"I think it's them," Sashi cried out. "Frontal approach or sneak up behind them?"
"Let them see us coming," I replied. "And broadcast our desire to meet them for the purposes of trade."
At first, there was no response, then one of the smaller vessels broke formation and slowed, permitting us to pull alongside. Within a few seconds of our doing so, an airlock opened. We let ourselves be pulled inside, whereupon the airlock door closed. Sashi shot me a questioningly look.
"Don't worry," I said. "In my experience, money transcends any and all language and cultural barriers."
She looked unconvinced.
After sitting there, for almost half an hour, I admit I began to share her trepidation. Then, quite suddenly, a dozen, dark-robed individuals appeared on our monitor - like wraiths - with large, unblinking, mauve colored eyes. No other facial details were discernable, even at increased magnification. Mysterious they had always been, and mysterious they remained! I instructed Sashi to open the airlock and we greeted them from the safety of the access ramp. I fear my greeting fell on deaf ears. They clearly spoke not a word of the language of Chaucer and Shakespeare. What to do? Well, what any smart person would do, when first encountering strangers. I turned Sashi loose on them!
She smiled, held her hands open - to show she was unarmed - and wiggled her cute little butt all the way down the access ramp, telling the assembled Missii how wonderful it was to meet them. Though they understood not a single word, her enthusiasm and boundless optimism seemed to win the day, and one of the 
Missii moved towards her, his hands similarly held open. I assume it was a 'he'. His hands were long and narrow, with three elongated fingers and an opposable thumb. The backs were a mottled mauve in color. His palms were almost white. Despite being severely hobbled by her tight dress, Sashi managed to cover the distance between them in less than the blink of an eye, whereupon she gave him a big hug, with just the hint of a groin grind. 'Little slut!' I thought to myself, as the Missii slipped his arms around her. A few seconds later, they were bosom friends and we were being escorted to another part of the ship.
From the outside, Missii ships are impressive. The one we were presently on had to be almost one hundred meters in length and over thirty at the beam. The construction was rugged and lacking any aesthetic consideration. Massive ribs, a meter in width, ran around the circumference of the hull and disappeared through cutouts in the floor. They appeared to be positioned every ten meters along the entire length of the ship. The surfaces of the ribs were unpolished, as was the hull plating they supported. There was no evidence that the plating had been welded or riveted to these ribs, suggesting the Missii had used some kind of high-tensile adhesive during the construction. It also suggested that these ships might not be suited to atmospheric entry, since the stresses on such a large vessel would have been tremendous. I made a mental note to study the construction of the larger vessels - some of which were three times the size of this one, and made up the majority of the fleet.
We had, by now, reached a large, open space. I was reminded of the Empress Serafina's audience chamber, but this was sparsely decorated, if one can call hundreds of kaleidoscopically colored cushions thrown on the floor, dozens of open fires nestling in hemispherical, metal hearths - complete with carcasses on slow turning spits - a few, moth-eaten tapestries hung at varying heights and spacing from one another, and a low dais, on which stood three simple chairs, above which hung a metallic disc covered in tribal symbolism, a decor.
Sashi was led to a cushion, close by one of the open fires. Her dress, being a snug fit, required that three Missii help lower her onto it. I could tell by her pained expression that her corset was giving her hell! My spirits, which had hovered somewhere between bored indulgence and mild disappointment, were lifted by her discomfort. Ah, the vicarious delights of 'Dominance'! How easy it is to forget them, sometimes? But I had cause to remember them, at first hand, as soon as I attempted to lower myself onto a cushion. Much as it might offend our hosts, I had to decline their invitation. The lack of linguistic commonality turned out to be less of an impediment than I had imagined. Several Missii ran towards the distant dais and returned carrying two of the chairs, normally reserved for the tribunal. Sashi was hauled to her feet and we both seated ourselves.
"They seem quite friendly," Sashi enthused. "And, pretty democratic in their use of chairs."
"You're assuming the tribunal members are here to go along with their generosity," I countered.
She tugged the sleeve of the nearest Missii and pointed to the carcass slowly rotating on the spit. Our mutual understanding moved forward another notch, the Missii produced an enormous, intricately engraved knife, cut off a slice of meat and handed it to her. She took a bite and nodded appreciatively. "It's good, and rare, just as I like it," she told me, as the juice, a combination of blood and fat, dribbled down her chin. "Like venison."
"Lucky you're wearing a rubber dress," I quipped.
She grinned and nodded vigorously at the Missii. He returned her smile - leastwise, his eyes narrowed, suggesting he'd smiled - and cut himself what I took to be a thigh. He withdrew from us and sat with his back to us, so he could remove his mask to eat.
"In matters of privacy, they're diligent in the extreme," I said.
"Like the monks on 'Niros'," she replied. "They eat alone, too."
Another Missii handed me a piece of meat. I smiled as I recalled the story she'd written about these 'saintly' men. "And strip naked, in front of all and sundry, when they're getting their rocks off."
She giggled.
Several nearby Missii had carved themselves a cut of the delicious meat. All had then sat on a cushion, arranging themselves so their faces were concealed, even from their own kind, and were busy consuming their meal with noisy contentment.
There are few times when I regret my devotion to 'tight lacing', but this was one of them! The meat had a hint of gaminess, like a well hung grouse, or pheasant, and I wanted more. I managed a second slice, and wished I'd known the Missii words for 'doggy bag'. Fortunately, I, too, was decked out in rubber, so cleaning up the spillage afterwards required little effort.
Sashi finished her 'seconds'. "I wonder when we get to meet the Grand Poobar?"
"Maybe they were the ones who served us?" I suggested. "I mean, how would one know?"
Shopping at an Interstellar WalMart!
With the lunch break now finished, we were offered a cup of something that looked and tasted like milk. We then arose and continued our promenade through the cavernous ship. In the next chamber, we saw dozens of corrals in which a large variety of species were housed. Clearly, most would end up spinning slowly above the cooking fires, while others would be milked to supply the creamy concoction we'd been offered after the meal was over. The animals appeared to be kept in conditions which Sashi approved of, since she offered no comment as we left that chamber and entered the next. This was full of mattresses and bed covers and appeared to be their communal sleeping quarters.
I was curious! The Missii must have acquired great wealth as a result of their extensive trading activities and, yet, nowhere - thus far - had I seen any evidence of this. The lifestyle of the Bedouin came to mind as I watched while some of the Missii arose from their beds and others replaced them. This was what we on Earth would call a 'shift changeover'. There was little conversation between them as they switched places, with the retirees settling themselves on the still warm mattresses and the newly awakened slipping on their sandals and heading towards a doorway on the far side of the chamber. I had the distinct impression they were on their way to prayers. Were they really a religious movement, whose actions were guided by altruism, alone? It certainly looked like they profited little from their efforts, though, of course, the Missii we'd encountered so far might be the equivalent of 'worker ants', while the upper echelon, the one's to whom the wealth might be directed, and in whose hands it would be held, might be elsewhere - on another ship, perhaps, or secreted on some distant world. I vowed to look into those encounters with other races that were on public record, and to endeavor to discover and investigate some of those that weren't. Meanwhile, I would try to find out more about the structure of their society.
We finished our tour shortly afterwards and returned to the chamber where we'd first encountered our hosts. I took this as meaning the ceremonials were over and the horse trading was about to begin. I had no idea whether the Missii had what I was looking for. Neither did I have any clue as to how much such technology might cost. Now, don't get me wrong. I am by no means down to my last sou - or solidus, for those late Latin scholars among you. In fact, the extraordinary incompetence of Messrs. Bernanke, Brown and their respective predecessors, have left me rather well situated. I have never sought the advice of investment gurus. My method is my own, and predicated on a simple proposition: when a politician or a government 'expert' tells one what one should be doing in order to prosper, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, one should do the exact opposite! I have found it to be almost foolproof! Not that I didn't have some concern about the fee the Missii might require - even my 'Beryllium' Credit Card has a finite limit - but I was sure I had enough credit to leave an adequate security deposit!
Without a word, our hosts led us to yet another chamber, inside which were a number of shuttle craft. Once aboard one of them, Sashi, myself and three Missii left the vessel and headed to the rear of the fleet, where the larger freighters were located. We landed inside one of them and disembarked. Its interior was similar, in many ways, to what I now understood to be the 'habitation' vessels, with the same exposed ribs and little in the way of ornamentation. It was also loaded to the gunwales with every kind of civilian and military technology from a thousand worlds; and this was just one of more than fifty other such ships!
One of the Missii beckoned us to follow him to a small cabin, inside which was a terminal of some kind. He brought two chairs for us to sit on, then powered up the terminal and performed what I took to be some kind of 'Login' procedure. He then pointed to my hands and then the keypad. Clearly, he was telling me to type something. But, what? None of the symbols on the keypad made any sense to me. He pressed a key and the screen displayed a pair of graphical icons. It took only a short while to understand that the icon for 'Weapon Systems' was a crude representation of a humanoid body, lying prone with what looked like a spear sticking out of its midriff. For civilian technology, the icon was another humanoid body, standing, this time, with the representation of a planet beneath its feet. Humanoid-kind Über Alles! 'How totally and predictably 'WASPish?' I thought to myself. I pressed the offending icon and was rewarded with a dozen more, which I interpreted as covering such headings as 'Transportation', 'Pollution Amelioration', 'Land Reclamation', Agricultural Production Enhancers', 'Construction Equipment - Terrestrial', 'Construction Equipment - Extra-Terrestrial' - and so on. Having tried each one in turn, and been greeted with a slow scrolling list of gobbledygook, I returned to the previous screen and selected, 'Transportation'. More gobbledygook!
"Why not tell it what you want?" Sashi asked.
I leaned forward and spoke to the screen. "I wish to extend the range of my vessel."
Nothing happened for a few seconds then, to my astonishment, the screen displayed, 'Give specifications of vessel drive type, fuel type, oxidizer type, fuel mix proportions and desired range increase'.
"That's some serious technology, right there!" Sashi cried "I wonder what it costs?"
I gave the required information and pressed a flashing key. The screen went haywire, rapidly paging through a seemingly infinite number of devices and schematics. After several more seconds, the screen stopped paging. Two schematics were offered. I chose one at random. I could see at first glance it was the wrong one. The vessel was significantly larger than my own. I backtracked and selected the other. This seemed more appropriate to my needs, so I attracted the Missii's attention and pointed to the screen. He reached forward and pressed another key. The terminal screen cleared and, in its place, several pictograms were displayed. The Missii pressed another key and a memory sliver was ejected through a slot at the side of the screen. The Missii took it and left the room.
Sashi grinned. "That is soooo cool!"
"Now, we have to figure out how to ask for a cage for your tabby cat, a way of getting it on board Leõnis and the means to confine it while we carry it to its home," I said, with just the merest hint of sarcasm in my voice.
Sashi pointed at the terminal. "Can I try?"
I pushed my chair back to give her room.
She started opening icons.
"Try the Agricultural section," I suggested.
The Missii was returning by the time she'd located the section on 'Animal Housing'. "That's what we need, a cage with no bars."
"Fine. And you can sit and watch the creature, just to make sure it doesn't cross the chalk line you've drawn on the floor," I retorted.
"It doesn't need bars," she protested. "It has a force field."
"Won't you have to lower the force field to feed it?"
She looked nonplused for all of a second, then her face brightened. "Maybe we could use a transportation device to sort of beam the food through the force field."
"We'll use a normal cage, with strong bars," I said. "Now, concentrate on finding something we can use to steal the thing and get it inside the ship without 'Customs' finding out."
"Okay," she said, brightly.
"Okay?" I echoed, one eyebrow raised.
She turned and looked at me. "Yes, Domina."
I patted her hand. "And, don't forget it."
She flushed and kept searching.
Good order now restored, I looked at the Missii. He bowed and inserted what I assumed was the same memory sliver he'd removed from the terminal. Sashi's search was momentarily interrupted as a box appeared at the bottom right hand corner of the screen. Inside, was a monetary figure. It was steep, but well within my price range. I nodded. The Missii bowed again and handed me the sliver for safe keeping. By this time, Sashi was closing in on a device I knew was going to cost me my home, its contents, the fusion-powered and stretched Hummer, complete with satellite uplink and a Trans-DimensionalTM hookup for my news feed, as well as my entire wardrobe. I might even have to put Clarissa and Georgina on the auction block. However, I would never part with my cross-dressing cook, Thomas, no matter how charitable the cause might be. I mean, one has to draw the line somewhere! "But, will it work?" I asked her.
She shrugged. "I don't know, Domina."
"Oh well, press the damn key and let's find out what it costs," I said. "But, no more Greer original corsets for you, My Girl, until this little escapade is over and the story's in the can and syndicated."
She grinned. "Yes, Domina. I mean, no, Domina."
"It could have been a lot worse, I suppose," I said, as I studied the price tag for Sashi's new toy. Truthfully, it was reasonable. Too, reasonable, perhaps?
"I asked for it on rental," she said. "We return it after we're done with it."
"You mean, we have to find the Missii, again, just to give it back to them?" I scowled. "That could take a while."
"They have drop off points," she explained.
I was intrigued. "Like a car rental company, you mean?"
"Not exactly. They have buyers lined up, already. When we're done with it, we drop it off on the next world on the list." She looked back at the screen. "In our case, it'll be Medea Prime."
I was suddenly consumed with an overwhelming desire to heap praise on her. But, a Domina needs to ration praise. Too much is just as bad as too little. "Good girl," I said, by way of compromise.
Sashi glowed.
"The game is afoot, Watson!"
With our technological needs met and my hard earned money already languishing in an off-world Missii bank account, I told Sashi we should be on our way. While we waited for the fuel pressurization pumps to prime the pre-mix chambers and for the navigation system to make its calculations for our next destination, we discussed our encounter with the Missii. It had gone surprisingly well! Sadly, had I engaged in a little less self-congratulation and a tad more objectivity, I would have saved myself a great deal of concern later on. But, alas, a dominant personality provides one with less protection against the repercussions of hubris than does a submissive one.
An hour later, Leõnis powered away from the Missii fleet with the newly purchased engine upgrade and Sashi's 'Secret Coxiavor Snatcher' safely in the hold. Our first port of call was to be a little used refit dock, situated in the interstellar equivalent of what California Law Enforcement would call 'South Central L.A.'. Like all poor neighborhoods, which ruling elites and their personal justice systems tend to designate as being 'beyond redemption', 'Mandrel's Point' was full to overflowing with the flotsam and jetsam of more than a dozen planetary systems. Sure, it had more than it's fair share of bad people; but it also had a significant percentage of hard working, honest and peaceful people, whose only crime appeared to be that they didn't fit the mold. Right in the middle of this 'tide of interstellar trash', as Septimo Frothard, President for Life on Mithros III, had once called them, was Rico Janc's place.
In a moment of what, for him, was atypical braggadocchio, he'd decided to call his refit yard, 'Propulsion Inc.'. He was, in reality, an unassuming individual, hailing from Epsilon Cristos IV, who could diagnose an engine problem just by listening to it and observing its exhaust gases. He was also remarkably cheap! An advantage to some, I admit, but not my principle reason for availing myself of his services. He was simply the best propulsion system man. Anywhere! His clientele list contained the names of some of the richest and most successful smugglers in the quadrant. When anyone asked him how much it might cost to make their ship go faster, his response was always, "How fast do you want to go?"
So good was his work that customs pursuit vessels, from several worlds, were frequently to be found in his workshop, getting a performance upgrade that might, hopefully, enable them to keep up with the smugglers. It was not unusual for such a vessel to be parked right next to that of a smuggler, both of which were getting the same modifications, at the same time. To be fair, Janc always did his best work, regardless of the customer's profession. This even-handedness ensured his continued freedom to run his business. Had the authorities decided to close him down, he would have simply offered his services to the smugglers and the performance gap between their vessels and the customs ships would have continued to grow. Quite simply, the authorities needed him!
I eased Leõnis into a berth and made my way to Janc's office - a dingy little place, submerged beneath spare parts, catalogs, memory cards, and half-eaten meals. He greeted me with open arms and we sat and discussed my needs.
Three days is a long time for cute little thing like Sashi to be wandering around on her own, especially in a place like Mandrel's Point. Thieves, con-artists, drunks, gamblers, drug dealers, drug users and pick pockets are the tip of the iceberg. Slave traders come out when the sun goes down and the party-time lights come on. I know it might seem strange that I have no problem with owning slaves, while I castigate those that trade in them. Well, it's simple! Clarissa and Georgina signed up for their surgical transformation after a detailed interview, a period of acclimation in my household, where they learned about their future duties, followed by a month long cooling off period, during which time they were required to consider their decision carefully. I also made myself available for them to come back to me with questions and requests for clarification during that time. That, dear reader, is a 'consensual' arrangement. I do not sneak about in the dead of night, snatching people (including children) from the street and forcing them into a life they have no desire to live. I decided to play safe, booked us both on a short cruise around a nearby globular cluster, and told Sashi to pack our things.
"Damn, this thing feels fast," I cried, as I brought the fusion engine online and opened the throttle.
"So, where to now?" Sashi asked.
"Cuscott."
She frowned. "Pourquoi, Maîtresse?"
"French is so yesterday," I told her.
She thought for a moment. "Per quale ragione, Dominatrice?"
I burst out laughing. "Bet you can't say that in Iquot."
"High Iquot or low Iquot?"
I bit my lip. "High."
She closed her eyes, as she always does when accessing her 'Semantic' memory. "Kau echa... Er... Tabuip Gurajiin."
"Okay. Now give it to me in 'Low'."
She shook her head. "It's the same for the most part. They just change the 'personal', 'relative', 'intensive' and 'reflexive' pronouns to reflect their lower status when speaking with their betters."
"That's not all of them," I said.
"Oh." She blushed. "'Interrogative' and 'reciprocal', too."
"Haven't you missed, 'indefinite'?"
"Words like 'few' and 'fewer' cannot reflect status when used on their own," she said, firmly.
I reached out and hugged her. "Bravo." I released her and added, "So, why Cuscott? If memory serves, it's roughly the same distance from here as Epsilon Tymia III is from Scethos."
She nodded her understanding. "Thinking you have what you need is not the same as knowing you have it."
"And, if it transpires that we don't, we'll not risk being stranded, because there are a dozen places on our journey where we can refuel if needs be."
Sashi turned to the navigation console and called up Cuscott's co-ordinates.
Two days later, we were at the 'Cuscott' outer marker, waiting for a landing slot at its sole spaceport and capital city, Tensin. An hour passed before we were given permission to land. I let Sashi take care of it while I changed into something less conspicuous. Once we were on the ground, she took herself off to change. Half an hour later, we left the ship and strolled across the concourse towards 'Immigration', while our luggage was conveyed by trolley to the cargo screening area.
For those who have experience of modern day international travel and the bureaucratic numbskulls who wield the power to admit one to their country, or flag one for secondary processing, or even deportation, the difficulties one must negotiate while trying to enter Cuscott will sound dreadfully familiar.
First of all, not everyone speaks English. All major planetary spaceports have quantities of personal translators for hire, by the hour, the day... whatever you need. On Cuscott, however, you walk up to a display screen and speak to it. A language processor identifies your origins and allocates some clerical type to bring you the correct translator device, which is almost certainly connected to the administration's security apparatus, so you have to watch what you speak about among yourselves. I remember thinking, as I waited for the 'translator' to arrive, that this technology had likely come here by way of the Missii. And, then it hit me! Maybe, we had a way of determining which worlds had encountered them?
Next stop? A full body scan, overseen by some government authorized pervert, hidden away in a dark room, somewhere, with one hand on the control joystick and the other on his own joystick. Now, I'm in pretty fair shape. I eat right and I exercise regularly - especially my right arm, though I'm working on my ambidexterity - but, the thought of some little turd drooling over my ample, but taut, breasts, or pubes, was too much to contemplate. Well, screw them! I'd taken precautions! I waited for the security guard to refer me to 'Secondary Screening'. He did not disappoint!
"Your body scan wasn't clear," yet another factotum informed me.
"That is because I have no wish to provide sexual gratification for the menial classes," I informed him.
He was entirely emotionless in his response. "You'll need to volunteer for a strip search."
"I wish to speak with your supervisor," I said, imperiously.
"He's busy."
"Then tell him to get un-busy," I said.
"Wait here," he said, and stomped off.
Sashi has no problem exposing herself, to anyone, anywhere and any time. She was, by now, through 'Immigration' and on her way to 'Baggage Reclaim'.
The Supervisor arrived. He'd been briefed about me, I assumed, and seemed put out. "You refused to volunteer for a strip search," he said, repeating the phrase as if it were a mantra.
"I am the Lady Alethea," I told him, "a reputable and widely syndicated reporter and a confident of the Empress Serafina Roh Lin."
"And, if I was the Karbasha of Munipor," he retorted, "even I would have to volunteer for a strip search if my body scan was unclear."
I sighed and followed him to a small room, off to the side.
"Please remove your outer garments," he ordered.
Well, I won't bore you with the details. Suffice it to say the Mylar strips I'd used to cover my breasts and nethers were discovered, I was fined the equivalent of twenty dollars and my visa was shortened to a single week, rather than the usual three. It was a price well worth paying, to my mind, for sticking to my principles, even if I had lost the battle. Were I not trying to obtain information on a recent Missii trade mission to Cuscott, I would have walked back to my ship and left this dreadful little world in my wake. It's times like these I wonder whether my readers truly appreciate what sacrifices have to be made to get a story.
If one wants the lowdown on what's going on in the political and lobbyist hidey holes of Cuscott's capital city, one must seek out Pera Danul. He's so well integrated with the movers and shakers - despite coming from a poor family on the 'East Side' of town - that no party is complete without him. He's a small man, with delicate features and thinning hair. Spectacles are shunned in Tensin high society, so he wears corrective contact lenses, changing his eye color almost as often as he changes his wardrobe. But, for all the vanity and foppishness, he's intelligent, has a mind like a steel trap and, most importantly, is completely honest. I suspect it's that characteristic, rather than his table manners, which makes him so indispensable to the ruling elite.
We met him at a small restaurant off 'M' street, called, simply, 'M'. It's menu is varied and inordinately expensive, while its patrons are the crème de la crème, drawn from every government department and lobbying organization. This place isn't about conversation, it's about preservation. Preservation of the lifestyle to which these insiders, hangers on, parasites and temporary guardians of the public purse have become accustomed and regard as their due. Sashi is normally silent during such encounters: not because I insist that she is, but because she focuses on gaining the measure of a person while I interrogate them. Sometimes, we alternate, but since I was more familiar with other instances of Missii trade agreements, she got to observe.
"It's difficult," Pera said, in answer to my initial question. "There was much secrecy. The Missii refused to land, preferring instead to have our First Minister meet them on their ship."
I figured he'd been sat down at one of their terminals and given the chance to 'fill his boots', in terms of what technology he thought he wanted. That was my next question.
Pera speared a mollusk on his plate and inserted it into his mouth with the precision of a heart surgeon. He chewed it, then washed it down with a fruity little wine labeled, 'Hartucan Pure'. "We'd begun to experience problems providing enough Rynura [like rice] for our population. There are alternative sources of nutrition, of course, but Rynura is a staple crop."
I sipped some of the delicious wine, then asked, "So, your dealings with the Missii involved the acquisition of agricultural technology?"
"Not in so many words," he replied.
I smiled. "Please feel free to use as many as you need."
He returned my smile. "Soil quality is not the problem. Water is."
"So, you needed irrigation technology?
"That wouldn't have helped," he replied, after inserting another sauce covered mollusk into his mouth without it leaving a trace. "What we needed was a genetically modified strain of Rynura, which grows fast enough to be ready for harvest before the onset of the monsoon season."
I beckoned a waiter to the table and ordered more wine. "How fast does it grow?"
"Two months - from planting to harvest," he said. "We now get two harvests a year." After taking a moment to glance and smile at a nearby patron, he added, "That's Grigor Numis. He's on the budget appropriation committee."
"He was involved in the negotiations?"
"Of course."
"I've heard some genetically modified cereals produce infertile seed," I said. "Does your seed have the same problem?"
He shrugged. It clearly wasn't an issue to him; nor, I suspected, to the First Minister who'd signed the agreement with the Missii.
"So, in effect, you're locked into a rolling, year on year, contract with a third party for your seed supply?"
"It's a mutually beneficial arrangement."
'Yeah. Right!' I mused. 'The Missii don't take monetary payments.'
Pera seemed edgy, all of a sudden.
"Can I ask what you traded for the seeds?"
He picked up the menu. "What shall we have for desert?"
We made our farewells and left him to 'circulate'. It was a joy to be leaving Cuscott! Not because of the incident with the idiots in 'Immigration' - that's pretty much par for the course, these days - but, because there was no story. Sure, the Missii had them by the gonads, but the Government of Cuscott was obviously okay with that. I had no idea whether the nature of this deal was indicative of some deeper and longer term hegemonic strategy on the part of the Missii, or just business as usual; but, if there was more to it, we wouldn't find proof of it here. No one was talking.
appropriate! In the case of the Sanganaran, it was an airboat design, which they provided for certain land rights. In the case of the Tingu and Astu, on Bastario, the technology was advanced weaponry which, having enabled both sides to escalate their conflict into space, subsequently tilted the balance of power in favor of the Astu, as only they had acquired the technique required to incorporate ceramic hull plating into their hunter-killer satellites, rendering them impervious to the corrosive effects of the nearby Cumen-Lanska Nebula. Whether the Missii intended to create this imbalance cannot be known, since we were not privy to the negotiations. However, intentional or otherwise, the Astu were on track to become the predominant power on Bastario.