Giles Kurns_Rogue Instigator

by Ell Leigh Clarke

  “Well,” Gilmurry continued bragging, “we just present the opportunity in seminars on the various colonies where there’s a large enough population for them to gather. Then sign them up and charge them a fee to be brought here and taught how to mine.”

  Giles eyebrows practically shot through his hair line. “You charge them?” his tone now accusatory.

  “Sure,” Gilmurry confirmed confidently. “If it were free, they wouldn’t value the opportunity,” he explained. “So yeah. We charge them.” Defensiveness had started creeping into his tone.

  Giles tried not to react. Instead, he just scratched the side of his head where his glasses met his face and indicated for Gilmurry to continue.

  “So we set them up to mine the etheriam, show them some numbers . . .”

  Giles tried to bite his tongue but failed. “Are those numbers true?” The words slipped out on their own.

  Gilmurry turned his palm upwards and almost shrugged his spindly arm. “They were true for the first intake,” he confessed slowly.

  “And now?” Giles pressed, his eyes blazing quietly behind his spectacles.

  “Well, we have disclaimers that say these numbers are examples only . . .”

  Giles could feel his blood boiling. He remained still.

  “So technically,” Gilmurry continued, “we’re not breaking any laws.”

  Giles’s lips were tight. He let the Queegerts’ words hang in the silence.

  Eventually, he spoke, sitting upright. “There’s only one problem with that. The opportunity isn’t quite what you’re painting it to be. I understand it’s not efficient for them to make money from it as your charges and buyback rates sit.”

  The Queegerts upper eye flicked from one side to the other. “We didn’t make the rules,” he said firmly. “That was set up by The Crown to entice Logans here. We simply saw the opportunity and did exactly what the system allows us to do.”

  Giles took on the demeanor of a professor lecturing an errant student. “That may well be true, but at what cost?” he posited. “You’re condemning these people to financial slavery.”

  The Queegert started to perspire. “It was their choice to come here!” he protested. “And they can leave any time.” His clawed hand, that only moments before had drummed confidently on the table, was now sitting in his lap, clasped by his other one.

  Giles was just getting warmed up. “And how much are you charging to send them back?”

  “One thousand credits.”

  “And how much do they make in a month after they’ve paid their rent on the mines and equipment?”

  “I guess on average about fifty.” The Queegert lowered all three eyes to study his tentacles.

  “So really, you’re stranding them here,” Giles concluded.

  “Like I said,” the Queegert responded, shame and anger filling his voice. “We didn’t make the rules. This is just how it is. What do you want me to do? Go back and tell the family that we’re just not going to service this colony anymore?”

  Giles paused. “I think even the Logans would have a problem with that. They’d be stuck here with no equipment and no one to sell the ore to!”

  Giles bobbed his head, contemplating the situation and not allowing himself to get sucked into Gilmurry’s emotion. He ran his finger along one side of his chin. “How long do you think this can go on for?” he asked, a genuine tone to his voice.

  Gilmurry shrugged his skinny arms.

  Giles continued his enquiry methodically. “You’re bringing in more and more people into a system that’s not sustainable, into a life where they’re brutalized financially and emotionally. How long until there’s a correction?”

  Damn, I should’ve been a lawyer. Uncle Lance would’ve probably preferred that, he mused, losing focus for a moment.

  Gilmurry shifted his round, weighty shell. “Dunno. And that’s not my problem,” he said, regaining his confidence but barely even taking a moment to consider the question that was being posed to him. “I’m creaming off the profits every day we stay here mining. When the opportunity is done, I’ll just up sticks and leave.”

  Giles narrowed his eyes, putting the pieces together in his mind. “And move on to the next planet,” he concluded, finally seeing the whole picture.

  Free of shame now, Gilmurry grinned a toothy, ugly grin. “Now you’re catching on.”

  And the devil shows his true colors, Giles reflected.

  The conversation wrapped up with arrogant pleasantries and half-hearted arm slaps before Giles retreated back to his airlock, escorted by the bizarre security detail who was still waiting for him outside the door.

  Something bothered him though. Something other than the exploitative nature of the situation. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  I’m missing something that could be the key to this whole business, he tutted to himself as the door to the airlock was closed behind him and he waited for the Scamp to activate his path back to his own ship.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Aboard the Scamp Princess, outside the Royal Settlement, Mallifrax-8

  Arlene hauled herself back up the invisible steps and onto the ship, muddy and beyond exhausted.

  Giles, his feet up on the console, mocha in hand, turned awkwardly in his chair to see her as she staggered into the cockpit.

  “You look like shit,” he commented.

  Arlene scowled, too tired to get angry. “Ninety minutes. Ninety fucking minutes . . . and that was just to get down!” she exclaimed. “Then I had to climb all the fucking way back up . . . Because someone didn’t think to bring a fucking pod!”

  There was a shuffling of snack packets behind her. Arlene turned to see Anne watching the interaction. And torrent of f-bombs.

  Arlene flushed, and then without another word, collapsed into the console chair on the other side of the cockpit. She considered undoing her boots . . . but they were all the way down there. And she was soooo f***ing tired.

  Giles sat up, swinging his legs off the console. “So . . . successful trip?” he asked, clearly amused by Arlene’s reaction to Anne being there.

  Anne returned to her munching and whatever she was doing at the console in the back of the cockpit.

  Arlene’s eyes were closed. Giles wondered for a moment if she might be asleep. Then she drew a deep breath.

  “Yes . . . and no,” she responded.

  Giles raised one eyebrow. “I see . . . well, er . . . good talk.”

  He pretended to go back to what he’d been doing. But then couldn’t help but give his report. “You were right about the system . . . but it was far more skewed than what The Crown let on,” he reported. “In fact, it sounds like The Crown was a big part in bringing this about. Even if perhaps he didn’t realize it at the time.” He sighed. “Not the sharpest tools in the box, the Queegerts.”

  Arlene’s eyes were still closed, but her mouth had found the will to move. “If I remember rightly, it’s not dissimilar to what humans did when they discovered a shitload of territory on the planet when it turned out not to be flat.”

  Giles chuckled. “Touche. But if that was a dig at me, I’ll have to remind you that I was born on a space station, several thousand light years away from that flat little planet you’re referring to.”

  Anne’s ears had pricked up, and she was paying close attention now.

  Arlene, a half smile quietly playing across her lips, heaved herself into a more upright sitting position. “Well, it seems that the Logans were targeted and brought here under false pretenses. And getting back to their planet of origin isn’t a viable option.”

  Giles turned to engage her, now that she was responding. “And what do we think their next play is?”

  Arlene rolled her lips inward. “I’m not sure. There’s a small group who has guns and spunk. I’ve got them in a holding pattern for now, but I get the sense they’re thinking of making their move as soon as an insider gives them access to the shuttle.”

  Giles’s face
was grim. “That doesn’t sound good. They’ll likely just get themselves killed.”

  Arlene nodded. “No doubt. I’ve seen what these Queegert mercenaries can do out in other systems. If the security enforcements for this corporation are anything like that . . .”

  She didn’t finish the thought.

  Giles’s face was more serious now. “So . . . what’s our next move?”

  “In order to prevent a rebellion where the miners will get completely obliterated?”

  He nodded.

  Arlene turned her head an inch as if to shake it. “I have no idea,” she concluded. “Unless we reach out to the General, although, that wouldn’t be my first choice.”

  Giles sighed and leaned back. “No, mine neither,” he agreed. “Thin ice.”

  “Thin ice,” she repeated.

  Giles continued the thought. “He’s given us as much leash in granting us permission to follow up on this talisman thing. I’m pretty sure he won’t sign off on the expense of bringing in a team to sort out this brewing shit storm.”

  Arlene shifted her weight and pulled her lips to one side, contemplating. “And then Molly is preoccupied with the Sean situation. Even if we can get hold of her, we can’t pull them away for this.”

  Giles shook his head. “Besides, they don’t have the kind of firepower to protect the settlement. Not really…”

  “Yeah,” she chuffed, “it’s not as if they can hover the Empress over it and pick off the guards!”

  Giles looked optimistic for a second, his mouth open. Then he closed it and slumped again. “No. You’re right. That wouldn’t work.”

  Arlene leaned forward in the console chair, tipping it forward on its antigrav balance point. She had her arms on her knees and her feet flat on the ground. Thinking.

  “The problem is the margins,” she began again slowly. “And the system. We need to change the system.”

  “Which means getting a new ruling.”

  “From the guy who put the existing shit ones in place in the first place.”

  “The Crown,” Giles concluded.

  Arlene bobbed her head, looking up from her forward tipping position. “Ready for another meeting with him?”

  Giles took a deep breath. “I barely think my nanocytes have repaired my liver from the last one . . . but yes. We should. “Scamp,” he called, lifting his voice.

  “Yes, G-man.”

  Giles rolled his eyes. Arlene stifled a snigger.

  “Could you set up a meet with The Crown for us please?”

  He glanced at Arlene. “Some time tomorrow afternoon would be good,” he added.

  Arlene blinked slowly in acknowledgment. That meant she could get some rack time.

  “No problema,” Scamp responded. “I’ll let you know when it’s confirmed.”

  “Great,” Giles responded. “Thank you.”

  Arlene heaved herself up the rest of the way out of the chair. “Well, while I can still walk, I’m going to take myself down to my quarters and get showered up.”

  Giles grinned. “Oh, thank goodness for that,” he said.

  Arlene frowned back at him.

  “You stink!” he explained.

  Arlene looked for something to throw but couldn’t find anything. Anne screwed up a piece of paper she had next to her on her console and colored pens and handed it to Arlene.

  Ages of understanding passed between the two females, united them against an eternal enemy in the forever battle between the sexes.

  With all her remaining might, Arlene turned and threw the screwed-up paper that hit Professor Kurns smack on the side of his face.

  Shocked, he turned to see the pair laughing hysterically.

  Through her giggles, Anne realized she was drawing most of his indignation as a traitor. “You deserved it!” she justified.

  And before it could unravel any further, Arlene shuffled her aching muscles out of the cockpit to wince her way down the stairs.

  Mallifrax-8, Etheriam mines

  Voyved replaced one more cattle prod-like weapon into the box of arms they’d been accumulating. “That’s one more fixed,” he relayed quietly.

  Razeene grunted and returned to sit at the table after checking the tunnel outside.

  “I hope we don’t get too many showing up,” Voyved continued, grabbing another one to work on. “We have no idea how many that shuttle will take safely. Especially not for a long journey like we’re going to face to the next trading outpost.”

  Razeene sighed. “Yeah. True. Although, I think most of these people are too scared. Scared they’ll be killed, and worse . . . scared they’ll be reported and never get a mining job anywhere else.” He glanced at the doorway again.

  Voyved scratched his face with a tendril. “It’s a fair consideration. I mean, what else can we do . . . other than mine?”

  Razeene rolled his eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re the best tech expert I’ve ever met. Why you’re mining, I don’t know.”

  His friend shrugged his eyeballs. “It seemed like a good opportunity.”

  “Yeah, but now it’s not. So what’s the deal?”

  “I just . . . I don’t know.” He didn’t take his eyes from the work he was doing. “It’s not that bad.”

  Razeene snorted. “Says the Logan fixing a fucking laser rifle for a rebellion. Not that bad. You and I both know it is that bad. That’s why we’re having to use lethal force just to get out of here. What amazes me is that despite this very fact, you still insist that it’s not that bad that you’d want to change your career.”

  Both Queegerts were silent for a moment.

  “I guess,” Voyved said quietly, “it’s just scary.”

  Razeene’s expression softened, realizing he’d been pushing too hard. Gently, he shuffled forwards and laid a tendril on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s going to be all right. And once tomorrow night is over, you’re going to be in a position to face those career fears once and for all.”

  Royal Crown Settlement, Mallifrax-8

  Giles waited patiently in The Crown’s office. The sound of the wooden cabins creaked gently in the warmth. It had been cold on the way over from the ship, and his muscles were still cold despite the exertion of the walk.

  Giles was contemplating sitting in one of the guest chairs at the desk when he heard footsteps outside the private door. He straightened up and turned to greet the newcomer.

  The Crown himself waddled in, his round shell-like body unbelievably supported by his waif-like legs beneath him.

  “My friend, you return!” he exclaimed. “What news have you?”

  Giles reeled against the falsity of his social warmth. “I . . . I’ve made some discoveries.”

  The Crown sat at his desk and motioned to the chair Giles’s hand rested on. “Please.”

  Giles sat. “It’s a rather delicate matter,” he started. “It’s come to our attention that there are certain . . . mechanisms in play that need resolving before the situation can be rectified.”

  He paused, waiting for The Crown to react.

  He didn’t.

  Giles continued. “You see . . . erm, it seems as though the McKegans are only here because . . . well, you changed the rules to make it attractive for them to be here. They exploit the people because it was encouraged by the system.”

  The Crown shuffled awkwardly in his chair, his three eyes flaming with fury. “How dare you accuse me of enslaving my own people? I’ll have you know I fought tooth and tendril to make sure they had the opport—”

  Giles raised his hands in surrender. “Your Highness,” he said calmly, “no one is accusing you of anything.” Other than ignorance . . . he added in his own mind. “The facts remain, without certain regulations in place, these people wouldn’t stick around.”

  The Crown relaxed somewhat. “Which regulations?”

  “The ones that give them prehnites to mine for each new Logan they bring on board . . . for instance. The ones that make it possible for them to lease
them back at a high rate and then buy the ore at an unfairly low price.”

  The Crown held up his arms in defense. “What am I supposed to do about that?”

  Giles’s eyes fluttered behind his glasses as he reacted to the question. He calmed himself. “Quite simply, you reverse some of the rulings you made to get them here.”

  The Crown seemed to drop all defenses. “I see,” he sighed. “I mean, it’s not that I wouldn’t . . . the thing is, if they leave, they take their mining equipment and go elsewhere. Then my people are left without being able to mine and without being able to sell their ore. Both sides of the transaction disappear.”

  Giles nodded. “The problem with having both sides of the transaction controlled by one entity.”

  The Crown’s top eye glared at Giles, while the other two looked down at his tentacle-hands. “You make me seem very foolish,” he said quietly.

  Giles tempered his response before he spoke. “Noooo . . .” he cooed, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “It was an easy mistake to make. Besides, you were only looking out for your people. You wanted to make this colony a success.”

  The Crown swiveled on his chair and ambled around to his decanter of lime green liquid. “Drink?” he asked.

  Giles waved his hand. “Not for me, thanks,” he responded quickly.

  “I’d like to make this change you suggest,” The Crown continued as he poured himself a glass of the liquid hangover, “but the problem is, without these other two pieces taken care of, I’ll be condemning my people to starvation. I’ll have riots on my hands within days.” He sighed, sitting down again with his drink.

  Giles fell silent for several moments, his mind churning while his eyes fixed vacantly on a random spot on the rug beneath his feet.

  Finally, he spoke. “What if . . . what if I could get those other two pieces taken care of? By some new entities?”

  The Crown’s three eyes brightened. “Well,” he said cautiously, “that would certainly . . . yes. That would help.”

  Giles took a deep breath, accepting the challenge. “Right then,” he said, standing up. “I’ll see what I can do. But can I be assured that if I make this happen, you will change the ruling as we discussed?”