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

by Zen DiPietro

  He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of showing his annoyance. Instead, he smiled and crossed the room to offer her a glass of the bright pink beverage.

  She hated brightly-colored food. A pathological idiosyncrasy. He’d once seen her throw a plate of food on the floor because it had come garnished with bright red pepper, which had not been described on the menu.

  She accepted the glass and tasted the cocktail. “Ah. Refreshing. You always did make great drinks.”

  He most certainly had not. He had never possessed any bartending skill at all. He wondered how long they could go on, each pretending to have forgotten or misremembered things about the other.

  He took a sip of his own drink and suppressed a grimace. The sickening sweetness clung to his tastebuds. “So, what brings you by? Have some of your little trinkets you’d like me to put in my shop?”

  Nagali could put her hand into any commercial enterprise, and if there was a profit to be made, she’d charm her way to the answers she needed. But her specialty, her personal passion, was cultural artifacts. Religious items, historical items, things with an impressive pedigree of previous owners. She saw these items as treasure, and pursued them with lustful zeal.

  “No, not today. As I said, Omar sent me to talk to you about this job of yours.” She smiled pleasantly.

  Cabot had never seen two siblings who looked less like each other. They were both half Rescan and half Zerellian, but Omar appeared to have gotten all the Rescan genes, and Nagali all the human ones. She had a slight frame compared to his burly one, and while they had a similar tanned coloring, her features were fine while his were rugged. She had long, black hair and brown eyes, while he had sandy hair and blue eyes. Omar was the elder by three years, but she looked a full decade younger than her age.

  “Let’s talk, then.” He maintained his pleasant tone and feigned a sip of his drink.

  She set her glass down, indicating that she was ready to talk business. “You need a female attendant. I want the job.”

  He arched an eyebrow in response. Less was always more with Nagali.

  “That’s it. You have a job. I want it and I’ll do it for free.”

  His eyebrow remained arched. “Nothing is free.”

  “Fine, free of charge, then. I want payment in kind. Instruction, along with introductions to people I can work with on Briv.”

  “So, what you’re saying is that you never managed to begin a business relationship with the Briveen, and you want to use me as your in.”

  “Before you say no, let me—”

  He cut her off. “You’re hired.”

  Oh, it was delightful to see the genuine surprise and confusion on her face. Knocking her off-kilter almost made hiring her worth it.

  “What?” Her forehead crinkled and all of her slick words had dried up.

  Letting his cloak of blandness fall, his tone sharpened. “Don’t get me wrong. If this were any other trade deal, you’d still be standing in that corridor waiting for me to open the door. But this thing is bigger than me, and it’s bigger than you. What’s important is that as long as you’re working for me, I’ll have you by the throat. You won’t cross me, because it would mean you won’t get what you need. I can trust your self-interest, and that means you’re my safest bet for this job.”

  “I…” She was still at a loss for words. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. You’ll be cursing me when I make you repeat the contrition ritual for the thousandth time and more, until I’m satisfied.” He stood and walked to the doors. “Omar will send you the list of items we haven’t yet acquired. The cloaks are of particular importance, and he has the measurements for us both. Of course, you and Omar will need cloaks as well.”

  The doors swished open and he stood there, wearing a pointed expression.

  She got to her feet, looking uncertain. She recognized a dismissal when she received it. At the door, she moved to put her hand on his arm. “Maybe we should—”

  He pulled his arm back before she could make contact. “This doesn’t change anything. My trusting you to act in your own self-interest doesn’t mean I trust you. This is business.”

  He fixed her with a cold look, for the first time revealing his true feelings about her.

  “Right.” Her features hardened and she stepped into the corridor. “I’ll look at the acquisitions list and get back to you tomorrow.”

  “Good.” He touched the door mechanism to close it.

  Briefly, he leaned against the door. The silence Nagali left in her wake screamed at him. As always, the woman disrupted his life long after she’d left.

  This mission had already been a difficult one. Now it would be pure hell.

  ***

  “You didn’t tell me Nagali was on Dauntless.”

  When Cabot sat down with Omar the next day in his friend’s quarters, he felt less than charitable toward his friend of three decades. He and Omar had worked together frequently during their careers, and he wasn’t pleased that Omar had sucker punched him like he had.

  Omar, to his credit, looked mildly guilty. “Officially, she isn’t. She’s laying low at the moment.”

  Not an unusual thing for Nagali.

  “But,” Omar continued, “what choice did I have? If I’d told you I wanted you two to meet, would you have seen her?”

  “No.”

  “Exactly. And we need her. I only did what the job required me to do.”

  Cabot was reminded of Arlen’s displeasure at how he had played her. Now he was on the other side of the play, and it was by far the less likeable position. He couldn’t disagree with Omar’s logic, though. “Fine. But you could have at least warned me that she was on board.”

  Omar shrugged. He’d do it the same way again, and they both knew it. “She said she had a source for the camphor and the red silk. And a tailor has already started on the cloaks.”

  “Good. That just leaves me to find something special for the initial offering.”

  “No hints on what that might be? If I put out a call, I’d know within an hour if it was on Dauntless.”

  Cabot picked a piece of lint off his pants, displeased with Omar’s choice of furniture upholstery. He tried to imagine having such poor taste. Omar made his home here, and while the quarters themselves were fine, his furnishings were an eclectic mishmash of gaudy items, unified only by their expensiveness.

  Expensive things had no warranty against ugliness.

  “That’s the problem,” Cabot said. “It needs to be something unusual. Rare. Not necessarily expensive, but something that can’t easily be found elsewhere. I need to browse and see what I can find. Surely someone here has something unusual that the Briveen would appreciate.”

  Omar rubbed his chin, screwing his face up as he thought. “I know a few people that trade in oddities. I’ll make some appointments for you.”

  As a trader, Cabot had access to storerooms and cargo holds that the average customer did not. He could go where outsiders could not, and view items that were not publicly displayed. And Omar could guide him to the right people to see.

  “Thank you. That would be helpful.” Having Omar make the introductions would speed things up and probably result in a better price. The guy was a big deal in mercenary circles.

  Speaking of people who were a big deal… “I haven’t had a chance to pay my respects to Overseer Caine. How has she been?”

  Ditnya Caine was a legend in the business. Cabot had long admired her. She was a good twenty years older and ran a large consortium from her position as the overseer of Dauntless.

  “Same as always. She’s not on the station at the moment, though. She’s been busy lately.”

  Not surprising, given all that was happening.

  Cabot’s comport vibrated, alerting him to an incoming message. He took it from his belt and saw a text-only message from Arlen. She was still miffed, but not so much that she hadn’t let him know she intended to leave her quarters in twenty minutes, whether or not he
was there.

  “Problem?” Omar asked.

  “No, not really. Remember that young colleague I told you about?”

  “Sure.”

  Cabot continued, “She’s annoyed with me. She’ll get over it, but until she does, she might be inclined to go wandering around on her own. She’s tough, but young, and not too versed with stations like this because of her personal dislike for rippers and those who associate with them.” He brought up a picture of Arlen and passed the comport to Omar. “Can you put the word out that she’s not to be messed with?”

  Omar took a long look. “Nice. I mean, no problem. But if she doesn’t know how things work around here, you’d better keep an eye on her. Just because my associates won’t touch her doesn’t mean she’s safe.”

  “I know.”

  Omar let a few beats go by before saying, “So when you say, ‘mess with…’”

  Cabot made a slashing motion. “Forget it. She’s way too good for you.”

  “But you and she aren’t a thing, right?”

  “No way. She’s every bit as too young for me as I am too old for her.”

  Omar shrugged. “I’m younger than you.”

  “Not by that much.”

  “Still.” Omar sent him a questioning look.

  “Arlen makes her own decisions. Ask her out if you want. But she’ll shoot you down. Guaranteed.”

  Omar frowned and said defensively, “I can be charming.”

  “It’s not about you. I’ve never seen her date anyone, or even look appreciatively at someone. She’s married to her work, and she has something to prove. Between you and me, I think there’s something in her past she hasn’t told me.”

  “There always is.”

  Cabot smiled. Omar was smarter than people thought. His particular brand was to feign an oblivious sort of ignorance, causing people to let their guard down. He’d gotten so accustomed to doing so that he did it even in private. It was an occupational hazard that Cabot well understood. Every now and then, though, Omar’s true self peeped through.

  “Right.” On his way out, Cabot remembered to add, “But no more surprises when it comes to your sister, got it?”

  Omar gave him a grin. “Sure thing.”

  For Omar, that either meant, “Absolutely!” or “You’re an idiot for even asking,” and there was no way of telling which.

  ***

  Arlen didn’t smile when she joined him in the corridor outside her room, but she didn’t spit in his eye, either. Cabot considered it enough of a win.

  “I expect to have some appointments later today, but in the meantime, I’m pretty much at your disposal. What would you like to do? Have you eaten yet?”

  She fell into step beside him. “Yes, I ordered room service. I was surprised by how delicious the food was.”

  He’d expected a simple yes or no, so the additional words were an unexpected bounty. The edge must have worn off her annoyance with him if she wanted to have an actual conversation.

  Encouraged, he said, “You can count on excellent service on mercenary stations. Being an entirely free market, bad service gets pushed out almost immediately. If you try to charge someone for a poor service, you’ll end up getting a good look at your own insides.”

  “Nice.” Her dry tone belied her rueful smirk.

  He shrugged. “It’s just business.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “Well, I don’t work on a mercenary station, do I? There’s a difference between accepting the way things are and wanting to be a part of them.”

  “I know. Of course, I know that.” She sighed. “I just haven’t quite gotten the hang of mixing business and friends.”

  “It’s a tricky formula sometimes,” he agreed. “It was never my intent to upset you.”

  “I know that too. It’s not you I’m angry with. I’ve just been irritated with myself for being irritated at you. How do you learn not to take it personally when a friend screws you over?”

  He wished he had an easy answer for her. “The truth is, it’s the hardest thing to learn about business. What you have to ask yourself is whether someone will have your back if a deal goes south, or whether they’d sell you out for an extra percentage of profit. If you find someone who will have your back, then you have to ignore the occasional professional screwing over. That part’s just business.”

  “You wouldn’t take it personally if I overcharged you for a shipment or shorted you on an order?”

  Cabot clasped his hands behind him as they walked. “No. If I failed to notice such a thing, I’d deserve to pay the price for it. It’s the manner and the nature of the cheating that matters. Straightforward cheating like that is so expected that it’s practically good manners.”

  She barked out a laugh at that. “I never thought of it like that.”

  He continued, “There are some business offenses that will harm a personal relationship. There are lines you can’t cross without paying the price. Just like I paid the price of your annoyance for manipulating you. I knew I’d pay, but it was worth it to get what I needed.”

  “What if your manipulation had meant losing my friendship altogether? Would you have still done it?”

  Cabot didn’t care for questions that had no answer the asker would want to hear. “Under any other circumstances, no. I would not like to lose your friendship. But this thing we’re doing is not just any job. Too much rides on it for me to be precious about whether someone likes me or not. The cost of failure in this endeavor is not one I’m willing to pay.”

  “Good.”

  He looked at her in surprise. “Good?”

  “If you were the kind of person who would put his own needs above something so serious, you wouldn’t be someone I could be friends with.”

  He smiled. “So, you’re glad I screwed you over.”

  She laughed. “You made the right decision. That doesn’t mean I’m going to like how it affects me personally.”

  “Ah, so we’re on the same page.”

  She shot him a look of amusement. “I guess you could say that. But if these friends of yours are on a different page, I reserve the right to hold it against you.”

  Given how recently he’d withheld information from her, he decided he had to be forthcoming. “Omar’s fine. But Nagali is a different story. If you called her a ripper, I’m not sure even Omar could argue.”

  Arlen stopped walking. Cabot kept going.

  He said, “I know. We need to talk about this, and we will, but not here.”

  She caught up to him. “As soon as we’re somewhere private, I want all the details. Every single one.”

  “I promise. And those are two words I try very hard never to say.”

  “Okay, then. Since we’re already headed this direction, first you can show me Dauntless. Afterward, you’ll tell me everything.”

  “Agreed.” He decided to make it an extra-long tour.

  ***

  Dauntless had two functions. The first was to serve as a place where customers could connect with traders and mercenaries. The second was to provide a place outside of the PAC zone where traders and mercenaries could work with one another. A business-to-business venue, so to speak.

  Cabot first showed Arlen the public side of Dauntless.

  He’d always thought the station to be one of the better examples of its kind. Being at the fringe of PAC space gave it a mix of upstanding and shady people, which naturally created some intrigue here and there. As a result, Dauntless had a charged, electrical sort of atmosphere. Cabot found it invigorating.

  Judging by the sparkle in Arlen’s eyes, she did too. It was fun to see her trader blood show itself. Too often, she shoved it under a blanket of propriety.

  On the station’s boardwalk, a variety of aromas assailed his senses. Everything from Bennite stew to hand-dried leather, occasionally punctuated with the scent of Sarkavian pastries or the sour sweat of someone whose ship had sub-par sanitation facilities. With the shouts of greeting, gr
owls of bargaining, and a generous helping of suspicious side-eye, it made for a heady brew.

  Only then, while taking it all in, did Cabot realize how much he’d missed all this. When he’d gone into business on Dragonfire, he thought he’d left all this behind. Some things never made their way out of one’s blood.

  Cabot remained vigilant, watching for something he could present to the Briveen. Unique things could pop up anywhere. Transient traders set up shop in a designated area of the boardwalk known as the bazaar. Here, one could pick through an eclectic variety of goods, from food to technology to collectibles. The only thing the offerings had in common was that they were items their owners wanted to sell quickly. Perhaps it was a load of perishables nearing the end of its usefulness, or someone needed to make a quick sale to afford fuel or ship repairs.

  Frequently, the items on offer had a dubious succession of ownership. There was no telling what one would find, and that made it fun. Most of the time, when shopping the bazaar, Cabot found nothing he wanted. The rare occasions when he found a treasure always kept him coming back, looking to replicate that thrill of success.

  He wasn’t alone in that, either. He saw the cloaked signs of avarice in the other people browsing the wares. It only heightened the excitement to know that, at any moment, someone else might discover the treasure you were looking for.

  Cabot loved it.

  He kept Arlen in his sight line as they shopped, though he was subtle about it. He looked at antique books as she ran her fingers over Altrevian silk. While she poked through a crate of assorted mechanical parts, he chatted with the man sitting at the next booth. Cabot made it his business to stay on top of any recent news that might affect trade, so he got through an entire conversation about Dinebian thorn-beetles with the pleasant air of someone who cared. As a party planet with no natural resources, Dineb imported absolutely everything. In order to do so, they had massive contracts with governments and they didn’t do business with a single proprietor like him. Therefore, he cared absolutely nothing about Dineb’s problems.

  When Arlen stood frowning down at the box for a few beats too many, Cabot sidled near. Her unimpressed expression didn’t fool him. She’d found something that interested her.