PRECIOUS CARGO


@Copyright 2000, Maureen. All rights reserved.


Part 27


   While Fodessa stewed over her confrontation with Windrunner, 
the human she knew only as Carson considered his next course of 
action.
   He sat in a small, air-conditioned, windowless back office in 
the back of Jalang Imports, in the city of Terisit, Angepor, one 
of several nations on the planet of Djebi, Dijjang Sector. Jalang 
Imports was one of several small businesses he'd acquired or set 
up as fronts. Bribes paid to the appropriate officials ensured 
its books were never thoroughly examined -- except, of course, by 
Carson.
   Though small, the office was equipped with a very up-to-date 
computer. At the moment, Carson was using it to pore through the 
data gained by an underling's recent hacking expedition, viewing 
it in 3-D via the mindmeld headset.
   Like many of the planets in the Dijjang Sector, Angepor was so 
primitive that it still had a Balkanized mess of hundreds of 
different independent nation-states, instead of a planetary 
dictatorship like most Federation Planets or the small number of 
loose coalition governments most Open Planets had long since 
settled down to.
   Most Dijjang Sector planets had emerged from the Dark Ages and 
rejoined the Federation only a few generations ago; some were 
still just recently settled resource-extraction colonies, not 
full-fledged independent planets. In their welter of overlapping 
regulations and frequently primitive conditions, Carson could 
work to achieve his grand dream, the one that had been born while 
he was still working in the GBM's Special Operations Division.
   He navigated through the elaborate three-dimensional data 
blocks that represented dossiers of information, mostly collected 
from various police databanks from Open Planets. 
   Open Planet authorities could pose problems. Their 
technological resources were sometimes more primitive than those 
of the Federation, and they were usually handicapped by archaic 
notions of privacy and citizens' rights, which meant their 
databases were less complete and detailed. They also were less 
likely to turn their backs when a Darksex Underground member met 
an untimely demise, and citizens were more likely to cooperate 
with them than avoid them.
   But they were likely to have more complete information on 
Darksex Undergrounders than the Federation databanks, due simply 
to the fact that to them darksexers were legitimate businessfurs 
and taxpayers, not secretive criminals. Plus, tapping into the 
well-guarded Federation databanks was dangerous for even the most 
skilled hacker.
   And he could hardly consult the Jegarlik Hacker Anti-Nation 
without arousing their curiosity, which might result in his 
targets' being warned of his interest in them.
   His recent operation, the one directed at Captain Fodessa 
Ruggae, had ended in failure, botched by his agents, both of whom 
he'd lost. 
   Another operation, directed toward Dionne Pergliani, had 
succeeded in its primary objective, but Darksex members were 
hardly likely to regard the vanishing mechanic as accidental. 
   Worse, he'd tipped his hand -- the Underground now suspected 
it had a traitor in the ranks.
   Of course the general fear and mistrust that was causing could 
work to his advantage, but he'd hoped to delay that stage a 
little longer.
   Time to take a break, he decided. He took off the headset and 
pressed a button on his desk. There was no sound in the room, but 
moments later a naked, black-collared genet entered the room 
carrying a silver-plated tray with a goblet of old-fashioned New 
Albion cognac -- his favorite brand, and very expensive in this 
Sector -- with exquisite care. She laid the tray down on an empty 
spot on the desktop.
   Carson picked up the goblet, sniffed its contents as if they 
were fine wine, and sipped appreciatively, eyeing the genet who 
now knelt in a corner.
   She was very careful not to look up at him, but he could still 
see and enjoy the fear on her face.
   Her home was a hardscrabble mining town on Seppura, according 
to the documents. Like many of his slaves, she had been promised 
a better life on Open Planets, only to find when it was too late 
that the deal was not precisely as advertised.
   He ogled her appreciatively, savoring the small round breasts 
(with a thin golden ring pierced through each nipple), the thin 
legs, the lowered black ears and large, frightened eyes.
   Best of all, at three feet she was as small as a human child -
- just the way he liked them.
   A shame to waste such a morsel on an airless mining planet, he 
mused. Well, he had a better use for her.
   He put down the goblet back on the tray, its contents only 
half gone, made a hand sign to the genet to dismiss her and put 
his headset back on.  
   Halcyon, he thought. Halcyon was an Open Planet, had been for 
centuries, but boundaries and politics shift over such spans of 
time and where it was once near the center of a small cluster of 
Open Planets, it was now closer to the boundary between a much 
larger Open region and the Federation. It still hosted the famous 
slave auction, though.
   Carson turned his attention to another block of data, this one 
taken directly from the databanks of the Underground itself -- 
easy enough to get, given his position in its ranks. This data 
consisted of dossiers on smuggler captains associated with the 
Underground who would be selling their wares at the next auction.
   He opened up the one on Captain Fodessa Ruggae.


   Well into what should have been sleeping hours on the 
Satisfaction, Fodessa paced the floor of her quarters. She hadn't 
had a chance to encounter Caitlin or Katie in the past few hours, 
for which she was grateful. Her mind was whirling, and she wasn't 
ready to field her First Mate's questions about what was wrong.
   *'Breaking my word' -- typical canid* kept going through her 
mind. *They'll all pin your tail to the wall about keeping 
promises and oaths . . .*
   No felid cares to admit she's in the wrong, but deep down 
inside she knew Windrunner was right. Finally, ears flattened 
agains her skull, she stopped pacing and admitted it to herself, 
spitting out a Bournabi street obscenity.
   It was a long walk down the corridor back to the slave 
quarters.
   When she walked in the open door -- neither she nor Caitlin 
had gone by to seal it yet -- Windrunner was already on his 
knees; he'd heard her approach. His face showed the signs of 
recent tears streaked through the short fur, making his face look 
a little like some strange wolf/cheetah cross.
   They stared at each other.
   "All right," she said at last. "I'll keep you."
   He didn't allow himself a smile just yet, but his whole face 
seemed to brighten, and his tail gave a hard swish of joy.
   She smiled broadly enough for both of them and made a hand 
motion for him to get up. Suddenly they were locked in a tight 
hug, with her purring and him uttering little murring-growling 
noises.
   "I love you, Fodessa," Windrunner whispered.
   "You know," and her face looking over his shoulder turned 
thoughtful, "I think I love you, too."
   When they finally parted, she put both paws on his shoulders 
and pushed him back to his knees.
   "And now, let's discuss your insubordination to me, Second 
Mate," she said, and her smile turned cold.
   Windrunner's smile faded from his muzzle, though not from his 
green eyes. He crossed his paws behind his back.
   "Yes, Mistress Fodessa," he answered.
   "Arguing with your mistress, shouting at her, standing before 
her as an equal without her permission -- these are all serious 
offenses. I don't believe I can deal with them in only one 
session of punishment. It's going to take several days to punish 
you properly.
   "In fact --" she grinned viciously, fangs exposed, "by the 
time we get to Halcyon, you just might *beg* me for the auction 
block."
   He flattened his ears, but even the reek of sexfear couldn't 
conceal the scent of his joy.



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