"Control the supply." —The Spider
"Here is my offer." The Spider folds both sets of arms over his thorax, leans back in his throne.
"For the martially inclined—bodyguards, enforcers, and such—I will provide one kilogram of Ether for one day's work. By 'day,' I mean half of one thirty-hour cycle. That's the schedule I keep. If you suffer an injury in my service, you will still be paid for your days of recovery."
Sibilant murmurs of surprise echo around the Spider's chamber. The Dregs and Vandals gathered before him are trying to figure out the catch. Spider allows himself a luxuriant smile.
"For those who prefer a more… freelance… lifestyle, you will find me an enthusiastic collector of salvage and secrets. My prices are posted on the local network. In the last forty orbits, I have changed them twice."
He pauses to let the Eliksni tune into his network, let the prices sink in. The hisses of joy are even louder this time.
"You are used to competing for the favors of your Kell. Let me make one thing clear. I am no Kell, and I do not waste my favor on you. Honor your side of the deal, and I shall honor mine. No more, no less."
"Now." Spider claps his hands, relishing the thoroughly Human uselessness of the gesture. "Get to work."