And to such a wallowing ArcShip he tasked three tails… and still they lost it.

He tried to order his thoughts once more, but felt the weight of the reports pushing at him. Pulling him. Their combined mass unbalancing the plan. Putting an erratic wobble into its forward motion which, if not corrected immediately would eventually spin it out of control, sending it tumbling to burn up in atmosphere or a stellar mass.

All the more galling, since he could do nothing about any of it immediately. If they lost their prey, he would not find it himself by blundering off; such a hunt would only waste valuable weeks and resources.

He stood slowly, pushing back the roller chair with his knees; it moved with a soft squeal just far enough for him to extricate himself before coming to a stop with a soft bump against the back wall. He gathered the papers slowly together, squared them and smoothed wrinkles.

Nothing to be done about the Falcons. If they have handed the Skye defenders the clippers to snip their own wings… nothing to be done. At this point, he simply could not associate with the Falcons in any way; the terse note from saKhan Sennet made it too dangerous. A new thought skewed its way into consciousness.

Disconnect.

He grimaced and moved out from around the desk, toward the java pot. Sha hated that word. Hated its implied weakness. Yet he had not gained such heights without knowing when to pull back. When to disengage. Though secondary plans were in place, with all three of his primary plans in trouble, he must accept the fact he might have to pull back. Might have to wait longer before seizing destiny for Spina Khanate.

Underneath the java pot, a small incinerator waited for its daily feeding of pulp and information too dangerous to leave in the light of day.

As he fed all three papers into the machine, Sha counted assets in his head. Tallied how many people knew about his encounter with the Jade Falcons. Balanced on scales the needs of his personnel and their future contributions to the welfare of the Aimag against the repercussions of discovery; he had purposely kept the numbers stripped low, not just to minimize leakage, but just in case such actions were needed.

Of course he would still move forward. Of course he would still move to seize the day; not all was yet lost. However, it was important to hedge your bets in every direction.

Time to clean house.

Merchant House, Halifax

Vanderfox, Adhafera

Prefecture VII, The Republic

29 August 3134

For once, Petr’s disgust at the Merchant House centered on something other than the vile stench still troubling him—especially after so many long weeks in the blissfully clean-scrubbed air of the Ocean of Stars.

“What would you have me do?” Tidinic said, his voice pitched to easily cut through the continual hubbub of the giant edifice. The master trader sat across from him; others occupied the large table, but only the two of them mattered. Clean lines to his suit. Well-tailored, but not extravagant. Long, chocolate-colored hair cascaded from a widow’s peak to the suit’s shoulders. Large eyes hung under craggy, bushy brows like bird eggs hidden from predators just under the cliff’s precipice; eyes mimicked such fragility, but Petr saw the raptor within.

Petr shifted, felt the pull of gravity, the pull of the situation. Tried to forget the angry looks from his factors when he returned and thrust himself to the forefront of the negotiations, never mind his right to do so. Tried to forget his weeks of wasted effort with saKhan Sennet.

His failure against Sha. Again.

“Master Trader,” he began, layering in respect without drowning it in sycophancy, “I would have us come to some accord. I understand you are hard pressed to meet our demands, as we are yours.”

Tidinic nodded his head, though it felt more like a merchant prince accepting pronouncements at his court—decrees he scripted to be read by Petr. Petr kept his temper, banking the hot coals of rage for later use.

“I also understand and appreciate the hardships you and your fellow citizens have suffered following the collapse of the HPG. Nevertheless, it is time to make a decision. You have two offers before you.”

They had tried ignoring Beta Aimag, to no avail. Perhaps finally recognizing the competition and actively trying to push the locals to a decision would move them one way or another.

Frustrations gnawing at him, he felt as if he were on an EVA, with low oxygen; no matter how deep he breathed, he could not get enough air (he didn’t want this air anyway). Felt he needed to make something happen.

Though he’d conducted negotiations that took longer, it did not happen often. More important, he’d never carried out such strenuous negotiations as a backdrop against so many other issues swirling around him, creating a mental and physical dervish that threatened to sweep him away.

The image of the pugnacious and repulsive Snow reared its head. He had to deal with that wild card as well. The new data cube, waiting on his desk when he returned, now burned like a hot coal against his leg. Once more she had deposited it where she should not be, and he knew it meant trouble.

As he had stared at the small cube crouching on his desk like a slumbering terror waiting to feast on his mind, he’d realized he had not done a single thing to further investigate her claims of a Marik-Stewart invasion. Though he should not have cared, a surreal feeling crawled across his shorn scalp, prickling scar tissue like a brisk wind. He could not put a finger on it, but he suspected that she could cause him problems. Make his life difficult. Yet if he aided her, her gratitude could be… generous. He should’ve dismissed such musings as stress-induced mania, but he could not. Could not forget the smoky eyes and the gleam within. He’d seen power too many times, despite the unattractive package, not to recognize it.

Aff, she would cause him no end of troubles if he did not find a way to use her in return.

“ovKhan.” The sound snapped him back to the present like an emergency safety line wrenching him in from an EVA gone bad. He saw that Tidinic’s face held a speculative look, while the other traders at the table variously showed surprise, disgust and outright hostility; he didn’t want to see his own Fox Clansmen’s expressions at such a lapse.

Petr leaned back, felt the stink of the pens as a physical pressure around him (ignored the lowing, which sat in the lower part of his brain as a vibrating tumor) and steepled his fingers, tried to gain back the initiative he might have just lost. Then again, at this point, he simply wanted resolution on some front, any front. Even if that meant giving something up. At least for now.

He cleared his throat, refused to acknowledge his distraction, continued. “Master Tidinic, you have two offers on the table. Though we wish to aid you, in fact would find great honor in it, The Republic holds numerous worlds in need of our aid as well.”

“I’m sure they will all welcome it with open arms, ovKhan Kalasa.” Petr sloughed off the sarcasm—oil on water.

“Aff. I am confident of that as well, Master Tidinic. However, to bring such aid to those who need it, we need a resolution here. The exportation of your foodstuffs will aid many worlds, not to mention your own. What accord can we reach?”

Almost completely motionless for a half hour, the portly man finally shifted, leaning forward slightly, placing his right hand on the table. “ovKhan Kalasa, I have felt for some time we have been making great progress in reaching a mutually beneficial agreement. I have gone over the respective contracts numerous times and it would appear we are almost of one mind concerning what needs to be given… and taken, for an agreement to be signed.”