a Slartigifijian to oversee the construction; and let this Slart choose his own staff as well as construction teams of Porkos to do the heavy lifting. Solomon’s minor contribution to the whole operation was to suggest the acquisition of a thousand “breather suits” for workers to adorn themselves with on the worksite. These were acquired as always, through the black market.
These suits were originally made for Porkos but large-sized humans could wear them as well, when needed. They covered the whole body with breathable material that kept the body cool; while generating oxygen that could be breathed and keep the worker functioning on the forbidding surface for several hours at a time. A small apparatus was worn on the back which produced and pumped oxygen into the interior of the suit and was sealed by a small helmet which had a tinted bubble to allow good peripheral vision, while shading him from the sun.
True, a full-grown human could wear such a suit; but they’d look rather ridiculous in it, compared to the much larger Porkos. That said, Solomon did save for himself a couple of suits to wear when he visited the work site; and he took Felina with him whenever he went out there in a surface rover. Several months later, as construction was progressing and soon the glass panels were being stockpiled for the final phase of the superstructure, he and Felina had become a regular sight to the work crews.
They were actually downright inseparable as a matter of fact. One might say they had become quite an “item” on New Australia by then. Everyone loved to see them together; and everyone readily noticed how much the kind and beautiful Pumalar Empath had changed the man. Solomon was nicer, calmer, and seemed to speak noticeably different as well. The Naustie construction teams liked this much more peaceful version of their heretofore intimidating and much colder, emotionless terminal chief. He smiled more… seemed happier by far. She was with him almost constantly. Rarely did anyone see them apart.
Felina smiled almost effervescently and did so with little provocation or urging. As Solomon changed into a more joyful man; she became even more outgoing too! Solomon rarely needed to finish a sentence. She’d speak for him, as if his thoughts were forming in his mind but the words hadn’t yet developed. With a mere look or a gesture from Solomon, Felina was already feeling what he felt, and sensing what he was needing to express. In time, she just spoke for him; and it was always better hearing it from her anyway.
Construction workers delighted in seeing them drive up regularly in their surface rover. It almost always resulted in a pleasant meeting or conversation with the two of them—workers gathering around to enjoy a cool drink or a snack they’d bring out in the bed of their vehicle. At Felina’s suggestion, they even installed a solar-powered refrigerated compartment on the back to hold chilled water bottles. She’d laugh joyfully as the Porko workers would rip off their helmets and douse their heads in ice water, snorting and snarling with happiness and relief.
In their baggy suits, the two looked hilarious to begin with; and the mostly Porko construction crews could recognize them immediately. Their presence always lifted spirits and increased morale. After all, the construction was incredibly grueling in the heat; even with breather suits on. Neither Solomon nor Felina could even imagine what it must be like working out there. Porkos could handle it, yes; but few other beings could last out there for long. The suits made a human body feel like it was in a hot sauna room. Any prolonged exertion would cause a healthy grown man to overheat in bathing sweat and pass out. Felina, for her part, had to nap in the surface rover on the drive back almost every time. For Pumalars, the surface was impossibly difficult to handle, even with breather suits. And Solomon? He never remembered Africa being this hot! Not even close.
But they went out there to visit the work crews every few days without fail. And the workers came to count on them. Porkos absolutely loved hearing the sound of Felina’s buzzing purring voice too! In her breather helmet, that voice became even more distorted and bizarre sounding; which made it all the more humorous. They just loved her. So did Solomon. Truly he was falling deeply and passionately in love with the elegant she-cat. It was evident in every way… the way they stood close to each other… the way he looked at her lovingly when she spoke.
The couple was soon seen everywhere on the planet too, not just job sites. Solomon visited other tri
bes within the planet interior, arranging diplomatic missions to go take Felina around and meet all the different chieftains, their warriors, their workers, and their farmers. By now, hydroponic farms were spread out all over the interior of hollowed out caverns giving each tribe its own domestic food source. Mining operations were conducted throughout the planet as well; and well-fed/well-rested workers made for far better mining output than in the old prison system. Solomon wanted her to see everything. Wanted her to know everyone. Took her everywhere with him.
Tribal cultures varied almost everywhere Solomon and Felina went. And she found it fascinating. The Inshallah tribe for example: they were quite intriguing to Felina. She’d never experienced such a thing. Muslims all of them; they were very often praying, kneeling, and bowing toward the same direction (Earth, as they explained it…some place they called Mecca). As for Solomon—who was from Africa—he’d seen and experienced Muslims as a youth, as well as their practices. But Felina had a lot of questions to ask of them… to try and understand their customs. Solomon bristled at times, knowing she was asking some quite sensitive things; but as always her charming and calming tone put everyone at ease around her.
The peaceful Inshallah tribal elders patiently answered all her questions with great detail and it even seemed like they did so with great enthusiasm. This surprised Solomon—the hardened former African warlord. It occurred to him as though it was even downright gratifying for the Muslims to respond to her litany of naïve questions, despite her being a female—and an “infidel” at that.
