The Technician's Fight, Draft 1, CH25

“I need you to do something for me, Captain,” the Quartermaster said, as they walked through the concourse.

“Which is?” It was still too welcoming for them to be near where this Uncle wanted to meet.

“You need to forget who I am.”

“Is him being related to you a lie?”

“That isn’t what I mean, but we are related. You need to forget I’m Xenial, your Quartermaster, a male on your ship. One under your protection.”

“If anyone attacks, I will protect you.”

“If it turns physical, you’re welcome to do that. But you can’t react to what he’ll say.”

“Is he going to reveal something you don’t want me to act on?”

The male snorted. “Anything he’d say about those times aren’t things you can do anything about anymore. But he’s going to try to get you to start something.”

“I’m not a cub.”

“He wouldn’t bother with a cub.” The male headed to one of the doors, and before noting how nice everything still was, they were inside a restaurant. One with groups that included cubs at tables.

Wondering why a Halan would arrange a meeting here, Gralgiran scanned the room. No one was eating alone, or in the company of questionable people.

The Quartermaster spoke with the female at the counter in a dialect Gralgiran didn’t know. The dialogue ended with a nod, her handing him a scan-card and them heading deeper into the restaurant. He scanned it, the door unlocked, and they entered.

“If isn’t my favorite nephew,” an old male said, his voice low, but raw, “the turncoat.”

Gralgiran bristled at the insult and fought to keep his fur down.

“Uncle, thank you for agreeing to meet us, and without any of your usual protection.”

The male snorted. “Protection is for when I’m going to fuck someone dirty. I doubt the Great Gods’ Hunter would take someone like that to his bed.”

“He doesn’t spend time in my bed,” Gralgiran replied, barely managed to keep his tone neutral. The male was much older than he’d envisioned. He’d also lost a portion of the muscle mass he would have had when younger, which meant he used cunning to hold his position.

The male looked at the Quartermaster in disbelief. “What happened to you and that cock of yours? I thought it could charm even the gods.”

“I don’t want to sleep with everyone.”

The old male snorted, while Gralgiran stared at the Quartermaster.

“Sit, sit. I’d never think to disgrace so important visitors by not offering them something to eat.”

“We’re fine,” Gralgiran replied as the Quartermaster pulled the stool away from the table with a foot.

“You’re fine?” the old male said in a tone that implied he’d been called declawed. “I do the courteous thing and invite you to share meat, and you are fine?”

“Captain—”

“Stay out of this, traitor.” The old male pushed himself to his feet. His spotted fur was trimmed, so they were longer, while the rest was nearly to his skin and locked angry eyes on Gralgiran.

He now felt like he should have asked Toom to come along to advise him. Or keep an ear piece in while he caroused to listen in. This felt like politics, instead of dealing with a Halan.

“Just who do you think I am, Great Hunter?”

That was a trap, but he has no idea how to avoid it. “A Ta’Halan.” That had to be a safe answer. Both were accurate, after all.

“A Ta’Halan?” he responded mockingly. “Just what have you been telling him about your good uncle. Xeni?”

The Quartermaster winced, which told Gralgiran the short name wasn’t used with approval. He held his tongue, but the need to get that male to treat one of his crew with at least enough respect to honor the name he wanted used was strong.

“Oh, someone disapproves of me calling you Xeni? What does he call you? His toy?”

“I wouldn’t—”

The triumphant smile stopped him.

“So, you do have teeth. I was starting to think all those stories about you were nothing more than military propaganda. The Great Hunter, Beloved of the Gods. Never failed one Hunt.”

Gralgiran snorted. “I’ve failed a number of my hunts. No one can keep to a scent all the time.”

“Your Namesake can.”

He snorted again. “You don’t know your classic. Helrarvnir has been defeated, humiliated, killed, eaten by his prey, shat back out. And he’d killed his prey, feasted on his enemies, loved his allies.”

“And what am I to you, Oh Great Hunter?”

He was tempted to tell the truth; an annoyance. He’d rather deal with the usual violence of the Halan, instead of these games. He got enough of those from the Leadership.

“I don’t know. You’re making sure we won’t be allies. You aren’t my prey. And I doubt either one of us wants to waste time with being enemies.”

“Business associates then!” the old male exclaimed with a laugh. “It’s about the same as being enemies without all the growling and clawing.” He motioned to their side of the table. “Sit. Associates share food.”

Gralgiran looked at the stood under the table, then at the seat the other male lowered himself in. He’d rather stand the way an Alpha should, but the male had made it clear this wouldn’t progress without things being handled his way. Like the Quartermaster, he pulled the stool out with a foot, then sat, ignoring the hardness.

“Are you two actually related?” he asked to have something other than the discomfort to think about.

“You really didn’t tell him anything about me, did you?”

“That isn’t the arrangement we have,” the Quartermaster said.

“You don’t fuck, you don’t talk. Just what is this arrangement you have with this hunter?”

“It’s called gratitude,” the Quartermaster replied. “You should try it one of these days.”

The old male scoffed. “No money in it. So my sister wasn’t lying? She actually went through with dumping you in the middle of that screwed up deal after you pissed her off. I thought she’d made that up and you’d walked off for a better bed.”

“It’s not my fault she doesn’t have a sense of humor.”

“What you do isn’t humor,” the male said in a serious tone. “It’s inviting Tutecamongartin to the table just to see who he’ll take a liking to.”

“It is my fault my namesake’s lover hangs around me?”

“It is when you invite him.”

Gralgiran both wanted to ask what that was about and was certain he didn’t want to know. The Quartermaster had done nothing that he knew of that qualified of inviting the god of death to his ship, and he probably didn’t want to know if it was something he’d managed to hide. Or rather, he definitely wanted to know. But then he’d have to act on the information.

He hated the positions the Quartermaster kept putting him into.

At least he now knew they were related. Although the age difference seemed rather large.

Platters of meats and sauces, along with pitchers of drinks, were put on the table by servants who exited immediately after without looking at any of them.

“Love this place,” the old man said, clawing chunks of meats onto a plate and pouring sauces into bowls.

The Quartermaster did the same, so Gralgiran did too, stopping only when he smelled the strength of the alcohol in the pitcher he’d sniffed. All of them were stronger than he’d ever considered drinking.

The meats and sauces were good.

“So,” the old male said. “Why would a hunter like you want to talk with a Halan like me?”

“For information.”

“Maybe my nephew’s given you a wrong impression of who we are. We don’t tell on the clans.”

“But you might tell on the other pirates.”

“Telling on those you compete with is a claw that can catch you just as fast as your competitor.”

“What about those pirates who aren’t pirates?”

“What would those be?” the man asked. “Politicians?”

Gralgiran almost choked on the meat amidst the snort. “Enemies of Kelser,” he said once he could breathe properly.

“Kelser had a lot of enemies; on the ground and out here. We are a warring species. Enemies are something we make.”

“That isn’t reasons to be inattentive to what they do. I know there out here, at the edge and within our territory, I just don’t know where, exactly.”

“And you want me to tell you?”

“Unless you like having them around? Having people who fly where they want without respecting your territories? Take from you, from the other Halan and—” he couldn’t believe he was about to say this. “—other honest Halan.”

Instead of laughing, the male studied him.

“You don’t have a reputation for considering the clans honest.”

“You aren’t. You steal, some of you kill senselessly, some even take people and force them into servitude. But you aren’t like those. You do what you do out of selfishness. This belief even the gods’ commands don’t apply to you.”

“Live, be happy,” The man said, grinning. “It’s what we do.”

“You interpret it only in a way that supports what you do, and that isn’t my problem right now,” he added as the male opened his muzzle. “Those clans who go too far will come to the attention of a hunter and they will be dealt with. But what you aren’t doing is plotting against Kelser’s citizens.”

“And this group of non-pirates pirates are?”

Gralgiran nodded.

The old male looked to the Quartermaster, who suddenly looked uncomfortable.

“Interesting.” He looked at Gralgiran. “How do you hold his loyalty so?”

“Gratitude.” If the Quartermaster had used that, it was good enough.

“Gratitude,” the old male repeated, as if he evaluated the taste of the word. Then shook his head. “So, you want me to talk with the clans and non-clans and report to you those who don’t act pirate-like?” he spoke as if the idea amused him.

“Yes.”

The male mulled it over while he ate, finally asking, “What’s in it for me?”

The Quartermaster’s statement of wanting to see Gralgiran’s face when his uncle asked for his price kept him from saying to just name it. “What do you have in mind?”

“How of curiosity?” the male said, eating again. “What will you do with the information? Should we come to an arrangement?”

“Hunt them down, as is my duty. Gather the evidence from the ships we capture so we can prove who is managing them.”

“You know?”

“I suspect.” He wouldn’t tell a Halan how confident he was of the Earthers being behind this.

The male licked his claws. “Here’s what I want. I want those ships.”

“What? How long have you been in Gezbiliam’s bed?”

The male laughed. “Why do you think it’s insane I’d want more ships? Families grow, after all. If I don’t want that to turn into a splintering, I’d better make sure I have ships for my children.”

“I think you’re insane to think I’d give you any of those ships. We’ll need them to prove who’s giving the orders.”

“You’ll need the information in them. Not the ships themselves.”

“You think there’s going to be anything left by the time we’re done going through them?”

The male smile was knowing. “I think, Captain, that you aren’t in the habit of putting on the market scrap. In fact, your history says you pride yourself on selling the spoils from your hunts in as best condition as possible.” The smile turned mocking. “Could there be Halan greed in you?”

Gralgiran ground his teeth rather than respond to the insult.

“I’ll give you a few of their shuttles.”

“Really? You want to open this alliance with insults? Or is your expectation that my children will pilot the ones I give them and come demanding proper ships from you? Actual ships, Captain. Let’s say… seven of them.”

Gralgiran had trouble speaking at the audacity. “Do you have any idea what the Leadership’s going to do if I agree to this?”

“Am I supposed to care what happens to you after I get what I’m after?”

“To me? The only reason we get to put on the market the spoils of out hunts is that the Leadership doesn’t seen a point to them bothering, or, when something interesting comes along, like a bunch of ships, they know they have the finances to outbid other parties, or even some cloud to contact the captain directly and get a special arrangement. When they find out they went to the Halan, they are going to rethink if this not bothering is helping or hindering them.”

Not to say what they would do when they learned he was the one who’d made this agreement. He’d need to hand in the entire Earther government when they came demanding answers for even a hope of keeping his ship.

But he couldn’t outright refuse this Halan. He was the only way Gralgiran could get the information he needed.

“One ship,” he offered. “But not the first one.”

The male wasn’t happy. “One. All the shuttles that come with it, along with an extra forty-two.”

“You’re insulting me now. I can’t even know that I’ll come across that many shuttles in this hunt.”

“You spoke as if there would be many ships when I asked for them. They will all have shuttles.”

“I didn’t want you to have any ships. Seven extra shuttles, and that is limited to this hunt only.”

“Which means you could decide those other ships were captured on a different hunt.”

“You’re the one proclaiming those stories about me. How much of a liar am I in those?”

“They are stories.”

“I am not a liar, Halan.”

“Twenty-eight shuttles.”

How many ships would be part of this? If the gods were fully in his favor, only one, and the Halan would help him for nothing. Realistically? At least three. “Fourteen.”

“For someone baring the exact names of two gods, you are rather cautious.”

“I’m an Alpha with hunters under his care. I’m a captain with civilians on his ship. Cautiousness is something I consider an asset.”

“But too much it can defang you. How about twenty-one?”

Still more than he’d like, but between fourteen and twenty-one, the numbers wouldn’t mean much.

“I agree. One ship and its shuttles, plus twenty-one others, but limited to this hunt.”

“We have a deal,” the old male smiled. “We should celebrate.”

The Quartermaster stood. “I think we need to head back to the ship, Uncle.”

Gralgiran did the same. Whatever celebration the old male had in mind, he wanted nothing to do with it.

Outline section 

Gral was almost expecting Xenial to take him to some seedy back alley bar, or someplace so high class they charge you per breath of air. Instead he’s taken to a family restaurant; in a booth in the back of the restaurant, but still, a rather warm and comforting place.

There he’ll meet with a kelsirian who is many years older than Xenial, much too much to be an actual Uncle, but that is how Xenial introduced him so Gral just plays along. These are criminals, who are willing to deal with some aspect of the law out of a degree of national loyalty.

The fact that between Jeremy and several other crew members who have grown a liking to the plant keep their smugglers busy with coffee smuggling, likely only a small plus. It certainly gives them small talk to break the ice with, though.

Onto business, Gral needs to know about the pirate activity in human territory. To be exact, the parts of it that are really coverup military operations. It’s starting to be their prefered method of hounding their underground resistance, and based on what Gral observed from actual human pirates they likely aren’t making any friends in the established underworld community.

The uncle says that is all well and good, but there is a question of what Gral intends to do with this information? He really doesn’t want to be seen in a habit of selling the other party out... at least if the cost isn’t worth it. Gral says he does need to capture one of the ships; while every tactician out worth their salt guesses what is happening, they need proof. And the humans can’t object to them taking in a pirate ship to be dissected and processed without admitting to being guilty, and we’ve seen what road they take there already.

The uncle nods, and aside from his normal fee will add a bounty for any shuttles Gral manages to capture intact. Small craft like that is... useful for some of his family. Gral doesn’t have a problem with this, though he does make a note this only applies to ships captured in this mission.

Addition 

No addition

the coffe part of the outline had to 'go' because of food printing. the negotiations over the ship/shuttles was altered and I'm going to have to keep that in mind when the confrontation happens.