Tales From the Terran Republic

Gravoon, A huge and richly dressed Threen, lounged in his office, looking at his younger brother’s holographic image hovering above his desk with no lack of amusement.

Evoron was actually decently dressed for once, which was surprising. However, it was not the most surprising thing about his diminutive brother.

He was clearly in love.

“And then! She had another of the slavers brought before her and asked them the same questions again!”

“Nice,” he replied, quite bemused.

“She had to be reminded that she needed some of them alive. Oh, it was brutal, dear brother… and so elegant. Believe it or not, the horror was just beginning!”

“So, when’s the wedding?” he smirked.

His brother looked at him, completely stunned. He grinned. Evoron being at a loss for words was a rare event to be savored as much as the wine in his goblet.

“Wha?... I… I mean… What?”

“Look at you, gushing with your heart aflutter just like a blushing bride,” he laughed. “She even dressed you properly!”

“Where I got my new wardrobe has nothing to do with it!”

“Oh, by Helios himself! She did dress you!” he bellowed.

“She is a magnificent clothier! It was only natural that I would engage her services,” Evoron spluttered.

“Well, it seems that her ‘services’ certainly agree with you,” he started to laugh… then the laughter froze in his throat at his brother’s expression.

“Oh?” he asked.

“It’s… complicated,” Evoron replied. “On a completely different subject, do any of the Harkeen that were originally on Terra still live?”

His brother raised an eyebrow.

“I have made inquiries, thorough ones, and no, dear brother, none survived.”

“Pity,” Evoron said. “How about their families, any siblings, parents… children…”

“Brother…” he said dubiously. “Isn’t that taking things a little far, even for you? There is too much at stake for one of your little ‘episodes.’ We should take care not to start another war.”

“Oh, I already have,” Evoron smirked.

“What have you done?” Gravoon asked, dreading the answer.

“It is probably for the best that you do not know for now,” Evoron replied. “Your shock and horror should be genuine, as should your condemnation.”

Gravoon shuddered. He knew the look in his brother’s eyes all too well.

“So,” Evoron continued, “is everything in place on your end? Have you smoothed the way with father and the Overboss?”

“As much as I could,” Gravoon replied, “You won’t be killed the moment you enter the chamber. That was all I could do.”

“It will suffice,” Evoron said with a wicked little smile. “And what of your situation?”

“The Overboss is being infuriatingly inscrutable. He is neither blessing nor forbidding my courtship. I think he is waiting to see what transpires at the meet. If you can resolve the Harkeen dilemma and you can deliver anything close to the numbers you have shared, I expect his blessing. Tell me. Are those projected figures in any way exaggerated?”

“If anything, brother,” Evoron replied, “They are drastically underestimated. If we manage to secure just five percent of the business once controlled by the Porkies, we will exceed those numbers tenfold.”

“That is a big if, brother,” Gravoon replied.

“And that is why that possibility was excluded from my estimate. What I projected is solely based on business I can personally generate.”

“I hope for both our sakes that you are correct,” Gravoon said, “You don’t want to make promises to the Overboss you can’t keep.”

“I am on a Z’uush freighter,” Evoron said, “It’s a modified ore carrier liberated from their system. It’s an ideal vessel and they have indicated that there are no small number of them for hire, each fully manned with veteran crews. I shall have a fleet almost immediately. Do you know what this particular ship is laden with?”

“Drugs? Guns?” Gravoon replied, “That is what they are known for.”

“Salt.”

“What?”

“Did you know that more than one system tightly regulates and taxes salt? People actually die from the lack in those places. This ship is hauling tons of it. It is nearly free in the Republic, and the profit margin, even a ‘humane’ one, is astounding. It’s pure profit. And it is magnificent salt. Not only is it sodium chloride, but it is also fortified with other minerals as well. Hell, we will be able to sell it for quite a profit to our own people. This ship makes more selling salt, medicine, real medicine, vitamins, fertilizer, seeds, and basic consumer goods than you can possibly imagine. The best thing is that if they get interdicted before their destination, everything is one hundred percent legal. They only run a risk at their destination. With the disruptions in nearly all Federation supply chains, we will be able to make billions, and that’s before we start talking about adulterating commodities.”

“Adulterating?”

“Like the Wraiths did,” Evoron replied, “What they made by just adjusting the isotopic concentrations of Republic fusion fuel and other basic commodities made them richer than entire systems. I will never be able to match them, but I don’t have to. Do you have any idea how cheap diamonds are in the Republic? They are basically just rocks to them. I have a chest of gem-grade stones, a chest of them! I have some lovely specimens with which you can dazzle your soon-to-be wife, not to mention your impending father-in-law.”

“Yeah,” Gravoon snorted, “until they find out exactly how cheap they are.”

“In the Republic, dear brother, in the Republic. I don’t intend to flood the market, not with gem grade. Now, industrial diamonds are a different matter. Do you have any idea how much money one shipload of those will make us?”

“I suspect you are about to tell me,” Gravoon said as he leaned back and allowed his brother to babble with near manic enthusiasm.

Now all they had to do was not get killed. That would be easier said than done.

***

Back on Terra, Littlefoot was getting fitted for some fancy new business clothes at Uhrrbet’s completely legitimate dress shop.

“So, have you heard from your dashing gangster yet?” Littlefoot asked as she sat in Uhrrbet’s dress shop, sipping on a creme soda.

“I received a call from him just this morning,” Uhrrbet smiled fondly.

“How long is he going to be gone?”

“That is unknown,” Uhrrbet replied as she fed expensive fabric and hand-embroidered panels into one of her auto tailors. “He has a lot to take care of on his homeworld,” she said her whiskers twitching with anxiety.

“Oh?” Littlefoot asked. “Worried?”

Uhrrbet huffed with annoyance. “Nothing that you need be concerned with.”

“Gangster stuff?”

“As I said,” Uhrrbet said with a bit of an edge in her voice, “it is nothing with which you should concern yourself.”

Littlefoot backed off with a raised eyebrow. When Uhrrbet started talking “funny,” it was wisest to do that. She had no idea what that little “seamstress” was really up to, but she was sure it involved things much sharper and longer than needles...

Things like vanilla extract, for example...

“The girls have been asking,” Littlefoot said, changing the subject, “Evoron is a bit small for a Threen.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Uhrrbet said caustically.

“They want to know if all of him is smaller,” Littlefoot smirked.

“Then they should ask him,” Uhrrbet said icily. “Perhaps he will show them.”

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“Oh, you don’t want that,” Littlefoot laughed. “Mister Mobster has turned quite a few heads, antennae, and segments both anterior and posterior.”

“How lovely,” Uhrrbet said, hiding real anger and concern.

“I don’t have to tell you about how sexy Threen are to some of us,” Littlefoot snickered, “It’s that they are, well, hung like a Threen. That’s a bit too much of a good thing, even for size queens like Craxi. The thought of a mini-Threen who isn't a complete asshole has more than one girl more than a little intrigued.”

“I see,” Uhrrbet said, her mask slipping a little.

“Oh yeah,” Littlefoot continued, “Don’t worry, nobody is going to cross you, but if you let him go, he won’t even bounce once.”

Uhrrbet winced and hid her face behind the screen of the auto tailor. She still couldn’t... She had tried, she really tried, the night before he left, but she just couldn’t. All she could do was weep. At least she could let him comfort her. That night in his arms was so wonderful, even if she...

She shook herself. It isn’t like it really mattered. He wasn’t a Garthra, and they weren’t...

Even so, the thought of losing him filled her with a sense of loss she hadn’t felt since the fall of her fortune and the death of her husband.

She was being foolish. No, she was being stupid. He was nice, but that was it. No, he was more than nice. He knew, truly knew, her as nobody else did, and not only was he not repulsed, but he accepted her, welcomed her. Hell, he admired her. Who else would do that? Who else could look right into the heart of what she had become and not merely refrain from turning away but actually smile?

She couldn’t lose him... and she couldn’t even...

It made her want to weep but now was not the time.

The auto tailor pinged. It was finished.

She withdrew a very nice business outfit and smiled. At least, this was something she could do.

It was perfect.

She handed it to Littlefoot.

Here, try this on.

A few minutes later, Littlefoot emerged from the dressing room.

Uhrrbet smiled with satisfaction. She didn’t look like the same creature that entered.

She led Littlefoot to a classic three-panelled mirror.

Littlefoot gasped. She looked beautiful.

“There,” Uhrrbet said with satisfaction. “Now you look like a businessperson and a representative of your people.”

“I look...” Littlefoot stammered, “...how?”

“In a word,” Uhrrbet smiled, “I cheated. Your fur is quite fluffy and dense. By adjusting the fit, I was able to sculpt that fluff the same way an artist shapes marble. I was able to give you a more ‘feminine’ profile as far as humans perceive things. Based on my projections, this will make you at least ten percent more engaging and relatable to your average Terran. Being pretty never hurts, you know.”

She turned towards the back of her shop.

“Almex,” she called out, “Please bring forth the remainder of Ms. Littlefoot’s order.”

A strange xeno appeared with a head that bore a startling resemblance to a golf ball, complete with the dimples.

“Here it is, matron,” Almex said deferentially as they solemnly offered a bundle of clothing as if they were a sacred relic.

“Thank you, Almex,” she said and then turned to Littlefoot, “Almex is my latest find. I expect great things out of them.”

“Hi,” Almex said nervously.

“Nice to meet you,” Littlefoot smiled. “How many people do you have now, Uhrrbet?”

“I have expanded to fifteen employees,” Uhrrbet replied, “I wish I could hire more, but I am having a hard enough time finding tasks for my current staff to undertake. I’ve started offering part-time employment, with full benefits, of course. Almex works here for a half day and spends the remainder at the library where she is studying for her certificate.”

Uhrrbet smiled.

“It’s enough for Almex to sustain themselves and still make progress towards their education.”

“How can they live on half days?”

“I didn’t say that they were getting minimum wage,” Uhrrbet smiled. “None of my people do, not anymore.”

“Awfully generous of you,” Littlefoot said with a little twitch of her snout, “Nice that your little cash business is doing so well.”

“Isn’t it, though,” Uhrrbet replied with a feral little grin. “Speaking of, please try on the other garments. Some are tailored for dealing with Terrans, and some for when you are dealing with your own kind. I made one of them special for when you are talking to your crush.”

Now it was Littlefoot’s turn to be uncomfortable.

“I... I don’t know what you mean,” she replied, looking away.

“I must be mistaken then,” Uhrrbet grinned, “However, I think you will find the green outfit quite to your satisfaction...”

A few minutes later, Littlefoot stepped out of the changing room and burst into tears when she saw her reflection.

“I look... I look...”

“You look like the beautiful Loo you have always been,” Uhrrbet smiled with genuine pleasure.

“This... This is too much...” Littlefoot stammered. “I didn’t pay this much... How?”

“Almex, isn’t there something you should be doing?”

“Yes, matron,” Almex said with the faintest smirk and quickly disappeared.

“How?” Uhrrbet replied, “It’s that cash business you keep bringing up. As a result of that, I happened to have some lovely fabrics left over, and it would be a shame not to use them. Besides, these outfits will justify the numbers I enter into my ledger, not the amount you paid.”

“Huh?”

“One of the reasons I sell so cheaply to the locals is that I greatly inflate the prices I enter. It’s a convenient way to inject credits from ‘other ventures’ into my accounts. The items in front of you ‘cost’ a hundred times what you paid.”

“How do you make that work? Doesn’t anyone catch on?”

“That’s the beauty of haute couture,” Uhrrbet laughed, “One-of-a-kind handmade outfits, or in this case custom designs with handmade detailing, don’t have a set price. They cost what they cost and you are now quite well off, more than capable of meeting the ludicrous price I have entered. The fabrics I used further justify the price. Those are real natural fiber textiles, some even handwoven. They don’t come cheap, my dear. Trust me.”

“Then how...”

“How do I have them in the first place?” Littlefoot snickered. “Ever hear of the Saints?”

“You mean the people that Xvli works for?”

“Lucky?” Uhrrbet asked, “Yes, she is their local representative. They took care of a little legal entanglement in which she found herself, and she is now in their employ. Good customer. Anyway, I have an arrangement with them. They drop by and order designer outfits at a very high price. Part of the purchase order requires the use of certain very expensive fabrics.”

“Yeah?”

“And just who do you think distributes those overpriced textiles?”

“Who?” Littlefoot asked, quite confused.

“The Saints,” Uhrrbet smiled. “They give me credits that I then use to buy textiles from them at a greatly inflated price. Some of them are indeed nice, like the ones I used for your outfits. However, most are cheap industrial ‘garbage’ for which I pay the same. And, as often as not, the garments never get made at all. They only exist on paper. They get their money washed, and I receive a tidy little handling fee. However, I do take delivery of all the fabrics, which I then use to make some of the very inexpensive clothing for people that couldn’t get decent clothing otherwise.”

“Oh! I get it now!”

“And then I say I sell that clothing for far more than I actually do, laundering a steady stream of credits for myself. And, of course, I also ‘make’ fictitious outfits that are ‘sold’ and never truly existed in the first place.”

“And the Terrans don’t catch on?”

“Why would they?” Uhrrbet laughed, “I dutifully pay all my taxes, and I take care not to raise any flags. Besides, nearly all of my trade is one-of-a-kind custom clothing for xenos. There is no standard by which to compare the prices. If I was charging ten times what a pair of Terran blue jeans normally sells for, I would probably attract attention. However, a set of alien lingerie that was custom designed and sewn, even by machine, has no standard by which it will be judged. Besides, if I use the never-ending stock of ‘free’ fabric, I can inject even more credits into my business.”

“That is slick!”

“I wish I could take credit for it,” Uhrrbet replied, “But the basic tactic was learned through my research. The Republic library is quite the asset for entrepreneurs like myself.”

“Huh,” Littlefoot said.

“I make my money,” Uhrrbet said, “My friends make theirs, and you get premium garments at an obscenely low price. More importantly, others who do not have your resources do as well. Many of our fellow xenos are comfortably and properly attired who otherwise wouldn’t be.”

Uhrrbet smiled.

“Taking care of one’s people is what life is all about.”

“And those who are not your people?” Littlefoot asked.

“What about them?” Uhrrbet replied with a shrug.

“I don’t get it, Uhrrbet,” Littlefoot said. “You are good at this, both making clothes and running a business. Your shop would do just fine without all of the ‘stuff’ you are into. Why? Why do all of this at all?”

Uhrrbet sighed.

“It’s hard to explain,” she mused. “Yes, I could survive quite happily with just the shop. But surviving and living are two different things. I live here in the Free Port. I owe this place everything. And now, I have the means to pay it back... and properly pay back others as well. Life is all about paying your debts. I owe all of you, all of the Free Port, a great deal... and I owe others as well. Everyone gets what they deserve... in full measure. For me, that is living. That is what life is all about.”

Littlefoot looked at Uhrrbet and sighed a sad little sigh.

“I’m sorry, Uhrrbet.”

“Don’t be,” Uhrrbet smiled, “I am exactly where I want to be and doing exactly what I want to do.”

She blinked, and her demeanor completely changed, once again “just a seamstress.”

“Let me know how your ‘absolutely not a crush’ likes the new outfits.”

“I will!” Littlefoot enthused and bounced out of the shop.

Uhrrbet pulled up the latest message from Evoron and smiled. What a delightfully wicked man. She wished she could be there to witness what was going to happen. It was going to be fantastic.

As she gazed at her absolutely not a crush, the door chimed, and a green xeno wandered in uncertainly.

“How may I help you?” Uhrrbet asked cheerfully.

“I heard that I can get cloth here... and needles... and thread...” the xeno said nervously.

“Absolutely,” Uhrrbet smiled. “I have some lovely textiles with which you will be quite pleased.”

“I don’t... I don’t have any money...”

“Well,” Uhrrbet laughed, “Then I have some spare bits and pieces with which you should be satisfied. How many meters do you need?”

“Meters?!?”

Uhrrbet looked at the xeno’s clothing, a mix of Terran “duck tape” and a resilient nonwoven “paper” often used for disposable protective clothing for such tasks as painting or work in a particularly dirty environment. “Duck tape tuxedos” were far from rare in places like the Free Port. It was nearly free and surprisingly durable.

More importantly, it was better than nothing, and its waterproof nature was a boon to the homeless.

At first glance, it was no different than any other improvised garment, but Uhrrbet rarely gave anything just one glance.

It was very well made.

“Did you make that?” she asked.

“Yes,” the xeno said obviously embarrassed. “Our clothes were... not good... and...”

“No need to explain,” Uhrrbet replied. “I once had a jacket much like it. It served me quite well. You made that, and you now want a needle and thread? You can sew by hand?”

“Y-yes, ma’am. T-this is fine for me, but my daughter. She is going to school soon and...”

The xeno made a distressed little whine.

“Say no more,” Uhrrbet smiled as she retrieved bolts of some very nice and durable fabric, causing the xeno’s eyes to widen.

“Here, she said as she handed her yards and yards of the nicest fabric the xeno had ever touched.”

“I... I...”

“And I suppose you will need something to cut it with,” Uhrrbet said as she pulled out a fancy box and opened it to reveal a pair of very nice shears.

“But I have no money...”

“Consider this a job application. Make the clothes for your child, and something for yourself if you wish, and bring them back to me. I am always looking for skilled seamstresses.”

“But I don’t have my certificate...”

“And you think I do?” Uhrrbet laughed. “Go. Make the clothes, and return.”

“Yes, ma’am!” the xeno replied, their eyes shining with happiness...

...and loyalty.

***

A galaxy away, another Loo tried on another outfit and looked in a holo-mirror.

“It will have to do,” he muttered.

He then fastidiously started grooming. Once satisfied, he sprayed on a little bit of very expensive cologne.

“She won’t be able to smell you, Counselor,” his valet/bodyguard snickered.

“But I can smell me,” Counselor Longpaw replied, snorting a little at his foolishness.

“You are simply having a meeting with your agent on Terra, not going on a date... or are you?”

“Shut up.”

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