“I know that, Buckethead. I was standing up for you. Jeez.”

  Xenon’s mandibles flexed back and forth. “Come on, are you seriously going to bust my gaster about ten lousy MU?”

  “Plus, tip. And you’re damn right I am. Word around the Port is that you did Borno dirty. I’d like to have credits on-hand, in the unfortunate case that she finds you before you settle up.”

  “That’s just a simple misunderstanding,” he said, even as his antennae twitched nervously.

  “All the same. Pay the android, and you’ll be sucking on cinnamon-y goodness in no-time.”

  “Fine, you ginger-headed jerk.” He slapped his debit chit onto the bar and slid it to M-09. “Just don’t act like you’ve never had a deal go sideways with a partner.”

  “I choose less-lethal partners, though.” Sadly, that spoke more to just how dangerous Borno was, than it did my choice in patronship. I nodded to the android as he processed the chit, and M-09 poured the squat Velox his drink. “Seriously though, you need to settle up with her soon or not even a jump to Regulon-7 will keep her from hunting you down.”

  A look that nearly resembled a smile crossed Xenon’s buggy little face, and he started to say something before I silenced him with a quick shake of my head.

  “Evening Constable Ndango,” I said, making a vain attempt at a warm smile to the tall, stern human woman in the dark-red uniform of an Interstel security officer. The overhead lighting highlighted a faint silver undertone in her deep-umber skin, especially over her clean-shaven head. “What brings you to the Black Box tonight?”

  Ndango’s eyes narrowed as she cut through the insincerity like a plasma blade through steel. Her gaze fell over everyone in the bar. “That walking houseplant of yours put a request into Operations that stated you wanted the teleporters around your establishment deactivated. I need to know why we should consider such a ridiculous request?”

  I glanced over to Tyelehn. The blue-green six-foot tall plant-creature was busy cleaning several tables off in the corner with its five arm-vines. It was hard to take it seriously while it had a stash of cleaning supplies hanging in the apron draped around its neck. But Tyelehn is good people, even if the hermaphrodite thing took me a minute to adjust to.

  “And I need to know why everyone is being rude to my staff tonight? Tyelehn is Elowan, not a walking houseplant, and a valued member of my team. And I had it deliver that request because I don’t want people materializing out of thin-air only meters from my doorway.”

  “No one else on this starbase has had any problem with the teleporters, not even Xinoktzi here,” she said gesturing to Xenon; I noted she used his legal name, instead of his shadier fence name. “If a pawnbroker doesn’t take issue with people materializing outside of his establishment, it seems suspicious that you would. Unless you are engaging in activities that are not permitted…”

  I’ll give Xenon credit, he just sipped on his cocktail and left me to twist in the breeze, rather than risk the scrutiny of Constable Ndango. Not that it helped me any, but I’d have probably done the same thing if I’d been in his shoes—if Velox wore shoes.

  “I had a few folks dine-and-dash on me last week,” I said, surprising myself with how quickly I came up with the deflection. “They ported right out of here, to the planet’s surface or who knows where, as soon as they got out the door. It wasn’t enough chit to make it worth filing a report for, but I can’t have that becoming a habit. I just want enough of a buffer zone that I don’t have to hire on a sprinter to sit by the exit to keep my profits from running out the door.”

  That seemed to appease her. I caught the hint of a smile on her face.

  “I suppose we can establish a zone of twenty meters around your bar with inactive teleportation. Or do you need more room to catch up to someone?”

  “Is that a short-joke, Constable?”

  She looked down at me and smirked. Sure, she had several inches on me, but five-seven is not that short for a grown man. She’s just freakishly tall. Really.

  “First you call my Elowan friend a houseplant and now this? You’re gonna end up in sensitivity training if you’re not careful. It’d be a shame if someone were to say something to Starport Operations. I mean, Interstel’s fines for employee misconduct are surely not as steep as the ones they levy against the space jockeys that they have to fish out of the Black. But why risk it?”

  Her jaw tightened hard enough to crush mining slag. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  I held my hands up innocently in front of me and flashed my best smile at her. “Now, did I say that I’d do something like that? No. I just said it’d be a shame if something like that happened. I’m looking out for you, Ndango.”

  “Yes, well then. Like I said, I’ll pass the recommendation to engineering.” The stare of barely restrained violence belied her placating words, but she left without unleashing any of it in my direction.

  I’d probably pushed her a little too much this time. It was a dangerous game I played with her. But it was just so much fun.

  Activity at Starport Central had ramped into high-gear the last few weeks. Interstel had made some kind of big announcement that had gotten the space jockeys all hot and bothered. Ships were constantly blasting off into the Black, seeking fortune and fame among the stars. Personally, orbiting above Arth was enough excitement for me. At least if things went tango-uniform on the Starport, I could jump planet-side quickly enough and take up residence in one of the bunker cities. Out there—well, getting sucked into the cold vacuum of space was a genuine possibility. They’d already lost contact with a pair of their ships a few systems over on their colonization mission. The poor sots were likely all space particulate now.

  It’s not that I wouldn’t mind having a taste of the action coming back from those successful excursions. There’d already been a few crews that had unloaded stores of gold, platinum, titanium, and endurium into the trading post. It’s just that I’d prefer to stick to less precarious avenues.

  You say coward. I say survivor.

  The hum of transporters beamed to life, followed shortly by the agitated shaking of Tyelehn’s leaves. It perfectly displayed one reason I had petitioned to get a buffer around the Black Box, as I spotted two of Nyll T’Lathll’s scaly flunkies materializing outside the bar.

  My opinion of the Thrynn took a nose-dive not long after I brought Tyelehn on as an employee. It’d taken a bit of time for me to sort out a shorthand understanding of the sentient plant’s communication methods, mostly based on rattling foliage and gesturing vines. An early lesson was the Elowan race’s near extinction at the fangs of the Thrynn. Learning that devouring the Headfruit, or fertilized heads of the Elowan, is considered a sport to the Thrynn was a revolting revelation. Most Arth-based Thrynn play it off like an age-old misunderstanding and have nominally functional relationships with those Elowan on the surface. However, you can still feel the tension in the room at times.

  That’s not to say that all Thrynn have reformed from their old ways. Nyll T’Lathll’s lounge of lizards has always taken particular delight at menacing Tyelehn.

  “Yeah, yeah, I see them too! Lock up the front doors, I’ll get the back,” and I shot past M-09, who was setting down a stack of glasses as I barreled behind the bar and to the backroom.

  Which is exactly where I crashed headlong with Nyll T’Lathll and all his scaly bulk.

  “McConnell…” Nyll T’Lathll said, with a twist of his long neck to glare at me on the floor. “You wouldn’t be trying to prevent me from seeing you, would you?”

  “What? No! That’s crazy, Nyll T’Lathll.” I sat up, rubbing the spot on my head that had bounced off of the floor after our collision.

  “Because, that would be terribly rude. Especially since I helped front the funds for this bar of yours.”

  Taking that money had been a low point in my move up to Starport. One I constantly regretted.

  My eyes moved around the room as I pulled myself to my feet.

  “Looking for this?” Nyll T’Lathll dangled the little Class-Three Laser pistol that I kept back here between a pair of his claws over my head.

  Damn.

  “Nooo, don’t be daft. I’m looking for… this!” I said, grabbing the ale key off the door hook. “So, we can share a drink while we talk about what’s brought you in tonight.”

  The gray scales under his eyes crinkled as he gave me a toothy grin that fully displayed the multiple rows of sharp fangs. “Good. Let’s have a toast to tonight’s job.”

  Like I said, I took money from Nyll T’Lathll to make the move up to Starport Central. Planetary prospects were dwindling on Arth, and Interstel was throwing all of its considerable resources into this FTL space program. So, I didn’t ask as many questions as I should have and ended up in his debt. You never come between a thirsty man and a drink, and you never get under the thumb of an ambitious Thrynn.

  I guess that makes me stupid, as well as a coward.

  We all have our low points.

  Returning to the bar front, I raised my arms in surrender, prompted by the nudging from my own laser to my back. “Hey guys. I’m going to have a drink with our friend, Nyll T’Lathll. Let’s all be cool.”

  M-09 and Tyelehn reacted with as much alarm as you’d expect from a bucket of bolts and a walking topiary and simply watched us come around the bar. For once, though, I was relieved at each of my partner’s mutual deliberative and analytic natures. It meant I didn’t catch a laser in the back.

  “Good,” Nyll T’Lathll smirked from behind me. “Now, be a good little pet and let my associates in.”

  I nodded to Tyelehn, who reluctantly unlatched the front locks, allowing the muscly Thrynn inside.

  I pulled down four glasses and a bottle of Arthian Ale, but then Nyll T’Lathll shook his head and held up two clawed fingers.

  “We’ll only need two glasses tonight, McConnell.” Then he turned to his henchmen, and scolded them with hissed contempt, “I cannot believe these lower beings bested you two. You do not deserve any refreshment. Disappoint me again, and thirst will be the least of your concerns.”

  The pair of henchmen made conciliatory tones in their throats and dipped their heads in subservience to T’Lathll. It was an odd scene. Combined, the pair of mollied thugs looked like they could tear into T’Lathll if given the right opportunity. However, I knew all too well that T’Lathll possesses a viciousness barely pinned behind his manners, like a hair-trigger mousetrap. Memories of him casually ripping the throat out of his former attendant—who had failed to prevent me from interrupting a meeting on Arth—still haunt me to this day. That they’d never found a body was the only reason T’Lathll could still move about the Sector freely. Well, that and an ambassadorial standing with the Thrynn home world of Thoss.

  I set the glasses down on one of the twelve high-top tables that filled this end of the Lounge, and gestured to T’Lathll to sit, pouring a generous amount of ale in his glass.

  “To profitable endeavors,” I said, raising my glass in a toast.

  Our glasses clinked together, then we each took a hefty pull from our drinks.

  “When does your next shipment of supplies come to Starport?”

  “We’ve got a validated shipment with fryer oil, kegs of ale and a crate of spices from that Colony that was just approved in the next System over from us. That’s expected to arrive in a couple days, right?” I glanced over to M-09 for confirmation, who nodded in the affirmative.

  “That will do nicely. I’ll have your shipment intercepted en route and replace the kegs with my product.”

  “You understand I run a bar, right?”

  “And you understand you work for me, right? You’ll do what I tell you to do. Have the android short his pours for the next week, because you’re going to have to make do with what ale you have on hand,” T’Lathll said with a grin.

  I glowered sullenly at him, but relented. “Fine. What is this cargo, anyway?”

  “Some kind of ship upgrade. A salvage crew recovered it along the fringes of the Sector, near an unstable Flux Point. I’m told that during the first contact encounter with the ship, the Confederacy ships had their shields disabled with some sort of beam weapon. My buyer offered an entire cargo hold full of Ancient Artifacts for it. Picture it, McConnell. My name will be the talk of Thoss when I return with this haul.”

  “Good for you,” I said with an unenthused toast of my drink.

  “Pettiness is such an ugly color on you Humans, McConnell.” His long neck swayed rhythmically as he chuckled to himself, “Actually, all your colors are pretty ugly.”

  “Guess it’s a good thing I’m not trying to win you over with my looks then. Why should I care if you’re suddenly the toast of Thoss?”

  His neck swaying stopped, and I was the focus of all of his intensely reptilian glare. “Because, if I can obtain such an esteemed stature on the Home-world, I will no longer need your services.” A slow grin drew across T’Lathll’s fangs.

  Gulp.

  After giving me enough time to sweat, T’Lathll slid a glossy black cube across the table. It took me a moment to recognize the contract cube that I’d taken out with him on Arth to get the funds to open my bar.

  Was it too much to hope for? To be free of Nyll T’Lathll for good?

  “What are you saying here?”

  “Complete this job without complication, and I will release you from your debt, McConnell.”

  Not asking enough questions is how I got into this situation. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  “If this item is so valuable, why not just arrange a meeting with this buyer yourself, and cut out the Middleman?”

  His scaly brow arched in amusement. “Are you telling me you prefer to remain in my employ?”

  “Hell no!” I replied quickly, emphatically shaking my hands. “But I’ve learned you’re not the charitable type. And you don’t like to take chances. It doesn’t track that you’d risk bringing something like this through Starport.”

  “And maybe you aren’t as stupid as you used to be.” He reached over and reclaimed the cube, securing it in his suit pocket. “My buyer has developed a reputation for piracy. Not to the level of Harrison’s infamy, but Captain Farrow has garnered enough attention that I cannot allow for either the Confederation or Interstel to detect a rendezvous between one of my ships and his own on a transponder scan.”

  And there was the rub.

  “If he’s a pirate, how’s he supposed to get clearance to dock with Starport?”

  “While he’s on their Watch List, Farrow hasn’t hit an Interstel ship. That they’re aware of, at least. So, they overlook his actions, as long as he continues to bring in loads that are not proven to be stolen property. I’ll have him deliver the container of artifacts to the Trade Depot, to be verified with the Appraisers. After that, you will show him into the backroom, give him the tech and be free and clear of your debt to me. Not a terrible deal. So, what do you think now?”

  I didn’t savor the idea of staking my freedom on a deal with yet another criminal. But it’s not like I really had much of a choice in the matter.

  Raising my glass again, I toasted, “To the deal.”

  T’Lathll smiled, and we clinked glassware. He finished his drink and then pulled the battery pack out of my laser, before he pushed the weapon back over to me. “Careful, you don’t want to go putting an eye out with that little toy there.”

  Frowning, I took the pistol back, shoving it in the back of my waistband.

  “Don’t muck this up, McConnell.”

  T’Lathll snapped his fingers, which brought his flunkies to attention, and they all left out the front.

  Two weeks had passed, and things had been relatively calm. I’d dispatched M-09 to the Trade Depot to keep his eyes on the contents of the newly arrived pod. However unlikely, we couldn’t risk an appraiser or some other party making off with some of the Ancient treasure. Tyelehn was seeing to some kind of Elowan thing—I’ve learned it’s best not to ask—in one of the Starport’s solarium rings. It might be days before my leafy friend would return.

  So, of course, I was tending to the bar solo when things took a turn.

  “Word around the concourse is that a cargo pod with your name on it is in the Depot, and that it’s stuffed to the gills with stuff from the Ancients. How d’you manage that kind of haul?” Xenon sat at my bar again. His mandibles nearly shook with chittering excitement.

  He still hadn’t settled his deal with Borno, so he still had to pay for every drink upfront. But as long as his payment chit sat between us, I kept the Sticky Fruit Cocktails coming.

  “You don’t even have a ship, McConnell.”

  “Ownership is relativistic,” I said with a shrug as I cleaned a glass.

  He laughed. “Relativistic, I like that. I’m going to steal that.”

  “You’re welcome to it.”

  True to T’Lathll’s plan, they had supplanted the device into my next supply shipment. I’m no engineer. I can’t say what I was expecting to find when I opened up the box. But it wasn’t the mess of cables and ports that were attached to the black box with its flickering orange lights. I had no idea what the damn thing did. That a pirate would pay a small fortune for it did nothing to reassure me either.

  I hadn’t slept a wink since the thing had arrived.

  “So… you’re just gonna hold out on your buddy, McConnell?”

  “I don’t think anyone would accuse us of being buddies, Xenon.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Anyway, it’s not my stuff. I’m just serving as the bagman for an exchange of goods.”

  Lacking lips, the Velox couldn’t actually whistle, but Xenon made the closest sounding thing to it I could imagine. “That’s an impressive haul, all the same.”

  “And I’m expecting the guy who dropped it off any second now. Aren’t you supposed to be making tracks to Regulon-7 by now? Don’t think I didn’t catch that.”

  He shrugged, “You’ve got your problems, I’ve got mine. Putting distance between me and her is for the best right now, McConnell.”