The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Twenty-Three

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“So what is it you have for us, my friends?” asked Jorge Sanchez, amiably. He patted his pudgy stomach appreciatively – his wife and sister-in-law were outstanding cooks, and had gone to great lengths to welcome their guests in style – and walked up the ramp into Serenity, followed by Mal, Duncan, Winnie, Master Lei, and Kaylee. The others were still downstairs in the residential section of the Sanchez Brothers’ expansive compound, enjoying desserts and liquors while the children played in the garden. The sun was setting, and the noxious swirl of Diablo was just rising on the eastern horizon.

“We got somethin’ you just don’t see everyday,” Kaylee assured him, enthusiastically. “Somethin’ there’s a real market for, at a high value an’ a low weight.”

“You selling vibrators, Kaylee?” Sanchez grinned crookedly. “Maybe I sell them off-world – the Bishop, he does not approve of such things. But always a market for the miners, we have!”

“No,” Kaylee said, grinning and blushing at the same time, “but somethin’ in that general area.” She led them all over to the storage locker on the port side, opened it, and started hauling large plastic-wrapped bundles over her shoulder out to the trestle table.

Sanchez leaned down to examine the label on the first one. In both English and Chinese it read: MING’S GENUINE YAK JERKY – PRODUCT OF WUHAN with a long advertising spiel about the virtues of high-protein yak meat.

He stood up and shook his head sadly. “I can move some, a little, maybe. There is always novelty value in such things, but . . .”

“Hold on there, Don Jorge,” Mal said, smiling, his best bargaining face on. “That wrapper’s just to skate us past potential inspectors. We got four o’ these packs, and some little ones, too. The wrappers are deceivin’,” he insisted, opening the end of one. They were about six feet long, and the size of a man’s leg.

“If not yak meat,” the mechanic said, doubtfully, “what is it?”

“Mastodon penises,