Alien Exodus

  The Mek clerk at the bank whom she’d talked to hadn’t taken Buster seriously, even after she presented the inventory of her storage locker. Actually, Buster hadn’t believed the volume herself. Fifty years of hoarding had produced quite a magnificent haul of precious metals, useful gasses the ship had compressed for her, metal and mineral specimens, including what used to be called “rare earths”, which weren’t really rare, even on Earth. They would be useful to these humans and the Mek in their embrace of technology. She’d already done the research to determine if her products would sell well on this planet. They would.

  Rare minerals had been quite abundant in some regions of Earth, and in fact several different kinds were often found in small amounts in the same areas, but those places were scattered over the planet. These materials proved to be so similar they were difficult to separate, and weren’t economically feasible to mine, like, say, silver, except in a few places.

  Rare minerals were referred to as the seventeen lanthanides found on the periodic table, having names like Yttrium, Cerium, and Lanthanum. They were useful in a variety of applications like aerospace components, superconductors, microwave filters, lasers, magnets, glasses, enamels and ceramics, computer memories, and medical diagnostic machines. Cerium and Lanthanum had been used as a fluid cracking catalyst in oil refining in the bad old days of massive carbon release; “cracking” meant breaking up the molecules in order to mix them in other combinations for combustion.

  Buster’s flying garbage truck easily separated minerals, and, in fact, all components from the rocks it swallowed in space, so Buster had a leg up on the competition in this region. Extraction operations in this region couldn’t rival the capacity of her scow, which, in this part of the Infinite, was a unique vessel.

  Of course, the value of the haul depended on where you found yourself mining. Buster knew about plenty of rich pockets of space. Actually, if she found a buyer, she might sell the information. Another thought she pondered was whether to go through the trouble and expense of creating a ship manufactory business, outfitting herself with a fleet, hiring the sturdy Mek - they looked like they could mine the hell out of anything - and run her own Company. Buster Company. Now this might be a good idea, or a nightmare, she couldn’t decide which. Maybe both.

  So not only did she pull the inventory for the bank out of the ship’s data storage, but she planned to pull her Very Personal Log, and leave some nonsense misfiled in its place to disguise her extraction. The nonsense would be about the same size as the file she removed, just to give the techs a bit of a hard time. She suspected that if they really tried, they’d discover all of her fiddling eventually, but would they even try? And then what would they do, come after her? Doubtful. They would probably download all the data to one of their information banks and only access it if a problem arose. Most likely they’d only access the data pertaining to whatever problem it was they were analyzing and leave the rest untouched.

  Technically, her VPL was their property, as was she and everything she’d produced, except that which they designated she could keep - primarily consisting of the few things she’d bought for herself with her compensation. And her hoard of goodies.

  Anyway, perhaps this had all happened before. Maybe she wasn’t the first to quit in the middle of a run. Surely they’d noticed she hadn’t been cashing in for fifty years. Surely they’d calculated that she might scarper eventually. Maybe those buyout contracts had been an invitation to do just so! Who wanted an almost two hundred year old slave in an old bucket of a ship anyway?

  Buster figured she’d already paid them back for herself many times over with the new contracts she’d negotiated and fulfilled, and the recycled goods she’d sold and returned with time after time. The wealth for which she hadn’t found buyers she’d brought back to Ordoron. The pittance they’d paid her had been an infinitesimally small portion of the wealth she’d made for them. They hadn’t even needed to pay the slave called Buster, because she was a slave, but fair, at lest superficially, was the kind of company Apical strove to be. The Corporate decision makers were cognizant of and protective of their reputation. Buster didn’t feel she owed the Company. If anything, they probably owed her. Or not, she thought, as she thought about her personal inventory. She wouldn’t even be absconding with the ship; she’d send the old bucket back on autopilot controls. It was equipped with a homing device, a mechanical version reminiscent of that used by the extinct homing pigeons of old on her planet of origin.

  If she didn’t send the scow back to them, which in all likelihood they would recycle into new ship components, and if she tried to keep their property to start her own fleet, a retrieval program would detect her when she was inside, lock her up in it, and take her back to face the hangman. The possibility existed that there wasn’t enough food in store for the long trip, and she might starve to death. Retrieval was expensive if you considered lost time mining and recycling, and the loot that could have been. The Company had never lost a ship, but had hung a few slaves who’d tried to steal ships and cargoes, and a few employees who’d tried the same had died in some of the worst prisons in the Infinite.

  But the Company had a soul of sorts, or rather, its owners did. They didn’t like to do those things, so one part of the initial six month curriculum encompassed History of Employee Abuse of Company Largesse. The course included graphic vids of the hangings and of prison conditions. None of the prisoners died of old age. Hanging seemed preferable to a short life of deprivation, disease, and brutalization in those prisons, but you had to be a slave to be hanged. In fact, since employees and slaves were not treated the same after a conviction, some employees sold themselves to the Company. If an employee had the kind of impulsive, unreliable personality such that they would not even trust themselves to behave, they became slaves to the Company in order to get a better deal if, in fact, they did misbehave. Yes, hanging seemed definitely preferable to dying in those prisons. Immediate or at least quick deaths were cheaper for the Company, which was probably the explanation for the condition of those horrid penitentiaries. No appeals process existed for the condemned.

  Buster gazed out of her fourteenth story window onto the bustle of the International Block below. She had done several hours of reading to enlighten herself about her potential future home.

  Many different species came to KekTan to shop and do business or vacation. The Mek, though deadly serious about security, expressed childlike delight in everything else. The sprawling buildings, modern structures full of windows, contained inner hallways showing moving pictures of the wilderness areas of the planet: plains, forests, jungles, oceans, lakes, river valleys, dunes, and rocky crags covered in snow constituted the decorations. Gorgeous footage of native wildlife appeared to be popular. Buster had viewed the story of their generational incarceration on an arena ship. She knew for certain they would embrace her once she’d made public the decision to purchase herself. KekTan might just be the place she’d been searching for.

  Cats played, fought, hunted, and angled for attention everywhere. Visitors were encouraged to socialize with them. The only places they weren’t allowed were the satellites, and the kitchen and the dining areas, although you didn’t have to invite them into your suite if you didn’t want to. You could, though.

  Mek cat handlers distracted little animals from social gatherings and business meetings held in public places, when requested. The cats even had their own bathrooms full of litter boxes and attendants. Feline queens managed potty training by example quite well in the cattery, where they were contained for the kittens, and their mother’s protection. All which were to be released into the city or agricultural populations were spayed or neutered first. Occasional accidents occurred, so Mek patrolled on potty duty and also for cat hair cleanup. They kept the shed fur under control for the most part, although on occasion guests did find the fleece stuck to their fabrics. Visitors found switching to Mek fabrics desirable once they’d settled in, as the material repelled the hair. S
imple clothing designs were provided free of charge, or one might shop for different, upscale styles, of which there were many varieties.

  The Mek loved their cats, and visitors loved them, too, or they just didn’t come to KekTan. The world was the hub of commerce and leisure in this region of space, but arrangements could be made to do business on the orbiters if the cats were not acceptable, or visitors found them too prey-like. Snacking on a Mek cat was frowned upon most strenuously. Under no circumstances were visitors allowed to feed on them. The listed punishments were severe - expulsion from the planet and banishment from all future trade with Mek, which could be particularly disastrous to a planet’s economy.

  Also, if you had any business with humans, you came here. Since they’d lost their home planet, the Mek had invited the homosapien species to base their operations here on KekTan. After all, if not for humans, Mek would still be slaves, not living free on this beautiful planet. The Mek had insisted.

  The basic necessities were provided free of charge on KekTan: quality water and food, basic living quarters, heating and cooling, clothing, and basic service employment as well for those able and willing to work. If you wanted something more luxurious, you paid for it, and you could apply whatever skills you had to jobs which were better compensated than the service ones.

  This lovely society attracted Buster. She’d almost made up her mind to stay, and planned to open an account at KekTan National Bank with a small bar of platinum from her personal storage aboard ship, for expenses. She could sell the platinum to the bank for Tan Notes. The exchange rate was fair. The Mek kept everything well but modestly regulated through low fees and short applications, eschewed greed, and business flowed smoothly without the egregious usury Buster had experienced at some other locations.

  A soft pinging told Buster that the time had come for her to go down to the lobby. She grabbed her small bag, which she attached to her belt, and exited the suite. She locked the entry using the biologically coded palm pad outside, and walked to the bank of tubes making a sturdy column in the center of the building.

  In the lobby she chose an overstuffed chair, and in a moment was greeted by a large orange tuxedo tabby who bumped his head into her dangling palm and purred loudly. She scratched his cheeks. Other cats noticed her amenability and started to make their way toward her, and several expert Mek handlers swooped in and distracted them so she wouldn’t be swarmed. They all carried sticks with string attached to them, and swirled these on the floor. No cat could resist. Even the tabby trotted off.

  Only a few minutes passed before the bank employee entered the building, recognize her, and made her way over. She introduced herself as Gem. Buster asked if more were expected, as the inventory was large. Gem replied in the negative. Buster swallowed her sigh. She knew Gem would walk into Buster’s personal locker and immediately call for help…

  … which was exactly what she did.

  They rode up together to the orbital and then on to the scow still floating around the planet in its assigned orbit. Buster had been required to pay for the transportation and also to make a deposit for the auditor’s time in case her request turned out to be nonsense, which is what they expected, although they remained polite.

  While Gem awaited the arrival of five colleagues she (Buster assigned a gender to this one, to relieve the tension it caused her when she thought about it) summoned after one look at Buster’s booty, she explored the storage space and made a little map on her pad, marking squares for pallets and circles for barrels, and transcribed labels onto them.

  Buster didn’t bother to watch. Gem was welcome to pocket whatever she wanted, if such was her nature, though Buster thought not. The Mek seemed straightforward, honest, and not clever in the worst sense of the word. After all, they had everything they wanted, and could buy, trade for, produce or have produced anything they desired.

  Buster went to her quarters, packed the remainder of her personal items, and put them in the shuttle. She went to the bridge and downloaded her VPL - the one full of coordinates and materials lists - and checked her incoming transmissions. Another Offer of Enslavement Termination Agreement had arrived. She read this and downloaded it to her packet as well.

  The rest of the accountants from the bank arrived. Buster let them on board, secured the hatch behind them, directed them to the holds, and followed them there.

  Perfunctory introductions made, she led them to her personal storage locker. Gem transmitted her map to their devices, and after a brief discussion about who would start where, and do what, they began inventorying.

  The inventory took four days. Buster kept them in food and drink and showed them where to sleep and clean up. This they did in shifts, but they didn’t seem to sleep much.

  Each day, she made sure they had everything they wanted and then went to the bridge. She programmed the ship to go home, which she’d trigger remotely from the planet after she informed customs, settled with them, and received their transmission regarding the path of the scow’s exit from their space. She had applied for permanent residency on KekTan while on the planet, and figured once they’d finished the inventory, she’d be approved.

  Buster brainstormed on the third day and spent most of it looking for the ship’s specs, particularly of the hull components, recyclers, and the engines. She copied everything she found, mostly from repair manuals, onto the personal storage packets she’d brought from KekTan to store her VPL. She even excised a piece of an interior bulkhead to have analyzed and perhaps replicated.

  After she found enough markets for her recycled goodies, she hoped to build ships like the scow to begin her new business with. She did the best she could to obscure the fact that she’d made the copies of the manuals; a more thorough job than the one she did trying to hide the fact that she’d downloaded her VPL. She would rather they come after her about that than for taking the other materials, which might contain protected information.

  Finally, the work was done. The Mek accountants filed their reports from space and managed to suppress their excitement on the ride back to the orbital. Then they traveled back to KekTan, politely explaining to her that under no circumstances would she be allowed to dump her wealth into their economy, or any economy, all at once. Disbursement must be carefully managed and monitored. She was made to understand she had the ability to destroy worlds, even entire regions, with that kind of wealth. She’d had no idea.

  “Actually,” said Buster, “I’d prefer to store it with the bank and sell it as needed, to your government or any other investors. I’m sure you’ll be able to advise me.”

  “Of course,” Gem said, and they all nodded. “Of course we can. It will be our pleasure.” She was not successful in suppressing a particularly predatory grin.

  Once they had escorted her back to the Ambassador Knott’s lobby, they smiled their wide, toothful grins, said goodbye, and scampered quickly out to a flying cab, which took them swiftly back to the bank. They went straight to the President’s office.

  Buster went to her suite, made multiple copies of her Very Personal Log and the manuals, and secured multiple copies in data vaults at the bank, in the hotel, and also in her room. She checked her communications locker and found her Permanent Resident Request had been approved and transmitted moments before. For the first and last time she replied to the Offer of Enslavement Termination Agreement, choosing “Buyout”, and, deciding to purchase herself from the Company using some of the money in her account on Ordoron, she put transmission of the buyout agreement and payment on hold. She wouldn’t send the documents until the bank had escorted her goodies from the ship, just in case the Company had a retrieval method she was unaware of. It wouldn’t do to have them program the ship to return to them with all of her long collected wealth inside.

  Also, the Agreement and bank account access permission statement for the buyout amount would have to be sent using the ship’s com system. The Mek had no commerce with, or in fact knowledge of Ordoron, other than what she’d brought
with her, and no current means to communicate with them.

  Confident she’d covered all the bases, Buster relaxed and discovered that her tummy felt a bit hollow. The poor, neglected thing even gurgled. So she cleaned up some, put on some of her new cat-hair-repellent duds, and made her way to the Reclining Queen Dining Room, which served gourmet meals any time of the day or night. Buster was developing a taste for the excellent food on this wonderful planet, and she finally owned the wherewithal to afford it.

  As she finished desert, which was fresh ripe native fruit compote with a complicated wine sauce, one of the hotel’s Mek approached and quietly told her that someone had approached the front desk asking to see her. The Mek covertly nodded toward a strange, white figure.

  Buster was curious. The sky was dark outside; he couldn’t be from the bank, could he?

  “He’s from the arena ship in orbit. He says he has a proposition for you, and that Ghee-Nye and Most High Ambassador Kek John Jack Knott recommend him. He brought you this brief note on the Ambassador’s letterhead.”

  The Mek handed her the printed paper, carefully standing between her and the white alien as she read the missive. The letter simply said, “Welcome, Buster. Please enjoy the company of our friend Lukan.” The missive was initialed MHAKJJK.

  Buster knew Ghee-Nye and Most High Ambassador Kek John Jack Knott were considered with a very special pride on this planet, she’d sensed this from her reading. Only Kek and his mate Tap, and Kek’s brother Nok and his mate, Mik, appeared higher on the KekTan totem pole.

  “Send him over, please.”

  The alien seemed stiff, with his feet, hands, and head making a sort of kite configuration. Thick, short, sparkling clean, white fur covered him all over except for the three red bulbs on his face, and he practically dragged two huge balls. You couldn’t miss them. The creature slowly made his way to the table and then slightly bowed his upper body in her direction.

  “I am Lukan of the fight ship Trakennad Dor. Thank you for this audience.” Lukan’s translator was buried in the fur of his neck.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Lukan. Call me Buster. Can you sit, or shall I ask the servers to supply you with some other accommodations?”

  Buster’s table did the translating for her.

  Lukan clumsily and with great effort slid into a chair. His legs were short and his back very long and he towered above her. A server asked for his order and he waited for a Faire Dark Coffee with Philippa’s extra thick cream, no foam, and two scoops of Utopian raspberry flavored sugar.

  She waited for him to proceed.

  He asked, “Do you know anything about arena ships?”

  “Yes, I do,” Buster answered. “I scanned the most current information this morning.”

  “I represent such a ship. I don’t know if you are aware, but Ghee-nye is of the same species as you.”

  Buster, as a construct, didn’t belong to any species, but she didn’t correct him. She raised an eyebrow in a non-committal response.

  The coffee, in a pale blue ceramic cup on a matching saucer holding a solid silver stir stick, arrived quickly. The Mek were efficient at everything. The cup, saucer, white porcelain cream pitcher and sugar bowl - with a little silver spoon in it - all had tiny black dancing cat silhouettes hand-painted around the rims. Up the handles of both the stir stick and the spoon, carved cats followed each other.

  “There are two others like you in this vicinity. Cherish and Ravish work and live on the sex ship, Anything Goes. “

  Buster nodded.

  “We of the Trakennad Dor are no longer a slave ship, because of Ghee-nye, Kek, and Most High Ambassador Kek John Jack Knott.”

  “I’ve seen the story,” Buster said. You couldn’t miss it, actors performed live in many of the open spaces and the story played on some of the building walls, as well.

  “Ghee-nye, Cherish, and Ravish have agreed to perform a fight on the Trakennad Dor for our eager audience, and we would like to invite you to join them. We will compensate you,” Lukan said.

  “Perform?”

  “Oh, yes. The contests aren’t like in the bad-old-days. We don’t kill each other anymore. We fight only to tap-out, and the fight you are being invited to join will be choreographed to give the best possible show for our beloved paying audience, you understand. Because Cherish and Ravish are not fighters, they are sexers, and you are a miner. There could be injuries, even deaths, these things do sometimes occur. You must be informed. Medical expenses will be taken care of, and we have expert medics on board. Also, funeral expenses will be covered, if necessary.”

  “Did you fight on this ship, Lukan?” Buster asked.

  “I did, as a slave. I nearly died there.”

  This could explain his stiffness. No one could fight in that condition; he must have been severely injured.

  “And, you are still doing business for them?”

  “Oh, yes. Well, not for them. We are a Cooperative Corporation. All of us own a piece, now. Those who stayed on, I mean.”

  Buster sat back for a moment. Lukan waited.

  Buster wondered which three constructs Ghee-Nye, Ravish and Cherish were. Only twelve had survived the human colonization of space, to be sold, in the bad-old-days, to wealthy aliens. Buster never thought she’d see them again, and wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  Ghee-Nye seemed to have done well for herself.

  “Are Cherish and Ravish slaves, Lukan?”

  “No, no. They live and work aboard the Anything Goes, a sex ship. Originally, I am told, they were slaves, but their owner, the mother of the current ship owner, made them free upon her death.”

  Well, that was good. They weren’t being forced into it, now, anyway.

  “The purpose of the fight, is it purely entertainment?”

  “Oh, yes. And profit.”

  “Anything else I should know?”

  “If you agree, you will all meet on Trakennad Dor for rehearsals and conditioning. Here is a schedule, and the contract for your perusal.” He struggled to pull a packet out of what seemed to be a flesh pocket slightly off center in his front, and handed it to her.

  Buster plugged the capsule into a port in the table and briefly scanned the contents on the pop-up monitor.

  “Can I get the waiter for you while I look this over, Lukan? Dinner’s on me.”

  “Thank you, Buster, but I would like to pay.”

  “No, Lukan, I insist.” Buster was feeling generous because of the accounting.

  “Yes, that would be lovely. I notice that they make an Earth origin item I am curious to try, Philippan Lobster Thermidor. May I?”

  “Yes, please.” Buster stroked a finger over the call sensor and in a moment her server appeared. Lukan ordered while she focused on the contract. The waiter recommended a wine and the side dish of the evening, which consisted of a mix of freshly steamed, hand-picked, native vegetables in a light Philippan butter and immature herbs sauce. Lukan accepted with obvious anticipatory pleasure.

  When the food came, Lukan ate with gusto, making many appreciative noises. The Mek server liked him very much.

  “Well, Lukan,” Buster commented to the relaxed, wine sipping alien, “this looks to be in order. Dessert?”

  “No thank you, Buster, you’ve been too kind already.”

  Buster pressed her thumb against the monitor over the identification block on the document, transferred a copy of the schedule to her room comlock, and handed the packet back to Lukan. “I’m in,” she said.

  “Oh! Excellent! I am so elated I can hardly wait to tell the others!”

  With that, he struggled out of the chair, stood a moment catching his breath, quietly said, “Goodnight, Buster, new friend,” and hurriedly skip-hopped out of the hotel.

  Chapter Ten

  The Anything Goes