Page 3 of Alien Burn

He wished Khalzin success. Olmed and Tori were sitting in front of him; he could hardly argue that it never happened. But Khalzin spoke as though a male might take one look at a stranger and lose every intention he'd brought with him. Dhomhes had never found desire so difficult to manage.

Olmed's smile disappeared.

“Barnak's people?”

“Possibly. You knew the freight lines better than most. Was there anyone we missed?”

“I gave you the names I had. Cargo inspection. The dock supervisor.” He tapped a finger on the table. “Anyone else would be a guess.”

“Then don't give me a guess.”

“We found the stabilizers,” Olmed said. “The ones stolen from us and the copies made off-world. Don't let anyone tell you that was the whole trade.”

“The copies are still secured,” Dhomhes said. “Your statement and the freight records too. I have the people who moved the equipment. I don't have everyone who paid for it.”

Kantenans had learned how to extract and refine citricite without destroying the workings around it. The machines were part of that knowledge. Whether the off-world copies could be used safely remained unanswered. Olmed had brought him specimens, not proof that someone else had mastered the process.

“There was a buyer.”

Dhomhes waited.

Olmed looked annoyed with himself. “That had nothing to do with the stabilizers. I don't know why I thought of it.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Years ago, I brought a sample out of a survey shaft. Deep workings. We'd gone below the assigned line because the foreman wanted a better yield to report.”

“Did you log it?”

Olmed gave him a look.

“I thought not.”

“I kept it in my kit. Pretty thing. Wrong color for where I found it, heavier than it looked. I meant to have someone assess it.”

“And then?”

“Then I needed passage money. After the banishment. A broker found a buyer for me.” Olmed shrugged. “Off-world. Paid more than I asked. I didn't argue.”

Dhomhes lowered his cup.

“How much more?”

Olmed told him.

That would have bought considerably more than passage.

“The buyer asked nothing about it?”

“Not through the broker. Took it as it was. I thought I'd finally had some luck.”

Dhomhes tried to recall the old survey maps. Abandoned workings, conflicting names. None of it explained that price.

“Could you find the shaft again?”

“It was fifteen years ago.” Olmed leaned back. “I could try. The schedule was false to begin with, and the foreman⁠—”

He stopped.