FRENCHY II : Having a Blast

by George Olney

  The three wended their way through the colorfully and exotically dressed crowd, headed for the Arm headquarters. This was one of the things Frenchy most enjoyed about coming to the dome, seeing all of the various types of Galactic dress. She enjoyed pointing out various costumes to Dallas, occasionally asking Grae for a quick explanation when she didn't recognize the style. Of course, most of the people in the dome were local so Tribal dress predominated, or again, lack of dress. A lot of women wore nothing but a smile, a pair of shoes, the combination of leather straps called a miaso, and the little gold and crystal pendant that said they were in bondage to someone. She indicated one girl undressed that way and said to Dallas, "That would have been you if Jongular had succeeded, babe. Bound girls don't wear anything but that damned pendant."

  Dallas had already seen bound girls in the Hold, but Frenchy's comment made the idea personal. She also knew her friend disliked the whole concept of Tribal bondage, even if she had learned to live with it, and Dallas had to agree. She was just as fiercely independent and the whole idea of it happening to her made her skin crawl.

  On the other hand, when they walked through another wall into an office area, entered what appeared to be an empty shaft then stood on plain old air, that really did make her skin crawl. Frenchy had told her about gravity shafts, but the doing was way different from the hearing. Frankly, Dallas really wanted to just turn around and walk (well, run) out when she saw the empty shaft, but the calm, matter of fact way Grae and Frenchy stepped on to empty air and just stood there, suspended, made her buck up her courage and join them, hoping her nervousness wasn't showing. She tried to be as urbane and calm about it as the other two. Gravity shafts were okay for Frenchy. She was the science fiction buff. Gravity shafts instead of sensible safe elevator cars were simply not her cup of tea. Sailing upward forty two stories was stomach churning, too. When they got to Grae's office, she was quite happy to step out onto a solid floor again.

  Grae and Frenchy left Dallas in the outer office and walked casually toward another opaque field acting as the door to Locar's private office. Both of them knew they were under surveillance and Locar was aware of their arrival. Frenchy might be just a junior agent, but Grae was high enough up the Arm's ladder to enjoy the privilege of open access to the being that commanded this sector of the Arm. They were interrupted by the young galactic man that acted as Locar's secretary. "Chief Inspector Kwaakani, Supervisor Locar would like you and Agent Kwaakani to bring Fre Ashby with you. He wants to see her."

  That declaration brought raised eyebrows from Grae and Frenchy, but an order was an order. Ergo, Dallas joined the two as they entered.

  The interior of the office was cool and shadowed, holding several banks of data machines and various terminals against the walls. Other than that, there was only Locar's desk with three chairs placed to face it. As they entered, Locar was on the way back to his desk from a data bank and Frenchy heard a small gasp as Dallas got her first sight of a real honest-to-God alien humanoid. Locar was a Shamshir from Oconus who generally resembled a wizened little man with dark gray skin, dressed in a gray smock. From the waist up, that was. His lower half was the galactic equivalent of a combined antigravity wheelchair and life support machine, the result of a near legendary mission from his days as an agent.

  Knowing Locar's no-preliminaries attitude, Grae and Frenchy found chairs and Frenchy waved Dallas into the third. Now behind his desk, Locar said, "Fre Ashby, I'm glad you're here. By now I'm sure you know that you can't return to XB734. Contact is heavily restricted to your world. Given that, what are your future plans?"

  Dallas, slightly unnerved by Locar's direct question, stammered, "Ah, I really don't know yet. I've got a place at the Yellow Knife Freehold now, and friends there. I've got enough money to last me for a while, but I need to find something to do if I'm going to live here permanently. Back home, I was in business and I found out I enjoyed it. If I can find an opportunity, I think that's what I would like to do."

  Locar nodded slightly. "Since you arrived at Chief Inspector Kwakanni's house on Seelah, I've had your background researched by our people on XB734. After you stopped dancing, you became quite a successful businesswoman. I am currently in need of a competent business person, preferably from XB734."

  Locar diplomatically ignored Dallas's slight blush, not to mention the kind of dancing - or business - she did and continued, "I find myself and the Federation in somewhat of an unusual position. Over the last several years, many of the Arm and others that have had contact with your world have smuggled back, with unspoken sanction, the powder to make a drink common on your world, coffee. There is a steadily growing general movement within Federation agencies that importation, or at galactic production of the beans that make the drink, be made legal. The Federation governing body has finally approved the request of that movement within severe limits, mostly applying to contact with the locals."

  Frenchy knew that Locar was an important member of the small group of beings that constituted that unnamed governing body and her eyes widened. Wow. The Arm wanted coffee enough to change Federation rules! Who knew?

  Locar looked a bit uncomfortable, but steadily forged on. "Approval is one step. Unfortunately, we are a government, not a business. Normally, such production would be the province of an existing galactic corporation or combine, but we are faced with an unusual problem. Nobody in the Federation has experience with coffee, with the exception of the Arm and a limited number of persons in other agencies. Frankly, the Federation would like to keep it that way until the drink is ready for widespread distribution. If we turned coffee production over to a commercial entity, the restrictions on XB734 would be endangered and the possibility of your world's public contact with galactic civilization would be very high. Past experience has shown that premature contact would be very detrimental to XB734. Accordingly, the Arm finds itself in the position of a law enforcement agency having to give birth to a business.

  "I have a proposition for you. You are currently at loose ends and have a proven record in business. Would you be willing to undertake creating a coffee business under the Arm's sponsorship, later silent partnership? Like all law enforcement agencies, our budget is limited. We could use the revenue boost. Most of your production would be limited to government use until the business grew large enough for general distribution of your product, however there is great potential there."

  Frenchy's eyes widened again. Dallas? Coffee magnate of the galaxy? By now she knew a lot about galactic civilization and could guess the money involved. Her best friend was about to get stinking rich - again - if everything worked out for her.

  Dallas wasn't wide eyed. Instead her expression was both thoughtful and intense. She was obviously considering the business opportunity. "Start-ups are tough. I wouldn't begin to have the capital for something like that, much less knowing how to get the permissions and do the forms and such. We'd need coffee plantations and I don't know anything about that either, but that part doesn't worry me. I found out early on that experts can be hired if you need them."

  "Capital wouldn't be a problem," Locar said. "The Arm has enough discretionary funding that we could provide it. There will be no regulatory problems either. We will see to that."

  "What's the Arm's take? Remember that it will be a while before anyone sees any money. Back home, they said it took at least three years for a new business to really show a profit." Dallas's voice was calm and highly professional. Frenchy was impressed. It was like Dallas bargained with aliens about coffee every day.

  Locar, on the other hand, was showing a bit of discomfort. Business negotiations weren't his thing. "We'd thought about thirty percent once the project began showing a profit."

  Dallas shook her head decisively. "Twenty percent. I'm doing the work, the research, and putting this thing together. Trees would be best, and those take time to start producing. Then I have to find somewhere to set up a plantation. They'll want a cut, too. I can't do it myself at the Yellow Knife Fre
ehold. Climate's wrong. Too dry. I already know that much."

  Locar looked even more uncomfortable, but he agreed. "Twenty percent, then. I don't foresee any major difficulties getting trees off XB734 once you have a production area. It will simply take a little time and caution."

  "Done," Dallas said with a grin. She stood up and leaned across Locar's desk to shake hands. He responded, although he was clearly very uncomfortable with the gesture. She added after they'd shaken, "I'll do some research and get back to you with a business plan."

  Locar was back to his old detached, computer-like self. "Very good. You may go now, Fre Ashby. I have further business with Chief Inspector and Agent Kwaakani now. Professional business, for a change."

  Dallas stood up with a bright smile, but Frenchy stopped her. "Babe, I've been thinking, and there's no need for you to just sit. There's a cafeteria just down the gallery from the office if you want to get something to drink. The guy out front can tell you where it is."

  Dallas, still cheerfully grinning, nodded. "Okay, babe. I'll be a good girl and tell the guy if I go out. Office or cafeteria."

  A brief hug with Frenchy and the cheerfully humming Dallas was out of the office.

  After Dallas left, Grae looked at Locar quizzically. "Coffee?"

  Locar looked a little embarrassed, something Frenchy had never seen. "I've tried it myself. The drink is both stimulating and relaxing at the same time. Quite superior.

  "However, we have several items we have to discuss," he said in deadpan tones that told everyone very clearly he was finished with the coffee matter.

  He looked at Frenchy. "Jona-Nos-Savonia, your ward, for want of a better term."

  Frenchy got a bit nervous. Was Locar going to tell her she was going to lose him? She knew it was coming, but she was enjoying being a mommy. Good training for when she had one - or more - of her own.

  "The Federation governing body wants you to keep him for quite some time, possibly until he reaches his majority," Locar continued in calm tones. "We feel you're doing exactly the right thing by acting as his mother."

  Frenchy was a bit stunned. Keep Nos? How long? "B-but what about his family? The lawyers?"

  "We feel lawyers and his family are part of the problem, not the solution," Locar continued. "He personally is the controlling interest in a number of very large corporations, a young man of immense power and wealth, but far too young for the position. If we just sent him back now, whoever set up his kidnapping would attempt to take him again, or some other interest would try to gain control of him. In either case, his chances of personal survival would be slim. His wealth and the power that implies would be in the hands of someone that would act in their own interests. Those interests could well not be in accord with Federation policy, leading to major problems. Simply, if he went back to where he could be controlled, it would lead to power struggles at the upper end of Federation government, power struggles we would like to avoid. If the wrong faction won, Federation policy and future plans could suffer major damage."

  Hearing Nos's situation so baldly described, Frenchy sucked in her breath in distress. Then she started to heat up. Like hell she was going to let her boy become a pawn in a power struggle!

  Locar was watching her. "I agree with you, Agent Frenchy. What I've described ignores the human element. He's a twelve year old boy, a person. We also have to look at what's best for him, as well. Frankly, we think that being raised as a tribesman would be the proper thing. Nobody intends to take away his birthright, but for him to assume that birthright at this time wouldn't be in his best interest. Once he reaches his majority, with tribal training and a good education behind him, I doubt if any person or group would find him easy to control or even eliminate, especially with the Arm's attention focused on him."

  For a moment, Locar's words didn't register. Nos? Twelve? He looked - and acted - years younger! She decided to put the revelation to one side and get Grae to explain later. The rest of what Locar was saying began to penetrate. For a moment, her imagination conjured up a picture of a grown Nos in tribal leathers, a five foot sword across his back, walking into a staid boardroom to confront a meeting table loaded with typical corporate types. She had to smile.

  Grae was thinking practically. "I understand where you're going, Locar, but how do we keep things to where the boy can actually come back? As soon as he's gone long enough, there's enough power and money wrapped up in the situation that somebody's going to try to declare him dead. Then the first scenario you describe still happens."

  Locar gave Grae a knowing minimal smile. "Somehow, I don't think the courts will let anyone declare him dead for a decade or two. Plenty of time for him to grow up. Meanwhile, because of the size of the Jona-Savonia holdings, the Federation will take control at the proper time and name an interim manager for his assets." He added dryly, "Simply until the proper legal resolution of his status can be achieved. When Nos returns, he will be able to step back into his father's place.

  "In more ways than physically. Nos's father was a major supporter of Federation policy and quite successfully opposed to several factions in his subordinate corporations that were trying to take power and pursue programs not necessarily in Federation interests. Various criminal elements were behind a number of them, which makes this whole situation very definitely Arm business. We're certain one of those factions was behind the boy's kidnapping and the murder of his parents. One of the reasons we're stretching out Nos's absence is to see just who starts to surface from the swirling mix and just who is behind them."

  Locar looked directly at Frenchy. "If it is the one we think it is, they are attempting to dominate and expand legalized slavery."

  Frenchy started to heat up. Slavery was something she hated worse than anything else in the galaxy. "Like hell they will! Not if I have anything to do with it!"

  Locar nodded. "And you will. That woman you freed - you call her Fuzzy - was a symptom of what they are trying to do. Your friend Dallas was another. The supply of legally obtained women from Lycanth is beginning to be reduced. As yet, there is nothing we can do about those already enslaved, but the Tribes are starting to crack down on slavers whenever possible. That means the semi legal concerns that specialize in female slavery are already trying to obtain women from other worlds than Lycanth. That takes them beyond the law and lets us go after them. We've almost completely cleaned up the groups that took Dallas and Fuzzy."

  "Good!" Frenchy snarled.

  Locar continued, "That is the second reason I wanted to talk to you two today. We have very little solid information, but Correlation says that efforts by slavers to revive their trade are certain to be happening here on Lycanth. Grae, you will stop those efforts."

  That was all the mission orders Chief Inspector Grae Kwaakani needed - or ever got. He had the authority to direct any Arm agent on the planet, all of whom would soon be taking what was to slavers a very unwelcome interest in their activities.

  Locar turned back to his desk. The meeting was over and Frenchy understood the fact perfectly. She was quite happy, as a matter of fact. She and Grae now had two missions: make sure Nos was raised properly and take out a slaver organization. Satisfying.

  As it happened, another office on the same level as Locar's but halfway around the dome was newly rented and the tenant was having a meeting with a business contact about joint operations. Alesos, with suitable muscle looming in the background at various locations in his office, sat at his desk and examined the individual sitting casually, almost arrogantly, across from him. During the examination, Alesos felt a minor degree of distaste and a larger degree of caution. Said individual was large and heavy with muscle, dressed in tribal leathers and looked utterly confident that he could clean out the whole office if he decided to take umbrage. Alesos had a sneaking suspicion that his men agreed, not to mention that he himself also felt a certain amount of agreement. The man's scarred face and shapeless nose certainly made him look intimidating, at any rate.

  Baltan, late
of the War Eagle Tribe, knew perfectly well that his appearance made him intimidating - to a galactic. No person in the Tribes would be bothered in the least by his face. In fact, they'd know it for what it was, the result of being "unofficially urged" by a number of War Eagle tribesmen to take himself and his slaving elsewhere, permanently, about a year ago. He still had his gang for the most part, but pickings were getting slim and, more to the point, far more dangerous. He no longer let his men operate in ones and twos. They tended to disappear that way. These days it was in groups for survival's sake and that meant fewer captures and less income for more effort. Which was why he was here talking to this galactic fop. Business was bad at the moment.

  "I'm offering twenty percent of net for any Lycanthi girl you deliver," Alesos said with a theatrical wave of his hand, emphasizing astounding generosity, "far better than you'll receive from any other distributor. Such as they are at the moment."

  Baltan scowled. "Not enough. Not really worth my trouble. Tribal girls are harder to get now. Make it thirty percent of net and I'll consider the offer."

  Alesos flopped dismally back in his chair and threw up his hands. "That nearly destroys my own profit! Impossible! I am, after all, doing the shipping and final sales. That takes investment. I suggest that there are other women on this planet than tribal. I am quite prepared to handle those without any excessive activity that might attract the notice of the Arm. Frankly, the money's there to be made."

  Baltan thought about that. He'd considered the Port from time to time, but didn't have a contact that would risk it. He could get away with taking a tribal girl easily enough, if he managed to get her out of the Mandate. The "get her out of the Mandate" part, on the other hand, was becoming harder to do without blood being spilled or more effort than the taking was worth.