He pulled down a list of sellers, picked one at random, and drew up the product page. It showed the small glass balls with intricate colours and shapes embedded within.
“Marbles,” he said, recalling his own youth – playing in the school grounds with others who possessed more skill than he ever would. They would prey on the younger children, taking away their prized shooters, laughing.
The youngsters soon learned to play only with others of their level. They – he – learned at an early age that the world didn’t do you any favours.
“It comes with a little pouch,” Sean said.
“You keep your marbles in the pouch – like a medieval purse on Earth,” Carly told him. She had grown up on a world, not in space like Sean, and knew about the game. Whether or not she had played, Wen didn’t know – didn’t really want to know. Even seeing the pictorial representations brought back less-than-kind memories.
“How many pouches are you going to buy?” Sean asked.
“None. I want bulk. Let the buyers – or retailers – make their own.”
He returned to the search page, and made his enquiries. A list of producers – rather than retailers or wholesalers – in various countries came up. He picked the USNA, and the number dropped to three. Drilling down slightly, he found what he wanted.
“One hundred kilos!” Carly exclaimed. “You either know something we don’t, or you’re a gambler. You may call it a poor kid’s game, Wen, but poor kids on Earth, where the product doesn’t have to leave a gravity well, travel maybe months through space, and then down again, makes it a rich kid’s game on some place like New Brittain. Where do you think the children will get the money for it? Where do you think the parents will get the money for it?”
Wen shrugged. “That’s my problem, isn’t it?” He clicked on the order form. “Twenty-five boxes of one thousand marbles each at 4 grams per marble.”
“Will you show me how to play?” Sean asked.
“You can find lots of vids, Sean,” Wen told him, then immediately twigged. The kid didn’t want him to show him how to play, but to teach him, and to play with him. “You watch those, get to know the rules, and then we’ll see how fast you can learn to beat me at one of my games. Funsies, of course.”
“Funsies?” Sean asked. “What’s that?”
“Kids play two different sorts of games with marbles. Funsies, and keepsies,” Wen said, more bitter memories surfacing. “Funsies means you play for fun; you get all your marbles back at the end of the game. Keepsies, the winner keeps the marbles that the loser loses.”
Carly must have heard something in his voice, for she tapped Sean on the shoulder. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class in five minutes?”
The kid’s eyes went wide. “Gotta go.”
“Thank you, Cargo Master,” Wen said. “I think I can finish by myself, now that you’ve shown me how.”
“You’re welcome,” the kid said, smiling. Then he turned, and began to run. Carly laughed as he vanished out the door. Then she stopped laughing. “I take it you lost at keepsies?”
“Won some, lost some,” he said noncommittally. “I should take a look, and see what else I’d like to order.”
Instead of taking that as a dismissal, and returning to her friend, Carly sat down next to him. “More for children, or for adults?” she asked. “Or did you want to order for yourself. You might consider that.”
“And why might I consider that? I have everything I need.”
Her eyebrows rose. She knew he had next to nothing, had come on board with nothing, and basically had the clothes and toiletries which he had purchased from the ships necessity shop.
“Rumour has it that this might be our last chance to order from Earth for a long time to come,” she said, merely repeating something he’d heard earlier.
“And why should that be?”
“TPCs and Earth governments want to put us in our place,” she replied. “Or so the rumour goes.”
He thought back to the conversation he’d overheard where Haida Gwaii might have a target painted on it. So caught up in his own little world of misery and plans for vengeance, he had not really paid attention to anything else.
She continued. “I’ve worked in Cargo for several years, Wen, and we’ve never brought anywhere near as much stuff up. And almost all of it high-value. So, if you need something – like guitar strings – you might want to stockpile a few.”
He shrugged. “In a year, when this damned contract ends, I’ll be back at Amalgamated and able to get whatever I want.”
“Will you?” she asked.
A shiver went down his spine. “What do you mean by that?”
“You told me that the Families don’t want to hire people who have worked for the TPCs. After working a year for the Families, will the TPCs trust you? Especially if you haven’t passed anything along to them?”
He froze. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Angela. You should know she can’t keep a secret. She says that Mr Richardson asked her to spy for him, but she won’t. I presume you received the same instruction.”
The shiver turned to ice in his stomach.
“And what if I did?”
Now she shrugged. “Well, if you’ve been passing information, then I guess you won’t have any trouble going back. If you haven’t, or don’t, they may consider you disloyal.”
“Jesus! I can’t f’ing win.”
Her gaze locked with his, and her eyes warmed, it seemed.
“Well, that answers that question. You haven’t passed them anything, nor had the intention to. I’m glad. But, yes, you can win. Stay with us. Everyone has remarked on how hard you work, how you put the ship’s needs above your own. Frankly, I don’t think anyone on this ship works harder than you and Angela.”
He curled his lip. “If I stay, I never can return to my job as a star pilot.” His eyes bored into hers. “That’s who I am.”
She shook her head, even while not breaking contact. “No. That’s what you did – and may do again. Who you are? That’s something entirely different. And you are not in any way, shape, or form a loser. You’ve won with Sean: he adores you. You’ve won with Angela: she does too. You’ve won with Captain Betts: she thinks you’re a hard-working, good man. You’ve won with your students: I hear nothing but praise of your teaching, your patience, your skill. You’ve won with Cargo, from Dave all the way down to Sean. You’re our favourite pilot by far; you’ll get your hands dirty with us, and not act like you’re above it, above us.”
“Spare me the paean.”
She laughed lightly. “And, to complete the list, you’ve won with me, too. I thought Angela besotted. But I now believe that she’s right. You are the nicest man on Venture, and probably were the nicest man on 684.”
“Yeah, right.”
Carly placed her hand on his arm. “You’ve won with all of us, and yet you’ve never even tried to collect your winnings. What else could that make you?”
“Stupid?”
She chuckled. “Possibly. Think about it. You could do far worse than Venture and Yrden Lines.” She stood, perhaps realizing that he wanted alone time. “Think about it, Wen. And think about picking up something for yourself before we leave Sol System.”
Wen turned back to his screen. Collect his winnings? If she only knew the truth, she would run from him, and not offer herself up as a prize.
Then he thought again. If she were right, and this might be his last chance at getting stuff he wanted for a long time, what did he need? He entered the search term: guitar strings.
CHAPTER 21
Venture
Tuesday 10 August
“Pilot Pearson, report to Shuttle One.”
Wen hotfooted it to the shuttle bay. No doubt the cargo crew had stuffed the shuttle’s hold to overflowing, and had only managed to close the cargo hatch with the greatest of difficulty. He made his inspection, noting that everything seemed in order. He checked the maintenance log, and winced.
“Problem, Pilot?” The captain’s voice came from the co-pilot’s seat.
“We’re a little behind on maintenance, Captain.”
She gave a short, sharp laugh. “Tell me about it, Pilot. When we get to Haida Gwaii, see if they can bring it up to date. We’ll be there for several hours. Then grab a transient quarters room, and catch up on some sleep.”
He took his place, and began going through the checklist. “Ready to shove off, Captain.”
She gave a wave, and then adjusted her seat to semi-reclining. So, even the Captain found less and less time to sleep.
He cleared with Venture, and began the thirty-minute trek over to Haida Gwaii, where they docked at one of the finished external docking ports.
“We’re here, Captain,” he said, waking Bettina from her nap.
“Thank you, Pilot.”
She walked out the hatch, and didn’t look back. He turned the other way, and dropped down a level to the cargo bay. There, he watched as the crew brought out two large crates labelled, “Tremdor Model 46 Printer.”
“Careful,” the longshoreman said to his crew. “One of these costs more than you make in a lifetime.”
Wen swallowed. He’d used a 3-D printer in the past, but nothing of this sort. Tremdor represented the gold standard of printers, and the model 46, if he remembered correctly, could handle six – or was it eight? – different substances, atoms or molecules, in order to build whatever you wanted to build. It could output hardened steel, or complex plastics in whatever shape might fit into its chamber. Or, if you use a conveyor, you could output an object as long as the room in which the printer resided.
And Haida Gwaii had just bought two of them?
He continued on to Maintenance.
“You want what?”
“Venture’s Shuttle One needs these maintenance routines done ASAP. We’re only here for a few hours.” He shoved the reader under the nose of the scheduler.
“Can’t be done.”
Wen shrugged. “Fine. No skin off my nose. I’ll just inform Captain Yrden. I believe she’s in conference with the Family Head, so she won’t have to go far if she has any complaints.”
He made it three steps away before the scheduler called him back.
“No need to disturb Matt,” he said. “We’ll get it done.”
Only then did Wen notice the dark circles beneath his eyes. The man looked almost out on his feet.
“What’s the problem?” Wen asked.
“Half crew, Pilot. The rest are still at FTL-1, and everyone’s run ragged.”
Wen took a deep breath. “Captain told me to get some sleep, but I can help with a couple of those routines – did it all the time in my last posting.”
“Potter,” the man said, holding out a hand for Wen to shake. “Appreciate the help. Get back to the shuttle. My people will be there in ten minutes.”
* * *
Bettina winced when she saw Matt. He looked like he had aged years in the days since she had last seen him. And he had lost weight – not a bad thing in and of itself, but he hadn’t lost it due to diet and exercise.
“Brought over the last two Tremdors,” she reported. “That makes four. Tremdor really put us through the wringer, but finally accepted the order. I had to sign for the Families, assuring them that Haida Gwaii would be the end-user for all four. They have orders from ‘on high’, as they put it, that nothing of the like gets exported out of Sol System without approval.”
Matt smiled tiredly. “And that approval won’t come. Set up one of those on, say, Liberty, and within a generation Liberty won’t be ordering much from Earth in the form of manufactured goods.”
“And we need four?”
“Any more and they wouldn’t have sold them.” Matt leaned back in his chair, and sighed. “I’m only glad that they’re here. That’s one big weight off me.”
“Is it?” Bettina had wanted to bring up some of her own problems, some of the things that weighed on her, but decided to put it off. Matt obviously didn’t need anything else on his plate.
“With the Tremdors, we can manufacture our own ships with relative ease – or parts to repair those we already have. Without them, we’d have to build various factories once we lose the ability to rely on Earth.”
Of course. She hadn’t been thinking.
“But what brings you here, besides the Tremdors?”
“Just came to inform you that I’ve decided to convert all my crew’s accounts from currency to precious metals.” She had actually come to ask permission, but Matt’s condition caused her to change her mind.
“Oh?”
“Yes. If this war happens – or if Earth simply boycotts us – of what use will we make of North American Dollars, New British Pounds, or any other currency?” She laughed without humour. “Especially when those funds reside as digital accounts in Earth Banks? So, I’ve made a conversion plan. I can make it available to the Family Reps. We’ll probably all want to do this for all our people until we get a new currency up and running.” She held up a datastick. “Who should I pass this to?”
“Lewis Treverston,” Matt said decisively. “He’s our Financial Officer.” He thought a moment. “Good work, Bettina. I hadn’t even thought of that. Only of emptying our Family accounts to get the goods we’d need. Yes, our people deserve the same chance – and precious metals might be just the thing.”
Bettina gave a quick glance around the office, noting the cot next to the wall. If Matt slept in here, things must have come to a pretty pass, indeed.
“I’ll take it to him, now. Good seeing you, Matt. Oh, and if there’s anything else I can do for you, just let me know.”
* * *
Outside, she walked to the elevators, and from there to the Financial Offices, where she presented her work to Lewis.
He laughed just like she had, without humour. “Another headache.”
“I couldn’t give it to Matt,” she replied.
“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. Matt’s at the end of his rope – pretty much. No, I’ll take over, and, yes, a very good idea. Just more work for me. Not sure we can obtain enough gold, silver, and platinum to put it all in precious metals, but we can set up some sort of share system for trade goods that the Families buy.”
Bettina didn’t feel so sure about that, but as long as her crew didn’t get caught short, with useless currency, she had done her job.
“What about otherhires?” Lewis asked.
Bettina grimaced. “That would take us asking them to transfer the money from their Earth bank accounts, to the Family Bank. Many have dependants that draw on those accounts.” She froze, the horror of it coming over her. She could see a like expression on the face of Lewis Treverston.
“We can’t possibly take on all their families,” he said.
“Things go wrong, a lot of them will want to return to Earth.”
“Jesus. It just keeps getting better and better.” Treverston rubbed at his face. “And if we make the offer, we might as well broadcast to the world that we expect Armageddon – which might bring the date forward.”
“So we just let them die?” Bettina asked. She couldn’t see any way out of it.
“We can’t save everyone.”
And, Bettina thought, she would spend the rest of her life cursing herself if she did nothing. They might not be able to save everyone, but she would do what she could for the otherhires on Venture. She would have to if she wanted to live with herself.
She didn’t say anything further about her plans – or their culpability should they do nothing. “We don’t take this to Matt.”
“We don’t take this to Matt,” he agreed.
* * *
“Hi, Dave. I hear my goods will arrive on this next shuttle.”
Patterson glanced down at his manifest. “That’s right.” Then he looked again. “One hundred kilos of marbles? Are you trying to corner the market?”
“Never been very good at marbles, and Sean wants to
learn to play. I figure if I sell him a score, I’ll have a couple of months before he cleans me out.”
Dave looked up from the manifest. “There’s something else to this. I don’t figure you for much of a trader, and if you were to go that way, I figure more like the guitar strings you picked up – maybe guitars.”
Wen shook his head. “Guitars take up too much room. Besides, we have a luthier on board. I’d have to compete with originals.”
He could see that Dave didn’t believe him, but he didn’t care. Let the man think what he wanted. As long as he got his marbles. Further hours playing with both his sim and the Cargo Master game had provided him with the data that he wanted. Whether it would work in real life, he’d have to wait to find out – and he half-hoped he would never need to.
The light turned green, and the cargo crew ducked under the rising door to get started. Several other crew stood by, including Ken Ritter and Jane Yrden. They, too, had word that their goods had arrived from Earth.
The cargo crew worked hard, unloading pallet after pallet. Then Wen’s face cracked in a grin.
“What is it?” Carly asked.
“My marbles!”
“Oh, good grief. I figured you’d have cancelled that once you thought about it for a minute or two.”
“Nope.” He signalled Dave to call for his pallet, S43, and began to move the boxes one by one to it, lashed them down, and smiled at the results. His other goods, he placed in a box together, added cushioning material, and then sealed it against vacuum – just in case.
“Done!” He used the small forklift to trundle the finished pallet over to the conveyor.
“All packed?” Dave asked.
“Yep.”
“Well, you might as well put it away.”
Wen studied the mass distribution tables. The Cargo Master program stood him in good stead. “Still trying to keep the load balanced at all times? Okay, then, how about here?” he pointed to the slot with the cursor.
Not With A Whimper: Survivors Page 22