by E. M. Foner
“None, and I doubt I’d be able to afford a security deposit for anything like that. I’m a freelancer. I was hoping that I’d get a big discount on the rental for taking it long term.”
“How much of a discount?”
“Whatever it would take to make the price the same as what I’ll be saving by not paying rent for my apartment.”
“Which is?”
“Three hundred and twenty creds a cycle.”
“I’m sorry,” Joe told her. “Maybe we could stretch a rental to a week for that if things were slow here, but it wouldn’t make any sense for us to go longer.”
“I can’t give up before I even start,” Georgia said in frustration. “What if I rented a ship one way, turned it in as soon as I arrived, and then rented another one when I was ready to move on to the next stop?”
“I know the Colony One people travel in their own ship because I’ve seen it in the news. That means they can go places on the tunnel network where we don’t have any franchises yet, so you’d be out of luck.”
“How much of a security deposit do you think your friend would require? If I can sell the paper enough food stories from the places I stop to cover my expenses, I could come up with two thousand creds,” Georgia offered, naming an amount equaling more than half of her savings.
Joe shook his head. “That idea went out the airlock when you told me you don’t have any piloting experience, and the security deposit would have been twenty times that amount.” He hesitated a moment, then asked, “Have you considered negotiating a ride with a trader?”
“How would that help? Don’t traders have places they need to go to deliver cargo?”
“Some take consignments, but most traders carry their own inventory and lay out the blanket wherever they find themselves. A solo trader might take on a passenger to earn a little ready money and have somebody to talk to for a change.”
“And you think I could find a trader who would be willing to follow the Colony One seminar around?”
“If you come back after supper I can introduce you to a trader I know,” Joe said. “Nice guy, usually stops in here a few times a year. It wouldn’t be right for me to discuss his business, but he probably wouldn’t turn up his nose at a little extra income.”
Two
“Grains,” Larry swore, dropping the ratchet wrench and rubbing his knuckles, which had slammed into the fuel pack when the five-point Sharf socket slipped off the bolt. He grimaced in disgust at the pink socket and pulled it off the ratchet to check it again on the bolt head. The telltale movement proved it was a size too large. “Three shades of red, three shades of blue—why can’t the Sharf number their sockets like normal aliens?”
“Need a hand under there?” a voice called.
“I could use the middle red socket, or maybe it’s dark pink.” A colored socket rolled into the tight space where Larry was working on his back. He snagged it on the move and tried it on the bolt head. “Perfect.” Larry mounted the socket on the ratchet, set the torque, and quickly made up the four bolts. Then he wormed his way out from under the ship and was surprised to see a man and a woman, both dressed in matching slacks and blazers.
“Are you the owner?” the woman asked him. “I’m Marcie Haynes, and this is my partner, Jim Silver.”
“Larry, no last name. Thanks for the socket, but if you’re selling something, I don’t have any cash to spare.”
“We’re here to give you money, Larry,” Jim said, flashing a broad smile. “We’re with MORE, the financial services company that cares more. You probably received a notice about your ship’s mortgage changing hands.”
“No, I didn’t hear anything about that.” Larry rose to his feet and wiped his hands on the rag he kept tied around a belt loop while doing maintenance work. “I bought this ship directly from the Sharf and financed it through them.”
“And they recently sold us a pool of securitized mortgages taken out by humans for pre-owned ships.”
“I would have remembered agreeing to a change in terms.”
“Nothing has changed except that your payments are now routed to us. Your original mortgage contract terms will remain in force throughout the loan period, which in your case,” Marcie said, glancing down at a large-screen tab, “will be another seven years. Unless, of course, you choose to refinance.”
“And we can offer you generous refi terms,” Jim jumped in. “Given the large down payment you made and the relatively short term of your loan, you’ve got a lot of equity built up in this beauty that we can help you access. How does fifty thousand creds cash sound to you?”
“I don’t understand,” Larry said. “You want me to take a second mortgage on my ship?”
“Think of it as a business improvement loan, or better yet, simply reclaiming your own money, because that equity is something you’ve worked hard to earn,” the woman told him. “According to our data you’ve never missed a payment, so you’ll qualify for our best interest rate.”
“My father helped me make the down payment on the condition that I never borrow against it,” Larry said. “Thank you for the help with the socket and coming all the way down here, but I’m looking forward to the day the ship is mine, free and clear.”
“Message received,” Jim said with an insincere grin, and placed a hand on his heart.
“We aren’t just here to offer you a refi,” Marcie continued, tapping and swiping at her tab. “Take a look at this.”
“MORE wants to see all of our customers succeed, so we’ve put together a number of new tools for collaboration,” Jim said, as Larry studied the display. “There’s a built-in rating system that allows affiliated traders to grade each other’s contributions so you can build a reputation. I know you’re thinking that the whole point of being an independent trader is going it alone, but—”
“I already have a reputation,” Larry cut him off, handing back the tab. “I appreciate the offer, but I once subscribed to the Raider/Trader platform the Verlocks maintain, and though I earned steady money, it made me feel like I was running a delivery service. I grew up in a trading family, third generation, and I’m not in it just to squeeze every last cred out of my cargo.”
“Oh well, we can’t force you,” Marcie said, slipping the tab back into her shoulder bag. “If you change your mind, any MORE rep can provide you with a free tab and set up your credentials.”
“You’re a hard sell, Larry,” Jim added, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Our goal is to become the top financial services partner for independent traders, so don’t be surprised when you find that all of your friends are availing themselves of our services.”
Larry watched the pair of sales reps head towards the other two-man Sharf trader currently parked in Mac’s Bones and wondered just how many mortgages MORE had acquired. Then he saw Joe McAllister walking towards him with a slender brunette, and for a second he thought that the ambassador’s husband had found a customer for the ten thousand air-tight salad containers he was hoping to unload for cash. Then he saw her press ID and realized she wasn’t a buyer.
“Evening, Larry,” Joe greeted him. “Did you get that fuel pack bolted up without a problem?”
“Fit like a glove. Thanks for welding on the adapter bracket for me. I might have burned a hole in the pack if I tried welding it myself, but I couldn’t afford the exact replacement size.”
“Sharf fuel packs are practically indestructible. They build them that way so you can’t disassemble it and replace the catalyst yourself.” Joe ushered the reporter forward and continued with a simple introduction. “Georgia, this is Larry. Larry, Georgia is trying to find a ride. She has a peculiar travel itinerary and renting a ship from Tunnel Trips wouldn’t make financial sense for her.”
“Pleased to meet you, Larry,” the reporter said, shaking the trader’s calloused hand. “Joe told me you might consider a passenger?”
“It’s not out of the question,” Larry replied. “I don’t have any commitments to be anywhere f
or the next few weeks, and I was going to check the trade section in the Galactic Free Press and see what looked promising. You’re a full-time reporter?”
“I was. As of today, I’m a freelance investigative journalist, though I’ll be writing some local food articles to pay the bills.”
“I’ll just leave you two to talk then,” Joe said. “I can vouch for Larry and his family, Georgia. They’re good people, been stopping here since I opened the place. If Larry takes you on, don’t forget to stock up at the chandlery. It’s run by my son-in-law.”
“He’s a great old guy,” Larry told Georgia as soon as Joe was out of earshot. “Most places rent tools, but everything here comes free with the camp rental, and Joe’s a genius at tracking down replacement parts. So where do you need to go?”
“I’m working on a story about the Colony One movement and I want to follow them around for a while. You know, see what kind of people show up at their events, whether they present everybody with the same story, that sort of thing.”
“And you can get paid for that?”
“It depends on whether the paper wants to buy what I write, but I have some savings, and they’ll pay me per article to keep writing food stories.”
“So how much were you looking to spend?”
“I’m giving up my apartment and I was hoping to keep my transportation costs to something like a rent payment. Or maybe I could work my way?”
“Cash on the barrelhead,” Larry said. “I have a mortgage payment to make, and the truth is, I’ve got more merchandise than ready money.”
“Would fifty creds a week help?”
“One cred a week would help, but that doesn’t mean it would be worth sharing my living space and chasing around after the Colony One people. How about a hundred?”
“I don’t really have any experience with the whole trading culture thing so I don’t want to get in a haggling war with you. Would seventy-five work?”
“You’re better at negotiating than you think,” Larry said. “Come aboard and take a look around before we shake on the deal because you may want to change your mind. Have you ever traveled on a small ship?”
“No, but I’m not claustrophobic,” she said, following him up the ramp. “And it’s a lot larger than my apartment.”
“The fat part of a trade ship is cargo space. The skinny end is where we live.”
“Oh.” Georgia paused as they entered the cargo hold, which fit between the technical deck and the bridge, and waited a moment for her eyes to adjust. “You use cargo netting in space?”
“Can’t have the goods floating around in Zero-G, and stackable containers are too inefficient in terms of the limited storage space on a small ship like this. Cargo netting is flexible. We take the ladder to the left there.”
“No stairs?”
“Some larger trade ships have a companionway, which is like very steep stairs, but a ladder makes the best use of space unless you can afford a field lift.”
“What’s that?” Georgia asked when they reached the ladder. “You go first, I’m wearing a skirt.”
“All of the advanced species have mastered various levels of field manipulation technology,” Larry explained over his shoulder as he climbed the ladder. “Even the Drazens and the Hortens can manage the atmosphere retention field generators that make it possible for ships to enter docking bays without a giant airlock. The older species can do much fancier stuff, like autoparking ships with manipulator fields, or on a smaller scale, lifting crew from the cargo deck to the bridge. And don’t plan on wearing skirts during the trip. They aren’t practical in Zero-G.”
“So we’ll be living on the bridge?” Georgia asked as she climbed through the open hatch behind him. “What are all of those machines on the ceiling?”
“Stationary bike, rock climbing machine, rowing,” Larry pointed to the exercise equipment in rapid sequence. “We’ve got magnetic fields to protect us from the worst types of radiation, but if you don’t exercise every day in Zero-G, your muscles start shrinking in a hurry.”
“But how can you ride a bike upside down?”
“You really are a newbie, aren’t you. There is no upside down when you’re weightless. See the harness hanging by elastic straps from the treadmill? That’s what keeps me in place when I’m running.”
“Oh, right. I wasn’t thinking. So we sleep in the chairs?”
“In Zero-G, I just tether off to an ankle and float. When we’re parked on a spinning station or a planet, I string a hammock, and I have a spare.”
“The bathroom is behind there?” Georgia asked, pointing at the fanfold door pulled across a nook created by a section of storage lockers along the back of the curved bulkhead.
“Right. I can let you have one of those lockers for your clothes and another for food. You’ll be responsible for your own eats. The chandlery is a good place to stock up, and Kevin, the guy who runs it, was a trader himself. He can tell you what you’ll need.”
“And you’ll be willing to drop whatever you’re doing and follow the Colony One people when they move to their next stop?”
“It’s not like we need to tail the ship. They publish their schedule a cycle in advance. It’s in your paper,” he added, pointing at her press ID.
“I know that. I just mean, can I trust you not to get hung up on a deal somewhere and start ignoring me? I may not have any experience as a trader, but I know a little about guys.”
“And I know a little more than I’d like about gals,” Larry shot back. “Maybe it would be best for both of us if we take it a week at a time.”
“Deal,” Georgia said, and the two shook hands for the second time in ten minutes. “When do you need the first seventy-five creds?”
“Now would be good. I was going to try stretching the filters for an extra cycle, but with another person on board, I may as well change them while I’m here and can get them for a good price.”
“Air filters?”
“Air and sanitary water. You’re in luck with me because I traded for a Dollnick Zero-G shower a couple of years back, uses some advanced field technology to keep the water contained and moving. You wouldn’t want to drink it even with the filter, though I’ve heard of some traders having to do that in emergencies.”
“I think I’ll buy extra water.” Georgia fished in her purse and came up with the programmable cred the Galactic Free Press provided all employees to make their payroll. “Can you take it out of this, or do you need cash?”
“I’ve got a mini-register, all independent traders do,” Larry told her, accepting the coin. He opened one of the storage lockers next to the bathroom and removed the alien device. Then he inserted her programmable cred, entered the amount, and nodded when the ‘sufficient balance’ light turned green. “I’ll need your voice approval,” he said, gesturing at the amount that now appeared as a holographic projection above the mini-register.
“I approve seventy-five creds for one week’s passage,” Georgia said, deciding to err on the side of caution.
Larry gave her an appraising look as he returned her programmable cred. “Maybe you aren’t as much of a newbie as I took you for,” he said. “Remind me to add you to the Stryx controller once we’re underway. When do you want to leave?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll go buy my supplies at the chandlery now, but I have to stop back at the paper’s office in the morning to see about my advance. Is there anything I need to bring other than food and water?”
“Coffee or tea, if you’re a caffeine freak like all of the reporters I’ve met. We don’t brew in Zero-G, so buy the boxes with the built-in heater tabs. They aren’t expensive. And bring at least two sets of workout clothes. I have a sterilizer unit that will keep clothes from stinking, but they feel kind of gross after getting soaked with sweat and drying out a few times.”
“How long will we be spending in Zero-G between stops? I thought it was usually just a half a day or so.”
“That’s true between Stryx stations in the area
, but some worlds and orbitals on the tunnel network are days away from the nearest entrance or exit, and that assumes we aren’t going to any outer planets or moons in those systems. And tunnel traffic controllers intentionally stretch the time it takes to travel long distances to keep us from getting nutty. Our brains have trouble readjusting to large moves relative to the galactic core.”
“I didn’t know that,” Georgia admitted in dismay. “What if weightlessness makes me sick? Can I buy medication?”
“You can, but I advise against it,” Larry told her. “Drugs are fine for a few hours here and there, but we’re going to be spending a lot of time in Zero-G, so you may as well tough it out and get acclimated. I know some tricks that will help you adjust.”
Her new roommate, or captain, Georgia wasn’t sure yet how to classify him, led her to the chandlery, and they arranged to leave right after lunch the next day. The man working behind the counter was a few years older than her, and as soon as she described her intention, he began grabbing items off various shelves and making a pile of them.
“I’ll throw in a spool of twine,” Kevin told her when his initial flurry of activity wound down. “I’m sure that Larry has his own, but he’ll appreciate the gesture.”
“What will I do with twine?”
“You’ll see when you’re in Zero-G,” he replied, and began enumerating the goods he’d piled up. “Magnetic cleats, a week’s supply of coffee at two boxes a day, a two week supply of water at six boxes a day, one week’s worth of mystery meals in squeeze tubes—you’re sure you don’t want to choose?”
“I’m a food writer. I eat weird stuff for a living.”
“Right. Well, I basically gave you one of everything I stock. A small sack of potatoes—”
“Are you sure I’ll need those?” she interrupted.
“Just in case the squeeze tubes don’t work out. Sharf two-man traders have a built-in microwave, and potatoes are foolproof and ideal for Zero-G cooking.”
