Space Stations

“Nah. No hoodoo voodoo thought waves. Don't believe much in that stuff. Every once in a while we'll get a throwback who can see some strange stuff that ain't really there. But we haven't figured out how to make them breed true or train those we can verify. We just rely on observation. There's something in the attitude toward life that makes us both female and new mamas. I got one incubatin' myself, due in about seven of our moon cycles. 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.