by Sharon Lee
There was a small pause, as if he had surprised the trader.
“Pilot, thank you. I am at the Spinside Hyatt, and can be at your hatch within the hour. As to luggage, I assure you that I require no assistance.”
He hesitated, but Boert’ani was rated safe, after all, and surely a trader must be dock-wise.
“Come, then, and welcome,” he told her. “We will expect you.”
“Excellent! Until soon.”
“Until soon,” he answered, but the light had already gone out.
Well, then. On to the next task. He located cor’Wellin in the port directory and placed his call.
“This is Fer Gun pen’Uldra,” he told the man who answered; “small trader Comet. I wish to arrange delivery of our cargo, hold number CW9844.”
The warehouseman’s face changed. Perhaps it was dismay. He held his hands up to the screen.
“My apologies, Pilot, but you must come to us. Your cargo has been damaged. You will want to inspect it before taking delivery.”
“Damaged? What kind of damage?”
The man licked his lips.
“I cannot say, Pilot. It will be best for you to come yourself, perform an inspection and file a damage report, if you deem it necessary.”
Fer Gun glared at the warehouseman. The warehouseman simply stared back at him.
“I will be there within the hour,” he said curtly, and cut the connection.
He had hoped to let Chi sleep her fill; and now he would have to wake her for board-duty—another irritation.
Well, it couldn’t be helped.
He rose, and crossed the bridge to the main hall—
A bell rang.
Fer Gun frowned—then his face cleared. Trader Danac-Joenz had arrived. Perhaps he could let Chi sleep after all.
He turned left, down the access hall, glanced at the screen, and verified that the tall woman with the amiable face, pretty brown hair braided down her back today was, indeed, Karil Danac-Joenz—and cycled the hatch.
• • • • • •
Chi was in the copilot’s chair when they came onto the bridge, having stopped on the way from the hatch to stow the trader’s meager luggage in her quarters.
Fer Gun swallowed a curse.
“Pilot,” Chi said agreeably. “Hello, Trader; well-met.”
“Pilot.” Trader Danac-Joenz bowed. “It’s good to be aboard.”
“It’s good to have you,” Chi assured her, then turned a sapient eye to him.
“What’s amiss, Fer Gun?”
He sighed.
“The warehouse lets me know that the cargo for Lytaxin is damaged. They won’t deliver until I’ve gone to the warehouse, inspected the damage and filled out some paperwork. I had hoped to let you rest. In fact, why not rest again? The trader will stand comm.”
He saw Chi look aside, and followed her gaze. Karil Danac-Joenz was frowning slightly.
“Yes?” Chi murmured. “Do not hesitate to share your thoughts, Trader. You will find it a plain-spoken ship.”
A subtle grin briefly illuminated the trader’s face before she turned to Fer Gun.
“Unless Pilot yos’Phelium’s need is dire, I think the ship is better served if I go with you to the warehouse,” she said. “I am something of an expert on cargo, and on the sorts of damage cargo might reasonably receive.”
She paused, not quite a hesitation, and bowed slightly.
“I am also an expert on paperwork having to do with cargo.” She gave him a whimsical look. “My master insisted that I learn it all, no matter how tedious, and well it was that he did—the garnet exams are nearly all about paperwork.”
It was his decision. Chi could have said, “That would be the best use of resources, Pilot.” She didn’t say it, but he heard it inside his head, just as clearly as if she had. And, yes, he told himself grumpily, it was the best use of available resources.
“Well, then,” he said, bowing lightly; “are you ready now, Trader?”
She returned the bow.
“Yes, let us go now. It’s a lovely day for a walk.”
• • • • • •
“I am here,” Fer Gun told the clerk behind the counter, “to inspect cargo that was damaged. Lot Number CW9844, on hold for Comet.”
She glanced down, presumably at a screen set below the counter, and looked up again, face stiff.
“Lot CW9844 is being held in the inspection bay. Down this hall, Pilots, to the end. There is a door.”
“We will require the presence of a warehouse representative,” Trader Danac-Joenz said. “We were told there would be paperwork.”
The clerk took a breath.
“Someone will be waiting for you in the inspection bay.”
There was a momentary hesitation, as if the trader had weighed this answer and found it wanting. Then, she inclined her head, and turned to him.
“After you, Pilot.”
• • • • • •
The hall was short, and oddly unpeopled. Fer Gun hesitated, and glanced at his trader.
“Do you have a weapon?”
She met his eyes.
“Will I need one?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, and moved a hand, fingers flickering in the sign for bad feeling. “You won’t wait in the hall, I suppose.”
She laughed.
“Already, we are beginning to know each other! No, Pilot; I will not wait in the hall, but I will cover your off-side.”
Well, that was fair enough, he owned; and, by the look of her face, it was the trader’s best offer.
“To my right, then,” he said, and lengthened his stride, so he was first through the door.
The bay was bright-lit, which he hadn’t expected; and there was the pallet, in the center of the light, looking remarkably unscathed. He cleared the door for his back-up—six strides beyond the door—and stopped, looking to the right of the cargo, where the light had thrown shadows.
“Jai Kob,” he said, finding the first cousin easy enough, leaning against a pod-lift, just at the edge of the shadow.
A longer look brought him the second, deeper in the dimness, crouching on his heels.
“Vin Dyr,” he added, and over his shoulder— “My cousins.”
“Is that the contract-wife?” Jai Kob asked, strolling forward, his hands tucked comfortably into his belt. He gave the trader an appraising glance, and looked back to Fer Gun, frowning.
“Withholding yourself, Gunny? Or just inept?”
“I was told,” Fer Gun said, watching out of the side of his eye as Vin Dyr straightened to his feet. “That my cargo was damaged, and required an inspection, with a paper filed. Working for the warehouse, Cousin?”
Jai Kob laughed, and Vin Dyr drifted closer to the light. Fer Gun felt the trader’s attention shift in that direction.
“The cargo’s well-enough, so far as my inspection goes,” Jai Kob said. “Given the terms of the contract you’re under, we thought it best to meet you in private. Is that the contract-wife?”
“No,” said Trader Danac-Joenz.
“Good,” Jai Kob said. “That’s good.”
He stepped closer, his hands slipping out of his belt. There was a packet in his off-hand, which he lifted slightly to show Fer Gun.
“The damage call was only a prank, Gunny—just a joke between kin. But it’s true enough that you’ve papers to sign.”
Fer Gun felt his stomach clench. Papers. Often enough, he’d had papers to sign, since the day he came halfling; his grandfather gone, and what care he had coming from his clever older cousins.
The very same older cousins who had given him papers to sign at Solcintra Port, scheming to strip his wings away, and likely long-ago murdered in the Low Port, if Chi yos’Phelium’s iron whim hadn’t settled on him.
“What papers?” he asked Jai Kob. “Agreeing to an extra fee for the release of the pod?”
Jai Kob looked hurt, which meant nothing. Jai Kob could assume any expression or attitude the moment wante
d.
“Are we pod-pirates, Gunny?” he asked and swept on before Fer Gun could answer, which was just as well. “No, we’ve only this paper here that needs your signature. You remember the quarterlies. Well, it’s past time for the next.”
He remembered the quarterlies, so he did. The very first one signed at his cousins’ direction barely three days after his grandfather’s death. He hadn’t read that one. Jai Kob had assured him there was no need; Jai Kob had read it, after all, and had found everything in order.
“What’s that about the marriage contract?” he asked, then.
“Didn’t they tell you, Gunny? Korval was paying Telrune a handsome sum for your . . . abilities, but just the smallest taste up-front, and all the rest on completion, contingent on no kin contacting you during the marriage.”
“So you’ve just breached the terms,” Fer Gun pointed out. “Telrune will like that you’ve snatched cantra out of his fingers.”
“The little cousin’s gotten sharp,” Vin Dyr said dryly, stepping fully into the light.
Jai Kob shook his head.
“Who’s to know it, unless you tattle, and then Telrune will know right enough who to blame. But, here, Gunny, I can see you’re in no mood to play. Just sign the paper, we’ll be off, and you can take delivery of your cargo.”
Fer Gun took a deep breath, teetering on the edge of choice. Sign the paper and Jai Kob released the cargo in good order. Refuse to sign the paper, and the cargo would not survive the next hour, no matter how good his cousin’s humor appeared.
To allow Korval’s cargo to be destroyed because he had grown squeamish about his cousins. Was that even a choice?
It occurred to him then that there was a third choice.
“Trader Danac-Joenz,” he heard himself say calmly; “of your kindness.”
“Certainly, Captain.”
She stepped forward and held out her hand for the packet.
Jai Kob took a step back, glaring.
“What’s this, Gunny?”
“This is the ship’s trader,” Fer Gun said. “I brought her to deal with the paperwork for the damaged cargo.”
“This is between cousins,” Jai Kob protested. “It’s not for anyone to look at and blab around the docksides.”
“Sir.” Trader Danac-Joenz sounded halfway between angry and amused. “I am, in fact, Comet’s trader. I assure you—I know how to treat confidential business. If you would care to step up the hall to the office, I will call up my references for you.”
Jai Kob stared, frozen in place. Vin Dyr shifted, boots grating on the floor as he adjusted his balance, his hand moving toward the place where he kept his hideaway. Fer Gun stepped to the side, and waved the trader forward, putting her and Jai Kob into the same frame.
It was still a risk, Vin Dyr being more than a fair shot, but he wouldn’t take the snap-shot now, just to see what would happen, not with Jai Kob so near.
At least, Fer Gun hoped so.
“The trader will review the paperwork,” he said; “to be certain that everything is in order. Surely, Cousin, you don’t want to risk Telrune’s anger on a faulty instrument.”
“Faulty instrument,” Vin Dyr repeated, not quite under his breath. “The child has airs.”
Fer Gun ignored him.
“Will you be able to work here, Trader? Or will the warehouse office be better?”
“This is perfectly adequate,” she assured him. “This light is particularly good. Now, if the gentleman will relinquish the packet . . . ?”
For a moment, Fer Gun thought that Jai Kob would do no such thing. It was possible that Jai Kob thought so, too.
Then, he took one step forward—and placed the packet into the trader’s outstretched hand.
“Thank you,” she said with complete composure.
And broke the seal.
• • • • • •
“The third paragraph references the terms of a previous contract, dated some dozen Standards back,” Trader Danac-Joenz murmured, “which would appear to be the foundation for the rest of this currently proposed document.”
She looked up from the papers and gave Fer Gun a bright, candid glance.
“You have that contract among your records, of course, Captain. Will it be available to the ship’s system?”
Fer Gun felt his stomach clench, as in the back of his mind, he heard Lady yo’Lanna scolding him: Read the contract; understand the contract; keep a copy of the contract for future consultation.
“My cousins have been in the habit of keeping my paperwork for me,” he told the trader, and waited for the scorn to fill her eyes.
Instead, her eyes narrowed, and if there was any emotion on her face, he would have said it was anger.
“I see. Naturally, you would have been very young when the foundation document was made, and it would have been natural for elder kin to hold the files. They ought, of course, to have transferred the records to you when you came of age, but such things often slip the mind.
“Happily, we can regularize the situation now.”
She turned to Jai Kob.
“If you will kindly bring forth those records, sir, I may continue my work. Thus far, the contract you offer appears . . . promising. But we must, as I am certain you understand, have the foundation document. Indeed, it ought to have been appended to this paper—but again, it is so very easy for such details to slip the mind.”
Boot soles grated against a gritty floor.
Fer Gun turned sharply toward Vin Dyr, his hand dropping to the gun on his belt.
His cousin twitched—and raised both hands, showing them empty.
“The foundation document,” Jai Kob was saying in the quick, light voice he used when he was lying. “Certainly, Trader; how foolish of me to have forgotten! There is, in fact, a copy in the ship’s files. Unfortunately, with Fer Gun under contract, we have no third to leave on-board while Vin Dyr and I attend business. It will require only an hour to go to the ship and bring back the complete files for you to peruse. If you would care to wait here? Or—of course! The Trade Bar. We will meet you there, in an hour, if that will suffice you?”
Fer Gun kept his warning behind his teeth. Korval’s cargo, he reminded himself; that was the important thing here: To recover the cargo intact.
“Certainly,” Trader Danac-Joenz said cordially. “An hour, in the Trade Bar. We will be much more comfortable there, and will have access to the library, should there be need.”
“Excellent,” Jai Kob said. He extended a hand to the trader, for the contract. She merely looked at him.
“I will keep this, of your kindness,” she said, “and continue my review. I know that your time is valuable.”
“Just so,” said Jai Kob, and bowed.
“Trader,” he said. “Gunny.” He glanced aside.
“Come along, Cousin,” he said to Vin Dyr, who needed no such urging. Walking briskly, they were through the door—and gone.
“What are the odds,” Trader Danac-Joenz said, lightly, her eyes on the door, “that they will come back in an hour, with or without those documents?”
“No odds, Trader. Next we hear, they’ll be casting off without having filed with the station master.”
She nodded, reached to her belt, and pulled out a portcomm.
“Ship’s name?” she murmured, thumbing the call button.
“Lady Graz.”
“Thank you.” She tipped her head.
“Pilot yos’Phelium, this is Karil Danac-Joenz. We have a situation,” she said crisply. “Can you—or Korval—hold the ship Lady Graz at dock?”
VIII
Chi sat in the copilot’s chair. She had the surveillance camera feeding screen three, though she expected no trouble on their own dock. Frowning, she examined that thought.
No, she decided, the trouble, whatever shape it took, would be with the cargo. Well that Fer Gun hadn’t gone alone. Well—well, indeed—that Karil Danac-Joenz was far removed from being a fool. She was encouraged on that
front, very much so.
She glanced at the clock. An hour gone, and no word from either. That could be good news. Or bad news. Or no news at all.
“You’re as jumpy as a cat with one kitten,” she growled at herself—and snapped forward when the comm pinged.
“Comet,” she snapped, and frowned slightly at Karil Danac-Joenz’s voice.
“Not even Korval holds ships at a whim,” she said. “We need a reason that will compel the station master.”
“It will have to be piracy, Pilot. Pilot pen’Uldra’s cousins met us at the warehouse, wishing for him to sign a document. Very much wishing for him to sign a document, and desperate enough for it that they were holding our cargo ransom.
“My reading of this document leads me to believe that they have been cheating Pilot pen’Uldra of the profits of his birth-right since before he came of age. The present scheme is to transfer the ship wholly to them, and to strip him of all his assets.”
Chi closed her eyes and counted to one hundred forty-four. How one did long to speak, personally and alone, with the cousins.
“Do you have the document?” Chi asked, keeping her voice calm.
“I have the new document,” the trader said. “The case would be stronger, with the entire series in hand.” She paused. “Pilot pen’Uldra’s cousins have said that they are going back to their ship to retrieve those, and will meet us at the Trade Bar inside of an hour.”
Chi gave a sharp laugh.
“Yes, exactly. You see why it must be piracy?”
“I do, indeed. Where are you and Fer Gun now?”
“At the warehouse.”
“Come home,” Chi said. “Leave the damned cargo. Until we have a chance to order a comprehensive scan, it is compromised, and it is not coming anywhere near this ship.”
“Yes, Pilot. Agreed.”
“Good. I’ll call the station master, and file our complaint.”
• • • • • •
“Thank you, Pilot; we’re on our way.”
The trader thumbed off the unit, and looked at Fer Gun.
“Your copilot requests that we return to the ship.”
“The cargo?”
“We’re to treat it as compromised and a danger to the ship.”
He almost smiled at that. Trust Chi yos’Phelium to protect the ship.
