mercy in his gaze, no human emotion. The cold look gave her goosebumps, and she forcibly lifted her chin in defiance. She had faced down an alien slaver threatening to sell her as dog food. She could face this, too. She shoved Stephanie back, step by step, until pressure on her legs told her they had reached a seat in the lounge at the center of the room. She dropped her friend into the over-sized chair and took one just beside her, clenching her thighs in her hands to stop herself from trembling all over.
“So nice to meet you, Mr. Rocksquatter,” she ground out, a grimace passing for a smile on her lips. Not once did she remove her eyes from him as she added, “Mr. Bilderbus, should we get seated and start our meeting now?”
“Why yes, yes of course.” The Earth president bustled forward excitedly and sat himself to the right of the girls. Mr. Piff took a proffered seat to their left, Anubis beside him, and the High Jester completed the circle when he sat on the couch, which emitted a creaking squeal.
Lissa suddenly found this so hilarious that she had to cover her mouth to stifle a wide grin and coughed very loudly in disguise of the erupting giggles in her throat. Stephanie shot her a terrified look, still pale with fright at the sight of Timothy Rocksquatter, but Lissa could only cough harder.
“We are here to discuss,” Anubis began, his canine lisp less pronounced now, “terms for an official contract between the client known as Earth, and the Galactic Trade Company.”
“I see no reason to discuss terms,” High Priest Rocksquatter interjected. Lissa and Stephanie cringed at his voice. It was as oily and rancid as his appearance.
“Our usual arrangement should suffice,” The H.P. went on. “I believe all of this media about the kidnapping is just an excuse by GTC to raise their prices. We are already clients, why change it up now?”
Anubis winced. The Earth president coughed delicately. Lissa stared. It was Stephanie who blurted.
“Um, you guys already know each other?!”
“Yeah, what ‘usual arrangement’ are we talking about, exactly?” Lissa challenged. “And that kidnapping was us!” she snapped at the grotesque Timothy. “Thanks anyway for caring.” If she was going to be ambassador for this planet, she would have a say in what goes.
The High Priest of Jesters sneered at her, his curled lip revealing teeth so yellow they appeared to be green. She held back the urge to hurl.
“Earth has long engaged in certain arrangements,” he jeered, “of benefit to both GTC and our own safety and security. Certain disappearances, you might say; the departure of primitive throwbacks whose absence is no loss to the populace, I assure you.”
“You have been selling people off world!” Stephanie erupted, leaping to her feet and glaring accusingly at the High Priest. “I knew it!”
Lissa turned to Mr. Piff. “Can’t Space Patrol do anything about this? Selling off your population? It even violates the definition you told us of ‘legal slavery’. Its government graft, if nothing else. There’s nothing in the World Constitution to support them using people as chattel!”
Mr. Piff only looked back at her sadly. “The worst I could do is fine both parties. But I think, after this meeting, you will be glad to not have that debt on your back.”
“What do you mean?” Lissa began, but the High Priest was already interrupting, his face ablaze with cruel victory at their indignation.
“As actual clients of GTC, what rights and privileges would we receive that would recompense us for the inconvenience of having to go public with our space program?”
“Who is running this meeting, anyhow?” Stephanie interjected loudly. The two human men in the room looked at her.
“Aren’t you the president?” she added, gesturing pointedly at Mr. Bilderbus. “He’s a priest—not a diplomat. Isn’t negotiating what Lissa is supposed to be here for?”
“Why, the little pipsqueak is right,” Rocksquatter said, his tone mocking. “How presumptuous of me! Please ...” he bowed slightly in his seat to Lissa, “go ahead.”
Lissa got to her feet. Slowly, she surveyed the room. She was not prepared for this. Having to debate and possibly determine a financial contract sealing Earth into business with a corrupt galactic commercial industry was not something St. Lucia’s Academy taught its students. But I suppose that's the point, Her mind spun wildly, it benefits GTC to have Earth represented by someone who can't keep up. Anubis thinks he can pull the wool over my eyes! Determined to somehow get on top of this situation, she grabbed onto the first datum she could think of on the subject of economics.
“What commodities, besides human slaves, do we have that interest GTC?” she asked Anubis politely.
“Well, there are several, really. Exotic art is always an option, there are some worlds who might buy mineral rights—although the mining technique might wipe out your atmosphere.”
Lissa winced, “No thanks.”
“Here's another one,” Anubis was scanning down a projected list from his scepter now, “Earth was named a protected planet by the Corian LAIBCB—that’s the Law Against Interaction Between Corians and Barbarians, in case you don’t know. Without access to your planet, they were completely cut off from the blueberry trade. That’s a niche market, but it could be a profitable one. The Corians have excellent credit with the Galactic Bank. I don’t know that you could replace all your slave trade with blueberries, but it would get you off the ground to start looking at other options.” He sounded doubtful, but at least willing to discuss this.
“Okay,” Lissa breathed. Blueberries, huh?
Stephanie asked, “What about other art forms? Music? Hair and nails?”
Lissa turned to her, a wry grin on her face. “Hair and nails?” she whispered to her glam friend.
“Did you see his toes?” Steph whispered back. To Anubis, she added, “I mean, Earth has a lot of services which space consumers might be interested in.”
“And how do you propose we present this to the peoples of Earth?” Timothy Rocksquatter asked smoothly. “It will require funding. All new endeavors require capital—where will you get monies to do this?”
Lissa gave him a contemptuous glare. “How about pulling all the tax money you spend dribbling food down your front?” she snapped.
Mr. Piff hissed. Lissa turned to look at him. Was he laughing?
“I would suggest that, if you give people the option to leave Earth and travel the stars, you will find volunteers and the capital you require,” Mr. Piff said. If he had been snorting derisively at the High Priest a second ago, he hid it well now. “Allow your people a chance to uproot and start elsewhere. There are always dissidents,” he added with a respectful nod to the problem the Earth president had been trying to solve with his slavery scam. “Why not let them go? They will be productive on other planets when they can find nothing to do but riot and complain here. The proceeds of their labor will come back to you through taxation and everyone is happy.”
“Let’s put it to the vote?” Lissa suggested.
Timothy Rocksquatter glared at them all. He must have seen his cash-scam going down the drain with this new idea.
