“You’re doing it wrong.”

“I’ve been doing this for over sixty years, kid. I think I know what I am doing,” a somewhat vexed Kalesh said to the red-headed tween who was lounging on top of one of the engines.

“Well, you are still doing it wrong.”

The Kalesh turned one of his eyestalks to face the kid.

“Child, I have been working on these since before your dad was born.”

“Yeah, on that Republic garbage, not a real engine.”

“You are about to get a spanking and don’t think that I won... (snap)…. Oh goddammit...”

The tween just started laughing.

“I told you-”

“Don’t you have some scrap to price or something?”

“Mister Kolvac told me to help. He want’s you assholes out of here ASAP.”

“Did you get that potty-mouth from him?”

“No, I got it from my dad...” the girl said her lip quivering slightly.

“Oh, Jesus kid I’m sorr-”

The girl just pointed and laughed.

“Gotcha!”

“Why you little shit!” Chief Jaklin said making quite a rude gesture.

The girl just laughed louder.

“If you insist on being a pain in my ass then go and get my micrometers and a new ion channel,” Jaklin said as he tossed a broken component across the deck.

“Do you even have an ass?” Miss Smith laughed as she hopped down from her perch and scampered off.

“Oh that little bitch...” Jaklin said with a little chuckle.

“Just like her father,” Sheila said with a laugh as she walked up and handed him a cup of Kalesh tea.

“Yeah she is,” Jaklin said wobbling his eyestalks, “I miss that fucker.”

“Is that expensive?” Sheila asked as she pointed at the cracked ion channel.

“No more than a few thousand credits, tops.”

“You must really like fucking Jovian ramen.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t fucking realize you were the new fucking quartermaster,” Jaklin said with no small measure of annoyance.

Sheila, knowing when the chief was about to go Yellowstone, just quietly backed away.

Miss Smith trotted up with a new part in one hand and an ornately crafted box in the other.

“Here you go. One type eight mark fifteen ion channel,” she said as she whipped out a tablet for the chief to sign.

“After all we’ve paid you are going to charge me for this?” Jaklin grumbled as he signed the invoice.

“When I am able to squat and just shit one out I will start handing them out for free. Until then, pay up.”

“Yeah, you are a chip off of the old block aren’t you,” Jaklin chucked. “Now hand it over.”

“This is the last one so don’t screw it up.”

“Just hand me the goddamn part and fuck off.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do it for you?” Miss Smith said as she opened the wooden box. “Holy shit! Telk-karith vernier scale micrometers! How much do you want for these?”

“You have good taste,” Jaklin said with pride, “but they are not for sale at any price.”

“Ten thousand?” Miss Smith asked hopefully, “Twenty thousand?”

“Exactly how big is your allowance?” Jaklin asked as Miss Smith reverently handed him the six-centimeter.

“Twenty-five thousand?”

“When I am able to squat and shit out a precision tools company I will sell these until then fuck off.”

“Thirty thousand?” she asked as she ogled the measuring instruments.

“You are far too young to look at anything that way and when I said no I meant it,” the chief said firmly then he smiled. “But if you stop being a pain in my ass and give me a hand I might have a Telk-karith vernier caliper that I might be persuaded to part with.”

Miss Smith lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Really?”

“Really. Now install this fucking channel for me.”

***

Kolvac’’ksa and Sheila were leaning against the hull of the Tiger drinking a warm cup of flavored mineral oil or coffee depending on the species and watching a small pair of boots and some wide Kalesh flippers underneath one of the new Juon Seraphim engines.

“They seem to be getting along well,” Sheila said with a chuckle as a steady stream of invective echoed around in the empty hull.

“Actually they do,” Kolvac’’ksa said with a laugh. She doesn’t use half of those words around someone she doesn’t like.

“Why don’t we just use fucking Juon power conduits?” Miss Smith asked in an annoyed voice.

“Because we don’t have fucking Juon power conduits,” Jaklin said in an exasperated tone.

“Sure we do. Class seven. Five hundred credits a meter.”

“Are you being an engineer or a salesman right now?”

“I’m being a not wanting to spend the whole goddamn day trying to get a Terran to fuck a Juon right now.”

“Arrrgh… Fine. Get the fucking conduit.”

“Sure thing,” Miss Smith said cheerfully and wiggled out from under the engine.”

“Damn, Smith,” Sheila said as she sipped her coffee. “You certainly saw him coming didn’t you?”

“Hey, the Juon conduit will work a lot better than trying to reuse that Terran shit,” Miss Smith said with a grin. “Hell, we will even buy the Terran garbage we pull in case someone besides you are stupid enough to be flying around in a Terran spaceturd.”

“Language, kid,” Sheila said with a laugh, “And what exactly is wrong with Terran spacecraft?”

“Well,” she began.

“Don’t start. Just go get the conduit kid.” Kolvac’’ksa said with a fake growl. He turned to Sheila as Miss Smith ran off. “She has some rather firm opinions concerning Juon and Terran spacecraft.”

“I can tell,” Sheila said with a laugh. “Hey, Chief! Need help from a kid now?”

“Fuck you.” The chief said as he crawled out and poured himself some Kalesh tea. “That kid has skills… and tiny little hands. With her help we will get done a few days sooner.”

“Good to hear.”

***

“Hey, Jaklin,” Miss Smith said as she was measuring some crystals, “You guys are equal to the Terrans, right?”

“We are Terrans, kid but to answer your real question, yes. We and the Republic humans are equal. Any Republic citizen is equal… nominally,” the chief responded.

“They why do you guys get all the shit jobs?”

“Wha? What do you mean?”

“I mean, you guys are all waiters, secretaries, taxi drivers… shit like that.”

“Hey, first of all those aren't shit jobs. We just like service occupations. It’s just something about us I guess,” the chief said as he tightened some bolts. “These fucking Juon fasteners… It’s not like we have to fill those jobs we just like them. Anyone who thinks we are pushovers because of it will get a nasty surprise. More than one visitor to the Republic has had a drink poured over their head or smacked with a tray if they get too pushy or an entire empire gets punched in the gut if they think they can jerk us around.”

“Weird.”

“You Terrans, I mean humans, have no room to talk about weird.”

“I’m not Terran. I’m an Imperial,” Miss Smith said proudly.

“You’re a weeb ?!?!?”

“Oops. I almost just threw your micrometer across the hangar…”

“Hey! I didn’t mean it like that!” Chief Jaklin said hastily. “I was just surprised that’s all. I had no idea Smith was a wee-… an Imperial.”

“Yep. We sided with the Empire when everything went down. Grandpa was an interpreter and intelligence analyst.”

“What the fuck?”

“He stopped speaking to us when I was just a baby but dad said that gramps was afraid that Sol would plunge right back into hell if the Terrans won.”

“Makes sense, I guess…” Chief Jaklin said shaking his eyestalks. “Takes all kinds I suppose...”

T’sunk’al walked in with a tray of food and drinks.

“You two missed lunch. I thought you would like some food,” T’sunk’al said as he laid the tray on a crate. “Not to overhear but there are humans that are Imperial citizens.”

“Yep,” the chief replied.

“But you seem not to hate them?”

“She’s holding one of my micrometers hostage so I’m just being nice,” the chief laughed. “No. Seriously, we don’t hate them. We just think they are…”

“Careful...” Miss Smith said with a laugh.

“Different. Let’s just go with different and leave it at that.”

“But the Terrans don’t hate them even if they betrayed them?” T’sunk’al said with confusion.

“They didn't 'betray' us. They sided with the enemy from the start. They were straight up enemies, not slimy porkies. There is a real difference there. Well, some were enemies. A bunch more jumped ship and immigrated to the Empire after the shooting stopped. A bunch of us kalesh either sided with the Empire or split after the war was over too. I won’t say that any of them, human or kalesh, are particularly loved but they are certainly not hated… by most people,” the chief explained. “Hell, we fought alongside wee… Imperial human ships and ground units during the great war. Their ships and their infantry kicked some serious ass. I have nothing against them.”

“So we hate porkies, and don’t hate Imperials?”

“Right.”

“This is getting confusing...”

“Yeah, you might want to start taking notes,” the chief said with a laugh.

***

After a few days the Paper Tiger was starting to look like a ship again and the crew were making preparations to depart.

“Ok, Kolvac’’ksa,” Sheila said as she handed him a tablet. “I’m leaving the class twelve and what’s left of the cargo with you, standard commission.”

“Pleasure doing business with you as always,” Kolvac’’ksa said with a smile. “Pass along my thanks to Chief Jaklin. Miss Smith is, what is your phrase... over the moon?... with his gift. It has rarely left her hands.”

“I’ll be sure to pass it along but I think the squeals, tears, and hugs were a dead giveaway.”

***

As the Z’uush were gathering their belongings and loading them into the Paper Tiger the crew were approached by two unknown Z’uush. Sheila looked over at them curiously as she unlatched her sidearm’s holster. One of the Z’uush raised his large manipulator and called out.

“Hey! Is Eight-eyes over there?”

“Eight-eyes?” Sheila responded as T’sunk’al stepped forward and waved back.

“Cul’kalk’rn! Great to see you, old friend,” T’sunk’al called out in return. He turned to Sheila. “It’s ok, they are friends.”

“Friends or not, how the fuck did they know we were here?” Sheila hissed at T’sunk’al angrily.

“Please. Our passengers have been sending messages left and right. I saw no issue with sending one of my own,” T’sunk’al replied dismissively.

“We are going to have a little chat about this later,” She hissed and then waved happily at the approaching Z’uush. “Hi there!” she exclaimed brightly. “I guess you know this criminal?” she asked as she hit T’sunk’al’s back plate… hard.

“Sheila, this is Cul’kalk’rn and Zul’ralsh’ka. They are former associates of mine and are… like minded individuals if you get my meaning.”

“Oh, really?” Sheila asked her cheerful tone becoming a bit more genuine, “Not planning on participating in the hiring frenzy on Sol?”

“Not exactly...” Cul’kalk’rn said rubbing his mandibles in a laugh. “Not exactly.”

“It’s one of the reasons I sent them here to meet with us,” T’sunk’al said, “They need to know about places like this if they are going to ‘go into business’ if you get my meaning.”

Sheila gave the pair an appraising glance and liked what she saw. “Ok. Nice to meet you. Now what?”

“Well,” Cul’kalk’rn said with an eye flick, “we are primarily interested in your drug contacts. It would be a real shame if the drug epidemic facing the… porkies?… was to dry up and we are considering expanding our horizons a bit. There are doubtless countless other substances that would harm countless other species and put a few creds on our crystals in the bargain. We would also be interested in getting in direct contact with arms dealers and manufacturers since it seems that our arrangement is running its course.”

“So you want me to help you be direct competition?”

“Yes. That is exactly what we want,” Cul’kalk’rn said with an eye movement that Sheila knew was a grin.

“Cool. Not a problem. Since you had the nerve to ask I assume my blabbermouth here,” Sheila said as she gave T’sunk’al another heavy swat, “has filled you in on what our real objectives are.”

“He has and it is exactly what more than a few of us are discussing. Needless to say that there are those of us that aren’t exactly happy with the Federation either and have absolutely no intention of returning to our previous occupations. Making a lot of credits while causing trouble sounds absolutely delightful.”

“We may be able to do business and I have no problems making a few introductions,” she said with a chuckle. “ but there is one thing you need to remember,” she said in a less friendly tone, “I have no problem helping you guys out but if you ever fuck me,” she paused while looking them in the eyes, “You will wish you were dead.”

“Likewise,” Cul’kalk’rn said in an even but menacing tone. Sheila grinned.

“That’s what I like to see! I think we will get along just fine,” she said.

Jessie came trotting out of the Tiger tablet in hand and turned it over to Sheila who started paging through the contents.

“Oh C… you have been a naughty naughty boy haven’t you?” she said with undisguised glee, “You, too, Z… Very naughty indeed… Ok, you have your credentials in order. You’re legit.” She handed the tablet back to Jessie. “One of the first things you need to learn is how to be just a bit more tidy. They got your genetic info… Hey Jessie! Get a box of Sani-Clear would you?”

Jessie scampers into and out of the Tiger with a box.

“This,” Sheila said as she pulled out an unassuming spray can, “Is Sani-Clear. Its real purpose is medical or hazmat cleaning and sanitation. What we, and anyone in the game with a half a brain, uses it for is to clean and sanitize other surfaces. It breaks down organic material. Not only does it absolutely kill those annoying microbes it also denatures whatever identifying genetic codes your species uses. Don’t buy it at a store. They will want ID but it is all over the black market. Buy it. Use it. Oh and another thing… Actually you might want to sit down and take some notes because I’m about to lay some knowledge on your asses...”

***

After a long and very enlightening lecture from one of the masters of the trade the Z’uush sincerely expressed their thanks and were starting to walk away when Sheila called out to them.

“Hey, dudes,” she started, “Those friends of yours, any of them hired guns or mercenary teams or anything like that?”

“A few of them match that description,” Cul’kalk’rn replied cautiously, “Why?”

“We are considering a job that might require a few more guns,” Sheila said with a smile. “We would be very interested in talking to any guys you know who would be up for some fun, preferably ones that old eight-eyes over there could vouch for. It should go pretty smooth but if the shooting starts there is going to be a lot of it.”

“What sort of job?”

“Piracy,” Sheila said with a grin.