Due Diligence

by Sharon Lee

  Instead, he fair crooned over her, and gave her fulsome praise when she held her line and refused to be intimidated by the demands of an extended run at the top of her range.

  "She won't let us down, this lady," he told Chi. They had finally gotten done with testing and trying and got themselves on the way to Mondaw. Comet had gone into Jump with nary a complaint nor a bobble, all boards green and steady.

  "She has heart," Chi agreed.

  They were in the galley, sharing a celebratory cup of tea. Fer Gun was having a bowl of soup, too, while Chi contented herself with some salted crackers.

  "We won't be picking up anything at Mondaw?" asked Fer Gun. "The whole reason is to meet this Vigro Welsh?"

  "We are running podless, with two pilots the whole crew," Chi pointed out. "How much cargo can we take?"

  "Small packages, and courier work," he said, lifting a shoulder. "Ships don't fly for free."

  That was spacer economics, and true, so far as it went. Chi sipped her tea.

  "We may find some small thing which needs to travel in our direction, but you will recall that the primary purpose of this trip, Captain pen'Uldra, is to introduce you to those firms and contacts with whom you will be working, once this ship is fully crewed and wearing her pods."

  As he was still frowning, she added.

  "Korval funds this tour as part of the cost of doing business."

  "True enough, though it goes against the weave," he said, finishing his soup and rising to put the bowl in the washer. "Would you like more tea? Or something a little more to eat than two crackers?"

  "By the time I am done here," she told him with dignity, "I will have had three crackers. And yes, I would like it if you would warm my tea."

  He did so, and stood looking down at her. He was, she thought, much more suited to a ship than to Liad. It had been a wanton cruelty, to conspire so carefully to rob him of his wings. Though there always remained the possibility that the cousins had expected him to succumb to Low Port. She sighed, lightly. One would so treasure an opportunity to speak with the cousins.

  Still. . .

  "What are you thinking?" Fer Gun asked her. "Will Mondaw be a problem?"

  That was a nicely reasoned leap, and phrased so that she need only answer one query.

  "Mondaw ought to be nothing like a problem," she said, truthfully. "You have the files for review, do you not?"

  He laughed.

  "Do I not!" he repeated. "And I will set myself to reviewing them, again, I swear. In the meanwhile, you might have a nap."

  She did try not to glare at him.

  "Am I a fragile flower, Pilot?"

  He traded her a stare for her glare. Those black eyes produced an admiral stare, indeed.

  "The pilot requires the co-pilot to be able," he said. "You're tired. Even I can see that."

  Chi bit back a sharp retort. After all, he was correct–she was tired, and would be the better for a rest. And he was twice correct to remind her of the progression of responsibilities, though she had learnt them before she could walk; there was a teaching rhyme that her nurse had sung to her.

  The child being correct on both counts, she smiled up into those black, black eyes.

  "I will, in fact, nap," she told him. "That is an excellent idea, Pilot."

  * * *

  Vigro Welsh was plain-spoken and hearty, and Mondaw something very like him. Fer Gun felt a cautious optimism. When this plan–this partnership–had first been proposed, he had had his doubts. Who would not have had doubts, partnered with Korval? Comet herself had been a reassurance–a ship in the common way, accustomed to the common work of ships, and nothing of the glittering luxury of Liad about her.

  In the same way Vigro Welsh was reassuring–a merchant, who dealt in everyday wares, and presented no airs. He was comfortable in a matter-of-fact way that drew Fer Gun's envy. Where Glavda Empri, Jelaza Kazone, and Trealla Fantrol had discomforted and distressed him, Vigro Welsh's office and–nameless!–home was not only appealing, but seemed. . .attainable in a way that Chi's house would never be, for the likes of Fer Gun pen'Uldra.

  There had been a tour of the warehouses, and introductions to various others of the Welsh network. The merchant's initial instinct had been to speak to Chi.

  "Captain pen'Uldra will be regularly on the route," Chi said. "He will naturally be taking on a trader and crew. This stop is to make you known to each other, and so the captain may provide Comet's trader-to-be with current introductions."

  That had set the merchant straight, and Fer Gun had found himself the center of a very sharp attention, indeed.

  He was pleased to believe, at the end of the tour, after they had shared dinner at a local restaurant that was also in the network, that Vigro Welsh would not find himself embarrassed to be associated with Captain pen'Uldra and Comet. That left an unaccustomed warmth, which still buoyed him when then returned to the ship.

  Once they were in and sealed, the two of them sat in the galley over wine, and talked through what they had seen, and he had learned, and considered those questions that he had.

  When the debrief was done, he would have gone to his own quarters, but Chi had put her hand on his arm and smiled in that way that made his breath short and his blood warm. He had gone with her, therefore, and pleased he was to have done so.

  #

  It was next shift that trouble struck, though he thought nothing about it at the time. He'd risen, checked the comm, and the screens.

  No messages for them on the overnight, but the screens showed a package sitting just over the line of their dock. A smallish package, easily carried in the courier hold, and it was such a common thing that he thought nothing of opening the hatch and walking out to pick it up.

  He scanned it, naturally–he wasn't a fool, after all–and was on his way down the hall when the storm hatch snapped shut almost on his nose.

  "What is that in your hand, Pilot?" Chi asked him over the intercom, her voice calm.

  "A package," he said agreeably.

  "Had we arranged for a package?" Chi asked, and it came to him, then, that her voice was not so much calm as constrained.

  He frowned, suddenly and forcibly reminded of the studies she had had him make regarding lading slips, documents of transfer, the proper order and style of sign-offs.

  "Had we," Chi asked again, "arranged for a package?"

  "You know that we hadn't," he told her curtly. "I thought it had gotten kicked in."

  There was a small silence, before she repeated, "Kicked in?"

  A hasty, belated scan of the package showed no documentation, no bills, no stamps; none of the things that–that an honest package ought to have, leaving aside the detail that an honest package would have been openly delivered and signed for by the ship.

  "When I was piloting for my cousins," he said, telling her the truth, no matter how badly it reflected on him. He had learned that: you told Chi yos'Phelium the truth, as plainly and as quickly as possible.

  "When I was piloting for my cousins, it often happened that a package or a pallet was kicked inside our line, and was taken aboard as our rightful cargo." He hesitated, then finished the tale out, feeling an utter fool.

  "We didn't have so much to do with lading slips, and tax stamps, and suchlike."

  Silence for the count of twelve. He could feel the ice filling the corridor and wondered if he'd freeze to death, or if she'd only evacuate the air from the hallway.

  "I am calling the port proctors," she said at last. "You will meet them on our dock and you will give that package to them. There will be questions; there may be forms to fill out. You will be everything that is convenable and forthright with the proctors, do you understand me, Pilot?"

  The proctors. It fell on him, the memory of the proctors, the binders, the standing before Solcintra port security, and the Pilots Guild Master. The demand that he give over his license into the Guild's safekeeping. . .

  It was on the edge of his tongue, then, to beg her to evacuate
the hallway.

  "The proctors are on their way," Chi said.

  She would leave him here, gods, and he could scarcely blame her. However her means, she had redeemed his wings, and he repaid her with arrant stupidity.

  He took a breath, and made sure his legs were steady enough to bear him before he bowed, in full sight of the camera–the bow of deep regret–before he turned toward the hatch and his doom.

  #

  "Eighth one this port-week," the elder of the two proctors said, who was clearly displeased, but not, it seemed at him.

  Her partner finished scanning the package, produced a scan-proof bag from one of the many pouches on his belt and sealed the package inside.

  "Inert," he said. "Like all the rest."

  "And like all the rest, it will doubtless flash-bang when it's opened," the elder said. She looked to Fer Gun and bowed slightly.

  "Our apologies, Pilot. This prank has been on-going. So far no harm has come of it, because the ships that dock at Mondaw are honest ships, and call the proctors immediately. We will need to take your statement, and we request a copy of your dock surveillance records. Perhaps we'll get lucky this time, and see a shadow."

  For a moment, Fer Gun though his knees would give beneath his weight. A prank; an on-going prank, and he nothing more than its latest victim. The ship had behaved correctly, and the proctors had been called.

  He wasn't going to be arrested, again. His license would remain in his pocket.

  There would still be Chi yos'Phelium to deal with when this was over, but if she struck him dead on the spot for idiocy unbecoming a sentient, still, he would die a pilot.

  "Certainly," he said to the proctors. "We will be pleased to share our records."

  "Thank you, Pilot," the elder proctor said, and produced a note-taker from her belt. "Now, if you'll just tell me what happened, we'll add your testimony to the file."

  * * *

  The child was exhausted, Chi thought. Not surprising, really; terror did drain one's resources.

  Now, he sat at the table in the galley, nursing his tea, and clearly waiting for doom to fall.

  She sat across from him, and leaned her chin on her hand.

  "I amend my opinion," she said, and smiled slightly when his eyes flew up to meet hers.

  "Which opinion would that be?" he asked, his voice rough. "That in fact I am not naive, but stupid beyond redemption?"

  Well. Here was angst. She had forgotten, almost, how very young he was.

  "It was somewhat stupid to bring an undocumented package onto this ship," she said conversationally. "Though you were not so stupid that you failed to scan it. Habit is compelling, and we are all victims of our education. You have now, I believe, received an alternate education, and one that you will not soon forget. So, no, I have not changed my opinion of your abilities or potential."

  "What then?" he asked, his voice less rough, and his face showing some ease.

  "Well, I had been in the habit, as you know, of considering your cousins to be clever. I think now that they are not so much clever as very lucky. Did they never cheat anyone on the grey-fees?"

  He blinked, and straightened somewhat in his chair.

  "I was the pilot; not part of the dockside arrangements. Jai Kob had his contacts." He paused as if considering the matter fairly. "He also had Vin Dyr. Very few make progress against Vin Dyr."

  "I see. They are then common port-toughs, with an amount of low cunning, but they are not, necessarily, clever. That is a fair judgment, I think, and I have no shame in altering my opinion of them. Now."

  He winced slightly, and she smiled.

  "I had been under the impression that you had known who your grandfather was. That may have been an error."

  "Grandfather?" He frowned.

  "My grandfather was old and ill and unsteady in his head. He came to rest at Telrune because no one else of his kin would take him."

  "Ah," she said, and took a breath against a hot breath of anger.

  "I will send some information to your screen," she said, rising. "We have several hours until lift, which should be sufficient for you to make yourself familiar with the data."

  He rose, and bowed contrition.

  "I will," he said, "try to. . .improve your opinion of me, Pilot."

  "There's a worthy goal," she said lightly, and left him.

  VI

  They had set up their table on the hiring side of the Trade Hall on Dameeth, and had seen a suitably brisk business. There were some, so it seemed to Fer Gun, who altered their course to avoid when they saw the "Tree-and-Dragon Affiliate" card. That was well enough, in his opinion. It was no small thing, as he knew, to partner with Clan Korval. Such a partnership was more likely than not to change one's life, which was all very well for those like Fer Gun pen'Uldra, whose situation could only be changed for the better. Those who were satisfied with their lives, though–they did well to plot a course wide of Korval.

  They had given five data-sticks, and collected three for review, which they would most assuredly do that evening on return to the ship. He had a favorite among the three, an elder trader with a steady air. Traveling with Chi yos'Phelium had taught him the value of a steady and knowledgeable elder. A new captain on a new route certainly would need all the steadiness and experience he could amass.

  He scanned the room. It was edging toward the end of the day, and the hall was thinning. Those crewing the tables at either side of them were packing up to leave, their conversation all about dinner, and a glass or two of wine to aid the process of decision.

  Indeed, he was on the edge of suggesting to Chi that they remove to review what they had collected, when a movement at the entrance to the hall drew his eye.

  A trader had entered, walking with purpose down the line of hiring tables. She was tall, and wide-shouldered; her hair a smooth and glossy brown. Her clothes were respectable without being ostentatious, as had a few of the early applicants. Her single jewel was a garnet ring–which told the universe that she was a full Trader.

  She paused at a table five up from theirs and spoke to the hiring crew. A Terran crew as it happened, and it seemed to him that she spoke that language easily, switching seamlessly to Trade when one of those behind the table put a question to her thus.

  There seemed some interest on both sides, and, indeed, she did leave a stick with them before taking her leave and moving once more down the row.

  She was near enough now that he could see her face–round, and amiable, and pale. Terran herself, then, he thought, with a sharp stab of regret. That might not be so well. The two Terrans they had spoken to on the day had been capable enough in their own language, which he was in the process of Learning, himself, but utterly at a loss in Liaden, and neither proficient in hand-talk.

  She passed on, and raised her eyes to look past those who were done for the day, and read the sign on their table.

  Her eyes were the color of the Tree's leaves, seen through morning mist. They widened somewhat, and he expected her to pass them by.

  She surprised him, however, and quickened her pace until she stood before their table.

  She bowed the bow of introduction, and straightened to address them, her face smooth and properly Liaden.

  "Pilots. I am Karil Danac-Joenz, Trader, lately serving aboard Argost. I am interested in learning your requirements. Perhaps we might benefit each other."

  Gods, her Liaden was better than his. Fer Gun managed to keep his countenance, though it took him too long to find his voice, and Chi spoke first, in Terran.

  "Trader Danac-Joenz, well-met. We offer a new route which will require fine-tuning, a new captain and crew, and an older small trader. Are you up for a challenge?"

  The trader grinned, in that moment utterly Terran.

  "Pilot, if I weren't a fool for challenge, I wouldn't have become a trader, over all the objections of my family, who wanted a calm life for me."

  Chi inclined her head, and spoke next in Trade.

  "Yo
u are under contract. When will you be at liberty?"

  "My contract with Argost expires in two months Standard. The captain has a standing arrangement with an affiliated Line, and an appropriate trader has just recently finished out his contract. As matters stand at the moment, I will be set down at Boert'ani Station. That may be adjusted, of course."

  "It is possible that our interests may align," Chi said, back into Liaden, but less formal, closer to his own most comfortable dialect. "May we offer a key?"

  "I receive your key with pleasure," Karil Danac-Joenz said, her dock-side bearing an odd Terran inflection, but perfectly intelligible to his ear. "May I offer my own key?"

  Chi glanced to him, and back to the trader.

  "I am Chi yos'Phelium, representing Korval's interests in this set-up period. This–" she half-bowed in his direction–"is Captain Fer Gun pen'Uldra, who will be regular on the route."

  Trader Danac-Joenz turned to him and bowed.

  "Captain–" the Liaden word.

  "Trader," he answered, in his poor Terran. "I am pleased to accept your key."

  She put it on the table before him with dispatch–Liaden manners, again. She had handed her key directly to the Terran recruiter, five tables up.

  He inclined his head, and on a hunch added the hand-sign for well-met.

  "I'm pleased to meet you, too," she said her fluid Terran, her fingers answering well-met, with just the right emphasis to convey, also, agreed.

  * * *

  The three resumes they had gathered were surely worthy, Chi thought, watching the crowd thin. Since she had the benefit of Petrella's notes, she knew to a whisker precisely how worthy. One at least would serve Comet well and honorably, though the raising up of a new captain might try her somewhat.

  It would do, she thought, if nothing else presented, and the hour for presenting was growing late. They might take another day here at Dameeth–the schedule was that loose–to see if something more promising arrived on the morrow. On the other hand, there was no certainty that tomorrow would produce any more interesting choices.