#smuggling

[jangillman]

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[tearsofrefugees]

96 percent of people charged with human trafficking are U.S. citizens

Just 26 undocumented immigrants faced federal trafficking charges in 2023.

[evilhorse]

Ivory!

(Tarzan: The Beckoning #2)

[deepwaterfiction]

Deep Water Prompt #3344

There is one other way to smuggle crystals across the border: grow them from scratch around your own bones. But I know the only doctor willing to remove them safely. And he hates me. 

[clove-pinks]

'A smuggler shown at different stages and points of his chosen profession', 19th century coloured etching (Wellcome Collection).

Odd choice to depict "The Smuggler's Death" at bottom centre followed by "The Smuggler's Return," when reading left to right. No matter what direction you go, death is but a temporary obstacle in his career.

[galaxywithoutend]

Art by the incomparable @deks-dm.

Chapter 24. Smuggler

From Part 4. Growing Pains

Galaxy Without End

*

Vette bounced in from nowhere. “Hey. Ruth. You know what would put the Light Red through its paces?” 

“Irresponsible interstellar commerce?”

“Well...yes. How’d you guess?”

“I’m Sith™. So are we shopping?”

"Oh, no. Much better."

"I'm listening."

“There are some anti-Republic separatists at the edge of Core space and they’re trying to move a shipment of gizkas.”

“Gizkas?”

“You know what they are. Lil’ guys, size of my hand. Very cute. Breed like something that breeds a lot.”

“And your separatists want them?”

“What launders money faster than half a ton of illicit animal poodoo? They'll pay, and it'll get you out of Imperial space for a while. Enrichment for an overworked Sith.”

“Well…I do owe you for getting the ship in the first place.”

The transfer was to take place in one of the orbital cities of Duro. Vette followed the instructions into an ugly little hangar that definitely didn’t seem to be in the regular flow of traffic.

And yet, a tall, reedy Nikto carrying a datapad walked into the hangar. Vette went down to greet him.

“Customs,” he said. “Do you have anything to declare?”

“I could start on my political beliefs, but we might be here a while.”

He frowned at her, his small dark eyes narrowing. “What cargo are you carrying.”

Vette nodded confidently. “Very boring. I just need to drop this off and it’ll be totally empty!”

Customs walked up like he intended to run her over. He made straight for the cargo bay, where the meter-cubed cages held the inquisitive gizkas.

“Animals?” he said dangerously.

“Two tons of specialty meat.”

“They’re moving.”

“Well, obviously, it’s still attached. That means extra fresh!”

Ruth finally arrived. “Sir? Is there a problem?”

“Your massive gizka population is a problem, ma’am. I can’t allow these in. You’ll have to return them to where they came from.”

“Unacceptable. I demand that you allow this shipment through.”

Unlike even the densest alien in Imperial space, this Nikto said, “I can’t do that, ma’am.”

Ruth stared the customs officer down. She unhooked the nearest cage with one hand and pulled a single gizka out, dexterously closing the cage after. She held the lucky gizka in her palm, glared into the customs officer’s eyes, and gently stroked down the fur bursting from beneath smooth scales. The gizka trembled in her hand as if aware it was about to get impounded.

“Look, Sith, there are laws here.” Customs did look a little white around the eyes. “I can’t allow this cargo through.”

“Are you saying we have to take it back?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ruth stroked the gizka dangerously. “Captain?”

“I don’t want to start murdering public servants,” Vette said glumly. “I’ll holo our contact. We’ll find some other way.”

Once back on the Light Red, Vette holoed the separatists. “No go. We got intercepted by Customs. They know this ship now.”

Her separatist contact nodded. “Fine. We’ll move it around. Meet me at these coordinates and we’ll do the transfer.”

“Fine by me.” Vette got the ship into hyperspace and, suddenly aware that she was alone, headed to the cargo bay.

Ruth was seated on a teeming cage. She had the gizka she’d demonstrated in her hand. She was wiggling a fingertip behind one of its tiny trumpet ears. It was making a soft gurgling noise.

Ruth looked up, wide-eyed. “Hi,” she said, and stashed the gizka in a little individual crate. The animal nosed up to the front grate and squeaked inquisitively.

Ruth played her fingertips across the grate, but she looked at Vette. “What do gizkas eat?” 

“Wires.”

“Don't be mean.” 

“They really do. And carpet, and wood, and phobium components…”

Ruth pointed at the crate. “Mr. Sneaks wouldn't eat any of those things.”

“You named it?”

“Well, why shouldn’t I?”

Vette planted her arms akimbo and gave Ruth a stern look. “We’re not keeping them.”

Ruth looked taken aback. She thought about this. She said, “I've never had a pet before. I’m keeping Mr. Sneaks.”

“You can’t leave him loose on the ship. He’ll gut it with those cutesy lil’ teeth.”

“Fine, this carrier until we can get a better cage.”

“They’re escapey. They are infamously escapey.”

“Who paid for the ship?”

“…Knock yourself out.”

The rendezvous with the separatists was inside a warehouse in a run-down city on Rendili. A fine headquarters, if you didn’t want the beaten path.

“The gizkas would convert this entire biosphere into poop,” Vette said. “Just saying.”

Seconds later, half a dozen dangerous-looking men emerged from among the battered stacks of crates. They all had blasters.

“When people fail,” said the bearded leader, “we can’t let it slide. The Republic won’t be defeated by weaklings. Boys.”

“That’s sexist,” Vette pointed out, but nobody would’ve heard her over the blaster fire.

Ruth surged in with two lightsabers spinning. The separatists were hopelessly outclassed, and two or three realized it and started running before Ruth finished deflecting shots.

She stalked up to one wounded man and put her boot down on his knee. “Now,” she said.

“What are you?” the scruffy Rodian yelped.

“Ship’s mate. Want to be polite to my Captain?” Vette snickered loudly in the background.

“She outranks you?”

“It’s a short story. You’d better be gone by the time I’m done telling it.”

The instant her weight shifted, he squirmed out and bolted.

Vette planted her arms akimbo and looked at Ruth. “You’re enjoying this.”

Ruth grinned, using her foot to nudge aside a groaning man who’d been hit by his own reflected bolt. “Is it everything you dreamed?”

“I could do without the firefights. Separatists are assholes.” Vette looked around.  Back at the Light Red. “We can’t just leave the gizkas in cages. And we can't just leave those guys thinking they got off easy. Want to set the critters loose in the sep base?”

“Oh,” said Ruth. “It's something to do that isn't lightsabers. Sure!”

They got on board together and went to the barred crates in the cargo bay. Vette checked on the only populated singleton crate.

“Ruth.”

Ruth put down the crate she had started to singlehandedly lift. “Yes?”

“I think Mr. Sneaks is a Mrs.”

“Oh? Why?” Ruth closed the distance and peered into the cage.

To where half a dozen thumb-sized eggs lay behind a groggy-looking Mr. Sneaks.

“We can’t keep that,” said Vette.

“We could,” Ruth said hopefully.

“You don’t know how to take care of one, now you want babies?”

Ruth looked captivated. “Yes?”

“Let’s bring them out with the others. They could be adopted.”

“But Vette…”

“One is escapey enough. Seven is out of the question.”

“They—”

“What would Quinn say?”

Ruth scowled. “That’s not fair. He’ll come around.”

“Sister, you would need a sun’s gravitational pull to bring him around on this. Come on, we’ll find a place for ‘em. Hold mommy.”

Ruth complied, sulkily. “Mr. Sneaks?” she muttered. The gizka perked up. “Mrs. Sneaks?” she hazarded. The gizka ignored her. “Hm.”

Vette scooped up the little white gizka eggs and jogged back outside into the hangar. A couple of dozen gizkas had rejected the door and started gnawing on a conduit.

Vette knelt and tucked the eggs next to a packing crate. Three gizkas immediately ran over, tiny arms waving, to inspect the newcomers. Two turned away. The third jumped to stand among the eggs and started hissing at Vette.

“Oh, yeah,” said Vette. “You’ll be fine.”

*

Apart from an invective-laced holorecording Vette received from an obviously shaken separatist, the episode passed peacefully. “Separatist” was crossed off the list of traits to look for in a client.

And when Vette negotiated, there in the spaces between Baras’s assignments, Ruth backed up and only laughed when it would be smart to.

*

The light show was transmitted from Coruscant. Somehow Colran Niral had gotten the  Willsaams a holoprojector that filled their modest living room with warm colors. You could walk into the New Year’s fireworks and let their popping tap you from every direction at once. Ruth, Vette, and Jaesa sat on a slightly rounded couch while Colran, Parvin, and Gregor took tall chairs.

In a lull between periods of explosions, the music, also piped in from Coruscant, took a turn.

“What is this?” said Colran. The reedy Sith cocked his head, and his longish dark hair fell over his shoulder. “It’s lovely.”

“Music nerd,” Ruth supplied, jerking her head toward her father.

“There are worse collections to have,” he said. “Does anyone know the song?”

Vette hesitated to speak up. But Ruth and Jaesa and their families did seem like the safest audience ever. “It’s Rylothian,” she said. “It’d be a national anthem if Ryloth got to be a nation.”

“What are the words?” Colran urged.

“In Basic?” Vette paused, trying to get the shape of a mid-song line while it played through the speakers. “On this day, yadda yadda, best friends, yadda, et cetera…

“Breathe together Build the shelter Let there be light For an age and an age

Flash and Taunt and Plasmajack were there. Old times, good times. “Shelter and age are the same word, which makes it rhyme.” The song was winding to a close, which was fine; Vette was feeling a little exposed.

“You have a beautiful voice,” Colran murmured, as blunt with praise as his daughter ever was. “Thank you. Twi’lek folk music is not something I’ve much experience with.”

“It’s crossed over into galactic pop for purposes of New Year’s and nothing else.”

“Still. I appreciate getting a little of what it is apart from being pop.”

“Well, you’re welcome.”

The fireworks came back in a triple explosion.

“YEESH,” Vette burst, jumping. “Ahem.” She backed further into the couch and buried her face in a champagne flute, the only music she intended to handle for the rest of the night.

It had been a long year. A deeply weird year. And Vette could never have dreamed of being in this apartment in this city on this planet on this night with two Sith, a Jedi, and a pair of hostages who cooked excellent hors d’oeuvres. It turned out that nobody knew exactly what to do when the countdown reached midnight, with the result that Jaesa got two cheek kisses, Vette got a flattening punch to the shoulder, and Ruth went straight to apologizing for excessive use of force.

Vette could never have dreamed it, but it was happening, and a whole new year lay ahead.

*

Story Index

[warsofasoiaf]

How did medivial smuggler rings operate , what reach did they have and what kind of methods did they use to maintain secrecy? I am asking this in light of Steven Attawells plan for iron islands economic development, where he suggested such a thing for the iron islands

Smuggling is ultimately a matter of trying to get your cargo to its destination without the other guy knowing, so that you can either avoid hefty customs fees or have your cargo confiscated (depending on the type of illegality). So how medieval people smuggled depended on the skill of enforcement at the destination port and what laws they were trying to circumvent.

Smuggling typically was done to evade taxes and fees levied by kingdoms, guilds, etc. It could be as simple as bribing the customs official to stamp your goods as having their taxes and fees paid. For goods with high taxes like English wool (since customs fees were one of the ways that English monarchs could raise funds without the consent of Parliament), you could either bribe port officials to stamp your goods without paying the tax, attempt to forge the stamp yourself, or attempt to bring the goods to your vessel surreptitiously. This last option often limited your quantity since it'd be very hard to use a port crane without anyone noticing.

Guilds were a frequent creator of smuggling. Guilds usually were granted legal monopolies and either banned the import of competitor goods from foreign sources or taxed them heavily and created a monopsony purchasing environment that it was unprofitable to ship. Buyers would often resent the guild's monopoly (and thus high prices) by trying to arrange discreet shipments in violation of the guild's sanction. The smuggler in question would try to arrange for a clandestine rendezvous to deliver the goods without anyone knowing.

If the laws were restricting who you could do business with, due to the kingdoms being at war, then a smuggler might instead try to alter the point of origin. If England and France were at war, a smuggler might try to alter the origin and say that their load of wool isn't English, it's Frisian (due to a seal or stamp that may be purchased or forged), and avoid an embargo and either having to waste cargo space on goods they couldn't sell or even worse, having their goods confiscated and the smuggler arrested as a potential spy.

If the goods were stolen, then usually smugglers would try to find ways of verifying their "legitimacy," or in a world where many were illiterate, just trying to sell the goods for dirt-cheap under a phony name.

If the port in question was under siege, you do what Davos did - rowing your smaller craft under cover of night using muffled oars (putting cloth in your oarlocks and carefully rowing to minimize noise) to bypass patrolling ships.

If the goods are flat-out banned everywhere, like heretical texts, then it would be a more careful matter of hiding the goods (such as in a shipment of grain), then arranging a meet with the buyer.

Thanks for the question, Anon.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

[afrotumble]

In 1908, deep in the rugged mountains of Sichuan Province, China, a group of extraordinary laborers known as tea porters braved one of the most treacherous trade routes in the world: the Tea Horse Road. Their mission was both vital and punishing—to transport brick tea hundreds of miles to Tibet, where tea was not only a daily staple but also a cultural necessity.

These porters, often referred to as human beasts of burden, carried massive loads that could weigh up to 100 kilograms (over 220 pounds). With wooden racks strapped to their backs and bodies bent under the strain, they marched tirelessly through remote, mountainous terrain, ascending and descending narrow trails carved into cliffsides. The path stretched across altitudes exceeding 5,000 feet, with muddy, crumbling roads that turned dangerous with each passing rainstorm.

On average, a porter would travel 10 kilometers a day, a slow but steady pace dictated by the weight of their cargo and the treacherous conditions. Their sandals, made of straw or leather, offered little protection from the sharp rocks and bitter cold.

Despite the hardships, the tea trade was essential. The brick teas they carried were compressed blocks of dark tea, easier to transport and ideal for Tibetan butter tea. In return, horses, medicinal herbs, and other Tibetan goods made their way back along the same grueling route.

These men were more than just laborers—they were lifelines, connecting two ancient cultures across some of the harshest geography on Earth. The Tea Horse Road was not just a trade route; it was a testament to human endurance, cultural exchange, and the determination to survive and thrive against all odds.

Today, their legacy lives on in stories, photos, and the still-winding paths through the Sichuan highlands.

Write-up by Ancient World History on Facebook