Chapter 6: The wormhole not taken

Elan watches Samara with a raised eyebrow and a look that says, I distinctly warned you about this. But he doesn't say anything. Perhaps he is not as convincing as he likes to think. He's still stung that the security personnel in the office didn't buy his preprepared speech.

Elan also listens with great interest to Lola's story. Elan thinks of himself as a lone infiltrator but he's always had his telekinetics up his sleeve. But what if that knowledge was a crutch rather than a safety net? He soberly considers Lola's point.

The goal of fighting, after all, was to submit someone else to you. You broke their resistance to you, either by breaking their will to fight or by breaking their body. But what if you could bend them without a weapon, without a fight? Where the only tool was you mind? This would be potent indeed, bending reality to your desire simply through your resolution and resolve.

"Be as water," he says, nodding along with what Lola is saying about being adaptable. "Water adjusts to the obstacle and, in doing so, always finds a way around it, through it, or over it. If nothing within you stays rigid, then nothing may stop you."

Taelor puts down a second round of spice beer on the table and sits back down. She takes her pint and drinks about a third of it in one go. "Is it weird that I missed these? First time I had one, I almost puked, but now? I don't know. They're comforting somehow. Maybe it's because I had so many after we stopped that crazy AI. They taste like being a big damn hero. What were y'all taking about?"

After being brought up to speed, Taelor grins at Sam. "It's always good to know how to defend yourself. Never know what kind of situations you'll find yourself in. Some fuckers are in dire need of a few more holes. I'd be happy to show you how to throw hands or handle a pistol."

Half way through the second round, the barkeep comes over to their table and puts a bowl of nuts in the middle of the table. "On the house, it's nice to have some honest laughter in here. The last time is weeks back, when this one crew came, buying rounds for the whole bar left and right. Said they just made a fortune getting a load of weapons into Haistro. Seems like their permanent political disagreement, might end up being resolved soon, albeit probably in an undesirable hot manner.

And on Sopolyche the troops seem to move against the gangs in the Ghosts. Last time that was nasty business. Bad time to be a banger.

On a cheerier note, have you guys been to Xenaera? I hear the purple beaches there are the most amazing thing you can observe in the entire sector. "

"Wow! Thank you! That so nice of you! Thank you! Wait, I already said thank you... well you can't really be too grateful! So, thank you!" Samara beams a bright smile at the barkeep before tossing a morsel into her mouth.

The names being dropped mean little to Samara, and as she is not partial to violence, the recent events are likewise of little interest. The beach however...

"Xenaera sounds great! I have never seen purple beaches! I didn't even know that beaches could be purple! Did you know that beaches could be purple? Do you think we can go? We could have a picnic!" She looks at the crew expectantly for a moment and then, her smile slipping, lowers her head. "Nevermind. It's silly. Sorry."

Elan gets a funny glimmer in his eye at the notion of running guns into Haistro. It probably appeals to his ideals of high-reward work, where the high risk associated with it is a feature not a flaw.

He pulls up the sector map and starts plotting out courses.

"Thos is on the way to Tecmada," he points out. "We could make a little scratch along the way then take a vacation. Laying low after a job is always a good idea."

It's clear that Elan's notion of a "job" is different than most.

"Valiu is the logical halfway point to Thos. The problem is that we've run into heat in that sector and aren't on good terms with the folks on Sepcinc. We'll need fuel though." He looks to Taelor. "Can we sneak our way to the refueling station in the asteroid belt, or is that just asking for trouble?

"The alternative is to add an extra jump and go from Alba to Phistos. That's an extra 500 credits of fuel, but maybe that's just the price of dodging Sepcinc, the cost of doing business."

Taelor grimaces. "We're going to need to make some scratch if you want to vacation on Xenaera. I mean, I have the creds for it, but y'all sure don't." The pilot frowns and seems lost in thought for a moment as she thinks back to her home system and her time in the militia. Xenaera had been a popular spot for furlough, especially amongst the fighter pilots. Those rich fucks. Her folks could only have dreamed of affording a trip to the amaranthine beaches. It might be nice to visit my folks, though. Her expression softens.

She blinks and looks at the sector map. "Space is big. Steering clear of Sepcinc shouldn't be hard. They're going to have eyes on the station, but we changed ship since last time. Maybe Sam can handle the port authorities, if we wanna be real safe."

She takes a sip of her spice beer. "Question is, what will we be selling in Thos? Guns would work, but I don't know where we'd get them. Staconago, maybe?"

Elan nods to Taelor.

"Yes, Staconago I would think, since their laws around weapons aren't as stringent. The biggest challenge might be buying in bulk.

"And it's in Mentta, the same system as Haliant, so you know we have a reasonable chance of unloading this ore at a good price.

"Let's take the ore to Mentta, sell it to the highest bidder, and use that as our capital for running some guns to the freedom-fighters (?) on Haistro."

Elan doesn't know if either side of the conflict on Haistro can be described as pro-freedom, but it sounds like a good spin to take on a job that might be morally objectionable to some.

With a visual >pop< the Undertow appears out of thin lack-of-air at the jump point from Xenthra.
The ship immediately picks up the system chatter from the closest beacon, informing the crew about the system.
... welcome in the comfortable gardens of our havens on Haliant. If you feel more adventurous, try a surface safari on Staconago, experiencing the burning heat of the majestic star on Staconagos firmament...

The scan of the surrounding area yields no registered traffic (or distress signals) in the area, promising a calm remainder of the flight.

The atmosphere on the Undertow had changed. Not literally, physically. But without Graham and Rena on board it was a different ship.

Graham was bossy, but to his credit he usually had a plan. Rena wasn't that much older than Elan but with her superior intellect he always felt like he should follow her lead. Now, it felt like the kids were in charge, a ship full of 20-somethings trying to make their way through the galaxy.

"Okay," he says. "First step is to unload the ore. We know for sure there's a demand for the ore on Mentta. But, in theory there should be a market for the ore on Staconago too due to the embargo from Gor.

"So we can go straight to Staconago and try to save ourselves an extra stop, or we can go to the rich folks on Mentta and see if we can get top credit out of them."

This is the part where Elan feels out on a limb. In addition to being a genius, Rena was also the best trader that Elan had never met. He tries to channel any confidence he earned from negotiating the sale of the Tsunami earlier.

"I would say let's take our time and do this right. We're not in a rush. Purchasing individual weapons on Staconago is easy enough but it might be harder to buy in bulk. Let's do the legwork and put in the effort we need to make the best deal."

He looks to Lola, who seems to have a gift of meeting people and quickly forming a web of connections.

"Lola, your background might serve us well here.

"Samara, any advice? Any gut instincts that we should follow?"

"Agreed, we're in no rush. I say we hit Haliant and get paid all we can," Taelor says, putting the Undertow on a course towards the immortal geezers' planet. She'd change it if there were any valid objections.

As the Undertow approaches Haliant, the chatter on the radio becomes more and more alive.
The scanner also shows a matching increasing amount of traffic as the ship nears the orbital docks.

The docks, much like the shipyards Taelor is already familiar with, are... functional. The ship docked and the crew barely opened the hatch when a dock worker already appears.
"Undertow, I see the reason for docking is trade, please produce the manifest, Haliant trading license, receipt for the paid docking fee as well as the receipt for the processing fee for my services."

Lola nodded when Elan asked.
"I've never sold ore before but I've had to quartermaster in the past. I imagine a lot of these processes are probably pretty similar. Buying weapons is something I'd be pretty at home with. Ideally of course we would be supplying them to actual freedom fighters, but nothing is ever truly clean. Least objectionable sometimes."

She grinned through the hatch at the dock worker.
"Hunt's luck. You're efficient aren't you? One of my colleagues can have a look through our captain's files. He wasn't the most organized. On the off chance that he might have mislaid them, what would the prices be for purchasing these?"

Elan blinks stupidly at the dock worker, his mouth opening and shutting without any sound coming out like a fish pulled out of water.

"Uhh, manifest manifest, here is the manifest." Elan has that at least.

"This is our first visit to Haliant. As such, we do not have a Haliant trading license."

A bit of an exaggeration. They had been on Haliant before, but not as traders.

"Where does one procure a trading license?" he asks, ignoring the request for receipts for the moment. If necessary, maybe that can turn into a bribe. Or, if it all goes tits up, they can retreat to Staconago.

Without looking up from his dataslab the man answers "Don't know, don't care. So, license and receipts not presented" he theatrically taps onto the slab. "Ok, noted. You are not to have mercantile relations or leave the station without prior permission. Thank you." he closes his slab and walks off without additional comments.

According to Lolas research the docking fees can be paid remotely and are 200cr/ship. The trading license is a different kind of thing. It needs to be picked up in the captaincy for 10cr/ton of cargo space.
The adventurous trader omits the license and trades black, Lola finds a possible contact that helps new traders in this regards.

Lastly the processing fee for the station drone is 50cr to be paid remotely.

"HOW DARE YOU!" Elan erupts. "What sort of man do you think I am? Mercantile relations?! I'll have you know that I'm quite the prude!"

Mercantile relations are explained to Elan.

"Ah, yes. Of course. I was just joking, you see. But it's not as funny now that I have to explain that it was a joke..."

Elan doesn't really care what the unhelpful dockworker thinks of him, although his blushing suggests that he's embarrassed by what Taelor, Lola, and Samara might think.

"I'm not actually a prude," he explains. "Well, maybe I am. What's a prude again?"

He's just glad Rena isn't here to polysyllabically rake him over the coals for this.

"Alright, gang," he claps, desperately trying to take control of the situation. "Stay here and deal with the bureaucrats or see if Staconago has a more hands-off way of doing business?"

Taelor steps off the ship to join the others after doing a few post-docking checks. "Alright, we're all good. Let's go sell this fucking ore. What?"

The others bring her up to speed regarding their bureaucratic issues.

"Ugh," she says, rubbing her temples. "I don't remember having to deal with all this crap the last time we came. Is it 'cause we didn't have shit to sell or did Graham deal with it?"

"They probably got us mag-clamped. We'll need to pay the docking fees at least if we want to take off. Let's take care of the minimum and see what kind of price we can get for our load. Then we can see if we keep looking for a buyer or not."

While the others fill in Taelor, Samara trots after the dock worker. "Pardon me friend!" She begins sunnily, tugging at their sleeve in order to avoid having to call out. "Is there a clinic here, and do you know whether they could use an extra pair of hands?"

She definitely prefers working as a cook, but has found that healing pays better; and from what she has understood, her new friends needed some funds - they even had to pay just for landing the ship. Adventures are expensive!

The man turns with annoyed face and half through an well rehearsed exaggerated sigh and the matching eyeroll, he sees the source of interruption and his look softens.  "My dear, if you want to help as a nurse you probably want to go down the well. All the hospitals and homes are planetside. Up here there is only some glorified chop shops, handling the cuts and maims that come along with working with the heavy machinery. I doubt that those are a places for a gentle creature like yourself. ", he smiles and seems to almost want to pet Sam's hair.

Samara lights up at the man's kindness. "Thank you! But if it is all the same to you, I would start up here before heading planetside. If those places aren't that nice, it might be because there are a lot of hurt people there. Everyone is nicer when they aren't in as much pain... Don't you think?" she looks at the man, expectantly.

Not knowing what to answer to this, he replies "Erm, yes, I guess you are right child. But..." when he realises, that he cannot think of other arguments he shrugs and points down the corridor. "Over there around the bend, at the end of the corridor is the closest one. They have one on each level. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"It sounds like you want me to be safe, so I'm going to let my friends know where I'm heading. I was just going to go straight away, but you sound worried. I appreciate that; you seem very kind. Good bye for now! May all paths lead closer to your truest self."

She makes her way back onto the ship and calls out "I'm going to check on our next meal, and then I'm going to a... uh... glorified chop shop? to see if there is anyone I can help! It's pretty close, just down the corridor. K? Bye!" before heading to the mess for the first part of her two part plan. Once she is sure that everything is in order with their food, she heads back towards the hatch.

"Samara, wait," Elan says, running to catch up with her if she doesn't seem to be in a mood to listen.

"Haliant is a nice place. That doesn't mean it's full of nice people.

"Lots of things are legal here. Alcohol, drugs, prostitution. People here aren't used to hearing 'no'. We have to be wary of people trying to take advantage of us."

He seems a little flustered or embarrassed trying to explain this. It's like he's telling his sister about the birds and the bees.

"There's a gang here called the Collas. Their money-maker is kidnapping rich old guys and hauling them off planet. The old folks age quickly when they're off planet, so everybody pays. Station security is either in on it or too afraid to act.

"Long story short, we need to stick together. If you want to go help people, I respect that, but if it's a rough place then take Taelor or Lola with you."

He makes sure Lola and Taelor are looped in, then discusses his plans for selling the ore.

"When I got my cyberware, the guy at the shop said that the lack of metals from ore was severely hindering his business. He said, and I quote, 'If you bring back metals from Gor, I'm sure you'll find plenty a buyer here on Haliant. And keep me in mind when you do.'

"I think that's a good place to start. If we can get someone properly excited about our product, they'll help us navigate the bureaucracy here.

"That said, we have a valuable load in the hold. Taelor, you know your way around the ship - and places like this - better than I do. Do we need to do anything special to secure the ship? Do we need someone onboard at all times?"

Samara stands stock still when Elan calls to her, and looks at him in a tearful apprehension that dissipates as soon as she realises that she has not made him angry. She listens to him carefully, nodding when it seems that Elan would want her to indicate comprehension. At the suggestion that she bring Taelor or Lola with her, her brows furrow slightly and she bites at her lip.

"But... I barely have any creds... And you have all been so nice... And it sounded like the docking fees were expensive... And, and I don't want to bother anyone... That's why I still want to head out on my own! And like I told the man on the dock, I'm sure that people will be nicer once they are feeling better! And they can't take advantage of me if I'm offering to help, now can they?" Samara starts out shakily, but her confidence builds as she affirms her own willingness to be kind.

"They can't steal from you, no," Elan says, somewhat defeated by Samara's sense of optimism and goodwill toward men. "But that doesn't mean they can't harm you."

He looks to Taelor and Lola for backup on the bitter realities of human nature.

Taelor starts laughing, until she realizes Samara is serious. "Uh... the docking fees are chump change. We got the cash to cover them, no problem." She pulls out her dataslab and settles the docking fee, processing fee, and refueling fee remotely. "There, settled."

She smiles at Sam sympathetically. "I'm glad you want to help. It's a good instinct, but money-wise, selling this ore is the best thing we can do. Not sure a clinic would hire some rando off the street."

Taelor turns towards Elan, then looks down at her slab and hits a few buttons. "I'll set my drone to patrol the ship, keep an eye out for us. It'll let us know if anybody tries to break in." She smirks. "Though I pity any intruder if they come across Turtle. You know that little fucker scratched me up again?" She says holding up a bandage hand. "I really thought we were developing a rapport... cute fucking jerk..."

She finishes setting her drone's patrol pattern and puts her slab away. "Let's go meet that cyberware guy. Sam," she says turning to the cook, "if you insist on helping out at a clinic anyway, then yeah, Elan's right. Lola should go with you. No offense, but a sweet girl like you's liable to get taken advantage of."

A brief, positively adorable pout telegraphs Samara’s disappointment and confusion:  why was everyone so adamant that she would be taken advantage of?

Mother J had constantly been admonishing her for cheating, being manipulative, and generally not behaving as well as she could. If most people were as difficult as she had been growing up, surely she could handle them? She opens her mouth to argue, and then thinks better of it. After all, they didn't even need the funds!

At first she is embarrassed for not having thought to ask, but quickly realises that that is actually great news, and is back to radiating contentment in no time.

"I was only going to go to a clinic to get some money. Since that is not a problem, I would much rather stay with you all! Or at least on the ship, if you're worried that I'll get in the way!" She smiles at both Elan and Taelor. "I see that you are trying to look out for me, I appreciate it!"

"I know!" Elan says about Turtle's sour attitude. "Thank the Mother that I have telekinetic armor or I'd be slashed to ribbons."

He then returns to the matter of finding a buyer for the ore.

"I bought a business suit last time we were on Haliant," Elan says. "Let me go put it on."

He tidies himself up - artfully balanced between coiffed and disheveled - and comes out with his big-boy suit a short while later.

"I guess I don't look like an ore trader, do I?" he says upon further consideration. "But not like a ruffian either. Well, the guy knows my creds are good so hopefully that will establish some credibility. Let's make our way over there."

He takes his compad and his metatool (he feels naked without it) and leaves the rest behind onboard.

Lola looked back and forth between Samara, Elan and Taelor as they had their debate about the former helping out at a clinic. To be honest she was caught in the middle. Her military experience definitely leaned towards the older two. You were better to be eternally suspicious and wary. On the otherhand she'd grown up in an area probably even poorer and more destitute than this. Societies didn't tend to be intrinsically evil, or indiscriminately taking advantage of everyone they came across. Or rather, no more so than rich areas, and frequently when there wasn't a chance to make lots of wealth people were much more community focused.

"I'd be happy to tag along with you Samara if you wanted to help out the locals. I've not been to this planet before and it wouldn't be bad to get a contact or two. Might be some who'd appreciate your aid. But yes, first we can get our official business out of the way."

Samara does a gleeful shimmy at Lola's support of her desire to help, too happy that someone seems to be for it to realise that this was still the same insistence on accompaniment in the name of her safety.

"On to the official business!

The shuttle that takes the crew down to the planets surface is pretty crowded, but they manage to grab a few seats together and Sam even catches a window seat. From above Haliant is a boring looking ball of rock and dust. No blue rivers, no lakes no oceans. Not the faintest sign of vegetation. Just a dry stony wasteland. But once the shuttle descends small green flecks appear that quickly grow larger into small islands of green blue and white. As they get closer, the flecks grow into small vibrant communities, full of parks, rivers and white modern buildings. Small utopias carved out of the harsh reality that is Haliants surface.

The shuttle lands on a smaller port, off the official routes, obviously a port for service personnel and deliveries. No "customers" or residents use this shuttle to the trading station.
But the way to the main walk ways is short and soon the crew walks down a white track through a stretch of green trees, towards the medical service center that Elan had entrusted his eyes to. The air smells fresh, the sky is blue and cloudless and is warm, but not hot. Perfect weather in perfect surroundings.
Sam is amazed by the many elderly walking or driving to and fro. Most young people seem to be working, hardly anybody except for the old folks seems to spend leisure time.

The doctor/sales clerk in the medical center recognises Elan immediately and his face grows worried. "Mr. Tokala, welcome back. I hope nothing is amiss?"

"Wait here," Elan tells the others before going into the clinic. "It might send the wrong message if all four of us walk in at once. Enjoy the sunshine and fresh air while we have it.

"Unless, Lola, were you considering anything?" Elan is pretty sure that Lola is sitting on her share of the proceeds from the last time they were on Haliant. She's probably has 25K in her pocket, but Elan isn't going to call that out in front of Samara.

"Pressure Sheathing means you'll never get spaced. Immunofiltration System means never getting sick again... nor tear gassed. Or you can get body sculpting if you want ONE BIG EYE🧿"

If someone else wants to come in with Elan, that's fine. He won't really fight it. He enters 'A Whole New You' and is greeted by the doctor/sales clerk.

"No, not at all," Elan tells the good doctor. "Everything is functioning within normal parameters."

Elan winces privately. That's how doctors talk, right? He wishes Rena were here; this would be her natural environment.

"The last time I was here, you mentioned that your business was being severely hindered by the lack of supplies from the mines. You said, and I quote, 'If you bring back metals from Gor, I'm sure you'll find plenty a buyer here on Haliant. And keep me in mind when you do.' Well I am happy to report that I have returned from Gor with over a hundred tons of ore. And, man of my word that I am, I kept you in mind."

Taelor grins widely as she steps off the shuttle and into the Haliant sunlight. They'd been planetside just a few days ago, on Astyoc, but the two planets didn't even come close. Haliant felt like being wrapped in a warm blanket, whereas Astyoc was more like... sandpaper. "Man, I should've worn my sundress..."

At the clinic, she gives Elan a mock salute before he goes in. "Aye aye, boss."

Taelor finds a park bench and sits herself down, closing her eyes and leaning back to enjoy the sun. After a moment, she blinks and tilts her head to look at Sam as the cook stares at the locals. "First time on Haliant? Bit of a fucked up place, but good for a vacation. We should get some food and hit a club while we're here. We had a blast last time!"

"Oh wow! Samara exclaims a number of times while taking in Haliant's climate, environment and residents.  She is too distracted by the sights and sounds to pick up on Elan's description of what Lola could get done. When Taelor suggests dinner and dancing, Samara is all ears.

"But why would you say that this place is bad? Everyone seems happy or hard at work.  There is joy in toiling for ones community." The last sentence is delivered in a way that sounds more like a quote than anything else.

Taelor bares her teeth in something resembling a grin. "Because this place is dead. Just because the corpses still move around, it doesn't make it alive."

She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "People are supposed to grow and change. It becomes harder for old people. Maybe 'cause their bodies aren't so good at making new stuff, I don't know. But here, they keep themselves in a kind of stasis and don't die. This whole place was built to cater to their needs and desires, so it's stuck."

"Also, if they leave, whatever keeps them alive wears off. So it's like a real comfy, nostalgia-filled prison."

Taelor stands and stretches, getting antsy at the thought of being stuck in one place. "So that's why I say it's great for a day trip, and not much else."

Clearly relieved that Elan did not come back with issues with his modifications, the doctor relaxes. When Elan mentions the ore, his eyebrows go slightly up and the salesman in him, comes out. "Ore from Gor? How did you even get that here, with the embargo and everything, hmm? But it doesn't matter, yes, hmmm, you remembered me, that is very kind. Yes, I am indeed interested in acquiring materials.
Where do you have the cargo? Shall we maybe meet for lunch tomorrow, discuss a possible agreement?
If you could just bring a sample, yes, hmm, so I can see what we are dealing with, hmm? "
The clerk subconsciously rubs his hands against each other and nods slightly during every 'yes' and 'hmm'.

In the park outside a young lady pushes a (very) elderly woman in a hover chair along the path.
From the other side comes an equally old man, with an exoskeleton, helping him walk.
There are small birds in the trees, but no larger birds, like pigeons or other animals that or otherwise found in parks like this.
Some of the passersby have pets, which are age-appropriately walking calmly next to their owners, or are being driven in carts or hover crates.

Lola shook her head back at Elan.
"I understand why you like them, but the advancements aren't something I'm interested in spending the money on. If its not needed, I don't see the point. My biology is fine the way it is."
Even the thought of getting the advancements, was enough to produce a shiver of shame through her. She wasn't quite sure why. Was it a hangup of some kind of religion that she'd been brought up with and since rejected the main tenants of? Or perhaps it was the thought of spending so much money on herself, when there were others clearly in need, and energies to which the money would be better supporting.

The credits were doing nothing though just sitting in her account. It was perhaps worth investigating what else she might need, and then seeing about funnelling the rest out to some members of the various resistances that she was a supporter of. She should have done this already of course, but she'd never had money before, and it was hard not to give herself a fallback of savings just in case.

She nodded in agreement at Taelors words to Sam.
"I agree. Things have a natural life cycle, be they organisms, or systems of government, or businesses. They should be allowed to fail and die, rather than artificially kept in stasis. The problems just magnify out from that."

"A sample?" Elan asks rhetorically, privately kicking himself that he didn't think to bring one. "Yes, we can provide a sample. Lunch sounds wonderful.

"The load is up at the station. We still need to resolve the matter of the trading license, as this is our first visit to Haliant for mercantile" - he pauses to judge whether he has used the word correctly - "relations."

Elan finds all this bureaucracy distasteful and hopes that the premium the ore will command (hopefully, maybe) will help compensate for it. Between 200cr for docking fees, 1200cr for the trading license, and 500cr for fuel... It makes him long for his prior life of petty crime.

Arrangements for lunch are made and Elan returns to the sunshine.

"Lunch tomorrow," Elan announces. "He's interested in a sample. Let's use the time to get a sense for what the street value of this load might be."

Lola seemed to have a line on a contact who could provide access to some less-formal arrangements.

"We could save 1200cr if we omit the license and trade black," he reminds her. "Let's keep that in mind in case the margins on this aren't worth it. It stings to fork over a fat stack of credits for a trading license we're only going to use once. We'll just take it to Staconago next time."

The rest of the day is easily passed with leisure, Haliant, with all its faults, offers entertainment for literally all tastes.

Lolas efforts to reach out for alternative channels yields some contacts, but none that want to talk without meeting.

The next day, lunch time...
The restaurant is not overly fancy, but very nice. When Elan arrives, a waiter guides him to a table on the terrace. The terrace looks down from a hill to one of the many parks, onto a small pond. As shading wild wine was planted to grow over a construction, giving a natural roof.
The chairs are very comfortable and the doctor is already waiting. After a little small talk and ordering the meal, the topic comes down to business. Elan shows the sample and the doc is clearly satisfied with what he is seeing.
"This looks very fine indeed. I used to pay 2100 cr/t before the embargo. The prices went through the roof since then. I'm prepared to pay 2350 cr/t. And I'll take your whole load, who knows when I will get more deliveries."
When Elan hints at the lack of a trading license the doc lowers his voice and leans forward. "To buy without the license, makes things a bit more delicate to handle for me. We can go this way, but I'd have to lower my price to 2250 cr/t"

Nitafrong wrote:

She nodded in agreement at Taelors words to Sam.
"I agree. Things have a natural life cycle, be they organisms, or systems of government, or businesses. They should be allowed to fail and die, rather than artificially kept in stasis. The problems just magnify out from that."

Samara thought about what her friends had said about Haliant. She was loathe to judge the decisions of others, and yet she did truly believe in the importance of acknowledgment, celebration, and peace seeking. "But they might outlive everyone they know!" She blurts out to no one in particular, appalled. Then, gazing to her feet, she murmurs, "And perhaps they are okay with that." Samara sighs deeply and lifts her head, smiling resolutely. "We need not and cannot share every perspective." The affirmation was important to her, but at times like these it was challenging to keep an open mind - all the more reason to fight to do so.




The next day, she is beside herself with excitement. Who knew how many creds they might get from the ore. Thousands? Maybe even tens of thousands! Imagine all of the foods we could afford!

Elan enjoys his lunch. He's wearing his big-boy suit and pretending like he's a rich mucker, even though he doesn't have a credit to his name due to the cyberware in his head and his hands.

Taelor had helped Elan prepare some numbers in advance so he was ready to counteroffer the man's opening bid. He did his best to channel his inner Rena. Elan wishes she were here to (metaphorically) mop the floor with this guy. He'll do his best in her absence.

"Come now," he says playfully, wiping his lips and putting his napkin in his lap. "I thought we were friends.

"This ore goes for 2,000 cr/ton in Gor," he says, intentionally neglecting the discount they were able to negotiate. "Now under normal conditions I can understand how that would translate to 2,100 after it had been imported to Mentta, but under the present circumstances I think the supply and demand curve has moved the meter to something rather higher."

That was how you used supply-and-demand in a sentence, right? Rena tossed around the principles of microeconomics so readily that Elan is hoping that he picked up something by osmosis. (That's how you use osmosis in a sentence, right?)

"Our definitions of 'through-the-roof' must differ," he continues mischievously. He's smiling, having fun, trying to keep a friendly sheen on a serious negotiation. After all, he wants this man to install more cyber in the not-too-distant future. "I don't think a 10% premium accurately reflects the scarcity that Haliant is facing." It's more like 12% but Elan can't do math in his head that quickly. "I like you and want to do business with you, but I don't want to take a haircut to do it. In this case, I think a 20% premium would be more fitting. Something along the lines of 2,500, don't you think? Why, I bet that with the present margins that would allow you to use some to supply your business and then flip the rest for a tidy profit!"

He spins one of the spice jars on the table in a casual manner.

"Or, if it is more palatable, perhaps we could trim that a little and negotiate some product discounts instead, hmm? 2,450 cr/ton in exchange for 20% off."

"Oh, I see you are a fierce negotiator, Mr. Tokala", he chuckles, "Ok, I will pay you 2,400 cr/t and my associates will handle the bureaucracy around the license and fee for you, so you have more time to enjoy the pleasures of Haliant. Do we have a deal?"

"Very good then," Elan says. That's an extra 50 credits per ton, and removes the 10 cr/ton fee. If he could do math in his head he would multiple 60 by 120, but he can't, so instead he'll just feel a general sense of accomplishment.

Elan shakes on it and then enjoys the rest of the meal. Once lunch is concluded, he will update anyone who isn't present.

<<Net profit is 60k>> he reports once he has a commpad to do the math for him. <<Once it is unloaded we can take off for Staconago to load up for our trip to Thos, Haistro specifically.>>

<<Then we're off to Tecmada/Xenaera for a little vacation. Purple beaches!>>

While Elan is busy handling the business side of things, Taelor heads out on her own and returns to the cyberware shop. When the crew had first come to Haliant, she'd been wary about the idea of getting "enhancements". Plenty of holos had stories about people accidentally getting illegal 'ware installed and being hunted down by corrupt governments, or getting their organs stolen or whatever. Besides, getting chopped up just made her skin crawl. But that was before she'd seen Elan in action. Climbing on walls and ceilings, maneuvering through complete darkness like it was nothing. It was all... so cool. Now, she wanted superpowers too.

She takes some time flipping through the catalogs, looking for something that'll suit her. She didn't want to tread the same ground as Elan. She wanted it to be unique, within the crew at least. Something to complement her role, as she saw it.

Finally, something does pique her interest. She returns to the clerk. "I'll take the Eelskin Capacitor Mesh."

***

When the crew reconvenes on the Undertow, Taelor has thin, flexible, rubber-like bandages covering her hands. "Sorry for not aswering your texts. Handling my slab's a bit hard with these on."

"Might need you to handle the takeoff," she tells Elan. "The doc said my hands would be tender for a few days. Besides, it'll be good practice for you," she adds with a wink.

"I'm strapped for cash, now, so let's go make some creds."

Elan pouts with envy at Taelor's upgrades.

"I thought you would get pressure sheathing," he says, trying to conceal his covetous glances at her bandages. "I always had a fear of getting spaced."

But, still, there's a piece of Elan that's pleased to have brought Taelor around to his better-living-through-cybernetics philosophy.

"If this gig on Haistro goes well, we should consider ghost talker transceivers," he says casually. "That will keep us sync'd up."

Another AKA wrote:

Samara thought about what her friends had said about Haliant. She was loathe to judge the decisions of others, and yet she did truly believe in the importance of acknowledgment, celebration, and peace seeking. "But they might outlive everyone they know!" She blurts out to no one in particular, appalled. Then,   gazing to her feet, she murmurs, "And perhaps they are okay with that."  Samara sighs deeply and lifts her head, smiling resolutely. "We need not and cannot share every perspective."

Lola nodded back at the younger woman.
"That true. We cannot seek to understand without asking. Assumptions are the oven where good intentions go to burn. I might not agree but it doesn't make it wrong."

Lola too looked with interest at Taelor's surgeries.
"How long will they put you out of commission?"
There was no judgement in her question, she was curious. As long as Taelor was out, their squad was down a member and they'd have to compensate accordingly if they needed.

The spending of the credits did make her think though. While she wasn't going to spend it on advancements, it was doing nothing rotting away in the account. Taking out her tablet, she spent the next few hours researching different projects and groups who might be able to make use of the funds. It took a while to get through the normal obscurification blocking unwanted agents, but she finally found a few that sounded promising. A fund that aided strikers on a distant mining world, a band of pirates that exclusively preyed on executives and those high in government and the religious bodies, and finally to stoke revolution which was being stirred on a hive mega city. 10,000 was a lot of credits, and she wasn't expecting that would see anything directly from it, but she could hope.

Elan proudly pats himself on the shoulder. Figuratively speaking. The departure from Staconago went as smooth as it gets and Taelor hardly had to correct his moves.

Finally Staconago is behind them. The black coated "security forces" on every corner really did not make anybody feel welcome. A tense, fearful and silent atmosphere made everybody hurry from place to place and any wrong step was instantly rewarded with a touch from the stun gun, or a gentle pat with the baton.
At least the purchase went smoothly. Their hold is packed with crates and crates of handguns, rifles, ammunition and grenades, enough to equip a small army. Once again their joint expertise came to the rescue. Lolas professional eye confirmed the quality of the goods and Elans eloquent chatter got the price done some nice 5%.

But now they're finally out of the tunnels and back in space, heading to the jump point away from Mentta, next stop Valiu.

moarhair wrote:

When the crew reconvenes on the Undertow, Taelor has thin, flexible, rubber-like bandages covering her hands. "Sorry for not aswering your texts. Handling my slab's a bit hard with these on."

"Might need you to handle the takeoff," she tells Elan. "The doc said my hands would be tender for a few days. Besides, it'll be good practice for you," she adds with a wink."[/color]

The exchange about Taelor's bandaged hands give Samara an idea and she brings her own hands up to her mouth to smother a giggle.

The young cook develops a sense of how her friend's hands might feel in a few days, and then guides the appendages towards skipping ahead to that point. It does not take much effort. It seldom did; bodies loved to be well.

Sometimes that meant drawing inspiration from a reality where they were never injured, and others - like now - moving towards a possible future where they are already healed.

Taelor shrugs at Lola's question. "Doc said a few days. I should be fine by the time we reach Valiu. Although..." she says with a puzzled expression as she flexes her fingers. "The painkillers must be kicking in, because my hands feel great!"

"Damn, they gave me the good stuff! Almost as good as Rena's."

Elan is feeling reasonably proud and accomplished.

He negotiated well on Haliant. He did reasonably well on Staconago. He piloted the Undertow competently between the two locations and didn't get arrested a single time. He feels like a mature, upstanding member of society. Who, at the moment, is running guns.

Now they have 20+ tons of off-the-shelf weapons in the hold, a load of fuel, and a destination in mind. That's grand, but there's still something on his mind.

"We need to remember to pay ourselves," he tells the crew one night (or morning? who can say) in the galley.

"I get that the more we invest, the more we potentially earn. 'Put all your eggs in one basket and then guard that basket,' as the saying goes. But we should still pay ourselves regularly.

"The 'company' seeded us with about 45k credits." 'Company' gets air quotes, since the STEGO corporation is largely theoretical at this point, with the Undertow being far from Astyoc and Graham's overwatching gaze. "Once we make this deal and subtract out the company's initial investment, I think we should split the remainder: half among us in equal shares, and then add the other half to the company's working capital for future investments.

"Let's say we sell this load for 125k. We'll subtract out the initial 45k and have 80K to divvy up. We'll add half of that to the company's purse - 45K plus 40K equals 85K - for future entrepreneurial activities we choose to pursue. The other half, the second 40K, we'll divide among ourselves, 10K each. We'll be setting some aside for future upgrades and speculative activity, but also be paying ourselves so that we can each pursue our individual projects."

"Yeah, these things cost a bundle," Taelor says, flexing her fingers. To her surprise, she'd found her hands were fully healed when she'd changed her bandages and hadn't worn any since. "I wouldn't mind some spending money once we offload these guns."

"But until we know what we'll get for them, seems like a waste of time to crunch the numbers."

She laces her fingers behind her head and leans back. "We still got a lot of cargo space. Shame to make a trip with it empty."