We’re kindred spirits.”
“Kindred spirits,” Ab’nere repeated dully, not certain she wanted to pursue this relationship any further. Lexie du Preh had jumped from an interesting primitive to a formidable observer in one quantum leap.
“So, tell me: what am I up against?” Lexie du Preh asked.
“The Glugs consume methane. That is the primary objective of all of their trade agreements.” Preliminary contacts should have established that.
“Methane. Sure. We got enough chicken shit and hog poop to feed their whole planet for a year or two. But what can we get from these living sewage disposal plants that would benefit us?”
“What do you need.”
“Tech advice. That ship we built moves faster than anything we’ve ever had. But from what I’ve seen of the ships docked around the First Contact Cafi, it’s a slug. If we want to become a presence in the galaxy, we got to have some speed.”
Ab’nere suspected that an Earther presence in the galaxy just might prove dangerous to all concerned.
She made a calculated decision. Profits came from alliances with the strongest races.
“The Glugs have access to a better FTL drive than you have.”
“Sure they don’t just propel themselves by belching a little volatile gas?”
Both Lexie du Preh and Ab’nere spread their mouths upward at the image.
“The Glugs have invented many wonderful things in their quest for new food sources.”
Ab’nere kept her demeanor sober as she leaned forward confidentially. Keeping one eye on the computer terminal to make sure the Glug hadn’t jacked in to eavesdrop, she whispered, “Frankly, I don’t like the Glugs. They stink. Right now their odor upsets the baby. That violates several rules of etiquette. I’d like to see your people get the best deal they can.”
She repeated the same phrase in every negotiation she handled regardless of her personal preferences. Etiquette and profit sometimes did not mesh.
“Sure ’nuff, honey. I grew up on the chicken ranch. I know what I’m dealing with. Now how much shit can we unload for a new FTL drive?”
Ab’nere told her.
“That much?”
“Will that impoverish you?”
“Ah, I don’t think so. But it will be a stretch. Might have to start mining the cattle ranches as well as the hog farms for that much. What about an artificial gravity. How much would that cost? We could cut the size of the ship down by fifty percent if we didn’t depend upon rotation. Or increase the cargo holds by that much if we kept the same size. Think the Glugs would let us have that?”
Ab’nere prodded the Glug with a judicious jolt of electricity from the floor beneath it.
The Glug jacked in. It replied to Ab’nere silently by way of the machine.
“Oh, I think the Glugs can appreciate your request. But they’d want at least fifty percent more for the fil-grav than the FTL.”
“Now that might present a bit of a hardship. We’d have to increase our herds, but you only get prime methane from animals at their peak of youth and strength. We’ll have to slaughter the aging critters to make way for young’uns. And what do we do with all those carcasses? We’ll have to,” shudder, “eat them.”
“Yes that could present a hardship,” Ab’nere agreed. Secretly she checked the Glug’s connection to the computer. He had shuddered in disgust right along with Lexie du Preh.
The Ghoul might prove more generous than usual. Or be more desperate.
“And what about fodder for all them critters,” Lexie du Preh continued. We’ll have to divert expensive grain supplies from human consumption to feeding chickens and pigs, and bulls. That ain’t going to go over too big with some folks back home.”
The Glug sent several rapid communications through his Jack with instructions.
“What kind of grains?” Ab’nere asked.
“Corn mostly.”
The computer flashed a visual as well as a description of a plant Ab’nere knew all too well, tall stalks with kernels growing on long tubes. Every civilized planet burned the pernicious monster as a weed that had spread from Ab’nere’s home planet and adapted to every local environment—like sott and Labyrinthians themselves. No one had ever considered eating the kernels of “corn.”
“Perhaps I can strike an additional deal with you. For a fee…”
“What kind of deal?” Lexie du Preh twirled the leather head covering on one forepaw digit, staring at it as if falling into a trance.
“I know a source for this corn you require.”
“We’ll have to test it for DNA compatibility. Don’t want our prime methane producers starvin’ to death on an inert substance.”
“The DNA on my planet has proved most flexible.”
“How so?” Lexie du Preh narrowed her eyes.
Ab’nere had come to think of that expression as calculating. She definitely wanted the genetic advantages an Earther mate would give her offspring.
“Since the people of Labyrinth first ventured into space one thousand cycles ago, sentient beings, livestock, plants, anything native to our world has proved incapable of breeding with other natives. We must crossbreed with the beings we encounter, absorbing their culture, their languages, and their genes. But the offspring always take on the overt characteristics of a Labyrinthine.” Plus a few advantages.
How could she use a very large child of a Magma Giant to boost her profits?
“You think your corn will cross-pollinate with our corn?”
“We have yet to fail.”
“Then I guess we got ourselves a deal.” Once more Lexie du Preh held out her paw for a contact greeting.
“Our surveys indicate your species regards a written contract with signatures as binding.” Ab’nere eyed the slim hand devoid of fur skeptically.
“The lawyer-types back home will require one. But just between you ’n me, friends, women, new mamas, a handshake is as binding as a signature.” Lexie du Preh’s voice took on an edge previously missing.
“And so it is with my people.” Ab’nere clasped her new business partner’s paw with her own, squeezing lightly but firmly.
“Now how do I pay for this here beer? Mighty good beer it is, too.” She finished the last few drops, again dabbing at her mouth with the square of fine cloth and its intriguing edge.
“What kind of currency do you use back on Earth?” Ab’nere asked, even as she added the cost of the beer to the ship’s docking fees—payable in trade with the first exchange of cargoes.
“Mostly we work on a credit system, all handled by the computers. But for casual transactions we use coins.” She dumped a handful of metal disks upon the bar.
“All of these are common metals,” Ab’nere eyed the collection skeptically. “I could consider that square of white cloth with the thread edging, though, for the beer. What besides methane does your world produce in surplus?”
“People.”
Another reason to choose an Earther as a mate. Ab’nere hoped they were as skilled lovers as the ammonia breathers.
“What about more woven textiles of this fineness?” Ab’nere held up the square of white.
“This type of edging might prove useful in paying for the corn.”
Lexie du Preh fingered the curious crossed triangles emblem on her hat. She waited through a long moment.
The Glug asked anxious questions. His silent words on the computer screen nearly danced with glee. He’d get his methane. Ab’nere would turn a pernicious weed into a cash crop. The Earthers would enter into the realm of galactic trade as happy partners.
The silence stretched on for more long moments while Lexie du Preh weighed the cost of the corn against the technological gains. The atmosphere in the bar grew thick.
