The next minute or so was spent cutting ends off and torching both cigars with the gold lighter that Tychus had stolen from a dead lieutenant. Finally, when both men were satisfied with the way their stogies were drawing, it was time to talk business. “Don’t tell me,” Sims said, “let me guess. Calvin is going to provide the transportation.”

“That’s the plan,” Tychus confirmed. “With the Kel-Morians on the run, and our people in hot pursuit, the brass have been forced to push two convoys a day out of Port Haaby. But once they deliver, most of the trucks come back empty. And that’s a waste of taxpayers’ money, wouldn’t you agree? Not to mention vespene gas.”

Sims blew a column of smoke up toward the lamp and chuckled. “So when do we get paid? And with what?”

“We get paid on delivery,” Tychus answered. “We’re talking silium crystals. They’re small, lightweight, and you can sell them anywhere.”

“I like it,” Sims said approvingly, “or I will, assuming that the split makes sense.”

Tychus knew that was coming, knew that the other man held the upper hand, and knew he knew. So he was negotiating from a position of weakness. “Each of us will take a third of the proceeds,” Tychus said, “minus three percent each to pay the drivers and guards.”

Sims shook his head. “Nice try, Sergeant… . Calvin deserves a third, given all he’s bringing to the deal, and so do I. But what makes you so valuable? Your good looks?”

“My looks are an incredible asset,” Tychus responded dryly, “but so are my connections. I’m the one who knows the customer and that’s why I get thirty percent.”

Sims was silent for a moment, as smoke from their cigars merged to join a common cloud. Finally, based on some personal calculus, he nodded. “Okay, Sergeant … you’ve got a deal. But it’s important to move fast. A logistics team is scheduled to arrive in three days. They’re going to count, label, and bar-code every item in this warehouse. So tell Calvin to get his ass in gear.”