Law of Survival by Kristine Smith

Lescaux. “Tell her.”
    For an instant, Lucien’s sharpness flashed in Lescaux’s eyes. Then he looked at Jani, and the boyish aspect returned. “The Elyan Haárin surprised us all. They struck a deal with the Karistos city government for a microbial filter assembly with sufficient capacity to tide over the Karistosians until the new plant is built.”
    â€œThe Haárin sold us a component that they use in their own water treatment?” Jani looked at Derringer. “The Rauta Shèràa Council will consider that a violation of their dietary protocols. The Oligarch won’t allow it.”
    â€œYou’d think that, wouldn’t you?” Derringer deigned to glance at Lescaux once more. “Show her the big surprise.”
    Lescaux rummaged through the briefbag on the seat beside him. “It took several passes through the stacks of contract documentation before we realized what we had.” The shy smile shone once more. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how easy it is to overlook that one vital piece of paper.” He fumbled through his files once, then again. His searching grew more agitated as the soft patpatpat of Derringer’s fingers drumming on the leather upholstery filled the cabin. “Ah!” He yanked a document out of its slipcase—the high-pitched tearing noise of smooth parchment sliding over pebbled plastic made Jani cringe.
    â€œThank you.” She took the document from him as though it was wet tissue, her thumbs and index fingers gripping the top corners. “Ease it out of the slipcase from now on—abrasion can play hell with the inset chips.”
    â€œSorry.” Lescaux wavered between sheepish apology and expectant anxiety as he watched Jani examine the document. “You see what that is, don’t you?”
    Jani draped the paper across her knees. “It’s an analysis of the Karistos city council decision to contract with the Elyan Haárin.” She ran her fingers along the edges once, then again. The paper possessed the substantial, almost fleshy feel of highest quality parchment. “Best grade of paper. Premium inks and foils.” She reached for her duffel. “If you want me to scan—”
    â€œJust read the bottom paragraph,” Derringer growled.
    â€œI’ll read the entire thing.” Jani activated her scanpack and set it beside her on the seat. “Neat little precis describing how the Karistos city government has come to depend on the Elyan Haárin for many things—shipping and receiving of goods and documents, design and maintenance of everything from devices and instruments to buildings.” She shrugged. “It’s the way of the colonies—human and Haárin doing business together. Some Haárin enclaves have been in existence since before the Laum-Vynshàrau civil war. They remained in place even during the postwar cessation of human-idomeni diplomatic relations. Over the course, the Haárin have sold us things that violated their dietary protocols. But they never wrote it down, and they sure as hell never drew up a formal agreement that required a buy-in from Shèrá.”
    â€œKeep reading.” Derringer kept his gaze fixed on the view outside. They’d entered the far north region of the city, a place of narrower streets and smaller buildings separated by stretches of parkland, and he seemed to be savoring the early fall scenery.
    You’re not the sight-seeing type, Eugene. Jani turned back to the document. “The writer concludes the piece by stating that”—her voice faltered—“that the Haárin have set out purposely to win the trust and confidence of the human population of Karistos with a mind toward undermining colonial security. Acquiring control over utilities and infrastructure by supplying vital services and equipment will serve as the first step in this infiltration.” She flicked at