Enriched

“My pleasure, Mr. Din,” the secretary said as he poured the seaweed tea piping hot and added a dash of sugar and splash of honey.  Dreshihzen Taizh was the accomplished product of a prestigious Thren finishing school for hospitality, and he prided himself on making the Governor’s guests welcome.

“Much appreciated,” Badabee Din winked as he slid a slim stack of Rydoos beneath the teacup.  Dreshihzen maintained a serene composure and shuddered inwardly at the naked bribery known as “tipping” rampant in Rast society, the byproduct of sorely underpaid service workers.

“We’re glad you were able to make this meeting.  I know you had previous…” Governor Mariahm Black trailed off.

“Run-ins with the Marshals?  No need to be coy, Mariahm.  And please, call me Bada.  All my friends do.”  The otterish man gave her what she felt was meant to be a sly wink as his feelers twitched.  

Nothing about the delegation, the three of them sat snug against the stone fringed glass coffee table, struck Governor Mariahm Black as ‘friendly.’  They were thieves and thugs in fancy coats, the size of a child with the economic weight of a Huff-high elephant.

The Governor had Yoseph Harding, her Customs & Cargo Director, on her side of the main desk.  Yoseph was a man of few words and hard stares, speckled gray hair and hard jaw giving the false impression of a serious man.  The Governor had him play the scowler whenever negotiations were involved.

Her Thren secretary, Dreshihzen Taizh, stood at the ready for refreshment disbursement.  

“Well Bada,” the Governor said, “let’s get down to business.  You have the hydroponics and the specialists to turn the Gedda Valley into a breadbasket.  MOTHER’s projections don’t have the project done this side of the decade, and we’re going to be faced with birth restrictions inside the next eight years.  My people are beginning to turn to other sources of opportunity.”

“Opportunity does seem in short supply,” Badabee said over a sip of seaweed tea, “but with the right move we can turn the Gedda Valley into the Gouda Breadbasket!”  One of his companions expanded a small self-projecting screen with a chart on it.  Impressive green and red lights shot across the translucent blue foldable screen.  They lit up with little labelled blips: “maximized income!” “tourism potential reaches exponential growth!” “advisors hand off installation to trainees!”  The other assistant unfurled a long tube of blueprints.

Yoseph grunted.  It was the grunt that said “this is bullshit,” but then again, Yoseph gave everyone that grunt.

“We’ve got a full spectrum plan to turn your colony here on Dead Garden to LIVE Garden, complete with incredible venues for entertainment, business, and–last, but not least–agriculture!”

“First and foremost agriculture,” the Governor reminded him.

“That’s what I said, just in reverse,” the otter shrugged cheekily, so much as they could with their lack of shoulders.  “Look Gov, can I call you Gov?  Mariahm, Gov Mariahm, all this and more can be yours for the low, low price of bulk rates on fissionable materials!”

“You know damn well Trinity regulations wouldn’t allow me to transfer enriched radioactive materiale.  That’s strategic reserve the moment it’s cooked.”

“Well, of course,” Badabee bashfully tweaked a whisker, “but you wouldn’t have had us out here at all this trouble if you weren’t planning to play ball, were you?”

“We’ve got plenty of pig iron,” Yoseph said.  “It’s under our purview to disperse.”

“Aaah, but it ain’t worth the costs of freight, and you know that as well as I do Director.  Hence why it’s burning a hole in your pocket!”  Badabee’s eyes twinkled with a devilish splendor.  “You knew that offer wasn’t going to work after we declined the first time.  My friends and I haven’t dodged those Pursuers for nothing, have we?”

“No, Bada, you haven’t.  But you’re not getting the enriched material either,” the Governor said.  The air could be cut like butter and spread, smoothly, over the biscuits that Dreshihzen placed out on the coffee table.  Badabee swiped one and slicked it right up, his assistants doing likewise.

“You’re not trying to play me like a Nouseguay are you?  I hate it when humans try that whole schtick.”  Badabee’s casual demeanour as he nibbled the buttered biscuit told the Governor it was but a jibe; he knew she wouldn’t threaten him.  “Hasn’t been your thing for nigh on a century now.”

“Let’s read between the lines, Bada; what we cannot give you is anything enriched, but no natural deposits on this planet are considered enriched.”  Only a handful of ‘naturally enriched’ material existed across Human space, normally the result of directed energy bombardments or experiments gone awry.  “As long as it’s just radioactive ore, I have discretionary access so long as we meet the minimum quota.”

“Aaah I see I see, so you’re asking us to take the leftovers that ain’t enriched?”

“That’s what I have to offer, yes; but we don’t need all those extras.  Some mining droids and a few thousand Rydoos a month in ‘bonus money’ for the workers to pull voluntary extra shifts is all we’ll need to keep you in good supply.  Of course, the material won’t come pre-enriched, but that’s just another opportunity for you to square away.”

“Not a cheap one though, and the original plan didn’t call for smuggling bills.  And droids…” he wrapped the coffee table and looked to his companion with the self-projecting sheet held aloft.  It barely made it to fully unfurled, given the Rast’s height, and she kind of had to stand on the chair to make it fit.

“Of course it won’t be easy.  But we don’t need an entertainment ‘plex, we need nutrients.  The luxury amphitheatre and shopping mall can take a few more years.  Just get us the pipes and personnel, no frills, and we can call it a deal.”  The Governor stood up and extended a hand.

“Deal?” she asked.

Badabee sprung to his feet atop the coffee table, hand outstretched.

“Deal.”