Interlude

WORSE IT MIGHT become, and quickly, but there wasn’t time for doubt. Morgan climbed over the barrier and sloshed through the mess, leading the way outside.

They’d listened, for a wonder. Enough to leave a semicircle of littered flooring open. Beyond was a ring of ominously quiet beings. Some he knew.

Most he didn’t—

“Let me THROUGH!” Serving staff or restaurant owner, they scattered as the giant Carasian, food bits hanging from his carapace and claws, lumbered forward at full speed.

“Maybe we should wait inside—” Sira said.

“It’s all right,” Morgan said, hoping it was. Sure enough, all at once, his friend started to slow.

Only to skid.

With the awe-inspiring inevitability of a star collapsing, Huido lost his footing and a significant mass of armored flesh—with weapons clipped to their rings—lifted into the air.

Only to twist, contort, and come down, nimble as an Anisoptera, on two balloon-feet.

A smattering of applause came from those who’d expected the outcome to be mashed Humans and F’Feego, plus a serious dent in the station bulkhead.

“BROTHER!” Huido bellowed, surging forward—with more care—great claws snapping with vicious intent. “You’ve brought my enemy!”

E’Teiso hid behind Sira.

Morgan held up his hand. “Peace, you big oaf. This fine official has come out to assure you it was all a mistake. Haven’t you, Officer E’Teiso?”

When the F’Feego didn’t move, Sira stepped to the side and pulled it forward, keeping her hands on its shoulders. “Go ahead,” she urged. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

A few growls from the crowd promised otherwise, but they’d wait on Huido. Something the wily Carasian knew full well. No accident, Morgan thought fondly, that almost crash. If there was anything Huido did exceptionally well, it was make an entrance.

“Here.” Morgan handed the F’Feego the portable comlink, willing it not to faint. To cooperate. “Please, officer. Answer their question. What about the truffles?”

Nothing could have looked less imposing than the food-covered F’Feego, but most in the crowd couldn’t see it anyway.

The voice, when it came, rang out sure and strong and likely familiar.

“I am—shurrr—Officer Esaliz E’Teiso, of the Department of Duties & Tariffs. A clerical error—” the “—shurr—” drowned out by a multi-organed roar, and several yipyips, of approval “—imposed a fee on this good captain’s cargo—”

A spontaneous chant of “Free the Truffles!” forced a pause.

Morgan raised his arm. Huido a claw. Silence spread from the front row back. When satisfied, the Human nodded at E’Teiso to continue.

“There is no—SHURRR—legal fee on imports to be consumed—SHURR—on this station.” The F’Feego raised its voice. “On my watch—SHURRR—there will NEVER BE!”

The receiving area exploded, this time with cheers.

Did you expect that? Sira sent.

From Officer Esaliz E’Teiso? I’ve learned never to be surprised.

Cautious, yes. Those named as behind the grab would be dealt with—possibly demoted to sanitation—possibly spaced. Not their problem. This newly bold F’Feego could be the innocent in all this, freed to say whatever it wished and taste popularity, however briefly.

Or it was nothing of the kind, Morgan thought darkly, using them—the truffles—to remove its superiors and advance itself.

Officer Esaliz E’Teiso would bear watching. But that was normal on Plexis.

Having achieved their goal—and aware they weren’t making any credits in the warehouse level—the crowd melted away. E’Teiso, after insisting on a reservation at the Claws & Jaws for truffles as soon as possible, retired to the shambles of its office.

“Well, that turned out—”

“Don’t say ‘well,’ brother, until we know what he’s upset about now,” rumbled Huido, eyestalks aimed at the approaching Inspector Wallace.

“We did what he wanted,” Sira protested.

The Human did appear agitated, walking so quickly the Whirtle constable somersaulted over a rim trying to keep up.

Morgan laughed. “I’d say it’s this,” with a sweep of his arm to indicate the sea of wasted food and litter. In the distance, vermin were sniffing the edges.

Huido rattled in outrage. “He can’t blame us for the excesses of others! We did not throw consumables.”

“He can’t think we’ll—” Sira’s face as she surveyed the mess was a mix of dread and calculation. She’d developed a knack with the Fox’s sweeper, beyond doubt.

“Not our job,” the Human assured her. He’d worked sanitation. Plexis could pretend it relied on servos for its dirty, dangerous jobs, but there was an army of “invisible” beings in the tunnels and back corridors. Offer them overtime, out here in relatively open air?

According to his friend Minnic, they’d draw lots for the chance.

“C’mon, chit. We’ve perishable cargo to unload. My guess is, Wallace has heard more than enough about ‘truffles.’”

I do believe you’re right.