Page 7 of Advance and Retreat (Dark Empire #6)

J edver

The cargo from the Adraf ship was checked thoroughly by not only Jedver’s port authority, but soldiers who were on hand too.

The manifest was gone over meticulously before every shipping bin was ordered open for inspection and scanning.

Then, as they were loaded onto hovercarts, the bins were ordered open again for further scrutiny.

Through it all, the Adraf cargo crew wore bored expressions.

They shifted on their triple legs, yawned, and stretched their long necks, furred or shaved, as they waited.

They were used to such treatment due to their long history of remaining neutral during wars in order to profit from all sides.

When the ship’s cargo master was offered a handsome bribe, his mouth wrinkled in his species’ version of a toothy smile.

“How I wish I had reason to accept your money. I’ll ask the captain if we can smuggle something in on the following trip to make it worth your while. ”

He noted the amount he’d been offered and calculated an increase of twenty-five percent. Next time the ship came in carrying illicit goods, the sender would have to pony up at least that sum. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be a trip at all.

Word was, once a bribe was accepted by the Darks and contraband revealed, they killed those who’d brought in the cargo. Adrafs loved collecting money, but they had a saying: a dead Adraf couldn’t spend his gains. Profit was worth only so much risk.

Finally, the hovercarts were deemed acceptable and released to the delivery company slated to take the cargo to its final destinations. The freighter’s crew disappeared into their vessel. Minutes later, it took off, its captain eager to escape.

The offload had gone without a hitch, but he had every intention of contacting the Kalquorian Empire and demanding more money to pick up the shipment he’d delivered on their behalf...if it were there to be picked up.

He had his doubts it would be. Jedver was a death trap.

* * * *

H aving commed ahead to the shops awaiting their shipments, the hovercart cargo pilots found the staffs of stores, service shops, and restaurants waiting at the delivery entrances when they arrived.

Once a beacon of law and order, Jedver’s capital city’s environment had become desperate.

A black market existed for everything imaginable, particularly the items needed for survival.

Under martial law and a growing lack of food and basic necessities, the most honest had been brought to a state of grabbing whatever was unguarded for a second.

Two Dantovonians and an Adraf waited behind a modest repair shop for six bins.

The Girtu pilot wore a surly expression on her reptilian features and didn’t climb from the cart to help them remove their shipment.

Dantovonians and Adrafs never tipped. As soon as they claimed their bins, she sped from the squatty building in the shadow of two larger edifices.

The trio left the shipment, stamped as computer components, behind a counter in the repair section of the shop.

They returned to work at tool-strewn tables, fixing various devices dropped off by owners who might or might not be around to reclaim them.

People disappeared on Jedver all the time lately.

It was why the proprietor of the shop, Elcoger by name, insisted on half the estimated payment on the work up front.

It seemed generous of a Dantovonian to offer such terms compared to the full price many were demanding before they’d fix any pieces, but Elcoger knew he’d get his repair fees and a little more back if he had the opportunity to sell the unclaimed items. His terms brought customers in.

He was doing far better than those fighting for survival on Jedver.

Taking in the shipment the freighter captain had contacted him about meant he’d do better still.

Over the following hour, the delivered bins were moved, one by one, to a storage room at the back of the shop.

Shelves bowed under components, most collected from unfixable devices, others in boxes from their manufacturers.

With Jedver’s authorities engaged in putting down riots and squashing the population under their Dark-directed boots, Elcoger had begun ignoring the Galactic Council’s mandate that repair parts must be in new or like-new condition.

Nowadays, those customers his Beonid twin technicians identified as being Dark-ridden were afforded the new components.

Everyone else got used, much of which wasn’t anywhere in pristine condition.

There were a couple of beds in the storage room, shoved up against opposite corners.

They were just large enough for the Beonids, who were between Earther and Kalquorian-sized.

Had anyone asked, Elcoger would have said they did use them on occasion when they wished to work late or get started early the next day.

Likewise, the cramped shower and toilet facility located in another corner.

No one ever asked. Elcoger was careful the few refugees he helped as they sought to escape Jedver...at a high price, naturally...were never seen coming in the building or leaving.

He felt justified in charging extravagant fees from the desperate who discovered they’d been targeted to be rounded up by Dark-ridden authorities.

The shielding of the storage area’s walls had been constructed to defeat scanners seeking to pick up life signs, and it had cost a pretty penny.

As had the containment system protecting Elcoger’s investments, living and otherwise, when armed.

Who could put a price on the dangers when one stuck out his neck on behalf of the desperate?

Elcoger could, and his price was high.

He’d ignored his staff as they’d brought the delivery bins into the shop.

He continued to ignore them as the bins were shoved to the storage room, one by one, when the workers took breaks from their repairs to stretch stiffening muscles.

He concentrated on examining his accounts (the actual accounts, which were showing exceptional profit, and the fake ledger for revenue inspectors, which claimed he was barely making ends meet).

When he wasn’t doing that, he updated his inventory and greeted the few customers who came in the gray-tone environs to drop off and pick up their computers, handhelds, com units, kitchen appliances.

..whatever had failed and they couldn’t afford to replace outright.

Business was good. As long as his latest high-dollar investment failed to get him caught and killed, he was delighted. And if he were caught...well, unlike the Adrafs, he found the potential of making a financial killing worth his own death.

* * * *

T he Beonid twins entered the storeroom, their silver skin gleaming in the dim environs.

The door shut and locked behind the humanoid pair.

They armed the containment field and grinned at each other.

The thought of a coworker stepping in without checking first and dropping dead of the shock they’d receive amused them.

In their view, all of life should be a thrill.

The extremes that destroyed mundane routine were delightful, no matter the form they took.

The male, Ershma, pointed to the smallest bin lately arrived. “This to start.”

His sister Ivad nodded. They moved to it in synchronized steps. Ivad tapped Elcoger’s proprietary code for the shipment, and the lid opened.

The pair unpacked computer keyboards depicting a myriad of configurations and alphabets from across the cosmos. Almost all went on a shelf depleted to a mere half dozen keyboards. A few were broken and unusable, and they tossed them in a disposal bin.

They worked meticulously, recording the numbers and ensuring Ershma’s handheld matched each unit on the shipping list. They didn’t do it so much out of conscientiousness.

By unspoken agreement, they drew out the anticipation of the job’s finish.

Anticipation was as electric an excitement as the surprise.

At last, the bin sat empty. Ivad ran her finger around the thick edge of the bin’s top. Very thick, those sides, the lid, and the bottom. The shipper could have fit in another third of the keyboards had the construction been a standard shipping container.

“The Darks don’t know any better,” Ershma snorted.

“They deem shipping bins too mundane to ask about,” Ivad agreed. “Which is lucky for Elcoger and those he pays to keep their mouths shut. Ready?”

Ivad nodded. He bent and pressed the slightly discolored corner of the bin’s bottom.

It popped open, and a gasp rang out from the person flattened beneath it. She slowly, painfully, rose to a sitting position and stretched cramped limbs. Her dark, almost black eyes, set in a delicately lovely face, lifted to take in the Beonids.

“Earther female,” Ivad sighed in disappointment. “It figures we’d find her first.”

They turned from the woman clumsily trying to find her equilibrium. “My turn to pick,” Ivad said. They opened the lid of her chosen bin to find circuit boards.

As they unpacked and inventoried, the human managed to gain her feet. Her hair, as dark as her almond-shaped eyes, was mussed. Her blouse and shorts were wrinkled. She was petite.

“Shaped more like their boys than a woman,” Ivad giggled in Beonid, though she didn’t care if the Earther understood. She glanced at her own curvy figure, smirking in pride.

“She has amazing legs,” Ershma purred. “They look strong. I bet they’d feel good wrapped around my ass while I fuck her.”

Ivad sniffed. The human did have exceptional legs, but she wouldn’t admit it. No one had ever complimented Ivad’s legs.

She felt happier when the Earther clambered from the bin and nearly fell. Sadly, she caught herself and avoided faceplanting on the hard bare floor.