by Cary Caffrey
Blast that Harry Jones.
"I don't think the Independents much care who or how many people they kill," Sigrid said bitterly. "Sometimes I wonder if they even know what they're fighting for."
"Freedom?" Jaffer said, with a shrug. "Self-determination? A chance to live a life without being indebted or beholden to someone else?"
Sigrid turned to him in surprise. "Don't tell me you sympathize with them—after what you just told me? It's one thing to attack a military target, but, Jaffer, there were civilians there! Innocents! Tens of thousands! You said it yourself."
"Hey, I didn't say I sympathize. I just said I understand."
"They're killers, Jaffer. Murderers! They're terrorists!"
"They're fighting for their homeworlds. They're fighting for survival. They're desperate. And desperate people take desperate measures."
"Oh, I think you're being far too kind. I've read the histories, Jaffer. The Council offered the Independents federated status decades ago. They refused! If they find themselves shut out of trading, it's their own fault."
Jaffer shook his head and chuckled. "Federated status? That might not mean what you think it does, sweetheart. Mineral rights. Water rights. Seed rights. Oxygen rights! Federated status means giving all that up—and just so the CTF can privatize it and sell it right back at a premium! And it doesn't stop there. Oh, no! Now you got to buy from them—manufacture what they tell you, when they tell you. Don't produce enough? They charge you a penalty. 'Equalization levies,' they call it. And it's all for one purpose: to drive us deeper and deeper into debt. Which is exactly what they want. The more indebted we are, the more beholden we are to the corporatocracy."
"You make it sound like a conspiracy."
"Isn't it? Look, all I know is people built those worlds. Real people, like you and me. Not corporations. People built them from nothing. They fought for them. They died for them. Can you honestly tell me you wouldn't fight just as hard to protect your own?"
The last question came with a certain sting. Wasn't Sigrid doing everything she could to protect her own homeworld, her sisters—Suko? How many had she killed to keep them safe? Was she any different?
No, she was different. The Independents destroyed her home—murdered and tortured her friends. While Sigrid had killed her fair share, she wasn't about to start rolling bombs into shopping malls just to make her point. No, she wasn't like the Independents. She wasn't like them at all.
"To tell the truth," Jaffer said, "I'm a little surprised you're not more on board. You of all people."
"Me? Why me?"
"You're a lifer! A slave. At least, you were. No offense intended."
"None taken."
"You were indentured. You've been on the inside. You know what it's like! Independents want to put an end to the bureaucracy. No more trade barriers. No more Council. No more servitude. You of all people can understand that!"
"But without the bureaucracy, who would run things? How would anything get done? I've seen Independent-run colonies, Jaffer. It's chaos. Freedom sounds lovely—until you run out of food and water and clothing and electricity."
Jaffer chuckled. "Now you sound like a Federate."
Sigrid crossed her arms across her chest. "Well, I certainly am not. Can't I be neutral? I hate the CTF. I despise them! And I'm no fan of the Independents either."
"To tell the truth, being neutral might not be a bad idea in these parts. You never know who might be listening in the Crossroads. The Consortium does what it can to keep the peace, but this is a land divided, and we're smack right in the middle. Ah—there we go. There's a space opened up. Move the rig ahead."
The cargo train ahead of her completed its unloading. Sigrid waited until the berth was vacated before pulling in. She was just getting the train rolling when a tall man in a flapping orange bib came running out. He strode directly in front of her with his hand raised, forcing Sigrid to stomp on the brakes. He had a clipboard tucked under his arm and a rather prim look plastered on his face. If he was concerned that she'd nearly run him over, he didn't show it.
The ID tag pinned to his collar identified him as Franco Alvarez, port master to the Crossroads. He walked over to the driver's side door and made a rolling motion with his hand.
Sigrid lowered the glass and leaned out. "Is there a, um, problem?"
Seeing her, the man's disposition changed in an instant. The prim look was gone, replaced by a sparkling smile. He hugged the clipboard to his chest. "Why, hello."
"Hello, yourself," Sigrid answered back.
"You're not Jaffer."
"No," Sigrid said, leering down at him over the rim. "I'm not."
"I can tell. You're much prettier."
"Yes, but with fewer tattoos."
"Pretty and charming. On behalf of the Consortium, may I welcome you to the Crossroads?"
"You may. Though I'm not sure about the pretty part," Sigrid said, giving a twirl to her tangled mess of hair. "You're not exactly catching me at my best."
"Nonsense. The road is a harsh mistress. But such beauty and grace cannot so easily be obscured as to—"
"All right, all right," Jaffer said, stepping down from the cab. "Easy, Franco. She's half your age. And way out of your league."
"Jaffer," Franco said, sounding perhaps disappointed not to be talking to Sigrid anymore. "My old friend."
"Franco."
"What? Is that all I get?"
"You want a hug?"
Franco sighed, as if to feign disappointment. "I suppose your signature will have to suffice." He thrust the clipboard toward Jaffer. There was a contract pinned there. A real printed one, Sigrid noticed, not electronic.
Jaffer proceeded to read it, his lips moving in time as he muttered his way through the fine print.
"It's all standard," the port master said, trying to pry it back, but Jaffer held up his hand.
"Wait! Nine thousand? Nice try, Franco. But that's not even half what you owe me."
Franco squeezed his shoulders together and glanced skyward. "I'm afraid it's the going rate these days. I'm sure you can see we're getting a bit backlogged," he said, gesturing to the towering stacks of intermodal containers. "I'm sorry, but nine thousand is the best I can do."
"It's robbery and you know it. I had to pay twice that in Punta Arenas to pick this lot up—for you, I might add."
"It's a buyer's market. What can I say?"
Jaffer shifted back and forth; he ground his teeth together so hard Sigrid could hear it from her seat in the cab. "You're a real piece of work, Franco. Anyone ever tell you that?"
"My mother. Every Sunday at brunch. Sign here. Initial there—"
"Wait. Don't sign that."
The two men turned as Sigrid slid down the ladder and strode toward them. She stumbled briefly in the boots that were too big for her before regaining her composure. Approaching them, Sigrid snatched the contract from Jaffer's hands.
"Jaffer, he's bluffing."
"Bluffing? I would never dream of it."
Sigrid stared up at the taller man. The port master was good. Very good. But not good enough to fool her. Despite his reserved manner, his eagerness registered fiercely in her sensor nodes. "He'll pay three times what he's offering you, Jaffer. Isn't that right, Mr. Alvarez?"
"Will I?" the port master said, who fixed his eyes squarely on Sigrid. "I'm sorry. I don't think I caught your name, Ms.…?
"Her name's Sig—oomph."
"Camila," Sigrid said, extracting her elbow from where she'd planted it in Jaffer's ribcage. "Camila Valentina Rodriguez."
"Well, Ms. Rrrodriguez," Franco said, rolling his tongue over the R of Rodriguez in an impressive fashion. "I'm afraid this isn't a negotiation. Jaffer knows the score. These are tough times. We can't move half of what's behind us in those stacks. I only agreed to take this cargo because Jaffer and I go back a ways. Isn't that right, Jaffer?"
Jaffer merely grunted as an answer.
Sigrid, however, was unconvinced. The port ma
ster wanted Jaffer's cargo. In fact, he was desperate for it. "You do know what cargo Jaffer's carrying, Mr. Franco? Organic sea greens. Fresh, not processed. Do you know what the going rate for fresh produce is?"
"Do you?"
It was a good question. Thanks in part to Lady Hitomi and Karen, her old orientations officer, Sigrid was well versed in matters of business, but she also knew any experience she had was six years and, apparently, one war out of date.
"It's worth twenty-eight times what's on that offer sheet," Sigrid said, taking a wild guess.
"Perhaps," Franco said, studying her with renewed vigor. "But who's going to pay for it? Trade is not what it used to be, Ms. Rodriguez. I assume you have another figure in mind?"
"Ninety-six thousand."
"Ninety-six—? We're not a charity here, Ms. Rodriguez. We have storage expenses, shipping, security. Our employees expect to get paid, and our investors need to make a profit. I'm sorry, but nine thousand dollars is the best I can do. Take it or leave it."
"Then we'll leave it. Jaffer would rather dump the entire load right here in this lot than sell below cost. Wouldn't you, Jaffer?"
"Of course, I—wait—what?"
"Now it is you who is bluffing, Ms. Rodriguez."
Sigrid stepped closer, staring up the beak of his impressive nose. "Do you know what kind of mess dumping twelve thousand hectoliters of sea greens will make, Mr. Alvarez? In a closed facility such as this it would be quite the environmental disaster. You may want to consider the cost of that cleanup."
The port master's face turned instantly sour and he clutched the clipboard to his chest. "You should remind your friend, Jaffer, that you're lucky to be driving for the Consortium at all. If you're not satisfied with the rates, there are others who would be happy to take your route. Tell you what. Because I like you, and I do, I'm prepared to offer fourteen thousand."
"Ninety-six thousand," Sigrid said. "Or we dump the load. The entire load."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Come along, Jaffer. We're dumping it."
Sigrid grabbed Jaffer by the elbow. She'd taken two steps when she heard the low, throaty bellow behind her.
"Wait!"
Sigrid turned slowly back around.
"Thirty-two thousand," the port master said. "My original offer."
"Ninety-six thousand. Or…I shall personally inform your investors how you let a cargo with a retail value of more than four hundred thousand in adjusted Federated dollars slip through your fingers."
Franco's eyelid twitched twice. "Forty thousand."
Sigrid reached across and plucked the contract from the port master's bony hands. Slowly, methodically, she inscribed a new purchasing amount before handing it back to him. "Do we have a deal, Mr. Alvarez?"
~ - ~
Sigrid was standing by the loading docks ten minutes later. She had just finished offloading Bins's longspur from the storage racks when Jaffer emerged from the port master's office. He carried an overstuffed envelop in his hands, brimming with colorful bills. Sigrid was amazed, they'd actually paid him in real hard currency. One by one, Jaffer sifted through the bills, counting the stack. He practically glowed.
"Well, don't you look in good spirits," Sigrid said. "Paid in full, I trust?"
"I watched him count it myself. Seventy-two thousand. Oh, and look, thirty-five cents. I'm not sure what feels better. Hearing all those zeros or seeing the look on Franco's face. I think you actually hurt him. I mean, physically. He didn't look well."
"Don't worry about him. He'll be fine. As long as you're happy."
"Happy? Sweetheart, happy isn't half the word for it." Jaffer stared at the stacks of bills in his hands. "This'll really save my bacon. I think you just saved my life."
"Your life? Jaffer, you're not in trouble—?"
"What? No, no. Nothing like that. Just a few, er, creditors. Bill collectors and such. Nothing I can't handle."
"Goodness. I'm sorry I didn't ask for more!"
"Phhtt. This is more than enough. Speaking of which…" Jaffer counted out several bills from the stack. Folding them, he handed them to her. "Here's your cut."
"My cut?"
"Of course! You earned it."
Sigrid stared at the bills in her hand. It totaled nearly eight thousand. It was too much. Far too generous. "Jaffer, I shouldn't. I couldn't." But she was also keenly aware that she would need money on Earth, and a lot more of it. Her days of easy access to her mistress's funds were a distant memory. "Could I?"
"Ten percent. Standard broker's rates."
"I'm not a broker."
"The hell you ain't! Take it. It's the least I can do. I just wish I could do more."
"First you save my life and now this? I'm starting to suspect you might be my guardian angel. I don't know what to say."
"Well, you could say thank you. And…that you'll join me for supper? There's a little place down the road. It's nothing fancy or anything, but the food eats good."
Sigrid was about to say no. She couldn't afford to stay in any one place for long. She had to keep moving. But without access to the Warp Relays, where exactly was she going? And her stomach was already rumbling at the mere mention of food. What could one meal hurt?
"Well, all right, but on one condition. I'm buying."
"A free meal and good company. Who am I to protest?"
Sigrid threw the riding coat over her shoulders and mounted the longspur, straddling it and hooking her feet in the pegs. She was keenly aware of Jaffer's eyes on her as she went swiftly through the ignition sequence, bringing the longspur roaring to life.
"You're an interesting woman, Sigrid Novak. You've got a head for business, are one hell of a driver, and you handle yourself in a fight better than anyone I've ever seen. One of these days you're going to have to tell me exactly what they had you doing in that factory."
"One of these days," she said with a wink. "For now, let's just say they didn't have me working in the kitchens."
She revved the engine hard, letting the thruster coils heat up to a warming glow and making Jaffer have to shout to be heard. "You're not trying to weasel out of dinner, are you? I'm counting on that free meal."
"I'd never dream of it. But there's some business I need to take care of in town. Can I meet you after?"
"Sure. Sure." Jaffer thrust his hands in his pockets. She could tell he had a growing list of questions, but like a gentleman, he kept those questions to himself.
"I need to see to the cargo anyway," he said, as more an excuse than anything. "Shouldn't be more than an hour."
"Perfect. See you in an hour, then."
The longspur rose on its repulsors. Sigrid kicked it into gear, spinning it in a swift 180-degree turn before blasting away down the road and leaving Jaffer in a cloud of dust.
"Already counting the minutes."
~ - ~
Stranger and stranger, Sigrid thought as she rode slowly through the narrow streets of the Crossroads. Her travels and adventures had taken her to many shores, but none perhaps as strange as this.
On the surface, the Crossroads didn't appear all that different from places like Vincenze or even Konoe Station, except of course that the Crossroads was on Earth and not floating through space. As with any company town, there were tenement buildings for housing the work crews, but unlike the corporate factories, there were no guard walls surrounding the tenements, and none of the usual suicide nets. There weren't even any bars across the windows to seal the workers in at night! Stranger still, the workers here weren't even indentured, at least according to Jaffer. As incredible as it sounded, they were free women and men, come here to work, and they were paid in Federated dollars rather than the usual company script.
And there were other differences, though some took Sigrid longer to notice. She'd been driving for some time before she realized she hadn't seen a single flesh-trader or drug peddler, and normally they would appear everywhere. In their place, Sigrid spied several apothecaries, cheery-looking women and
men in brightly lit shops. The brothels were more difficult to spot, but only because the establishments appeared clean and friendly, looking perfectly in place next to the neighboring cafés and dress shops.
Apparently this Consortium had its own way of doing things. Those looking to imbibe could have their drugs without having to bother anyone or be bothered in turn. Others looking for shared intimacy could have that too. The only difference appeared to be the drugs were clean and monitored, and the sex-workers were of consenting age and worked willingly at their own volition, rather than coerced through drugs or violence. It made for a much calmer environment than she was used to.
But neither of these were the services she was seeking. Drugs were useless on her, and sex…well, there was only one partner she was interested in, and Sigrid didn't even know if she were alive or dead.
It was in the advocates' quarter of the Crossroads that Sigrid found what she was looking for: a solicitor specializing in contract law. In the woman's dusty office, surrounded by towering stacks of leather-bound legal tomes, Sigrid received the news she was dreading most.
"I'm sorry, young lady, but this contract is quite authentic," said the gray-haired solicitor. She leaned across her desk to hand Sigrid a legal copy of her life contract—the very same contract Sigrid had discovered in the facility in Punta Arenas.
Sigrid stared at the printout in her hand. "But-but that's not possible! It's a fake—it has to be!" She'd only come here to confirm that fact, not to find out…
That it was real?
Sigrid thrust the contract back into the solicitor's hand. "This is a mistake. There has to be some other explanation."
"I can scan it again. But the answer will be the same. The contract was registered, filed and approved by the offices of the CTF on October 15, 2352. You, my dear, are the property of Cheung-Yoshida Multi-Planetary, a subsidiary of…oh, look at that. Coran Industries. And for a most impressive fee." The elderly solicitor held the contract close to her face, squinting. "Goodness, dear, you are worth a fortune!"
"Thanks." Sigrid snatched the printout from her wrinkled fingers, folding it back into her coat. "I trust you'll keep this confidential?"
