Exit Plans

The crew of the Chancer V negotiate a business deal with a strange new client.
***
The conspirators met in a secluded booth in the shadowy corner of a grimy tavern. They nursed watered-down spirits and shot furtive glances at the bar’s weary patrons. It was all so familiar, so very cloak-and-dagger. The pretense might have made Gavin Dunn nostalgic, were he and Simon not the only humans in this establishment.
The Yonhet across the table took a slow swig from his cloudy glass. He followed the drink with a drag from the hookah line dangling from a gas-filled cylinder suspended over the booth. Gavin had never seen a Yonhet before taking this job. Now he was surrounded by them. Out of all the aliens he’d seen in this vast galaxy, the Yonhet were the most humanoid in appearance: two straight legs, two arms, even proportions, round heads and regular jaws. But the similarities ended there. The Yonhet’s hairless heads were lined with jagged, fin-like protrusions. Dark, beady eyes peered out from deep sockets. The Yonhet moved slowly at all times—except for when they were working—and went completely still when they spoke. It was damned unnerving. And Lord of the Void, the smell. The Yonhet’s pungent, oily odor reminded Gavin of the fish markets he’d frequented in his boyhood on Reach. Sitting near just one of these aliens was bad enough. A tavern full of them was almost unbearable.
“ONI calls them the ‘Covenant Fringe,’” Simon had explained when Jaml had invited the Chancer V to his ragtag flotilla. “Never enough of them to fight in the Covenant war machine so we never saw them during the war. Apparently, they’ve spread across the frontier since the Covenant collapsed.” The Spartan had divulged this information with the smug self-assurance he always got when divulging his former masters’ secrets. Now he sat beside Gavin in the booth, smirk gone, a trace of green tinging his pale cheeks. Gavin hoped Simon didn’t vomit all over their client.
Jaml saw his human guests’ discomfort. He smiled, revealing a row of small, pointed teeth. “Forgive my insensitivity,” the foreman said. He plucked two hookah cords from the ceiling and offered them—slowly—to the humans. “Please, try. Urzul gas is perfectly safe for humans. It will dull your olfactory senses.”
He waited patiently with the cords. Yonhet did not move and talk at the same time. Apparently this was seen as threatening behavior. “Perfectly safe,” Jaml repeated.
Gavin gingerly took a cord between thumb and forefinger. He didn’t partake in most substances common among frontier spacers, especially not with Zoey aboard the Chancer V. But if it would help with this stench…
He raised the cord to his lips. Simon stiffened. Gavin knew the Spartan had one hand on the gun tucked beneath his jacket. The knowledge that Simon would put a bullet through Jaml at the first sign of treachery bolstered Gavin’s confidence. He took a tentative puff. An abrupt, buoyant sensation took hold of him. He felt like he was drifting down a gentle river. The sensation slipped away as quickly as it had come. When Gavin’s head cleared he felt a pleasant numbness in his nasal cavity. The fishy Yonhet smell was gone. Simon eyed him warily. The Spartan took the proffered cord and stuck it into the corner of his mouth. His face betrayed no emotion but the green hue cleared from his cheeks.
Jaml flashed another needle-toothed smile. “Not bad, eh?” He slowly spread his hands across the table.
“Not bad at all, Gavin agreed. He tried to match Jaml’s slow mannerisms. He felt many eyes on him. This tavern was full of Jaml’s people.
“I thank you for accepting my hospitality,” Jaml said. “Trust is so hard to come by in these parts of the galaxy. But I assure you, my intentions are honest. My very survival depends on you and your crew.”
Simon scoffed. “What, is construction not coming along the way the Prophets want?”
“Not at all, young human. My work crews will deliver the Chorus of Builders everything they desire. The Soaring Chorus will be a shipyard the likes of which the galaxy has not seen in a millennia.” Jaml’s beady eyes gleamed with pride.
Gavin shuddered at the thought of the immense vessel taking shape in orbit. The Yonhet had repurposed superstructures from old Covenant stations to forge the largest ship Gavin had ever seen. The Chorus of Builders had commissioned Jaml’s flotilla of workers to fashion the Soaring Chorus and from what Gavin understood Jaml’s architectural designs had far exceeded the San-Shyuum’s wildest plans. The foreman and architect was the brains behind the whole endeavor. The sheer scale of what Jaml had constructed left Gavin feeling small and insignificant. The Soaring Chorus was a floating testament to the vastness of the universe. The Chancer V and her crew were just specks in that vast, infinite ocean. Gavin found it easer to forget that terrifying fact when he wasn’t sitting beneath a superstation large enough to swallow entire starfleets.
“My design gives the Chorus of Builders a mobile shipyard vast enough to make them a system power, yet efficient enough to be maintained by only a small crew.” The pride in Jaml’s voice faded. He fixed Gavin and Simon with a stern look. “And for that, they will kill me.”
“Kill you?” Gavin asked. “For doing a good job?”
“You do not understand the San’Shyuum mind, I see. They prize exclusivity above all else. There is no point to possessing a marvel if someone else can possess an identical marvel. My genius created their magnificent shipyard. They cannot have me sailing around the galaxy building more masterpieces. It would depreciate the value of my art.”
Gavin wondered if humility was a foreign concept to the Yonhet. Jaml spoke of his own brilliance matter-of-factly, without a trace of arrogance.
“The Minister of Great Endeavors is an ambitious creature. He will crown his achievement before the Chorus by having me killed. I would prefer to avoid such an outcome.”
Gavin puffed more Urzul gas to stead his nerves. This stuff was addicting. “So leave. Pack up your tools and get your people out of here. The Chorus of Builders doesn’t have enough security forces to hold you against your will.”
“With our work left undone?” Jaml was so horrified that he actually jerked his arms as he spoke. “Never! This project will win the flotilla enough contracts to keep us employed for the next century. We must complete the Soaring Chorus. And when my masterpiece is complete and the Minister makes his move, you humans will swoop in to pluck me from his skinny clutches.”
The smile returned to the Yonhet’s craggy face. “You have a reputation for accomplishing such daring feats, captain. The Chancer V came highly recommended for such a delicate task. It will comfort me to have you waiting in the wings while I finish my work.”
Gavin leaned back in the booth. He struggled to wrap his head around this alien logic. Once again a simple smuggling job was becoming far more than he bargained for. The Chorus of Builders didn’t have much of a fleet, true, but they had more than enough firepower to blast the Chancer V to atoms. Just what did Jaml think Gavin was capable of?
Simon watched Jaml carefully. His mind was working through the same problems as Gavin. “If we pull this off, it’ll be messy. San’Shyuum are vicious bastards. They hold a grudge for a long time.”
“Regrettable,” Jaml sighed. “But perhaps such an outcome is to our benefit. An outraged San’Shyuum is the perfect excuse for both of us to remove ourselves from this theater. And when you have successfully thwarted the Minister’s plans, the failure will be his and his alone. San’Shyuum are very unforgiving when one of their own loses face.”
So there it was. Gavin observed the cunning Yonhet with a newfound respect. The Minister of Great Endeavors would be humiliated and that humiliation would cover their tracks. Any carnage wrought in the rescue operation—and there was always carnage where Simon was involved—would be blamed on the disgraced Minister and Jaml’s people would slip away with their pay and their lives. Jaml was counting on the humans to make things messy.
Gavin almost felt sorry for the Minster of Great Endeavors. Almost.
“What do you think?” he asked, turning to Simon. “Zoey and I can handle the extraction. Think you can deal with their security setup?”
The Spartan’s eyes narrowed. The gears were already turning in his head, plotting out just how this operation would go down. “Yeah, I’ll manage. I’ll need to borrow some high explosives. Good thing our new friend here works in construction. And let me handle the negotiation on this one, Gavin.”
He jabbed a finger at Jaml. “This job of yours. It’s gonna cost you.”
Jaml nodded slowly. “I value my life quite highly, human. You will be well compensated for your efforts.”
Category:The Weekly