by Sharon Lee
Clarence felt better about Win Ton’s state of mind now; the lad had properly blanched when he realized how much cash Theo was apportioning to this little task. For all his Liaden inscrutability, Win Ton’s face and posture were both edged with tension, his pose favoring, just slightly, a left-handed gun draw, and a right-handed blade.
Stost, good laddie that he was, stood solid as a wall behind them, his back to the screens. He’d gotten a good look at the cafeteria itself and was now giving most of his attention to the door they’d come through. Anybody who wanted to use the lounge would have to pass him, if they dared, though of their party of three, he alone showed no weapon. He wore the shirt, vest, trousers and boots from his once-and-former uniform, with a Laughing Cat logo conspicuous on the right shoulder.
On the left breast, there was the Bechimo crew badge bearing his name, and a small triple star along the right bottom edge, which was on all their badges now. According to Joyita, the stars were the proper symbol for crew serving an ambassador’s ship—in theory giving a wee bit of extra privilege to such crew. Stost’s badge also bore a red triangle, which declared him security personnel.
Clarence glanced at Win Ton, who was sharing Stost’s interest in the door and the screen over the door, which showed the state of the hall beyond. Which left Clarence to watch the feeds for news of Theo’s progress.
He stepped over to the screens, which were all displaying the public visual feed. It took a bit of squinting to find the screen that interested him, but he managed. The view alternated between a long-range topside-scan camera with a five-rotation-per-minute rate and four blink-cameras aimed out from the spinning core, two north and two south. Topside, of course, was the active docks while the south blink covered storage. It wasn’t the optimum way to cover current events, but he’d had plenty of experience. Since the station wasn’t all that busy, he had a good notion of which motion was important and which wasn’t.
During a lull in the action, Clarence glanced over to Tranza’s mock-patient form leaning over the table. He was abruptly and sincerely glad that Theo hadn’t had the paying and walk-back to do. Tranza moved his left hand like he was striking some percussion instrument, and his right foot was on beat. His eyes were closed and lips compressed in a curious unstraight line suggesting his tongue was swinging with a third line of music.
Tranza was as close to breaking as might be, that was Clarence’s measure. Lost his job, lost his ship, abandoned to a backwater after a decent and honest career…nobody deserved that. No blame to him for not watching the action. Following the feed took patience and the man was just about full out.
Clarence shook away that line of thought. A part of his job as a Juntavas Boss had been to put people in situations like this one; maneuvering them until they didn’t have a choice, except to cooperate or be stranded on Liad.
He was well out of that now and pleased to help an honest man stay honest.
As for the buyout, Theo’d been clear: pay what was asked and argue later.
He was carrying a fair amount of Theo’s personal cash, along with most of Bechimo’s treasury, that was his feeling.
Well, and if it came up short, he’d toss in a few bits himself.
* * * * *
The tremor was light and familiar. Theo had ridden out many a pod transfer when she was Primadonna’s copilot. She looked to the screens and gave a nod of approval; whoever was piloting the drone tug had obviously done this before.
Lights changed: the blue light, which meant the pod system was cycling, clicked into green, meaning available. The latches read empty. The tug had the pod; her part was done.
Right hand touching keypads, Theo closed her eyes to recall; pod docking and undocking systems went from active to neutral, flashed from neutral to locked. She powered those systems down, hands working while eyes and thoughts scanned the flight deck.
The ship was still pleading from the small screen, begging her to confirm as captain.
Ship’s chronometer gave her six more minutes before that option was no longer available. Good enough, she’d be out in under five. The screen blinked again, insisting, and she began to feel guilty. A ship should have a captain, after all…
No, she told herself, Theo, it’s not a plea. The ship isn’t begging; it doesn’t know it lacks a captain; it doesn’t feel the need of a captain. Now, Bechimo had wanted a captain; had known that he was incomplete until a captain came to him.
But this…was a programmed insistence, words thrown at the screen. There was no intelligence behind it.
Theo turned away, letting the words blink.
* * * * *
There, on the screen—motion! Lucky for him the scan caught the change in attitude, showing momentary jets of reaction fuel.
The drone’s careful approach was smooth and accurate. Could have been a textbook show, that, with the double catch locking clean as could be and, a few seconds later, the extension locking.
The view scanned away but he could see the blink-camera view from the north now. Didn’t seem to be any issues there…he counted mentally, figuring on—yes, straight ordinary pickup and a rotation toward Bechimo.
He felt a presence at his elbow and turned his head to meet Rig Tranza’s eye.
The other pilot nodded at the screen.
“Good, right? Good pilot on that thing.”
With sudden spirit, he pulled a card from his pocket, crossed the distance to the order wall and, slipping it into the query slot, laughed.
Eyes showing a teary relief, Tranza laughed again, pulled the card from the slot, and snatched the printout pages as they came from the slot.
“Got my bill, Pilot. They’ve registered me as out and owing.”
Smoothly, he handed the printout and the card over.
Clarence received them in one hand, signing good work with his free hand, and turned away from the screens.
“Ought to be somebody from Admin down here for us any second. We’ll settle right up and get moving. Kara’ll have that pod locked in no time.” He switched to Trade.
“Stost, boyo—might be a good thing if you come over here and stand behind Pilot Tranza. Win Ton’ll take point and I’ll do the talking.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Minot Station
Transient Crew Cabins
Corp Veep Semimodo himself led the way, smiling widely; behind him were two others, in uniform, both looking far harder used than the veep. They carried highly visible sidearms and showed grim faces. Even if Clarence hadn’t once employed a brace or two himself, he’d’ve recognized them as bullyboys from the swagger.
“That’s done, Pilots, that’s done very well.” Veep Semimodo was positively beaming. “The exchange is made, and now we can add up expenses and—”
Tranza pointed at the printouts Clarence held.
“The exec officer here, he’s taking my part, you know—they told you. Clarence, he’ll be paying off anything due.”
“Well, it’s always a pleasure to see Clarence,” the veep said heartily. “Now, Pilot Tranza, we’ll get you on your way as soon as we add up the totals. The number you have there, Clarence—that’s the residential total. There are some additional expenses that need to be dealt with as well.”
Of course there were, Clarence thought; he’d’ve been disappointed in the veep if there hadn’t been additional expenses.
Semimodo bustled over to the serving counter, pulling a math-stick out of one commodious pocket as he did. He immediately fell to shuffling papers and inputting numbers.
The bullyboys, in the meantime, were doing sums of a different sort, trying to sort the four of them in order of threat level.
Himself and Win Ton, they took at face value, maybe deducting a couple points from Win Ton, for him being small in all directions.
Tranza, they dismissed as a prisoner, though that was over now—and…
Clarence managed not to laugh. Just managed not to laugh.
Stost…wasn’t anything like they’d exp
ected to have to deal with. They counted, then counted again, ’til Clarence was almost sorry for them. It was a hard call, on account of Stost having a lot of what you’d call presence, plus with him standing behind Tranza like he was, it was hard to see if he was carrying anything besides his badge and his lunch. About then, it occurred to the pair of them to badge-check, and bully eyes widened when they saw that red corner on Stost’s badge.
They exchanged a look and took a step forward, by way of testing their group’s mettle.
Win Ton failed to fall back despite being a head and more shorter than the bullyboys. They leaned in and over. Win Ton stayed put.
“The space is small,” he pointed out in perfectly polite Trade. “Please, give Veep Semimodo and Exec O’Berin space to work.”
Clarence took his cue, turning to the side. Win Ton waved him past with a languid hand, his half-turn leaving him sidewise and an even smaller target for the bullies.
“Sure, and there’s always details,” Clarence said, as Tranza left Stost’s shadow to approach the counter. One-handed, he formed a surreptitious sign, not agreed.
Understood, Clarence sent back, stepping up close to the front of the counter, while Tranza continued around to the back.
“I understand, Veep,” Clarence said. “Always something, isn’t it now?”
Semimodo continued to rustle hard copy and play with his math-stick, Tranza, behind him, craning and trying to see the numbers.
Clarence glanced back, but the bullyboys remained in place. Stost had stepped up to Win Ton’s side, standing there quiet and calm, hair within a handspan of the ceiling.
“Yes, here we are,” Semimodo murmured. He shuffled his papers one more time noisily, then, apparently satisfied, he gave a nod and put them down.
He withdrew from his other pocket a walletlike leather folder and opened it to withdraw even more hard copy.
“There is, you see, the matter of the medical care that was provided for Pilot Tranza. Medical services are not covered by the standard housing fee, as I’m sure you’ll—”
Clarence felt a lick of pure anger, and he knew right then how he was going to handle this. Theo’d told him to smile and pay. Well, and he knew how to smile, now didn’t he?
* * * * *
Theo stood up from second chair and took the full step to first board. An inner pocket in Rig’s old jacket yielded a gauzy slick bag.
She sighed, relieved. On the flight deck itself, Tranza’s habits held. The right-side bin on his seat held sealed snacks. She grabbed a few, but it was the left side that held the treasure she’d come for.
“Backups, right?” She mimicked him without mocking his routine, scooping the chips up quickly.
The bin held the usual three-course backups, and those she left temporarily on the seat while she searched for the color-coded records. She had no desire to take Hugglelans’ information and no need to know the ship’s history.
But the other chips and slips—backups, indeed.
Whenever he bought new treasures, he copied them to his private directory in the ship’s computer. But he made mobile chips and kept them ready close, ready to go at a moment’s notice. The chips in his chair bin were largely greens and reds, with a few blues and a purple…
Her breath caught. Purples were his favorites—he’d often dragged out a dozen or two at a time while she was PIC, sometimes going back and forth among them searching for some mysterious that, as in, “Now that was worth hearing again.…”
He’d tried hard, to share his thats with her, but she’d been undereducated in some few of the musics he offered and entirely ignorant of many of the others.
The chips clicked into the bag along with a couple more of his favorite pack snacks, then…
“No, Theo,” she said aloud, stopping herself from reaching to the dashboard.
The dash only ever held current mission stuff for Tranza, and there was no longer a current mission for him. Then, she second-guessed herself, opening the hard copy bin, scanning—there! There were a couple of music notes among the hard copy, and those she took. The rest she left for the Hugglelans rep or whoever took charge of Primadonna next.
She left the bridge, three rapid steps to the short hall, a right turn—and face-about. Her former cabin, she passed by; whatever was in there now wasn’t hers, and Tranza wouldn’t have stored anything in his copilot’s quarters.
She put her hand briefly against the pad on Tranza’s door. It slid aside, the room lights coming up to full bright.
Theo’d never been in Rig Tranza’s cabin. He’d never invited her in. Now, mindful of time slipping past, she opened the top drawer, pulling music first, half filling the bag—how could he have listened to all of that? Worlds and worlds worth of music…
She finished with the drawers and pulled open a door. Recognizing one of the rare civilian shirt-and-shorts suits he’d allowed himself, she flung that into the bag, and opened a second door, hating the necessity of going through Tranza’s stuff—his private things—like a thief.
“It’s in a good cause, Theo,” she told herself, and pulled open the last door.
There was his leave bag. She hefted it; it felt ready to go. Grabbing the handles, she yanked the bag out, only to find another cache of bagged coded memchips. Purples and plains and—
Time.
She stuffed what she could into her bag, opened a nearly empty unlocked side pocket on Tranza’s bag and stowed the rest there.
She felt a very slight vibration through the floor, and suddenly she was looking at Bechimo’s cargo boards, screens confirming that the mini-pod was attached. There was a timer live, too, counting backward.
Yes, she needed to be out—and soon.
She closed the closets and the drawers, stepped out and waved the door shut, Tranza’s bag over her shoulder, her bag in hand. The door to her quarters was on her right. Before she thought, she put her hand against the plate.
The door opened, but she didn’t step in, shock holding her where she was. Disarray and vandalism met her eye: drawers wide open, doors loose, the ’fresher all untidy. Mayko had a lot to answer for, else Tranza’d been enraged…a hard thought, that, but now she was angry. Angry for Tranza and for the ship, which he’d kept so tidy and clean.
Enough, she told herself, and waved the door closed, half-running to the bridge, Tranza’s bag knocking painfully against her hip.
* * * * *
Clarence smiled.
Smiling, he shook Tranza’s printout at the veep’s chest, just hard enough to make the paper rattle.
“Now, this medical cost which isn’t included in…what’s that for exactly?”
Semimodo didn’t even bother to look abashed.
“The pilot was given several injections of Truth. He had an…unusual reaction to the drug and required a doctor’s care, and several days of close monitoring in sick bay.”
Clarence smiled.
“So, not only did you arrest this man for no reason having to do with him, but you decided to try to drag info outta ’im while you had ’im in hand. He had a bad reaction to the drug, which isn’t unusual with your double-dosing, and needed a doctor. Am I getting this right?”
Semimodo beamed.
“Exactly right, yes.”
“So, you’re not only charging the pilot for the truth drug you decided to administer, but you’re charging him for both the drug and his care when he got sick from it.”
Still smiling, Clarence shook his head.
“Seems to me, if the Pilots Guild heard whispers o’this—and there’s nothing surer than that they will—well, Veep, if the Pilots Guild was to be called on to adjudicate this invoice, I’m thinking they wouldn’t be too happy with Minot Station. Might even demand restitution on behalf of the pilot here.” He paused before inclining his head very slightly.
“So, that course, you’d not only be losing your additional costs, but needing to pay more to the pilot, as an apology.”
Semimodo glared at him.
“This station is not a charity. We must recover our expenses.”
Clarence raised his hands soothingly.
“Nobody said elsewise. But I’m betting, Veep, that you can just hold that medical bill and pass it right on to the Hugglelans as a usual and normal charge for your tender care of their pilot—and they won’t bat a lash before taking out their wallets.”
The veep stood taller, his round face showing heavy lines, as he spoke: “Pilot Tranza is the one who received medical care, therefore the expense is his to pay. We could have just turned him out onto the docks, sick and with no place to sleep. Some other stations would have done just that. Minot Station elected, without being coerced, to give the pilot medical care and also to provide a place to sleep, and food. We will not be cheated of our reasonable charges.”
Clarence waved the printout with more energy.
“You’ll want to think hard on that, Veep Semimodo. We—that is, Bechimo—we’ve done you one favor already, and we haven’t been on your dock three whole rotations. Yeah, it’s business, but it’s a favor still. We’d like to know that we can trade here, without prejudice and with no danger to our ship or crew.”
Clarence looked aside to Win Ton, seeking a nod affirming the point. The Scout gave him that with great promptness and a visible touch of a smile.
He turned back to Semimodo.
“Now, here’s the thing about favors. They can evaporate just like they never was. So, since the Pilots Guild appointed our ship to carry one of their ambassadors—it would likely trouble Ambassador Hevelin to find that a pilot was…mistreated here—well, knowing him like I do, I’m thinking he’d be having us report the situation to the commissioners, and you know how that’s likely to go.”
He paused. Smiled.
“What I’m suggesting is that it would be worthwhile for you to find that you made an honest mistake and that bill got into the wrong pile. Now that you discovered it, you can just set it aside for the Hugglelans to settle.
“In the meanwhile, we’ll pay this bill, here”—he rattled the printout again—“with a little left over, since I don’t have small change. We’ll have done with the brangle, and we can all leave before that mob that’s been growing on the middle decks gets down here and starts breaking up the furniture.”