Trade and Barter

The Indomitable must not have seemed this alive in decades. The Halcyon cruiser's docking bay was a beehive of activity. Men in coveralls worked together to shift crates of ammunition and heavy weaponry from the bed of a Warthog to the troop bay of a nearby shuttle. When one craft was filled, they started working on filling the next, careful to avoid two men at the center of the docking bay, at the head of a column of armed soldiers. As well as the alien Phantom dropship.
"Big show for just one Jackal." Said the larger, and balder of the two in a husky voice. Mikhail had never been called handsome, and with that nasty scar that gnarled and twisted nearly half his face, he never would. But that was fine. He wasn't paid to look pretty. He was paid to make sure that any would-be troublemakers would think twice before picking a fight.
"Do you know what the Kig-Yar respect most of all, Mikhail?" His compatriot asked, in a tone that suggested he was going to tell Mikhail the answer whether the big man said anything or not.
"A big gun?"
The smaller man rolled his eyes.
"Not just 'a big gun'. But how many you have. And most of all--" The man faced Mikhail, a smile spreading among his smooth features. Now here was a man who was paid to look pretty. Talk pretty, too. "How hard it was to steal. When they evaluate each other, what they consider is the plunder on display. How impressive the hoard."
So they're birds. Distracted by shiny objects.
The thought popped in his head, but Mikhail remained silent. If there was one thing he learned from his time here, it was that you didn't dare interrupt Dmitri Cross. As smooth and casual as he liked to present himself as-- the man could held a grudge like no other. And he had the full backing of the New Colonial Alliance behind him. Not the sort of guy you wanted to piss off. Not if you had only interest in living a long, peaceful life, anyway.
"None of this is meant to intimidate our guest." Cross gestured at all the men and women toiling away, doing pointless busy work. "This is our hoard. Every round of ammunition, every Warthog, every dropship-- proof of our daring. And the Indomitable?"
"Our greatest treasure of all."
Mikhail did not bother to point out how questionable their claim to the Indomitable's capture truly was. It had been here, on Firenze's noxious moon, Duomo, for decades. Shot down in a battle during the old Insurrection, by rebels who were very much not affiliated with Admiral Drake's as of yet unformed NCA. Aside from their shared dream of a toppled United Earth Government. But over the years, the cruiser had been nearly picked clean by salvagers, including its slipspace drive and all nuclear armaments. It was a minor miracle that auxiliary power still worked at all.
But as it was, even with the weaker gravity of Duomo-- the Indomitable would never fly again.
Maybe none of that mattered. The Indomitable may have been crippled and captured by the local rebels on Firenze decades past-- but now Cross had taken it from them. Would the Jackals respect a thief stealing from another thief? Or, would the birds see it as a grave offense to whatever little moral code they possessed?
Mikhail didn't like to think too hard about these things. Stuff like that was better left up to the scholars and Crosses of the world, not big ugly lugs like him.
"Look sharp, Mikhail." 
Vapor hissed from the Phantom drop bay as its hatch peeled open. Cross ran a hand through his slicked back hair and brushed at imagined wrinkles in his double breasted suit. Mikhail's eyes narrowed and his thumb drifted towards the safety of the MA3A assault rifle cradled in his thick arms, but otherwise was as still and rigid as the Indomitable herself. Instinct honed after years of fighting their kind made it hard for the man to keep his rifle barrel pointed downward, but he managed all the same.
They weren't exactly like your usual Jackals, is what Mikhail noticed first. There was no mistaking their avian features for anything else, but where as the Jackals he knew were featherless, lanky, and featured bulbous, empty eyes on either side of their long heads, these ones had black plumes streaked with red, a more athletic build, stouter beaks-- and small, piercing eyes that focused straight ahead. More hawk than vulture. Predators, not scavengers.
There were three of them, one up front, two trailing behind a step on either side. All in black Covenant armor, though the one in front had thicker plummage than the others, and the whole length of his feathers were a deep crimson, not just the tip.
That must have been Red Tek, the self proclaimed "Pirate King", and one of the largest arms runners in the galaxy. Among other, darker things. And he was Dmitri Cross's valued guest. It wore no weapons on its belt, but the Jackal's escorts both carried crystalline blades, and what appeared to be an oversized revolver sidearm, complete with a proportionally absurd bayonet.
"Looks like our guests had the same idea." Cross whispered, more to himself than Mikhail. Those revolvers, if he recalled, were called Manglers. A pretty accurate name, all things considered. And a favorite of the viscious, man-eating Brutes. Both were nasty, but Brutes were a whole 'nother level of bad. Even Mikhail, as large and strong as he was, would have seemed a child in comparison to the eight foot tall bear apes. And unlike Jackals-- they didn't make it a habit of parting with their weapons willingly. So, the fact that Tek's birds had them...
When they evaluate each other, what they consider is the plunder on display.
When the party of Jackals neared, just our of arm's reach, the air in the docking bay grew tense as the workers slowed to watch the exchange. A sharp look from Mikhail sent them back to their inane task in a hurry. 
"Welcome to the Indomitable!" Cross proclaimed, with a practiced smile that reminded Mikhail more of a used car salesman than a rebel commander. Cross offered his hand, and surprisingly, the alien clasped it with his own, and shook with little hesitation. As if he had performed this human ritual a million times before. Then again, maybe he had. Dmitri Cross was probably not Tek's first human customer. But today, Cross hoped to become his greatest.
Tek craned his avian head from one side of the docking bay to the other, and settled its piercing eyes on Cross again.
"A fine vessel. I am certain that in its prime, this 'Indomitable' would have been quite the adversary." The Jackal said in shrill rasp. He was speaking English directly instead of using a translation disk. Mikhail was sure Cross appreciated the gesture, but honestly, he'd prefer the sound of the robotic text-to-speech. Whenever aliens tried to speak in a language that their vocal cords weren't made for, it just sounded like nails on a chalkboard.
Cross smiled.
"She was. But for all her armor, all her power-- she lost. Because just like now, Earth underestimated the rebels. Underestimated us."
"Yes. A shame it was so heavily damaged." Tek cocked his beaked head. "A ship with clipped wings makes for a poor bargain, Cross."
Mikhail couldn't help glancing in Cross's direction for an instant. But the man's smiling face was as inscrutable as ever.
"I told you, friend, the ship is not for sale. But..." Cross slipped a hand into the breast pocket of his jacket. The two Jackal bodyguards tensed and reached for their weapons, which made Mikhail thumb the safety off his own rifle, but Tek gave a casual wave of his clawed hands, and the two relaxed. From his pocket, Cross drew a small data chip, barely larger than the tip of his thumb.
"This is."
Judging by how his hawk eyes widened, and his feathers rustled-- Tek was already familiar with whatever data Cross had in his hand. Mikhail, however, was clueless. Just what did Cross have that interested this "pirate king" so damn much?
"How much?" Tek asked, after he took a moment to compose himself. It was barely noticeable to all but Mikhail, but he knew that little twitch in the corner Cross's mouth meant the man was sure he had the Jackal hooked.
"I'm not looking for credits, Tek."
"Then what, Cross?" Agitation began to creep into the Jackal's voice. "Plasma rifles? Banshees? Or, are you bold enough to ask for a ship?"
"Nothing like that."
"But not 'nothing'. Kig-Yar do not do gifts."
"All I ask, Tek, in the spirit of our new partnership, is that when you find what you're looking for," Cross held out the data chip, pinched between his thumb and index. Tek eyed him, wearily, eyes darting from the man's smiling face, and the chip he offered. 
"You will allow me to make the first bid."
Category:Short stories
Category:The Weekly