Beltrunner

by O’Brien, Sean

  When he exited the bar (stepping over the now-sleeping shitbum at the entrance) he let his legs bounce him to Bankers’ Row. There was no putting it off any more — he had to see Barney. Collier passed more Horizon Consortium miners as he made his way to the quadrangle, most of them floating haphazardly through the warrens.

  The quadrangle always impressed him, no matter how many times he saw it. In his younger days, it had of course been much smaller, and even now, he saw workers several levels below him excavating for still more space. He exited the tunnel from the Trojan Point and stood on the platform that ringed the uppermost level. A full hundred meters away was the far side, and shoppers on the catwalk on the other side of the sphere that made up the quadrangle dropped casually down to lower level platforms, steadying their leisurely descent with the steel poles that ran the vertical length of the space. Others were ascending to higher levels in much the same fashion.

  Collier knew where Starcher’s office was, or at least, where it used to be. If rental prices had gone up, he may have needed to relocate. Part of Starcher’s charm was that as a smaller creditor, he took chances where others might not, but that came with significantly less capital to play with and much higher interest rates. Also, he was more prone to market fluctuations than any of the bigger lending houses would be.

  But he was a small, one-man operation, and that was enough to endear him to Collier.

  He spotted Starcher’s kiosk where he had last seen it: midlevel, almost directly opposite him. Collier bounced to the dropole and started the descent. Through the middle of the vast quadrangle, bodies were flying up and down, diagonally through the open space, ignoring the dropoles and platforms. It was yet another breach of protocol and politeness that Collier attributed to the younger generation. No sense of history or manners.

  Starcher’s kiosk was not busy, a fact made all the more prominent by the crowds going into and out of the two adjacent lending houses: Bank of Mars to one side, the Jovian Credit Union to the other. Two of the largest non-terrestrial financial institutions in the system were almost literally squeezing Starcher’s tiny enterprise out of existence.

  Collier felt a pang of guilt, as he had for the past four months, that he was not able to repay Starcher. Although he did not like to hear it, he knew very well that small businessmen like Starcher (and Phil from the Trojan Point) could not extend charity to their clients and expect to survive. He didn’t like to let Starcher down, but what choice did he have?

  With an attempt at resurrecting his resolve to get another expedition’s worth of funding out of Starcher, he entered the tiny office.

  Barney Starcher was a plump man who did not have the inherent intimidation necessary to be a moneylender. There was nothing to be done about it: his almost nonexistent chin and spherical head lent him a victim’s countenance, while his petulance did nothing to help his cause. Starcher always looked like a grocer searching for vermin in his flour but not finding any.

  “Collier, good to see you,” Starcher said unconvincingly. “Still don’t trust Ceres Authority to keep the air in, I see,” he added, his eyes roaming down Collier’s vacc suit.

  “Hello, Barney. No, it’s just I’m too cheap to spring for a locker,” Collier answered, extending his hand.

  Starcher took it, his face falling even more. “I see. Then I assume…” he began, then released Collier’s hand and gestured to a chair. “Have a seat, have a seat.” He sat down himself behind a worn but still operational computer station. “So you aren’t coming to make a payment, then.” It wasn’t a question, but Starcher’s voice had such a pleading quality that Collier winced.

  “No, but—”

  Starcher sighed loudly. “But? Col, you promised,” his voice was almost a whine now. “I remember the last time, and the time before that. ‘I promise, Barney, I will make a strike. I can feel it.’”

  “I did. I made a strike.”

  “Then … where is … what happened?”

  “Isa took it from me.”

  “Isa?”

  Collier flapped his hand as if dismissing his own correction. “The Ad Astra Corporation. They stole my strike.”

  Starcher blinked at him and looked as if he wanted to ask further, then shut his eyes and shook his head. “I’m not going to ask you how. Just … you don’t have the money. Do you have any money?”

  “No.”

  Starcher activated his computer and ran through a few windows. “You realize how much you owe now, yes? With interest?”

  “Sure, sure,” Collier said.

  “No, not ‘sure, sure.’ You owe over nine hundred and fifty-five thousand. Almost a million, Col. That’s a huge amount. You know how much of my business that is?”

  “No.”

  “Well … a lot.”

  Collier nodded. “Barn, I know. But I did make the strike, like I promised. How could I stop them from taking it?”

  “How did a corporation take your strike? I don’t get it.”

  “Never mind,” Collier said. Despite his initial enthusiasm to tell his story, he now wearied at the thought of telling Starcher.

  “Did you go to the Authority? Maybe they can—”

  “They won’t do anything. Even if they did, it’d be tied up in court for years, and I can’t pay the fees if I lose. Forget that.”

  “Forget it? You just brought it up!”

  Collier ignored the weak outburst. “Listen, Barn. I need another hundred thousand. For another go.”

  Starcher’s mouth opened. “Another hundred thousand? Did you not hear what I said? You owe a million already.”

  “I heard you. I don’t have it. A hundred thousand will give me enough to make another expedition. To get you your money.”

  “We’ve ridden this hobby-horse before, Col. Six times before, if I’m right.” He looked at his display again. “You haven’t paid me so much as a ‘riddy in almost a year.”

  Collier spread his hands. “I don’t have it, Barn. What do you want me to do?”

  Starcher sat back carefully and steepled his fingers. “You know there are things you can do. Don’t act like you are stuck here.”

  “Don’t say it, Barn.”

  “What do you expect me to do, Col? I’m a businessman. Though not a very good one from the way you treat me.”

  Collier looked up at Starcher. “C’mon, that’s not fair.”

  “No? You know very well what you could do to make money and pay me back. There’s not a corp in the Belt that isn’t looking for experienced rock hounds like you. I’ll bet you wouldn’t even start at entry grade. You could join up, earn some scratch, pay me back a little…”

  “Not gonna happen, Barn,” Collier said quietly but with iron.

  “You wouldn’t have to do it forever, Col. Just for a few years, or ten maybe. You could earn a little, start making some payments, and then maybe I’d think about extending some more credit. You could go back to your one-man show after that.”

  It sounded reasonable. It had sounded reasonable the last time Starcher had suggested it. But Collier was not in the mood for reasonable suggestions.

  “Look, Barn, I know how much I’m asking of you. But you know I can’t go to the corporations.”

  “I don’t know that,” Starcher murmured.

  Collier ignored him. “I can’t go to them because I’m not cut out to be someone else’s man. I’m my own and no one else’s.” He sighed. “And I’m old, Barn. I’ve been out here for twenty years. I can’t give a corp ten of them — I don’t know how many I’ve got left.”

  Starcher squeezed his eyes shut for a quick moment, then slapped his hands on his desk. “I’m not a financier for your dreams. It’s one thing to have all these high-minded ideals about the way life should be lived, Col, but it sounds kind of hollow when someone else is footing the bill for it. You’re not ‘your own man,’ like y
ou say you are. You are indebted to me for almost a million metals, and more than that, indebted to a whole lot of men and women who carved a spot in the Belt for people like you to go out and fly around looking for P.”

  “Don’t talk to me about the beginnings of the Belt, Barney. My father was part of that.”

  Starcher blinked. “Right. Sorry. It’s not like these corporations are bad guys, Col. They do a lot of good around here. How did Ceres really get rolling, anyway? Corporate investment and risk taking, that’s how. You always act like the mining companies are some kind of embodiment of evil when it is because of them that the Belt is being mined in the first place.”

  Collier looked at Starcher for a long moment. “Never thought I’d be hearing this from you, Barn.”

  Starcher scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I’m a practical man. I can see the corps for what they are, not windmills to go tilting at.”

  “Cute.”

  The two men stared at each other for a few seconds, then Starcher spoke. “So, you’re not going to the corporations?”

  “No. I’m sorry, Barn, I can’t.”

  Starcher nodded and tapped his desktop. “How am I going to get my money, then?”

  “I told you. You fund another expedition, and I will come back with enough to pay you. I would have done this time, but like I said—”

  “Yeah, yeah. The big bad corporation took it from you. There is, you know, another way.” He did not look at Collier as he spoke, but continued to tap on the desktop.

  Collier pretended not to understand. “There is?”

  “Yeah. I figure the Dulcinea is worth about four million.”

  “Do you.”

  “I’ve made a few inquiries,” Starcher said evenly.

  “You know I can’t do that either, Barney. She’s all I have now.”

  “I could force you,” Barney said idly, as if the idea had only just occurred to him.

  Collier swallowed. Starcher was right: if he went to the Authority to make his claim, Collier would indeed be forced to sell his assets to pay his debts, and since his only asset was Dulcinea…

  “You won’t, though.” Collier tried to keep the utterance a statement and not a question.

  Starcher continued to tap the desk. “I guess not. Not now, at least. But Col,” he said, his voice now pleading, “I can’t do this forever.”

  Collier realized he had won. The victory gave him little joy — he knew that the money he would squeeze out of Starcher would hurt him and put his business in jeopardy — but there was nothing else to do. A job at one of the corporations would be an admission of failure. He wouldn’t let the Belt, or the companies, or Isa, or anyone else beat him. If he was to lose, he would only lose to the Belt itself.

  The conversation with Starcher went on another hour, the pudgy moneylender fighting a losing battle all the while. In the end, Collier left with eighty thousand metals for propellant and assorted resupply materials. It was enough for one two-way trip, and that only if he shepherded his supplies carefully. He would have to make repairs to Rocinante’s antenna array himself, but that should not prove too difficult. And any upgrade to Sancho would have to wait as well. He would leave Ceres little better than he had arrived, but he had bought himself another few months of expeditioning.

  Starcher looked like a beaten man when Collier left him.

  Collier started toward the cable locks, trying without success to force Barney’s beaten face out of his memory. Damn it, if he struck it big, Starcher would participate in his success. There was no reason to feel guilty about securing another loan from him.

  He slowed himself using the central handhold, then stopped entirely.

  “Damn it,” he murmured, then turned and headed back to Starcher’s office.

  Barney was still as Collier had left him, defeated at his desk.

  “Draw up the damn paperwork,” Collier said.

  “What?”

  “I’m putting up Dulcinea as security.”

  Starcher just stared at him.

  Collier spread his hands and shouted, “Damn it, do you want me to change my mind? Just get the papers ready. If I don’t come back with your money, or at least some of it, Dulcinea is yours.”

  Starcher blinked, then started accessing his computer.

  “Just one thing,” Collier added. “Sancho stays with me. You can take the whole ship, but I will need Sancho transferred, software and whatever essential hardware I need, to a computer core I will own.”

  “That will take considerable effort,” Starcher said.

  “Yeah, well, you yourself said the ship is worth about four million. That’s much more than I owe. Even without Sancho, you will still make a lot more than you are entitled to.”

  Starcher nodded, then continued working on the agreement. It was only thirty minutes later that the two had a contract.

  “You’re sure about this?” Starcher said as he placed the document in front of Collier.

  “No, I’m not. But I can’t walk away from this shitty office of yours knowing I might be the one to drive you out of business.” He signed the document and placed his thumbprint and blood sample on the biomorphic paper.

  “Take care of her, Barney. Just … don’t sell her to a corp. Find some up-and-comer, a youngster, looking to…”

  Starcher nodded kindly. “I won’t let the corps have her. Besides, Col, I’m sure it won’t come to that. You’ve got ample time to make a payment, and even a modest strike will be enough—”

  “Yeah. Anyway. I’ll be seeing you, Barn.”

  “Oh, uh … sure, Col. Thanks. For this.”

  “Yeah,” Collier grunted, then left the office.

  He didn’t know how or if he was going to tell Sancho.

  *

  Collier made his way back to the Dulcinea, happy to be away from the relative chaos of Ceres. Sancho greeted him with a routine update, and alerted him to the update of their funds. Collier listened with only half his mind. Sancho still had no idea of the deal that had been made on his behalf. What would the little computer think about being ripped away from his body, to live as an electronic quadriplegic, should things not work out.

  He couldn’t tell Sancho. If there was to be any hope of a successful mission, he would need his computer. If all went well, there was no need for Sancho to ever know.

  The argument was not quite enough to assuage his guilt.

  Collier kept his voice level as he responded to Sancho’s status report. “Good. Let’s get started on resupply for our next outing.”

  “Aye aye, Skipper. Best price for propellant right now is Aquajet at one point-two five.”

  “No. No corporations. What are the prices for the independents?”

  “Among the independents, the best price I can find is from Martin Yoosef, selling twenty metric tons for thirty-eight hundred metals. That’s one point nine. But he’s flagged for haggling.”

  “Make contact with him, will you?” Collier said, shrugging himself out of his vacc suit.

  “You realize that at those prices, we are spending an extra thirteen hundred?”

  “I know. But I don’t feel like buying from a corporation. Have you raised this guy Yoosef?”

  Sancho sounded resigned. “Standing by.”

  The negotiations were friendly enough. Although Collier didn’t want to buy from a corp, he had no qualms about using them as leverage in his haggling with the trader. Yoosef, it turned out, was not a fuel trader but a miner like Collier himself. He was planning on putting his vessel on a low-consumption trajectory to the Jovians and didn’t need all the extra propellant.

  “You’re going to sleep to the Jovians?” Collier asked.

  “No,” came the answer from the tired-looking miner. “I’m sending her to Europa for sale. I’m joining with Ad Astra.”

 
Collier did not answer immediately. When he did, his voice was soft and understanding. “I see. Sorry.”

  A beat passed between them.

  “Uh, why are you sending your ship to the Jovians? Wouldn’t you get just as much here from a secondhand dealer?”

  Yoosef shook his head. “No independent wants it. I don’t think any of them have the money, and none of them see any use for it.”

  “What about selling it to a corporation?”

  Yoosef scowled. “It’s bad enough I’m selling myself to one. I won’t have them touching Rowena, though.” He smiled sheepishly. “I guess that doesn’t make much sense, huh?”

  Collier tried to smile back. “No, it makes perfect sense. I guess if it came to that, I’d treat Dulcinea the same way.”

  Yoosef shrugged. “Yeah. So anyway,” he said, his voice strengthening, “I’ve got the extra fuel. I don’t really want to let it go for less than one point five, since that’s what I paid for it, and I’d feel stupid if I took a loss. You get me?”

  “I get you,” Collier said. “One five is fine.” Sancho flashed a text message on the screen that only Collier could see: “Loss: 500 metals.” Collier angrily cleared the message with a swipe of his finger out of sight of the camera pickup. “When can you arrange the transfer?”

  “As soon as you’re ready. I’m tethered spinward of you. I can detach in…” he consulted something off-camera, “either three hours or twelve hours. I need a low-consumption Jovian launch window.”

  Collier told Yoosef that this would work: he needed to secure bio supplies, so it would be a while before Dulcinea could untether. They arranged to meet down the Jovian launch corridor in three hours. They talked for a few more minutes, and Collier felt he would have liked to have known the other miner in the past. There were very few of their kind left.

  Chapter Three

  “We’re untethered and have been cleared by Ceres for thrust. I need a bearing, Skipper,” Sancho said hours later. The propellant had been stowed, as had the various foodstuffs, air, and sundry items Collier had purchased for the expedition. Starcher’s eighty thousand metals hadn’t gone as far as he would have liked, but it had been enough. Rocinante still needed repair, but Collier planned on taking care of that during the trip.