Ace of Thralls (Freelance Courier Book 3)

by Lawrence M. Schoen

  “Well yes, that’s true, but you should also acknowledge that one of the few races they regard as their equals are the Clarkesons.”

  “Yes, but the Tosh are not Clarkesons, outward appearances aside. And how do you think the Cliveden will respond once they realize that their initial impressions are in error?”

  Aushthack frowned and brought both hands up to tug worryingly at his tufts of hair.

  “They… Would not be pleased.”

  “No, I don’t imagine they would be.”

  “They would infer deliberate deception on our part.”

  “Right. And?”

  “And that we had gone out of our way to make them appear foolish before the rest of the galaxy.”

  “So, not likely to endear you to them, or cause them to temper their retribution in any way.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that your strategy to disrupt their portal into this system is far too short sighted. You’re simply kicking the current problem down the road for some subsequent generation to worry about and deal with. I get that you want to free your people and move them here, but you need to come up with a better plan.”

  “I am open to suggestions,” said the Tosh. “Do you have any?”

  Before Gel could reply, Tiggly called for her attention, flickering a console light. She held up her hand, forestalling further remarks from Aushthack. “Hold on. Something has changed.”

  “What?”

  She ignored him as her fingers flew across the controls, directing the ship’s cameras and other sensors in the direction of whatever Tiggly had found. There in the distance, emerging from the edge of the forest, a heavily armored vehicle trundled toward them on massive treads. She zoomed in on the image and tossed it up on the main display.

  “Do you recognize that?”

  “I do not. I have never seen a vehicle like that.”

  “Me neither. But the coloration… and the pattern on its armor…”

  “Yes,” said Aushthack, “those do seem familiar.” And a sudden rush of violet fragrance arrived on Tiggly’s bridge.

  Gel nodded. “I think so too. Where have you seen that before?”

  “It is similar to a design common on the surface of Cliveden starships.”

  “So much for the idea that they don’t know you’re here.”

  “We could leave.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “How long would you require to take your vessel from this moon and hide back in the gas giant? Surely you could manage that before they arrive.”

  “Probably not, but even if I could, it won’t solve your problem. In fact, I imagine it would be just the opposite.”

  “Opposite?”

  “If they see us run, they’ll naturally believe it’s in response to our noticing their presence. That they’re coming directly toward us suggests they saw us here first.”

  “Yes but—”

  “And our reaction is to flee?”

  “Surely they would respect an action based on self-preservation.”

  “Self-preservation isn’t the issue here. They haven’t attacked. I don’t believe they represent an immediate threat to us. We’re pretty safe.”

  “You are aware that is an armored assault vehicle.”

  “Maybe, and I’m not saying they don’t have weaponry onboard that thing, but they’re still just a ground vehicle and we’re in a spaceship many times their size and — as far as they know — with much greater weaponry.”

  “Do you have much greater weaponry.”

  “Probably not. I’m a courier, remember?”

  “Won’t they have ascertained this once they determine the make of your vessel?”

  “It’s possible, but Tiggly is a very old design. That she’s still in service is clear evidence that she’s received not simply upkeep, but modifications and updates. If their intention is hostile, that would cause them to be a little more circumspect and cautious.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they won’t believe we’re what we appear to be.”

  “And if they check the registry of your ship?”

  “Depending on how thorough their database is, they’ll see that Tiggly is a courier vessel, and if their records are very good, they’ll note that our home port is Colson’s World and then we’re one of only a handful of ships registered there. That will probably give them pause as well.”

  “But—”

  She waved him to silence. “No buts. If the Cliveden superior intellect is even remotely accurate, they’ll have assessed the situation and see us as coming from a position of strength. So yes, to your earlier question, we could flee, but doing so we throw all of that away.”

  “What do you suggest then”

  With a few quick gestures Gel locked down the ship’s board and pushed back. “I think we should go meet them.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m not saying I’m going to bring them onboard, but it looks to be a fine summer day out there and I wouldn’t mind getting some fresh air. So let’s go meet our guests.”

  “Guests? You can’t be serious. Surely you don’t truly believe that they approach us as guests.”

  “I don’t have enough data to know what to believe, but because it leaves more options on the table for us, for now, I’m going to assume they’re guests, and that we should behave accordingly. Now, as we have a few minutes before they arrive, do you have anything fancier than what you’re wearing that you might change into?”

  “Why”

  “You only get one chance to make a first impression.”

  Fruit Preserves and Other Social Lubricants

  Aushthack had changed into a party-colored jumpsuit, a woven garment that might easily pass for the sort of epidermal camouflage that Clarkesons exhibited in lieu of clothing, at least to anyone who had never met a Clarkeson up close. Gel wondered how he had come by it and why. What role in the Tosh’s past exploits had required him to masquerade as a member of the race of overlords that had enslaved his people? She herself wore her usual black leather flight jacket with the ace of hearts emblazoned on the right breast — ACE being her company’s name, Angela Colson Enterprises. Beneath that she wore a man’s white tuxedo shirt and weathered denim jeans, and heavily-tooled, pink cowboy boots that climbed up to mid calf completed her outfit.

  She’d instructed Tiggly to lower the ramp from the ship’s main airlock, and she’d had Aushthack precede her down the length of it, stopping just beyond to await the arrival of their ‘guests.’ In her hands she cradled a wicker basket.

  Aushthack stared.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “I picked it up out of storage while you were changing clothes.” Which was true enough, though, in this case ‘storage’ referred to the locked bedroom in her stepfather’s house back on Colson’s World where she kept an assortment of supplies and gifts against such need as presented itself today.

  “Why? What is it?”

  “It’s like a housewarming present.”

  “Which house? And… aren’t such presents typically offered by the visitors to those already dwelling in the place?”

  “Well, you’ve got me there but, technically, you’re not not already living here. And yeah, there’s no house, but it never hurts to exchange offerings when meeting someone for the first time. It shows goodwill.”

  “I see. And do you suppose they will extend a similar offering to you?”

  “No, I have no such expectations, but then, like I said before, everything I know about the Cliveden suggests they’re assholes.”

  “Then why—”

  “Just because they’re predisposed to being jerks doesn’t mean we should try to match them at their own game. I’d rather stipulate that they’re much better at being rude than we can ever hope to be and move on.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Something I learned from a professional prevaricator. The easiest way to end an argument is t
o agree with your opponent. It’s the last thing they expect. It leaves them completely disarmed and then we can move forward on our own terms.”

  “You seem surprisingly well versed in such things for one so young.”

  “Well, if we’re lucky, our guests will make similar assumptions based on appearance, and we’ll be able to use that in our favor as well. But really, these are all just tools of the trade when you’re a courier.”

  “I see,” repeated the Tosh. “So, what’s in the basket?”

  “Extremely rare foodstuffs.”

  “Cliveden don’t eat the food of other races. Suggesting that do might be seen as incredibly offensive, which would be a huge mark against us. You should probably just put that away.”

  “Another thing I did while you were getting dressed was to access Tiggly’s records on the Cliveden. And while it’s true they mostly eat only their own food, there are exceptions. They’re open to sampling fruits and simple fruit products from other races. That’s what I have here, fruit products — specifically preserves — from Colson’s World. Very tasty, of extremely limited export, and highly valuable because of their relative novelty.”

  “Fruit preserves.”

  “Uh huh. Though your guess is as good as mine whether they’ll sample them, for the bragging rights that they’ve tasted jam from Colson’s World. Or they could accept them and just set them aside, untouched, as a valuable item they might offer in barter with someone else. Either way, it’s a high status gift that works for us.”

  “If they are so hard to come by, how is it you just happen to have some of these fruit preserves?”

  “It’s a family business,” she said. “I always keep a little bit in storage for just such occasions.”

  “You’ve done this before?”

  Gel smiled and winked, but said nothing. She had long since been convinced that the Tosh wasn’t telling her everything, which was fine. She only needed to know what she needed to know, and certainly, she had many secrets of her own.

  Once they’d taken up position a short distance from Tiggly’s ramp — with Aushthack standing two paces behind and to Gel’s left — the armored crawler altered its course slightly and in a few minutes halted some twenty meters away. As it approached, they heard a faint chuffing sound, which may have been a byproduct of whatever engines drove it toward them, or a consequence of the vehicle’s treads engaging with the grass and turf below. It didn’t much matter, and in any case, the noise ceased along with the crawler’s forward movement. A moment later a hatch on top popped open, and a single reptilian alien emerged, moving with a quick agility that soon had its white boots on the grass and moving toward them. It was tall and spindly, with scaly, pale blue skin, hairless all over but sporting a coronal crest a third again as high as its head that waved like a purple flag. In addition to boots it wore white shorts and matching gloves that climbed halfway up its forearms. All in all, it matched the description Gel had found in Tiggly’s database. This was a Cliveden.

  It came forward and spoke in Traveler. “I am Srin ri Polt.”

  The alien’s voice gave no hint of gender, but the middle name marked both social status and masculinity, and Gel reset the pronouns in her mind.

  “I am the Master Manager of the Cliveden mining concern in this star system. May I hope that one or both of you are sufficiently civilized to be acquainted with this or another trade tongue?”

  Gel replied with a grin, making the point of keeping her lips together because nothing she’d read had suggested how the Cliveden might respond to a display of teeth.

  “Of course. And yes, Traveler will do fine. Certainly we don’t know any of the tongues that the Cliveden reserve for speaking among their own kind.” Among the things she had learned reviewing Tiggly’s database was that as part of their presumed superiority the Cliveden were believed to possess languages unheard by any other race because only the Cliveden themselves were worthy of speaking or hearing them.

  The Manager’s eyes widened slightly, but only for a moment.

  “I see. And may I assume that one among you is Angela Colson, Courier, and owner of this vessel?”

  Gel allowed her grin to widen, but still no teeth. The Cliveden had indeed run a check against Tiggly’s registry and transponder.

  “That’s me, though, please call me Gel. All of my friends do.”

  “Ah, are we to be friends then?”

  “I certainly hope so, at least to the extent that our very different origins permit. And in that hope, may I present you with a gift?”

  She stepped forward halving the distance between them, extending the basket ahead of her. The Cliveden didn’t move. After a moment Gel simply squatted, set the basket on the grass, and stepped back.

  “What is that?”

  “A minor offering. An assortment of jams and jellies from Colson’s World, rarely found anywhere else in the galaxy.”

  “Colson’s World?”

  “Yes.”

  “Amadeus Colson.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you are Angela Colson. A relation.”

  “Amadeus is my stepfather.”

  “Ah,” said the Cliveden and a moment later stepped forward and scooped up the basket in one long arm, stepping back just as neatly. With his free hand Srin rummaged among the assortment of jars in the basket before looking up and regarding her.

  “This is most kind and yet, creates an unanticipated regret, now that I have arrived here — ah, what is the expression? — empty handed? This places me at a minor disadvantage.”

  “I don’t see it that way,” said Gel.

  “No?”

  “Quite the contrary. You have given us the gift of your presence. While we remained stationary here, you have doubtless, as the result of no small effort, journeyed here to greet us.”

  “Ah. That is certainly one way to look at it, and one which balances things more neatly. I accept your perspective.”

  “Thank you. Do you want to go ahead and do it formally?”

  “Do it?”

  “Greet us.”

  “Ah, and are you so sure that is what I have come to do?”

  “Originally, no, not sure. But as you’ve accepted that offered perspective that you’ve come to do just that, how can I now conclude any other motivation?”

  Manager Srin did something with his mouth. Gel hoped it was a grin. His lips parted, revealing many, many gleaming white. needle-fine teeth.

  “I find I like you, Angela, daughter of Amadeus. It has been my burden to interact with no fewer than nine other races of the galaxy, a task for which I have had specialized training. Alas, training can only take one so far. And yet, you strike me very differently than any of those races. The pattern of your reasoning is more in line with Cliveden thought processes than those other races. Is this an attribute common among Humans? Or have you, like me, undergone extensive study, perhaps, in accordance with your work as a courier?”

  “I would never presume to speak for any other Humans, let alone all of them,” said Gel. “But I think there may be something to what you say in that regard, as well as the experience I have accrued as a courier, which has required my interaction with many more races than the nine you have been exposed to. Though I do acknowledge the gap between myself and them must surely be smaller than the gulf that exists between Cliveden and the other races of the galaxy, no matter how varied they may be.”

  “Cunning and well spoken. I confess my day is turning out better than I had anticipated. And all such joy I would claim is your responsibility. An even more precious gift than the rarity you have presented to me in this basket.”

  “You are too kind.”

  “Do you think so? Perhaps that just remains to be seen. Will you introduce your companion, or in the way of Clarkesons does he prefer to simply stand back and observe?”

  Aushthack gave Gel a look, as if he wanted to speak but didn’t know what to say. She silenced him with a curt shake of her head. She’d deliberately posi
tioned him upwind. If Srin had met other Clarkesons, she didn’t want him wondering why her companion smelled like flowers.

  “You’ve had interactions with Clarkesons before?”

  “Personally? No, but they are well documented among my people, as both watchers and catalysts, often showing up at potential opportunities to bear witness as events unfold.”

  “That has been my experience of them as well. Does our meeting today qualify as a portentous event?”

  “In and of itself, no,” said Srin. “Our meeting is merely the context for a larger question that likely does define such an event.”

  “I see. And what question would that be, Manager Srin?”

  The Cliveden again flashed its toothy smile. “What are you doing on my moon?”

  Impossibilities and Pragmatics

  “How is this your moon?” said Gel.

  “The same way that everything within this star system is mine,” replied Srin.

  “I don’t follow.”

  “It is an extension of pragmatic reasoning. I manage the portal that leads to this system. I oversee everything that comes through and everything that leaves. This is my domain. Nothing happens here without my approval, and so by extension, everything here is mine.”

  “And yet this system was claimed by the inhabitants of Bwill. Surely everything here belongs to them.”

  “Once, perhaps, but they no longer inhabit any of these planets. Indeed, when they withdrew, they insured no one else could either.”

  “So you’re saying because they no longer live here, they have no claim,” said Gel.

  “That is correct.”

  “But the Cliveden do because you have a portal that leads here?”