Space Stations

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.

“Deal,” she said on a deep sigh.

They shook paws again.

“Folks back home will be skeptical of this chicken shit deal. That's one hell of a high price to pay. But I'll make 'ern see the value in it.” She handed over the square of cloth reluctantly. “We call this a lace-edged hankie. This one belonged to my Nanna.”

“Then I shall treasure this artifact and record its provenance with care.” Ab'nere patted the hankie with respect. Four digits and an opposable thumb seemed to work wonders with looms her own species could not manage. She imagined woven translucent veils that had nothing to do with the spun webs of the Arachnoids of Arachnia. “I'll have a contract ready in a few centags. You, the Glug representative, and I will all sign it with three witnesses from neutral species.”

“Sounds good. Say, I'm throwin' a little party on my ship tonight. The crew deserves a little three-alarm-Texas chili and beer after our trek to the First Contact Cafi. Come along and bring the Glug. If he's lucky, he might get a sample of some of the best methane ever produced on Earth. A rare treat.”

“For me or the Glug?”

ORBITAL BASE FEAR

Eric Kotani