Express Delivery

A loud, dissonant honk tore me from my observations. Zeeris used one of the Hercs' pincer arms to wave. She moved the bipedal forklift into position with remarkable ease. Behind the brightly painted machine, I spotted two flat-bed hovers. Instead of cockpits they had sensor arrays distributed around their beds. AI-driven, like heavy-duty Roombas with a thirty ton load capacity.

"You might want to swing your delicious body out of the way, Salvador," she cheerfully roared over the mech's speaker system. "It would be a shame to accidentally squash you while I clear your cargo."

I decided to be diplomatic and waved back while retreating towards the rear left landing skid. Zeeris planted her mech's feet to either side of the ramp and reached into the cargo space. I heard the scrape of metal on metal as the pincers elongated and moved into the cutouts on the container's bottom.

"I hope you know what you're doing!" I shouted.

"They had me change fuel cells with this baby in training. Calm down." Zeeris took a step back and pulled the container out of the cargo hold in a smooth motion. Without stopping, she executed a graceful turnabout and placed the container on the first hover. "Where does this go?" she asked.

I checked the manifest on my comms. "Bay fifteen, Maintenance."

A moment later the freshly loaded hover's engines whined and it took off, elegantly maneuvering around the edge of the danger zone. I quickly lost sight of it amidst the smoke and turmoil.

"Now our stuff, right?" she asked. I gave her the thumbs-up sign and climbed back into the cargo hold, keenly aware of the six-meter tall machine close by. Using a multi-tool from a maintenance locker, I undid several wall panels and placed them aside before fixing two repulsor discs to the container's side.

"And how are you going to put the other two in place?" Zeeris asked. She hugged me from behind and placed her chin on my shoulder. "That container looks kinda heavy." She smoothed her curves against my back.

"I'll show you, once you release your Scorpion Death Hug," I said. "My, you're eager."

"You can't fault me. I don't know many cute latino boys. After consuming a couple gigabytes of your entertainment, I'm keen to pursue my own xenobiological studies."

"The 'fiery latino lover' is as much a stereotype as the 'Me smash' Gravon. Or the 'Lucky Charm' Marked One. You should know that."

Zeeris nibbled on my neck before releasing me. "True but every stereotype has a base in fact. Maybe you are a fiery latino lover."

I snorted in amusement. "Maybe. But I've told your brother -- who made a similar offer when we were back at Misty's -- I don't fuck my business associates. Or their hot, Marked siblings."

"What? Ventras wanted to bone you?" Zeeris nearly keeled over laughing. "I still remember the day he chewed out our Wise Woman when she offered her lance for... cleanup after a hunt. 'I don't do cocks' he said, with so much conviction that no one dared to punish him for not acceding to his Elder's wishes."

"He said, and I quote: 'Once Misty is done riding you, may I suck you off?'"

"Interesting." Zeeris grinned lewdly. "I think he and I need to have a word or two about territory."

"I am no one's territory, Zeeris. Now, how about you get your cute Marked ass back into that mech of yours?"

"Just you wait. Just a few more months and you're mine." She hopped out of the cargo hold. Sighing, I activated my comms unit and paged to the "Utilities" section of the UI. When loading the containers, I had already placed two more repulsor disks. Together with the just affixed ones, they lessened the container's weight enough that I could winch it into position by myself using a set of pulleys built into the cargo hold's ceiling. Another trip to the outside was next, to give Zeeris enough space to lift the container onto the last waiting hover.

"Alright, once more with feeling," the grinning Zuthrian called from the cockpit of her machine. I saw her undo her safety belts.

"No need for you to come visit again, I think I can get the last container into position by myself."

"Awww," she moaned. "As you wish. No fierce hug from the fearless tribal huntress then."

"No fierce hug from the horny mech driver, you mean. When was the last time you actually speared anything?"

I climbed onto the waiting hover and reclaimed my repulsor discs. They weren't cheap to begin with and the remote circuit added a couple grand to each one. Losing them because I forgot to remove them in time would be beyond stupid.

"I won't tell you where I put my lance last night, bad boy."

"Too much info, Zeeris." With the plate-sized discs slung over my shoulder, I hopped back down to floor level and returned to the cargo hold, where I plastered the discs onto the last hidden container, winched it into the center of the cargo hold and took off the repulsor discs.

"It's all yours," I said, leaving the cargo hold.

Wordlessly, the Marked Zuthrian moved the container from the cargo hold on top of the hover. "That's for our shop, right?"

"Absolutely. Let me just lock down the ship and I'll be right along."

"I'll wait. You can hitch a ride on the hover." She gestured with one of the pincers. "I was looking forward to another cup of that horrible stuff you like so much."

And try your best to seduce me, huh? I shook my head. One thing about Zuthrians in particular was their seeming ignorance to the idea of someone not being eager to hop into bed with them at the earliest opportunity. By now I was fully aware most of our new alien friends had a rather relaxed attitude in regards to sex -- it didn't take much persuasion to get laid, unless your target was a Nor -- but Zuthrians were second only to the Felinoids when it came to promiscuity. I quickly tapped the lockdown code into my comms. Consuela closed all hatches and ramps and activated the security system. Can't be too careful, even on home turf. So far, I thankfully had only lost one ship and I was still suffering for that particular mishap.

Zeeris honked the mech's horn. I'll deal with that particular headache after the payday. Catching up with the slowly accelerating hover, I hopped onto the flat-bed's back running board and used one of the container's rungs to hold on to. The AI-driven vehicle kept behind Zeeris as she made the trek back to Ventras' own storage unit near the spaceport's edge.

On the way there, we got pulled over by anxious securities. Not the normal Nor rank and file, this time we had to deal with fully kitted, two and a half meter tall Gravon heavies, a whole sixpack of them. They made the two-container hover look like a beer coaster piled high with two Lego bricks.

"What are you hauling there?" their sergeant grumbled in Galactic Basic. No translator. Not that either Zeeris or I needed one.

"Are we suspected of anything, officer?" I asked most politely. One Gravon is bad enough. Six of them were more than enough to turn any human into a sad stain on the floor -- and on top of that they wore full combat power armor. These things were environmentally sealed and acted as personal atmospheres even in the most hostile regions of space. The outer shell was constructed from the same material most ship hulls were armored with. They laughed at anything below RPG levels of firepower and most conventional guns left mere nicks in the finish. It took at least a plasma weapon to stop one of these walking tanks. Gravons liked to use them in direct boarding actions. As in "being shot at an enemy capital ship as living breaching charges." It doesn't hurt to be polite in such company.

"Just doing our jobs. With the TLA suspected of the bombing, one can't be too careful. So, what'cha got?"

"Do I look like a alien-hating terrorist?" Zeeris snarled. Her mech snapped a pincer shut.

"Let the man do his job," I said, activating my comms. "I've only just arrived. After the explosion. If you need a second witness, ask Flight Control. As for that stuff? Harmless cargo. Zuth food."

"Where are the customs forms?" the Gravon asked.

"The items haven't left Unity's Landing and have therefore not yet arrived on Earth. I don't actually need customs forms. My employer, Mr. Ventras, will take care of all outbound shipping and therefore customs."

"You don't mind if we do a quick bomb sweep, do you?" the Gravon asked.

"There are perishable goods in the upper container. I would be much obliged if we could get this done quickly."

"Are the containers airtight?"

"Don't think so."

"Good." The sergeant signaled one of his guys who launched a small, ball-shaped drone at the containers. That thing -- probably magnetized or using a personal gravity field -- did a few rounds around the containers before returning to the trooper who had launched it.

"No traces of any known explosive, chief," the trooper said.

"Be off then," the sergeant said. "Sorry for bothering you."

"I still can't believe they thought we were terrorists," Zeeris grumbled as she kicked the Herc back into gear. The rest of the trek went by without incident.

The storage unit was a three-story concrete cube with two huge loading doors. While Zeeris busied herself unloading the hover, I made my way to the small office container Ventras maintained inside the warehouse.

"What took you so long? Zeeris?" He shot me a dirty grin. "Did you finally succumb to the allure of the Marked Ones?"

I shook my head. "You wish. I mean, she tried but not very hard. No, we had a small run-in with a few big boys."

"Of all the days to stage a bombing it had to be today," Ventras complained. "They didn't confiscate anything, did they?"

"Nope." I transmitted the key codes for the container locks. "As ordered, ten tons of prime Sand Dragon, fresh off the bones and into deep freeze within 48 hours. At least that's what the huntress said when she sold me the stuff. I made doubly sure the climate controls never went above minus fifteen Celsius."

"Good, good." He rubbed his hands. "This will make many brothers and sisters and siblings very happy tonight."

"Didn't you tell me there have been Sand Dragon sightings in the deserts all over Earth?"

"Sure, there have been. But they were tiny! Maybe seven meters or so. That wouldn't be enough meat for a single sandwich, let alone the seven hundred and eighty-two hungry tribespeople we have here. Give it another ten or so years. When the critters are beyond thirty meters, we can think about hunting them."

"You are crazy."

"Nah, I've given up on dragon hunting the moment I went into space for the first time. There was so much a brother could do besides throwing explosives-tipped spears at blood-thirsty critters. Did you get the drink?"

"Yes. Ten thousand liters of the finest Dragon Milk, give or take a bottle." I felt a huge grin coming on because that was the centerpiece of our deal. "You won't go back on your word, I hope."

"I'm amazed you managed to coax so much stuff out of the brewers."

"Yeah, about that. That shipment was meant for the Dynast's anniversary orgy. I'm afraid they'll have to make do with cactus juice this year. Your money greased the right palms." Namely the service technician who was in charge of maintaining a particular freighter's jump drive. When the supply convoy fired up their FTL drives on their next hop towards Zuthras Prime, the transport carrying the Dragon Milk shipment suddenly found itself without power or escorts. The rest was a simple smash'n'grab job. No one wanted to die over a container full of spirits.

"And you made it home in one piece. You've earned yourself a bonus, brother."

"That's my language, Ventras." I looked at the "Finances" tab of my comms. One and a half megacredits appeared in the "Income" column of my balance sheet. A moment later, another transaction came through, courtesy of Unity's Landing Municipal Services, bringing the total of my funds to just about two million credits.

Under normal circumstances, that was more than enough to kick back for a few years, hire a particularly gifted companion and forget anything outside your own four walls ever existed. Sadly, in my case, it would get me maybe two months of peace and quiet. If at all.

"For a man almost two megacreds richer, you don't look too happy," Ventras observed, placing an arm around my shoulder. "Trouble?"

"You're better off not knowing, my friend." I slipped from his half-hug. "Should you have another job like this in the near future, I'm game."

"Hey, wait. Let me treat you to a traditional Zuth dinner. Sand Dragon, baked on stone, salad, bread, as much drink and sex as you'd like. Zeeris would be more than happy if you stayed overnight."

"Yeah, I would," Zeeris confirmed. "We won't bite. Much."

"A tempting offer. But I've got to see another contact before I can even think about calling it a day. Tell you what. If I'm in the mood afterwards, I'll be back. Where should I go?"

Zeeris beamed at me and fiddled with her comms. A moment later, a picture flickered to life on mine. It showed her, gloriously naked on a white sheet. One hand cupped one of her breasts, the other pointed her sizable erection at the camera. Her smile promised nights full of messy sex. Sighing, I swiped the image aside and saved her and Ventras' home address for later.

"Thanks for the invitation," I said. "See you later."

I left through a side door, both siblings' concerned stares like hot caresses on my spine. They had no idea what I had to deal with next.

* * * *

When people think "Gravon," they have a certain mental image. Sure, all Gravon are tall and bulky, males and females easily can reach two and a half meters in height. Most Gravon excel at fighting, especially close-up. They also have an incredible tolerance for pain and, curiously enough, cybernetic implants. By the time most of them reach adulthood, they have been on a battlefield and their bodies have been augmented with -- of all things -- cybernetics enhancing their already inhuman strength and resilience even more, plus whatever else catches their fancy. Like I said, these known facts form a certain stereotype. Big, stupid bruiser. Nor propaganda and the endless parade of superhero-like BattleDome Gravon champions only emphasized that.

Every rule has its exception and Neira was the Gravon who broke the stereotype. She was smaller than the average for starters. She only made it past two meters and ten centimeters if she left her hair unbound. The only obvious piece of cyberware she had was a gold-plated data jack at her wrist. She despised military chic, instead going for a formal business outfit, complete with tie and seams so sharp, you might cut yourself.

Gravon business owners weren't unheard of but, as with Dwarves in roleplaying games, Gravon were typecast as arms dealers or purveyors of milspec hardware. Not Neira. She ran "Premium Vehicles," the first and most exclusive car dealer in Unity's Landing. She sold alien hovers and cars to rich Earthlings and specially modified Earth cars to alien collectors.

She also was a Black Scorpion. The Black Scorpion in Unity's Landing.

For those not in the know, the Black Scorpions are the largest and most despised criminal organization in the whole Galactic Community. They had their fingers in pretty much every illicit pie and were notoriously hard to get rid of because they worked in cells, with very little in the way of connections between individual cells. And I owed them...

"Twelve megacredits. Minus the two you just delivered and counting interest, we're looking at ten point five." Neira allowed herself a little smile. Contrary to most other Gravon, her skin was a dark burgundy instead of terracotta red. In conjunction with her fiery hair, she looked like an Efreet out for blood. "At this rate, your interest will eat you alive, Salvador. You're not making enough cash."

"Says the woman who just pocketed two million credits. I'm pulling the most lucrative gigs I can find which don't involve the smuggling of outright illegal goods. After all, I wouldn't want anything bad happening to your reputation. And you know as well as I do that doing gas runs from Jupiter to the orbital factories isn't bringing in much cash."

"I could organize a few extra drag tanks," Neira said, brushing her fiery braid back over her shoulder. "You could do two runs each day. Times three-hundred sixty four..." She consulted her desktop computer. "You could pay off your loan and interest in less than five years. Safe and low-effort. And you could be home for dinner each night." She flashed me a little naughty smile.

"Who tells me there won't be... I don't know, unforeseen changes in the interest structure, added costs for wear and tear on the hardware or another of a dozen convenient reasons not to let me get out of our contract?"

It didn't exactly require a con to spot a con, especially not when Neira wasn't even trying to mask her scheme. She could afford to be blunt. If anyone tried to fuck with her, she simply tore them apart. The less time I spent in her company, the better. By the look of things though, that time only seemed to grow longer, no matter what I did.

Strange to think she had been the little light at the end of a horribly dark tunnel. My first ship, Carmen, fell victim to a squad of space pirates near Waystation 62, halfway between Norwan and Earth. Losing the ship I had worked so hard to buy was bad but losing eighty tons of Nor tech samples bought for evaluation by Earth's high-tech giants broke my back. It should have been the deal of deals. Delivering enough tech to give Earth a kickstart in producing alien-grade electronics and gear would have made me filthy rich. But the space scum had other plans. They tore Carmen apart and tractored in anything they deemed valuable.

Which did not include me.

Either they weren't out for slaves or they thought my escape pod had malfunctioned. Whatever the case, I drifted for three days in space until someone took pity on me and towed my pod back to the Waystation.

I was utterly broke. Not even enough cash to rent a space in one of the Waystation's low-end coffin motels, let alone to book passage on a ship back to Earth. I tried to apply for a loan but, as an alien without any collateral and from a barely heard-of world, I was practically laughed out of the bank's office.

There were basically three choices to make a quick buck. Either sell non-essential organs to a Gray scientist, prostitute myself or simple begging.

Option 1 was out of the question. Even back then I was savvy enough to realize that once I was out cold on a Gray's operating table, there was a good chance I would only make it out as a collection of spare parts.

Option 2, given the easygoing and curious nature of the aliens I had met thus far, seemed to be the least degrading. But then it dawned on me I probably smelled like several day old dog food, thanks to me stewing in my own juices in my escape pod.

So I bit the bullet and tried my best at begging. I didn't ask for much, just a few bucks for something to eat and maybe a shower. I wasn't bold enough to ask for a fare to Earth but I hoped without the stench of desperation and a belly full of replicated food I would have a chance at hiring on a ship out of there.

After eight hours of rejection and barely avoided disaster at the hands of other Waystation desperados, Neira showed up.

"I heard you're the human trying to get a loan. I can help."

She fed me. She let me use the shower in her luxurious hotel suite. She was curious enough to fuck me even. I had been the first human she'd met and she was both curious and horny. The next morning, she offered me a deal I couldn't refuse. She gave me twenty million credits out of pocket, to buy and outfit a courier ship. All I had to do was swear to drop everything I was holding when she called, no matter where I was. Seemed easy enough. She also promised flexible payment options when it came to dealing with my debt.