The Process Server
Page 23
Chapter Six
The brain gets addicted to belief in the same way that a drug addict goes back for the sense of euphoria he gets, even though the drug may be hurting his system, just as the belief may be causing someone to ignore reality, and do things that are not good for them. – from the Handbook of Joshua, Chapter 6, Verse 15
Resko G’Deevar was a busy man.
In fact, he was probably the busiest man in the five galaxies. A Kel, he was able like all of his species to put in 40 or 50 hours of consecutive work before he needed sleep. Unlike most of the Kel, he enjoyed doing so.
His job was simple: broker trades between Sol System businesses and those in the K’Laar System, where trust of humanity was …well, let’s generously say “limited.”
Today, the ambassador to the K’Laar System was annoyed, the breath coming hot and hard through his six nasal slits. His assistant had, without talking to him first, set aside 20 minutes of his time for lunch with Vance Vega, the indentured labor magnate.
It wasn’t that G’Deevar underestimated Vega’s influence, far from it. He just hated any meeting where he hadn’t set the agenda himself. It could throw off timing, lead to confrontations.
Adding to his irritation, Vega had insisted on meeting at Barrowman Station, halfway between G’Farg and the Sol System’s eastern frontier.
The residents on Barrowman had a reputation for being the least species-friendly of any human station, and that was saying something.
Plus, it was Vega’s turf, home to one of his largest branch offices.
G’Deevar had arrived early in the morning, as requested, with his two security guards and his entourage.
They’d settled into a rental suite at the port then gone down to the meeting location, a restaurant in the third quarter called “The Last Chance.”
Having gotten his way in almost every possible scenario for more than a century, G’Deevar was expecting to walk into the self-styled “saloon” and find Vega ready to get down to business.
Instead, there was just a bartender, a series of wood tables, five patrons, and a Drax playing the piano.
“Secretary TaMena, this is the correct location, is it not?”
Behind him, a typically small, timid Miv was frantically tapping on his virtual keypad. The mouse-like Mivs are nearly always meek, but meticulous and well-suited to planning. The full name is Mivrotosarmyraspochmedemecticus, by the way. So… Miv, for obvious reasons.
“Yes sir, he should be here by now. Mr. Vega is noted for his promptness.”
G’Deevar sighed, his slits flapping gently. “Fine, get us a table and order us something that isn’t human and dreadful-tasting while we wait.”
TaMena complied and a few minutes later came back with a round of water and a plate of K’Laar sluglings.
Kels love sluglings, which are the foot-long offspring of hover cruiser-sized energy leeches, which attach themselves to ship hulls in some of K’Laars darker, nastier corners of space.
He peeled off the first one’s outer shell, revealing a jiggling, giant jelly bean of white slime. Then he tilted his head back to fully open his double-jointed maw, dropping the slugling in whole.
That was followed by a deep, rumbling swallow then by a series of small crunches, as the second line of teeth in his lower esophagus began to break it down.
“Food’s gotten better since the last time I was here,” he said to no one in the entourage in particular, while getting back rumbling, unanimous agreement.
“You should try the coffee,” said a voice by the door.
G’Deevar swung his chair around. “Mr. Vega. You’re late. And we don’t drink coffee. Foul stuff.”
Vega had arrived just in time to see the ambassador swallow a quivering mass of white slime whole, and wasn’t inclined to accept the Kel’s advice on food.
“Yeah, well, one more area in which humans are superior, I guess. Seriously, the coffee on Barrowman is famously good.”
His sunglasses lightened until the glass was completely translucent and he straightened his dark grey herringbone suit jacket reflexively, before leading his small delegation over to the long table.
He took a seat across from G’Deevar, knowing the Kel weren’t fond of wasting time on social niceties like handshakes. “We got caught up a little. You know, the usual unforeseen issues in transit.”
“Yes, well… space is a dangerous place,” said G’Deevar. “I’m somewhat concerned, as well, that we couldn’t discuss the nature of this over the Sat Com.”
Vega studied the ambassador with carnivorous intent, as if the mere idea of doing business over a satellite network might be so stupid as to warrant … well, G’Deevar didn’t really want to know.
It was unsettling, to say the least.
Instead, the businessman said, “Yeah, well…this is real private business. That’s why we’re out here on the eastern edge, in this shithole.”
“Given my occupation, I must assume you need me to broker a trade of some sort.”
Vega smiled. “Oh yeah. Yeah, that would be one way of putting it.”
“And what might be another – perhaps less opaque – manner of describing this deal, Mr. Vega?”
“I got a friend who has a new piece of tech. It’s real hot. I mean, this thing will change the face of engineering.”
G’Deevar heard that pitch every day. But out of respect for Vega’s influence – a nice way of saying fear – he didn’t interrupt.
Vega continued, “This thing, it allows you to make a jump back to our space accurately from Quantum Dimensional Space without using a Jofari psychic and without lengthy course auto-plotting.”
Resko G’Deevar had been the sole trading negotiator for the K’Laar Trade Collective for more than a century. And that was the first time his jaw had ever dropped.
“Mr. Vega, if this is true… the ramifications.”
Vega didn’t want to talk about that humanitarian shit.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Point is, we know what this would be worth to people in K’Laar System … maybe even the Jofari themselves would like to put a bid in.”
G’Deevar’s voice was low now, as well. “And what kind of sum would something of this magnitude command, do you think, Mr. Vega?”
Vega leaned back with his saucer in one hand and coffee cup in the other, and took a sip.
As good as it was, it wasn’t a patch on real coffee. But Robert Fucking Cardale had the only concession.
Well, that was going to change. Pretty soon, everything was going to change. Vega Personnel was about to go from number four to being the biggest corporation in the galaxy.
“I tell you what, Resko, I’ll leave that up to you,” he said, using the ambassador’s first name, a highly flattering diplomatic statement on his planet. “But if the first offer comes in any lower than twenty billion creds, I’m going to get upset.”
His Sat Com buzzed and he checked his mail. It was from the home office, and simply said: “Partner down, drive missing. Recommend delay attempted brokerage. Arvedian.”
Testo Arvedian was Vega’s third-in-command and his only key employee who was also human. Vance squeezed his fist into an angry ball, containing his temper so as not to let on to the ambassador that anything was wrong.
Then he said, “So get working on some interest parties, ambassador. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”
G’Deevar thought about it. Such a sum. He already had enough wealth himself to last 50 generations, but the commission … three billion credits. Astonishing.
Of course, that wasn’t going to happen. But Vance Vega didn’t need to know it, not just yet.