Planet Hustlers

by J. S. Morin

  Amy sighed and absently laid a hand over her stomach. “Nothing we can do, then.”

  “Never said that,” Carl replied. “Still got loose pieces in my head. If I can get them to connect, we still have a shot at this.”

  “What kind of pieces?”

  “Ill-fitting ones, for now. Maybe we need to come at this from the stuunji side. Do we have a private comm ID for that friend of Rai Kub’s?”

  “You mean the stuunji head of state?” Amy asked.

  Carl snapped his fingers. “Yeah. That guy. The one who’s always at the parties in my honor.”

  Amy raised an eyebrow.

  “Our honor.”

  Within minutes, Carl was on the line with Tuu Nau. The head of the stuunji exile government sounded haggard. “How might I be of service, Savior?”

  “Kinda hit a black hole checking out Carousel. These Poets lost their gig, and they’ve latched onto you to keep from getting ousted by Earth Navy again.”

  A grunt that stood in for a stuunji sigh reverberated over the cockpit speakers. “I wonder if they realize that they are refugees of common cause with us? Perhaps we could find a way to work out an arrangement with them.”

  Carl looked to Amy and winced. These good-natured rhinos just didn’t get it. “There’s a difference between being driven off your homeworld by an uncaring enemy and inviting in the dregs of their society to live with you. Imagine there’s a moral continuum, and you nice people are on the righteous side of them.”

  “As you wish, Savior. I am envisioning.”

  He’d been prepared by months of dealing with Rai Kub for the high councilor to take his nuance at face value. “All right, now on the opposite side, place ARGO and Earth Navy together. Picture it as the two sides of a balance, one of those old mass-measurement thingies you see in old Earth holos.”

  “I… I can picture it,” Tuu Nau confirmed.

  “Now, imagine there’s something as far past ARGO as ARGO is from you, on the same side of the balance with them. That’s the Poet Fleet. They talk all sophisticated because that gets people to pay attention. They think they’re better than common criminals because they’re educated and genteel. But what they really are is unrepentant killers. They will not deal fairly with you. You brought me in on this crisis because you needed someone who can stoop to their level, and I’m stooping my ass off here. But I need a favor from you.”

  “Anything in my power, Savior Carl,” Tuu Nau said at once.

  “Don’t cut my legs out at the bargaining table. If the pirates try to negotiate with you, tell them to bring their offers to me. If they try to impose anything—taxes, tariffs, tolls, or anything like laws—tell them that hasn’t been negotiated yet. Can you do that for me?”

  “I… um… Savior Carl, they have our families.”

  A sick lump formed in Carl’s stomach.

  He should have seen this coming. It was standard operating procedure for the pirates. Of course they’d take political prisoners, same as they’d taken Esper. Except Tuu Nau couldn’t trust that his family and those of his fellow officials could take care of themselves.

  “You just do what you can, Councilor,” Carl told him. “Let me take care of everything else.” He signed off.

  “That’s awful,” Amy said, face contorted into a prolonged cringe. “How can we deal with people like this? Are you sure Esper is OK over there?”

  Carl took a steadying breath. “Yeah. Well, more or less. I imagine if she’d killed half the crew and taken over, she’d have commed us by now. Still, I oughta at least try getting in touch.”

  “She doesn’t carry a datapad.”

  “I’ll just call Chisholm and get her to put Esper on.”

  The look Amy shot him made Carl believe she didn’t think he was serious.

  Then she watched as Carl looked up the admiral’s last known comm ID and punched it in.

  # # #

  Esper lounged with her feet up on the arm of Emily’s sofa. Her bare feet dangled, polished toenails drying in the recirculated airflow. One by one, she popped jelly-filled chocolates into her mouth, tossing them a meter into the air and catching them on her tongue. Emily had hinted that they were expensive, imported from Luna and stored for special occasions.

  If the pirate admiral didn’t want her chocolates devoured, she shouldn’t have kept hostages bored in her quarters all day.

  The door slid open. Without having to look over, Esper heard the clack of Emily’s boots as she entered. The door slid shut behind her.

  Esper popped another chocolate in the air, and a hand snatched it away at the zenith of its flight. Emily leaned over, looming above Esper with a view down the front of her borrowed nightgown. She was bustier than Emily, and the silk strained under its unaccustomed load.

  The admiral bit the chocolate in half, exposing a core of what appeared to be blackberry jelly. “I see you’ve found my private stores.”

  “Booze, too,” Esper confirmed, pointing with a freshly painted toe at the table where a bottle of Santa Cuervo lay empty on its side.

  Emily looked first to the empty bottle, then to the ravaged package of chocolates, then again down at Esper. “How are you not a hundred kilos?”

  Esper craned her head to look up into Emily’s eyes. She stretched elaborately. “Active lifestyle? Don’t get me wrong; I don’t normally indulge like this. Like… any of this. I figured if I’m going to be a hostage, I might as well make a holiday of it.”

  “Get dressed,” Emily ordered. “Not the dreadful attire you wore. You’ll be attending dinner with my officers. I want to show you off a bit. The red number will do.”

  Esper had inspected the new batch of dresses they’d tailored for her. They ranged from scandalous to indecent. Emily was making it clear this time that Esper was a new toy of hers.

  “No,” she replied.

  “What was that?” Emily asked. This was one of those questions that was not a mishearing but rather a chance to restate an erroneous opinion.

  Esper tossed another chocolate. “No.” She caught it in her mouth.

  Emily was still in uniform. She still had that air of sober, commanding authority that hung around her like another layer to be discarded at the end of the day. “I believe someone might need a refresher on manners as relates to prisoners—especially ones who so clearly enjoy the gilding of their cages.”

  With a sigh, Esper pushed aside the box of expensive chocolates. “You’re sweet when you want to be. But I’m not a prize to show off. We haven’t discussed lines or sand or anything like that. I just wanted to let you know that I’m not crossing that one.”

  Emily snorted. “And to think, I was considering letting you speak to your friends. They contacted me not so long ago and asked me to put you on the comm. The nerve of that Ramsey fellow! Who does he think he is?”

  “What did they want?” Esper asked, unable to hide her need to know. She looked up at the admiral with doe eyes.

  “Oh, now you decide to play the game?” Emily asked. She took Esper by the wrist and pulled her to her feet. Esper played along as Emily towed her to the bed and flung her down. “I’ve had a long day, and you’ve got some work ahead of you to smooth down the sharp edges it’s left.”

  Clothing fell to the floor in a slow rain. Esper remained lying down, staring over her own chest as it rose and fell more rapidly by the second, watching Admiral Chisholm dissolve into Emily. Last to go were the glasses, neatly folded and placed on the bedside table.

  “They had a message?” Esper asked. “I want to know.”

  Emily crawled onto the bed, stalking like a predatory cat. “I want you to forget your friends. Until this sordid business is over and I return you—if I decide to give you up—you’re mine. You have no part in this but remaining here aboard my flagship. Your current circumstances are a gift. You are a gift. To me. And you ought to start behaving like one.”

  Eyes closed, Esper felt hands sliding along her body, over the fabric of her nightgown, stopping at
her wrists and pinning her to the bed. Lips kissed along her collarbone.

  Esper’s whole body was on fire. She had to consciously dismiss the thought lest her magic ignite the sheets. The lips worked their way up the side of her neck to her earlobe. Emily’s leg parted Espers’.

  One night wouldn’t have been too long to wait.

  But Esper was on a mission.

  This wasn’t about her. The stuunji people—Rai Kub’s people—needed her.

  With titanic willpower and the faintest of magical effort, Esper turned the tables. She rolled and twisted her wrists, and in no time at all, pinned Emily down, fingers intertwined.

  Emily moaned in pleasure. “That’s more like it. Take me.”

  Esper let out a shuddering sigh. “Another time. Right now, I need to contact the Mobius and find out what they want.”

  The furious scowl etched across Emily’s face. Her fingers clenched, trying to exert dominance even though she was the one pinned down. “How dare you! I could have the guards in here in an instant and have you in chains.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Esper said with a sad smile. “I was having fun, but you had to ruin it by reminding me what a horrible person you are outside these walls.”

  The admiral thrashed in Esper’s grip. “You’re my prisoner!”

  “You’ve been mine since the moment I arrived,” Esper said. “I’ve learned a lot since I was last on board this ship. I’m a wizard now. Stronger than you can imagine. I’m not the least bit afraid of that whatshisname of yours. If I see him, you’ll be looking for a new wizard. Do we have an understanding?”

  “Atta girl!” Mort cheered, standing at the foot of Emily’s bed. “Give her what for!”

  “We have nothing of the sort. Guards!” Emily shouted.

  The door to the admiral’s quarters opened. Two poets ran in, blasters and stun batons at the ready.

  The lights went out.

  When they came back on a moment later, the guards were gone.

  “What… happened?” Emily asked, now with a tremor in her voice.

  “I’ve… removed them,” Esper replied as coldly as she could manage. It wouldn’t take long for the ruse to come up that she’d deposited them asleep in the corridor outside. In the meantime, let Emily think they’d been disintegrated or thrown through the hull and into an unprotected vacuum. “Now. Since my friends are going to ask, what’s it going to take to convince you poets to leave New Garrelon alone?”

  Esper had never been one for interrogations. She hoped in the remote reaches of her mind that this one hadn’t spoiled the whole evening.

  # # #

  Carl checked his datapad, rubbed his eyes, and checked it again. Outside, through the window of his quarters, astral space stared blankly over his shoulder. The text comm was from Admiral Chisholm.

  “I agree to all your silly schemes and hereby submit to your superior intellect.”

  “Babe,” Carl said, rocking Amy by the shoulder. A sharp intake of breath interrupted muted snoring.

  “Huh?” Amy rolled and rubbed her eyes. She fumbled for a chrono on the bedside table. “The fuck you getting me up for?” she mumbled.

  Carl stuck the datapad in front of her face. Blinking and craning her neck back to a more comfortable reading distance, she took the device and scowled.

  “How’s that for results?” Carl said, jutting his chin.

  Amy whacked him on the shoulder with the datapad. “It’s from Esper, you dolt. Send something back to let her know it’s all clear.”

  Carl’s furrowed brow preceded a defeated sigh. “Yeah. I guess that was too much to ask for.”

  He tapped in a message.

  ALL CLEAR. WHAT’S THE SITUATION?

  “Admiral is compromised. There’s—”

  The message cut off abruptly. Carl felt a shot of adrenaline as he imagined a pirate’s blaster bolt frying the datapad in Esper’s hands.

  ESPER?! YOU ALL RIGHT? PLZ REPLY.

  “Poo. Who puts a send button next to a… never mind. I have Emily prisoner for the moment, but I don’t know what to do with her.”

  Carl angled the datapad so Amy could look. She just shrugged. “This is your ballgame. I don’t have anywhere near the experience with kidnappings.”

  The snarky instinct told Carl to ask Yomin for advice. She seemed to play both sides of the field. Carl’s style had always leaned toward psychological warfare or letting Mort handle the grisly side of interrogations. Seduction had always been recreational.

  Before he could come up with an answer, the datapad chimed.

  “Rule number one: no hurting anyone.”

  With a sigh, Carl realized he ought to have included that one from the start. It was still Esper over there, after all, even if she didn’t quite act like herself around Admiral Emily.

  ESPERVILLE? MAYBE LET MORT TAKE A CRACK AT HER.

  “Maybe on the former. No way in heck on the latter. Rather not reveal E-ville if I don’t have to. She’s willing to deal but wants Freeride back as a starting point.”

  Again, Amy read over Carl’s shoulder. “What could even out a straight-up trade?”

  Carl ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, but what does that gain us? Take the fleet out of orbit and replace it with hands-on syndicate administrators on the ground? These pirates are a skimming bunch. They’ll leech off the planet but probably leave the stuunji alone if they play ball. And that’s not acceptable. The Ruckers will burrow in like earwigs. They’ll sift out the stuunji with violent sides and turn them into enforcers. They’ll own businesses. Might even spruce the place up with a little class, but it’d be at a steep price. The stuunji would live in fear of crossing them. No. We need something that gets both sides out of this.”

  Amy planted a kiss on Carl’s cheek. “I love how you can take a pirate fleet and add a crime syndicate to a mess just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Takes a pro.”

  The temptation to tear his hair out made Carl wonder what percentage of diplomats had regrown mops. “Hey, you don’t pull ‘em out by the roots, weeds grow back.”

  “What do you know about gardening?” Amy challenged.

  “I just know weeds.”

  WHAT’S YOUR GIRLFRIEND WANT AS A BACKUP PLAN?

  The response came back quickly and poorly spelled. “Teh admirl is NOT my gf. We are having a secret mison togther is all. ALL. 100 pct busness!!!”

  Amy giggled. “If it weren’t for the stuunjis’ problem, I’d be all for letting her take a leave of absence over there.”

  Carl’s sidelong glance came with a mischievous grin as he tapped again.

  IF YOU TWO AREN’T SLEEPING TOGETHER, HOW ABOUT JUST CLIMBING INTO HER MIND AND MAKING HER AGREE?

  “Mort would probably approve,” Amy said. “Hope he’s reading these comms.”

  “She tunes him out. You think Mort wouldn’t have his foot planted on the helm of that flagship like a big game hunter’s kill if it were him in charge?”

  “No mind shenanigans. Emily is… resting comfortably right now. That’s as far as I’m willing to go unless they start hurting stuunji on the planet.”

  Amy slugged Carl in the shoulder.

  “Ow! What was that for?”

  Amy glared at him. “I know you. It flashed through your mind that a little propaganda of phony pirate atrocities could get Esper to put some fire and brimstone to these poets.”

  Rubbing at his shoulder, Carl sighed. “Fine. Guilty. But this whole diplomacy gig is just a string of lies and misdirection until you get to an agreement that neither side can back out on.”

  Carl paused, letting the datapad drop to his lap as he stared out the window at the astral gray. It was a blank slate. There was no preconceived notion of what lay where or who owned what. Those considerations were for realspace. Carl was a creature of the astral, always living in that gray reality where everything was possible and no one could say for certain what’s what.

  “What is it?” Amy asked. “You’v
e got that epiphany look. I want in.”

  “We don’t have anything the two sides value enough to make them budge,” Carl said absently, talking as much to hear the thoughts aloud as to share them with Amy. “Even if we rounded up the Bradbury, it wouldn’t be enough.”

  “The Clapton,” Amy reminded him. “You named it yourself.”

  Carl brushed aside the technicality with a wave of his hand. “Forget that. Not important. What we need is something shiny and expensive to take their eyes off an agrarian backwater and an industrial dump.”

  “Well, even assuming we could get the Clapton into the pirates’ hands—”

  “The Ruckers’ hands,” Carl interjected. “Carousel’s the shittier planet, but the more valuable commodity. It actually has a working economy that isn’t based around hay and handicrafts.”

  “Fine, but if the Clapton can’t balance the scales, what can we come up with that will?”

  “Ithaca.”

  Amy’s face went blank.

  “What?”

  She took a long, weary breath. “You don’t own Ithaca. Not anymore at least.”

  “Sure I do.”

  “No, Chuck does.”

  “50 percent is rightfully mine.”

  Amy grabbed a handful of Carl’s shirt collar and looked him in the eye from a centimeter away. “He. Will. Notice! You can’t trade away a moon without the current occupants noticing that a pirate fleet or a criminal syndicate show up to take possession.”

  “I said dangle, not trade.”

  Amy wiped both hands over her face. “I… I don’t even know where to start.”

  Carl tapped a message into the datapad.

  HOW LONG CAN YOU KEEP ADMIRAL BUSY-HANDS TIED UP?

  “She’s not tied up,” Esper commed back. “She’s sleeping peacefully.”

  LIKE A LITTLE ANGEL?

  This time, Esper didn’t rise to the bait. “They’re not expecting her back on duty for another seven hours. And she’s known for taking late mornings. You have plenty of time to do what you need to do.”

  YOU TOO.

  Amy slugged him in the shoulder again, then took away the datapad. “Are you going to explain what’s going on in that head of yours? How the ever-loving fuck are you going to—”