Finders Keepers

by Linnea Sinclair

  “I couldn’t wait to see you.” Jagan reached for her hand but Trilby turned away, hastily made introductions as Tivahr and Mitkanos flanked her.

  “Yavo Mitkanos, Rhis Vanur. This is Jagan Grantforth, of GGA.”

  “Vanur, eh? You speak Standard?” Jagan had evidently caught, but didn’t understand, Tivahr’s opening diatribe moments before.

  “The basics, yes,” Tivahr said.

  “Vad,” Mitkanos replied.

  Both men spoke more than the basics, Trilby knew, but they wanted Jagan to think otherwise.

  Jagan stepped closer to Trilby, held his hand out to Tivahr. “So you’re the one funding your own little shipping company. Well, I for one am glad to see it. Risk-takers, that’s who make a name in this universe.” His smile was picture-perfect.

  Trilby had forgotten how Jagan could do that, sound friendly and open while at the same time delivering small cuts and barbs. Little shipping company. A cut buried under the hearty professional patter of an entrepreneur.

  If Tivahr picked up on it, she couldn’t tell. It was Mitkanos who responded first, his accent even more pronounced than usual. “True. Very true. There are big, how you say, profits to be made now between Empire and Conclave. Little companies, as you put it, can open doors for you.”

  Jagan laughed, clasped Mitkanos on the arm. “And we want those doors open, don’t we? Profit’s profit. Credits glitter as bright in a palace as they do in a whorehouse.” He winked at Tivahr.

  “I bow to your knowledge of that.” Tivahr’s tone was clipped. She felt his hand rest on her shoulder in a move that was clearly proprietary. Maybe he was seeing the same Jagan she was, beneath the veneer.

  Something dark flashed briefly through Jagan’s eyes, but then Dallon and Farra stepped out of the crowd. Trilby shrugged off Tivahr’s hand and introduced them.

  “Market news,” Dallon held up a thin disk for Jagan to see, then handed it to Mitkanos.

  “Right on top of things,” Jagan said. “That’s good to see. That’s what GGA needs now. Someone who knows trade on this side of the zone.”

  He sounded so sincere. Trilby could almost believe this was a genuine business meeting and not something with a deeper, hidden agenda. And one that possibly involved the ’Sko.

  She studied the man standing next to her. He was still handsome, in his expensively tailored dark suit. Though now she clearly saw signs of stress and dissipation. His blue eyes were puffy and his usually well-maintained tan faded.

  He seemed to notice her scrutiny, shoved his hands in his pockets, and tilted his head down toward her. His expression was sheepish.

  “I really need to speak with you, Tril.” There was a notable hesitancy in his voice. “I’ve made some mistakes. I’d like to change that.”

  “Jagan, I—” Next to her, Tivahr shifted slightly. She glanced at him, saw his eyes narrow. He’d heard, or heard enough. Best to keep the talk to business. They had to find out what was going on with Grantforth, and she didn’t need the Razalka’s captain bringing his male ego online. “Your transmits said you were interested in a shipping contract.”

  “I am. But—” His glance went up again. Tivahr.

  “Dasjon Vanur makes the decisions in that regard. I just fly the ship.” She motioned toward one end of the corridor. “Should we find a bar and sit and discuss things? Or do you want to see Shadow’s Quest first?”

  He seemed to finally understand that he had only two options right now: business or business. The only choice she gave him was location.

  “A bar sounds good. Better. I, uh, I could use a drink. You up for a beer or two?” Jagan gave a short nod to Dallon, Farra, and Mitkanos. He was trying, Trilby noticed, not to look at Tivahr.

  She wondered briefly if Jagan recognized the Razalka’s senior captain. No, he would’ve said something, she was sure of that. She heard Dallon’s enthusiastic response and a grunt from Tivahr.

  “I know pub of decent quality, not far,” Mitkanos offered.

  “Lead the way, my friend. And, of course, I’m buying.” Jagan held up one hand. “Won’t hear any arguments about it.”

  Trilby had a feeling that if Tivahr had his way there’d be plenty of arguments, the least of which concerning who was paying for the beer.

  The bar’s name was also its location: Seventeen Blue. Saldika Terminal’s corridors were color-tagged with a wide stripe on the floor and another on a wall, designating Blue and Yellow for commercial-freighter access, Red and Gray for passenger-ship travelers. The pod deposited them in Yellow, where Jagan had found them, not far from the intersection of Blue. Mitkanos was right in that it was only a short walk. But flanked on one side by Jagan and the other by Tivahr, Trilby felt as if she were on a forced march rather than a leisurely stroll in search of a beer.

  The pub was T-shaped, the entrance narrow, but it opened to clusters of tables on the left and right. Farra spotted an empty, round table on the left, and there was a moment of jockeying for position when both Jagan and Tivahr made sure they sat next to Trilby. Mitkanos reached for the center of the table, tabbed up the menu on a cylindrical holoscreen. Flyboy’s didn’t have such high-tech luxuries, nor did it have liquid-image walls that rippled colors and shapes matching the cadence of the music. The soft but upbeat tune filtered down through a ceiling covered intermittently with large panels of blue fabric.

  Trilby looked around. Definitely not a freighter bar. At least not a freighter-crew bar. Those patrons in uniform looked like officers. Those out of uniform looked well paid and well fed. She leaned back in her chair, encountered Tivahr’s fingers on her shoulder.

  She glanced at him. He raised one eyebrow slightly. She sighed.

  A ’droid server wheeled up, announced that the Iceberg was the drink of the day. Trilby understood but let Mitkanos translate the Zafharish for Jagan’s sake, then glanced around the table. “Perhaps just beer for now?”

  “Chevienko brews a good red ale,” Dallon said, pointing to the cylindrical menu.

  Mitkanos glanced at Jagan, who nodded. “Sounds fine by me. Two pitchers to start?” He handed the ’droid his credit chip while Mitkanos relayed the order.

  “Got our banking interests already started in the Empire,” he commented when the ’droid returned the chip to him. “GGA’s always been aggressive in new territories, you know. Not as aggressive, of course, as your Imperial Fleet.” He chuckled. “But then, you didn’t win the war.”

  “No, peace was declared by a mutual treaty,” Dallon put in.

  Jagan tilted his head, seemed to look at Dallon as if for the first time. “You speak Standard very well— Patruzy, is it?”

  “Patruzius. Dallon Patruzius. I’ve spent a good amount of time in the shipping lanes. Been to Marbo, Port Rumor when I worked with Fennick IE.”

  “And now you’re with Vanur, eh? Good move.” Jagan turned toward Tivahr. “Got yourself a real fine captain in Trilby here. I hope you know that.”

  “I do.”

  “She knows Gensiira like no one else.”

  “I value Trilby more than you know, Dasjon Grantforth.”

  “Jagan. Just Jagan. After all, we’re going to be partners.”

  Tivahr’s smile was tight. “That is what we are here to discuss.”

  “Business first. Then later,” Jagan reached over, patted Trilby’s hand, “time for some pleasure. Tril and I go back a long way. That’s why this is so important to me.”

  Tivahr leaned forward as Trilby pulled her hands away from Jagan into her lap. “What can Vanur Transport do for GGA?”

  Jagan sat back, crossed his arms over his chest. “Heard some good things about you, you know. Reliable. Honest. Even here, GGA has a way of checking reputations. And that’s important to us. We have our own reputation to consider, especially in something as new as this.”

  Trilby listened to the words flow from Jagan’s mouth as if they were coated with oil. What an unbelievable liar he was! No. A very believable liar. He had the right tone, the right demeanor
, the right smile. His only problem was the facts. Vanur Transport was totally fictitious and didn’t even exist two septis ago, except for the falsified history created by Tivahr and Mitkanos. She knew damned well he hadn’t checked out anything more than the fact that the Venture’s nav banks were now in the Quest’s.

  “But we’re not the only ones who know this,” Jagan was saying. “That’s why two things are important at this point: one, that we be the first. And two, that we be the fastest. GGA was built on efficiency and prompt delivery times. Once we bring a long-hauler into a depot, we need those goods out and on their way.”

  “Not always that easy,” Dallon said, “when the workable routes between the Empire and the Conclave are so few.”

  “Right. My point exactly.” Jagan nodded. “Now, Tril here—”

  But the ’droid server rolled up with a tray and two pitchers, and for the next few minutes conversation stilled as beer was poured and frosty mugs were passed around the table.

  Jagan took a large mouthful, then continued. “You know our problem. As my friend Dallon over there said, because of past political incompatibilities, trade routes are few. There’s already complaints about delays at the major jumpgates in Gensiira. And more problems with faulty guidance beacons. Seems your technology just doesn’t like ours sometimes.” He laughed.

  Trilby glanced at Tivahr. His face had a feral smile she’d seen before.

  “But my little darling here,” Jagan motioned to Trilby, “well, I know she’s got some tricks up her sleeve. I worked some runs with her, you know. She can get from Point A to Point B quicker than anyone I know, when she wants to. Even with her old ship. Not the fastest thing in the lanes.”

  “Shadow’s Quest is an Endurance C-two that I have personally modified,” Tivahr said.

  “You an engineer, then?” Jagan asked.

  “I have considerable experience in that area, yes.”

  “You ever see her old ship?” Jagan’s question would’ve sounded offhand, if Trilby hadn’t known exactly what he was searching for. Her “map files.” She held back a snicker.

  “Yes.” Tivahr paused. “I know her intimately.” He stressed the last word.

  Jagan shifted in his chair. Clearly, he was catching an undercurrent and wasn’t sure what to do with it.

  “Dasjon Vanur,” Trilby said, making sure she stressed the formality of the Zafharish title, “worked with me on some last-minute upgrades to the Venture just before she was destroyed.” She wished Tivahr would remember their primary objective: find out what was going on with GGA. Whatever relationship she did—or did not—have with him was not an issue here.

  “She loved that ship,” Jagan told Tivahr. “Put everything she had into her. Five years, wasn’t it, darling?” He smiled at Trilby. “We had such good times, so many memories—”

  “She took serious structural damage, but we were able to recover most of her databanks.” Let’s get to the point here, Trilby pleaded. Jagan’s false sentimentality was starting to turn her stomach. “Dasjon Vanur and I amended all her data to the Quest. What the old Venture could do, the new ship can do even better.”

  “That’s just what I wanted to hear.” Jagan beamed and raised his mug. “This signals the start of a beautiful and profitable relationship.”

  The second pitcher of beer was poured, and numbers flew back and forth across the table. Percentages based on turnaround times. The cost of insurance recognized by both the Empire and the Conclave. Dock fees. Tivahr and Mitkanos lapsed into Zafharish for much of it, with Dallon translating. Trilby followed it all but let Jagan think she understood very little, save for dharjas taf, viek—cold beer, please.

  Jagan drained the last of the ale from his mug. “I’ve got ten containers here in port, if you’re interested.”

  Tivahr glanced at Mitkanos. The older man nodded.

  “I am,” Tivahr said. “To Port Rumor?”

  “No. Syar Colonies. But for certain reasons, I want to avoid the beacons at Marbo.”

  Trilby saw Dallon tilt his head in interest. Her conversations with him over the past deuce told her he knew that many Marbo personnel had strong ties to Norvind. And that GGA wouldn’t want their competitor to know what they were doing, just yet. Plus, if they had to deal with poke-nosies, better the ones at a GGA-friendly depot, like Syar.

  At least, she hoped that was Jagan’s reasoning.

  “We can do that,” Trilby said.

  But Tivahr was frowning. “Syar is a seven-day run—”

  “A full septi,” Trilby corrected him.

  “—in my ship. A long-hauler could do it in five. Why do you need us for that?”

  Trilby wanted to kick him. Jagan was letting them in to GGA, which was their sole purpose here. Trust Tivahr to want to be a stickler for regulations and details. She shot him a narrowed glance. “Because a long-hauler can’t bypass Marbo like we can.”

  Jagan chuckled. “My little darling knows what she’s talking about, Vanur.”

  Tivahr’s face was expressionless. “You are willing to pay for the extra fuel, then?”

  “I’m willing to pay whatever it takes to get from here to the Colonies.”

  Tivahr made a lazy gesture with his hand toward Dallon, posed a question in Zafharish. His voice was light. But his words, as Trilby translated them, were not. “The bastard is setting us up for something, and it’s not just to avoid Marbo. Am I wrong, or is a run to Syar a bit unusual for a small ship?”

  Dallon’s smile was easy and, Trilby knew, false. “For a smuggler, no. But I can’t see GGA working contraband. He has an agenda. I just don’t know what it is.”

  “Problems?” Jagan directed the question to Dallon.

  “We haven’t worked that deep into the Conclave yet,” Dallon replied smoothly in Standard. “Captain Elliot’s clearance codes will get us past Marbo. But we’ll need an authorization packet for Syar transmitted to us before we get there, or someone might realize we didn’t go through Marbo.”

  Jagan answered Dallon with a wave of his hand. “Not required. You’ll be flying GGA’s flag. Plus, you’ll have a GGA officer on board.”

  “A GGA officer?” Tivahr asked tightly.

  Oh, no, Trilby thought. No, no, no. Don’t tell me. Don’t say it.

  Jagan beamed. “Me.”

  Trilby leaned back in the captain’s chair, listened to Farra at communications as she went over schedules with the portmaster’s office looking for a preferable departure slot. While Trilby’s command of Zafharish had improved, it wasn’t sufficient for the kind of negotiations going on now on the bridge of Shadow’s Quest. Vanur Transport not only had to amend their ETD but arrange for cargo transfer as well.

  Tivahr, in the copilot’s seat, turned a lightpen over and over in his fingers in undisguised irritation.

  At least he wasn’t drumming it on the console.

  Trilby’s ship badge pinged. She tapped at the square emblem on her collar. “Elliot.”

  “Patruzius here, Captain. We’ve got Grantforth’s baggage. He’s checking out of the overnight now. We should be back on board in thirty minutes, if the pods are on time.”

  “No rush,” Tivahr growled out under his breath.

  For once, Trilby was in complete agreement with him. “Acknowledged. Farra’s finalizing a departure for early tomorrow right now. Looks like 0700’s a go.”

  “I’ll tell Grantforth. But there’s something else you should know.”

  Trilby saw Tivahr straighten in his seat, the lightpen stilling in his hand. “Problems?” she asked.

  “Not exactly. But while Yavo and I were waiting in the overnight’s lobby, the local ’cast showed a newsvid. The Conclave announced that they’re setting up meetings to finalize trade agreement with the Beffa cartel.”

  “Acknowledged. Thanks for the info, Dallon. Elliot out.” She tapped off the badge, angled herself toward Tivahr. “You think Jagan knew about this?”

  Tivahr thought a moment. “It would explain why he showed up her
e. We knew from his last transmit he wanted your nav banks. Now it looks like he wants to be the one who delivers the data. Perhaps Garold’s deal with the ’Sko hinges on that. And if he is Dark Sword, that data will lead us right back to him.”

  It was hard for Trilby to believe that something she had could be so important to the likes of the ’Sko. Or be involved in destroying the career of Garold Grantforth. But then, Shadow had often hinted that he had ways of making big money someday. He just died before he could explain what he had intended to do.

  On their deuce run to Port Saldika, Trilby had examined the old star routes Shadow pulled from Herkoid. A few she’d known about. Many she didn’t. She could definitely see their utility—especially, as Tivahr pointed out, their utility to an invading faction that wanted to move undetected. She didn’t have to read between the lines as he, Dallon, and Mitkanos pored over the data. If the Zafharin had those charts, the war might’ve ended differently three years ago.

  Or, at least, things would’ve favored the Zafharin for a while. But not forever. Even she could see that. Sooner or later, the Conclave would figure out that the old routes had been resurrected. Trilby wasn’t the only one alive who still knew they existed. Thousands of people had worked for Herkoid.

  But the only data the ’Sko wanted was that snatched by Shadow, the data she and Carina had. And aside from the obvious, neither she nor her shipmates could yet figure out why.

  “But this does,” Tivahr said, turning the lightpen between his fingers again, “make me feel somewhat better about having our friend Jagan on board.”

  Trilby frowned. “Why?”

  “Because at least I know they’re not planning to have the ’Sko ambush us between here and Syar.” He rapped the pen twice against the console. “He’s our babysitter, our guarantee of safety, if you will. It’s only after he gets us to the Colonies that I am now worried about.”