In the Nirmana culture, economic worth was the ultimate value, and they supposedly believed that even the poorest citizens could become wealthy through hard work. But looking out over the rabble in front of me, I doubted every one of these people had been given the same opportunity as the royal progeny with whom I had studied.
However the Nirmanas chose to govern their own planet should have been none of my business, but lately it was becoming mine. It was still the biggest news in recent history that the Nirmanas, the most economically powerful family, had entered into a marriage alliance with the Treznors, the most militarily powerful family. Now Treznor-Nirmana was one of the most powerful royal families in the systems, and they were obviously angling to place themselves higher on the list, at my family’s expense—and perhaps to more than just the detriment of my family. Who knew what would happen to citizens in the Dracorte system if the two most morally bankrupt families took our place near the top of the food chain? It depressed me to see all the poverty in Ranta, and frightened me to think of what the Treznor-Nirmanas might do with more power in places like Alaxak.
It also made me all the more determined to keep that from happening.
“So this is home to you?” I asked.
Basra shook his head. “No, I was born here. You didn’t answer my question.” He motioned to me and we headed down another set of ramps that descended toward ground level. “How did you get to Alaxak alone?”
Taking all this in, I’d entirely forgotten he’d asked. “Right, my apologies. Qole asked as well, and the answer to both of you is: not easily. Not everyone in my family sees the potential in Alaxak that I do. It isn’t the only planet near sources of Shadow. We couldn’t get results from emissaries we sent, and no one seemed eager to return since it was across the system. Instead of leaving it alone, or hiring mercenaries who would do a less…delicate…job, I volunteered under the terms of my Dracorte Flight.”
He cocked his head at me. “But why?”
“For all the reasons I gave everyone on the ship.” I shrugged. “And perhaps because it took me so very far from home. What about you? What made you leave here?”
“Circumstances,” Basra said vaguely, which irritated me after I’d given him such an honest answer. But there wasn’t time to press him. We had reached ground level and had arrived at what was evidently the singular turbolift servicing our tower. A skinny man in a dirty blue uniform, cradling an infopad, sat on a rickety office chair next to the turbolift doors. He looked entirely uninterested in us, his infopad, the turbolift, or anything else, for that matter. In contrast, the other character by the doors seemed too interested in everything. Short, squat, and with a blond buzz cut, he was dressed in a dirty old suit that had fit him once long ago. His small, deep-set eyes were bright and clever, and I didn’t like how he scanned me up and down at all.
“Whaddya want?” the man in the blue uniform drawled. “Have a shipment?”
“Yes, thank you.” Basra ignored the other seedy gentleman, and I pretended to study the surrounding skyline while keeping an eye on everyone. “We’ll be lowering twenty-one pallets a little later this afternoon. What times does the lift run?”
“Every two hours. What’s the weight and content of your goods?”
“Six-five thousand four hundred units, Shadow.”
I didn’t know how often Shadow made its way through here, but the uniformed man didn’t even blink. “Very good. You’re on the list, and the lift will stop at your landing pad first. Thanks.”
The other gentleman more than made up for his disinterest. “Shadow, is it? That’s quite a cargo, especially right now.” He pointed at a dusty feed of the planet’s financial station.
We all paused to listen as an overly powdered announcer quoted the current headlines:
Hersius Kartolus has begun purchasing a vast amount of commodities from Dracorte Industries, particularly Shadow. This bold move has driven the price sky-high in a play that analysts are calling both daring and foolish….
“See?” the blond buzz cut said.
Indeed. I managed not to shoot Basra an incredulous look. Not only had he gotten the jump on financial news regarding my own family but also news originating from Hersius Kartolus, one of the wealthiest and most secretive people in the galaxy…and a significant investor in my family’s business, second only to us ourselves and Treznor-Nirmana. No one saw the elusive fellow often, though I recalled meeting a white-haired, wiry gentleman at a banquet long ago.
Could Basra possibly be working for Hersius on the side? That would explain why he had to lay low, but…Basra was good, but that would be bordering on utter financial genius.
Blond buzz cut looked us over for the twentieth time. “Where are you coming from?”
“Just traded with some fishermen from Alaxak.” Basra smiled politely. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”
We headed off down the street, and I could feel the man’s eyes on my back.
“Why did you mention Shadow?” I hissed. “Or Alaxak? They’ll be dying of curiosity.”
“Shadow isn’t as uncommon here as you think, and avoidance breeds curiosity,” Basra explained. “They can trace the ship number as being registered in Alaxak regardless, since Qole does things legally. Hiding its origin would be inviting scrutiny.”
I was uncomfortably reminded of how vulnerable our position was here. The sooner we were gone, the better.
Basra led me with the complete assurance of familiarity. We wound our way through narrow streets that overwhelmed me with life. If I had been thinking smugly on the failed economic policies that had led to the outer city forming, I hadn’t been prepared for the sheer excitement and variety that was thrust at us at every step. Merchants hawked their wares, street performers hawked their acts, people hawked themselves, and children tugged at us, alternately attempting to beg or to sharpen their pickpocketing skills.
My thoughts were interrupted by Basra ducking into a small door with a sign that simply said Exotic Matters—material and theoretical, available here.
After a brief conversation with the young, dead-eyed man behind the counter, we were escorted to a back office. It was empty except for slatted windows, a temperature control unit that kept it so cold fog was forming on the windows, and a corpulent woman sitting on an office chair that looked like it was just about ready to surrender.
“Basra, Basra, Basra, you beautiful creature, you. I never thought I’d see you again when I’d heard you left.”
“Mother Orr, the pleasure is mutual,” Basra murmured, pulling up another rickety chair and settling down in it. I remained standing, arms crossed. The entire situation was disquieting. I couldn’t imagine conducting business of any importance in an office that would have looked abandoned if it weren’t inhabited by someone who seemed merely unable to leave. On top of that, even in the chill air, I was still sweating profusely, as the city’s temperature had sunk into me. I was entirely overdressed.