The Rim Rebels

by Zellmann, William

  Bran hung back as the others filed out. He grinned sardonically at Jirik. "Tell me, Captain, what would you have done if Tor or Valt had voted against the deal? We both know that there was no real option. We had to go for it, or Tomys would have shoved it down our throats!"

  Jirik grinned back. "I didn't think I was taking too much of a risk. Tor is still romantic enough to relish the adventure, He's probably bouncing off the bulkheads with excitement right now. As for Valt, he's always short of credits. It takes a lot of them to support those in-port orgies of his. Waving a share of a million-credit profit in his face guaranteed his vote. Of course," Jirik continued, "I knew that you'd vote for it, since you knew we'd be forced to do it anyway."

  "And you get to play the Reluctant Captain," Bran add sarcastically. "I presume that this way, if anything goes you can always say, 'I told you so'."

  Jirik grinned. "Bran, you know me better than that. I anything goes wrong, 1 doubt if any of us will be around to say, 'I told you so'. I just wanted it to look democratic. If an Actionist questions Tor or Valt, I want them to find that crew voted for it, not that someone had jammed it down their throats."

  Bran's head jerked. "You think that they will? Question Tor and Valt, I mean?"

  "Hell, yes!" Jirik replied vehemently. "Look, Bran, if Cony really is the head of the Actionists on Boondock, they, and therefore the terrorists, will know everything there is to know about the deal as soon as we do. They'll want to know what's going on on our side of it. If I had let Tor and Valt know we were being forced to accept it, there's a very real risk that the terrorists would see it as a trap, and decide that killing us would be easier than trying to figure out what we're up to.

  "Tor doesn't worry me too much. Anybody talking to him is going to learn that there is something going on. It would take torture to make him tell what it was. Valt is a different case. Once he starts drinking, he'll spill any damned thing he knows. So far, what he knows is exactly what we want him to know. As soon as he hits town, the terrorists will know that I opposed the deal, but was overruled. That is, provided you ever let him get back into town!"

  Bran assumed a wounded look. "Me, Captain? Why, I don't prevent poor Valt from going into town during his off hours. All I do is work his ass off 16 standard hours a day in 1.4G. Can I help it if the man decides that he's too tired?" He lapsed into seriousness. "Really, though, Captain, I'm going to be running out of work for him soon. The last load of thorium is due tomorrow. Once we get that stowed, we'll be ready to lift whenever you close the bookchip deal. With the load all buttoned up, Valt won't have much of anything to do except work out takeoff trajectories and outbound courses, and he won't be able to do much of that until we can establish a liftoff time. I'm afraid that Valt is once again going to find himself with time on his hands; and that means drinking time.

  "Do you have any idea how soon we can lift? I suspect that the sooner we can lift, the safer we'll all be."

  "I agree," Jirik responded, "But I can't estimate when we can get the hell off this mudball. The negotiations with Fanlin might be over in an hour, but they could drag on for weeks, if he has to consult with the people on Wayoff. I know," he added hurriedly, as Bran began to object, "We can't wait weeks. We've got delivery deadlines for our inbound cargo. But we can't force Fanlin to deal; we'll just have to hope. Then there's that damned spook Tomys. Who knows what that guy will do next? I'll try to hurry things, but I'm not in charge here."

  Bran nodded glumly. "I know. Well, Captain, we've really stepped in it this time, haven't we?"

  "Yeah," Jirik agreed. "We're in a positive feedback situation, here. It's running away with us, and everything that we do just seems to make it run away faster."

  Chapter 6

  Fanlin was waiting anxiously when Jirik arrived for his appointment the following morning. Cony was once again present, as well. "Well, Captain," he demanded as Jirik walked through the door, "What has your crew decided? Are you going to take the deal?"

  Jirik waited until the office door was closed and Fanlin gestured toward a chair before he replied. "Well, sir, the crew voted that we should actively negotiate the deal." He shrugged. "We could be facing a lot of danger transporting that many credits, no matter what form it's in. When word leaked out, and it would, if it hasn't already, we'd have to run a gauntlet of pirates and hijackers all the way to Alpha. To take that risk in an unarmed ship, rewards would have to be sizable." He nodded to Cony, who was sitting by Fanlin's desk, and took the indicated seat.

  Fanlin started to reply, but was interrupted by Cony. "What makes you think that word would leak out, Captain? I mean, we're not exactly publishing the deal on the newsfaxes."

  "You can't keep a secret this big," Jirik replied. "Look at who already knows about it: You and Mr. Fanlin, of course, Then there are an unknown number of people on Wayoff. Oh, I'm not too concerned about those directly connected, the decision-makers; but how many of their staff people were informed? How many of your staff people know?"

  Fanlin looked urgently at Cony, a stricken expression on his face, then turned back to Jirik.

  "I hadn't even considered that risk, I'm afraid, Captain," he replied slowly. "I admit that I've made no special effort to keep general information about it particularly quiet. In Fact," he continued embarrassedly, "I'm rather afraid that I may have bragged a bit about the possibility of doubling our size overnight. I'm very sorry. Perhaps I should let the word get out that the negotiations failed. Would that help?"

  Jirik sighed. Fanlin might be a whiz as a librarian, but he was a rank amateur at business. "I doubt it, sir. Oh, it wouldn't hurt to try, but unless you're a consummate actor, you're not likely to impress the types of people we're worried about. They'll hit us anyway, on the chance that you're lying. So," he continued, "dozens of people on Boondock, and probably a few dozen on Wayoff. The probability is approaching certainty that at least one of those people will give or sell the information to hijackers or pirates, unless the rim is blessed with the absence of those particular vermin?" He looked hopefully at Cony, who shook his head somberly before replying.

  "Sorry, Captain. Oh, we may have fewer of them, because rim tramps carry smaller cargoes. But we certainly have our share. I can say that I've told no one in my agency." A faint smile touched his lips. "I'm under no illusion that we have no leaks. Elementary security demanded that I not even tell my immediate staff. I apologize, Captain. I should have made sure that Jon was aware of the danger, and told no one."

  Jirik shook his head. "Your apologies are accepted, gentlemen, for what that's worth. Unfortunately, we have to assume that word is out that the Lass will leave Boondock carrying over twenty million credits, in one form or another. Actually, that rather simplifies matters, since we're going to be running the risk whether or not our negotiations are successful. Even if we decide not to pursue the deal, we're going to be a target. So we can stop fretting about it and start trying to get together on the terms. As I mentioned, it's going to take a very substantial profit to justify the risk."

  Cony smiled slyly. "But, Captain, as you've so eloquently pointed out, the cat is out of the bag, so you will be taking no additional risk. If you're going to be hit anyway, the risk is the same whether or not you are actually carrying the funds. I see no additional risk to justify a premium profit."

  Fanlin jumped to his feet. "Albet, you know that's not fair! We're the ones who put the ship and crew at risk, with our lack of discretion! We are morally obligated . . ."

  "Moral obligations be damned!" Cony interrupted him. "This is business, not a prayer meeting! The fact is that the Captain is assuming no additional risk by actually carrying the credits. Besides which, even at two or three percent, the Lass will earn a larger profit from this one trip than she has probably earned in the last standard year. Am I not right, Captain?"

  Jirik shook his head. "No, sir, you're not. As you pointed out at our first meeting, the Lass is a big ship. We've earned more than you might think. I also disagree that you
people bear no responsibility for our heightened risk. If you had not taken what was essentially a scouting mission and turned it into an actual offer, and then leaked the offer, the chances are good that we could have left here and returned to our home sector safely." Cony tried to interrupt, but Jirik plowed on. "However, we are rather getting the cart before the tirl. I still don't even know the number of credits we're discussing. Exactly what deal are we being offered?"

  Fanlin had been glaring at Cony. At Jirik's prod he jumped slightly and began shuffling papers on his desk. "Of course, Captain, of course. The Coalition is offering to provide a letter of credit on the Bank of Alpha in the amount of twenty-five million credits. In return, you will obtain a shipload of bookchips, but not less than ten million volumes. The letter of credit will provide a drawing account for the expenses incurred in obtaining the chips, copying them, stowing and delivering them to the rim. Upon arrival on the rim, you will deliver a stated percentage of the shipment to each of the rim worlds. You will be authorized to withdraw an agreed-upon amount to cover expenses. Upon delivery of the last portion of the shipment to Wayoff, you will be paid the profit, the amount to be agreed upon as a percentage of the twenty-five million, less expense funds drawn. You will provide a detailed statement of expenditures to the Trade Coalition office on Wayoff. Does that sound equitable?"

  "That depends," Jirik replied. "If I'm expected to pay my expenses out of my profit, that profit percentage had better be more than the two or three percent that Mr. Cony indicated; a hell of a lot more. How much authority do you have to vary the conditions of the agreement?"

  It was Cony that replied, not Fanlin. "He doesn't have a lot. The coalition people on Wayoff know that Mr Fanlin may be a bit naive when it comes to trade negotiations, so they limited his authority."

  Fanlin looked chagrined. "I'm afraid that's so, Captain. Any major changes will have to be referred back to Wayoff. What changes do you have in mind? I confess that it seems simple and fair to me."

  Jirik shrugged. "On the whole, I would agree. The only problem that I have, aside from the amount of the profit to be agreed upon, lies in the area of expenses. I would prefer to be allotted a certain amount for expenses, in exchange for a point or so of profit, but with the expenses not deducted from the profit unless I exceed the allotment. That way, all concerned would know exactly how much we had coming, and prevent a lot of haggling over what expenses to deduct. Dealing at second hand like this, I'd like to keep the agreement as simple and clear as possible."

  Cony looked thoughtful. It was obvious that he had taken over the negotiation for the coalition, and Fanlin seemed resigned to it.

  "I agree," he relied slowly, "This deal is nebulous enough already. I think that we can accept your suggestion. Now. Let's get down to figures. How much do you feel we should allot for expenses, and what do you consider a reasonable profit?"

  The negotiation proceeded throughout the morning, with jirik insisting that they define "authorized expenses," and that the amount contain a sufficient "fudge factor" to allow for exigencies. Then there was the inevitable haggling over the percentage of profit. It was after local noon before they concluded the negotiations, and had the agreement written and signed. Jirik noted with interest that both Fanlin and Cony were required to sign for the coalition. Jirik politely declined an invitation to lunch, and made his way back to the Lass, the coalition letter of credit tucked safely inside his tunic.

  ***

  Valt Willem whistled brightly as he walked across the field from the Lass. Valt was a happy man. Even the knowledge that there weren't any decent whores on this mudball could not undermine his mood. First, they'd got all the cargo inboard, which meant that Bran would have to stay off his back. He hated manual labor; that was why he had worked so hard to become a damned good astrogator. And he was a damned good one. Even that bastard Bran had to agree with that!

  Oh, hell. Bran wasn't so bad. They just didn't understand each other. Bran was queer for his goddamned engines. Hardly ever bothered to get laid in port. For a long time, Valt had thought that Bran was homo; but he had been wrong. Once in a while, Bran would hook up with some broad in a port. But even then, Bran didn't bother with port whores; he wanted one of those snooty bitches he'd meet in a bookstore. Valt just couldn't figure it. Bran would spend a week, sometimes, trying to seduce some snooty bitch, and then he'd mope around her for the rest of their port call, instead of getting some variety. Sheol, sometimes he wouldn't get laid at all! What kind of port call was that?

  All Bran wanted to do was screw around with his goddamned engines, and read. Well, Valt could understand the reading. He read a lot himself in space. He was really proud of his collection of erotica. That was another thing: he'd offered to loan Bran some of his collection one time, and Bran had turned him down flat, with a disgusted look on his face. Oh, well, Bran was all right, he guessed. Hell of an Engineer.

  The new kid, Tor, now, Valt wasn't sure about. Their first few nights in port, the kid had tagged along with Valt a couple of times. The kid had acted like a little puppy, following along and trying to do everything Valt did. Valt had gotten a real kick out of it. He'd even set the kid up with one of the few whores on Boondock, and got him drunk. Guess the kid didn't really get off on it, though, because he'd stopped coming into town with Valt and started hanging around with the other kids from that university here. Oh, well, give the kid time; he'd learn.

  The skipper, though! He was something else. Now, there was a man Valt could admire! He really knew his stuff. Look at this book deal, for instance. If they made it to Alpha, they stood to pick up five percent of twenty-five million credits, plus expenses! Valt giggled. Deity! the skipper was sharp! When they'd been towed onto this dump of a planet, Valt had been afraid that they'd be nearly wiped out. Well, it did come pretty close. But leave it to the skipper to find a way to bail them out. Damn! A cool million and a quarter, plus expenses. Split five ways, with the skipper getting two shares, the rest of them would clear a quarter million each! Now, that was worth dodging pirates for!

  And they'd be depending on Valt, now. They could sneer at his porno book and vid collection, and even call him lazy. But now, when the chips were down, he was the one that would have to get them through. It wouldn't be easy, figuring jumps to out-of-the way systems for recomputation and reorientation, and rushing his computations to get back into Supralight as quickly as possible. The closer they got to Alpha, the harder it would be to find out of the way systems to jump to. But he'd do it! He'd show them! They might look down their noses at him, but they'd have to admit that he was a hell of an astrogator.

  By the time Valt reached town, he was already basking in the glory of bringing them safely through to Alpha. Still whistling, he turned into the bar/whorehouse that had become his favorite hangout.

  The bartender looked up glumly as he came through the stout metal door, but several of the regulars greeted him cheerfully, and offered him a stool. In their weeks on Boondock, Valt had gained a small reputation as a free spender who wasn't reluctant to buy drinks for his companions.

  Tonight, Valt was excited and happy, and the drinks flowed freely. Before long, Valt had a girl on each knee, and was well on his way to inebriation.

  "So, where the hell you been, Valt?" inquired one of his regular "drinking buddies", a man named Tan whose worn, soiled tunic and rough hands marked him as a miner, "We've missed you the last few days. Been doin' your drinkin' somewhere else?"

  Valt shrugged. "Naw, jus' been busy on the ship. They been workin' me 16 standard hours a day, doin' repairs an' loadin' cargo."

  The other occupants of the table made sympathetic noises, and Valt continued, "But that's over now. We'll be liftin' off tomorrow or the next day."

  "That's too bad," Tan put in. "We're gonna miss you around here. An' the girls're gonna miss the fastest dick on the rim. Right, girls?"

  The three girls at the table solemnly agreed that Valt would be missed. "Hey," Valt said, "Don't worry about it. We
'll be back in a few local months."

  "Yeah?" Tan asked, "I thought you din't like the rim. Or Boondock. How the hell come you're comin' back?" All faces at the table were attentive. Valt felt pleased at being the center of attention.

  "Oh, we'll be back, all right," he answered with elaborate casualness. "The skipper got us a deal. A big one. Gonna make us all rich."

  Three strangers at a nearby table had been listening. Now one of them stood and walked unsteadily over to Valt. "Look, you Alley creep," he said belligerently, "Why'ncha get outta here? Ya don' like us 'r our planet, but ya wanna sharp us outta our hard-earned credits. I think you oughta getcher ass kicked!"

  Valt rose abruptly, if unsteadily, spilling the two girls onto the floor. "Yeah?" he replied, "An' who's gonna do the kickin'?" Unlike Jirik, Valt didn't much enjoy fighting, and he wasn't very good at it. But his drunken mind recognized fighting words, and his pride wouldn't let him withdraw.

  "I am, you Alley slug," the man replied, and swung a roundhouse blow at Valt's head. Valt ducked, making his head swim, and butted the man's unprotected belly. The attacker "Whuff"ed and fell backward onto the drink-stained floor. The man's two companions rose and charged as Valt's erstwhile drinking companions scattered, overturning the table.

  Valt was standing, trying to get the whirling room to steady down, when a fist came from nowhere, snapping his head back, and sending him staggering. His back impacted another table, sending its contents and occupants scattering. A free-for-all erupted in Valt's wake, fists and bottles flying freely. Valt sat in the shelter of the overturned table, trying desperately to regain his equilibrium and find a way out of the suddenly chaotic crowd.