Derelict For Trade

by Andre Norton

  Very swiftly they all exited, the scouts reversing their process of entry so the pitfalls would be intact. Rip knew that the interruption would show up on some computer somewhere, but it couldn’t be helped. They could only hope that if the room seemed to be untouched no one would check—at least until they were safely out of reach.

  They shot into the service adit just moments before a vanguard of maintenance people moved slowly down the hall, ostensibly looking for pests. One of Tooe’s klinti left the hatch open a fraction, just enough for them to see that the maintenance people were followed by two fully armed Monitors.

  Someone closed the hatch, and in the dim indirect light of the service tunnel they moved swiftly back through the building’s crazy angles and curves until they emerged once again behind the protective screen of huge ferns.

  Again they progressed in twos and threes onto the concourse, the last of the klinti being the two who had meanwhile shed and stashed their maintenance clothing.

  This time, however, they did not go to the maglev. Instead, Rip and his companions from the Queen followed the others in an evasive pattern that led to the Spin Axis.

  Rip was fascinated by the increasing strangeness of their surroundings as they approached the Spinner. Their route became ever more crooked, compressed by the micrograv shifting of forgotten cargo and junk over the centuries. Several times he saw where automated buildbots had evidently just chewed through everything in their path, bracing abandoned machinery to the walls merely as support for the new pipelines or data paths that transfixed them. No wonder there were so many leaks. It was almost like the Kanddoyds expected their cylome to be no more permanent than the planet that had rejected them.

  From out of the fog and shadows came a hooting call, another in the series that had followed them, as unseen but ever-present klinti monitored their progress and their intentions. Of course they were tense, he thought, perceiving now the fragile network of relationships that kept the various factions and territories from deadly strife.

  We've fractured the peace here—everywhere on the cylome, he

  thought. If this doesn't work, if we can't prove this conspiracy, we won't survive. Everyone on the habitat will have been turned against us. Watching Nunku, Rip realized that the klinti knew this, and knew they would not survive either. They had made their choice: an irrevocable one.

  The klinti nest was so bizarre that it gave Rip the sense of being the source of all the weirdness of the Spinner, rather than its effect. Not only was there no sense of up and down in the vast chamber, it seemed to have been designed using these elements of the klinti habitations with ferocious intent. Spidery latticework tubes—the free-fall equivalent of catwalks—webbed the space at all angles, swollen here and there with homes like galls on an oak branch. Between the thinner strands of the web were cables, ropes, and even some vines, which the inhabitants used to change direction on their graceful flights between catwalks. But when he saw two klinti meet and pass, each upside down to the other like an old Terran print he’d seen once, Rip saw how much more space that gave them. For a moment he flashed on how the Queen must look to Tooe, its wasteful, almost pretentious insistence on nonexistent acceleration, with almost half her space sacrificed to a cramped up-down orientation.

  Nunku seemed to have no objections as Rip followed her to the strangest console he had ever seen. At a glance he knew that it was completely self-designed and built, and as he scanned it more slowly, his fingers unconsciously flexed as if they wanted nothing more than to get at those keys.

  Nunku settled in place and inserted her chip, and moments later the screen reflected the same data that Rip remembered seeing on Flindyk’s screen.

  "What I have," Nunku said, "are the payroll records. All of them."

  Rip whistled to himself. That would be uncountable gigs of data. "Search on the ship names?" he asked.

  Nunku nodded. "I do not think we shall find any ship names here," she said. "But of course we must examine for them first."

  "You mean rule it out first," Rip said with a grin. "It won’t be that easy."

  A rare, sweet smile transformed Nunku’s face for a moment into

  something. almost human. Rip felt a wrench of pity for this young woman who was, after all, human, and who had been forced into this nightmarish form and existence through no fault of her own.

  Her fingers tapped softly over her screen, tabbed two keys, and she said, "Nothing."

  "How about people?" That was Dane. Stotz—of course— was busy examining the vibration compensators rigged on the junction with one of the catwalks. "The ones we suspect: Koytatik, Flindyk himself, and anyone from Clan Golm, but especially the Jheel."

  Nunku’s fingers danced rapidly across the screen.

  After a time, she said, "Here is Koytatik. They are paid by the piece, so this will be difficult." She pointed at the screen. "Here is Trade Authority—these are all ship Companies. Here’s one for a starfaring Shver clan."

  "Is that suspicious?" Dane asked.

  Nunku said, "We are right to think anything suspicious, though the piece of work seemeth straightforward enow: registry of an upgrade in engines, and the addition of another energy weapon for far-range work." She paused and checked something swiftly on a side console, then nodded. "As I comprehended. Clan Shren is known for frontier exploration and mapping."

  "We can mark it for later perusal," Rip said, "but I think that’s a dead end."

  Nunku nodded. "We should, I believe, assume that most of this is perfectly legitimate business."

  "So how do we find what isn’t?" Rip said, watching as Nunku scanned swiftly through endless items of business.

  "Vector," Nunku murmured.

  Rip knew that, but how to find what to triangulate on? He turned away, feeling more frustrated by the moment. If the data was in a language he knew, and on a computer he could operate, he’d figure out an attack

  pattern for shedding the unnecessary data. Not to be able to read what was on the screen before him made him feel like he was trying to grasp and hold water.

  "I shall try a search on common providers that Koytatik and Flindyk and the Jheel have." She tapped, they waited in silence, and she laid her hands on her console. "Nothing."

  "Take Flindyk out," Rip suggested.

  This time they had too much information. The Jheel was connected with Koytatik’s office in certain capacities, so it wasn’t surprising that a myriad of businesses showed up.

  They tried other combinations, until Rip, who’d stopped watching the screen and was resting in midair, pretending that he had his own computer before him, imagined a vector that he would follow.

  "Go back," he said, opening his eyes. "To the Jheel and Koytatik."

  Nunku moved back, and looked up inquiringly.

  "Now, how about finding out who’s behind each of the businesses?

  Strip out Trade departments, of course."

  Nunku nodded slightly, her fingers working. Her face was absorbed, not at all surprised, and Rip suddenly wondered if she hadn’t already thought of it, but out of an innate courtesy listened to his ideas. She's a leader, he thought, watching her. She makes all these weird beings feel needed and valued. A good trait, he realized, for a captain.

  "Ah," she said, with that sudden smile, and he knew he’d been right—she’d initiated a search right from the start because no computer was that fast. "I have done inquiries on each of the ownership combinations furnished by the Exchange listings, and of them, there is one that is registered as based here, but the owners." She paused, and in a lightning move sent yet another probe into the system. "Zounds!" she exclaimed. "As I surmised. Sphere Eleven Startraders, a limited partnership. These owners were once individuals, but all are deceased."

  Dane clapped his hands, ignoring the laugh from Tooe and some of her friends as the movement sent him into an inadvertent somersault. "Run the dates of payments from Sphere Eleven Startraders for a month before and after each of the ETAs on the insured ships."<
br />
  Once again Nunku’s fingers sped over her screen, and then she sat back and smiled. "There it is," she said. "The Jheel is on the listing after Ariadne, but no others. Koytatik, however, is listed after, five disappeared ships, each a month after the ETA."

  "It’s good," Rip said, rubbing his fingertips to get rid of the tingle of the computer tech who is on the scent, "but it’s still not proof. The last connection—"

  This time Nunku laughed, a lovely, merry sound. "The trail of credit from Sphere Eleven to whoever is providing the money."

  Stotz came forward and spoke for the first time. "That probably won’t show up," he said. "If it’s Flindyk, he’s so entrenched in the system he knows how to ride it and how to blind it. I’ll stake any sum he gets some goon to pay cash, anonymous source, into the Sphere Eleven accounts at intervals that have nothing to do with the payouts—"

  "And in amounts that won’t match withdrawal sums or dates from his own funds," Rip said. "Yup. I’d do that too, if I were setting up a hijacking empire. Make sure your flunkies are paid promptly, because they don’t care where it comes from, but make certain the source is sufficiently fuzzy for the random legit auditor, who does care."

  "Then we’re stopped after all?" Dane asked, looking annoyed.

  "I shall see if I can break through the guardians of Flindyk’s own accounts," Nunku said quietly.

  "Look, Viking," Rip said. "Let’s take what we have and give it to the captain and the others. We can’t expect to get it all at once, but what we have here ought to be enough for quick brains like Ya’s and Van’s and Wilcox’s, not to mention the Old Man’s."

  "Right," Dane said, but without much enthusiasm. He turned to Nunku. "Thanks for your help, We’ll report back."

  "Momo and Ghesl’h’h shall see thee safely out of the Spinner," was all she said.

  All four men were silent on the long journey out.

  Just before they returned to the Queen, Dane said, "Why don’t you take this data to the captain? I’m going down to Shver territory to see if our ferret extracted anything more. We obviously need every scrap of data we can get."

  "Bad idea," Stotz said. "Didn’t someone say Flindyk has to be onto that ferret by now?"

  "It’s going to burn at me until I know," Dane said. "Look. I’ll do it just like before, nice and easy. If there’s anything suspicious, I won’t go in."

  "At least sound it first," Stotz said.

  Dane and Rip shook their heads at the same time, and Dane grinned before saying, "If the ferret’s discovered, the sounder will be too."

  Rip said, "Then I’m going with you."

  "Maybe we should all go," Frank said.

  Dane shook his head. "In that grav, if you try to block a Shver’s hit your arm will shatter. And Johan, your nuller skills won’t be much use in one-point-six gravs."

  Stotz grinned. "All right. Besides, I think this"—he waved the chip Nunku had given them—"better get into the captain’s hands right away."

  They stopped at a maglev concourse, and before separating, Mura said, "If you’re not back right away, we’re all coming after you."

  19

  "Promise me one thing," Rip was saying as he and Dane rode the maglev down.

  "What’s that?" Dane took in a deep breath. It was good to be in one grav again. Strange, the almost overwhelming sense of rightness. Almost worth the rest of the journey, he thought wryly.

  "If you see any of those Clan Golm jokers, we’re smoke. Any," Rip repeated.

  Dane grinned. "Already decided that. They have to know we’re onto them, which means—"

  "If we do see them, they’re there to make trouble," Rip finished.

  Dane laughed. He had a suspicion that Rip’s emotions were much like his—anticipation, impatience, a weird mixture of fun and fear.

  And a desire for justice.

  "One more piece, one more clue," Dane muttered. "That’s all we need. Let it be there."

  After a few moments, during which the acceleration gradually increased, Dane felt a kind of twinge in his mind, like a bad memory that hadn’t quite surfaced. Puzzled, he glanced at Rip, who was sitting back against the seat, doing heavy-grav breathing.

  Rip looked up right then, and said, "Just had an ugly thought: what if it had been us?"

  "You mean instead of the Ariadne ?"

  "Could have been," Rip said, his dark eyes narrowed. "If we’d found some kind of rare mineral on the Denlieth run, or something else we could have made a big killing on—"

  "And we would have radioed ahead to Trade for insurance," Dane said, continuing the thought.

  "And these slime buckets would have been sitting on our jump point, waiting for us. And the Queen would be orbiting in Mykosian space now, empty, with some other name painted on her side."

  Dane flexed his hands. How good it would feel to grab some hijacker by the neck and fling him out a lockhole into space! No Free Trade ship should have to go through that again. They simply had to win. They had to.

  Rip sighed.

  "Winning, right?" Dane asked, humor leaching back into his thoughts. Anger in high grav didn’t feel good; it was as if a big Shver foot stepped on his heart every time it beat.

  "And Tooe," Rip said. "First I was thinking about how right our cause is. That any crew would feel the same. Then I thought of Tooe and her, what do you call it again?"

  "Klinti," Dane supplied.

  "Let’s imagine that everything miraculously clears up and we don’t end up brigged here forever, and we’re ready to blast off. Do you think she’s going to be able to leave those people?"

  Dane shook his head. "I don’t know. It’s been on my mind all day today," he admitted. "Until she took off to warn Nunku—and I understand why she did it—I thought there was no problem. But she really does seem to need to see how the klinti is doing, to talk to Nunku, to get her ideas. Makes me wonder if all her work with me is a kind of game." He shifted position to ease a cramp forming in one leg. "Well, Van says whatever happens with her, it’s good practice for me. I guess I’d gotten so accustomed to things as they are I half thought I’d be an apprentice forever."

  "I guess we’ll see," Rip said. "Hoo. We have to be almost there—I feel like somebody dropped a spaceship on my chest."

  Dane glanced out the port just in time to see them grounding. The maglev whizzed along the Shver countryside, through forests of great-trunked, spreading trees, toward the stop now familiar to them both.

  The nature of Shver building made it impossible to scan ahead for dangers; they did not like their domiciles in the open, the buildings were never more than one story—not surprising for a race that couldn’t jump—and even the general-purpose establishments were fairly secluded. Dane noticed, as they slowed, that once you were on the surface you did not even see roads. Was being witnessed traveling as big a taboo as public eating? Or was it merely prudence on the part of a people whose culture was unabashedly militant?

  No one to answer that, Dane thought, leaning forward carefully—the

  last thing he needed was to strain an abdominal muscle by jerking his body forward just to scan the concourse as the maglev pod gently braked toward its stop.

  Shver were about, but none of them bore the clan marking of Golm.

  He looked with care on both sides before nodding to Rip. Walking with caution, they disembarked from the pod and started toward the building.

  Shver came and went, but except for a curious stare from a pair of small Shver, no one paid them the least heed— overtly.

  Dane felt he was being watched, and attributed it immediately to the knowledge that Nunku’s ferret was bound to have been discovered. There were no signs of danger, and he kept ceaseless watch, though it meant turning his head and slowing his step so that he did not risk losing his balance.

  They passed inside and went straight to the communications chamber, where Rip took his turn at watching while Dane keyed in for messages.

  There was nothing.

  Alarm n
ow burned in every muscle, intensifying the pull of the heavy gravity. Something was wrong; Rip did not speak, but the wariness in his gaze and his tightened jaw indicated he felt it as well.

  The two men moved just a little apart, in case they had to defend themselves, as they started their retreat. No one waited outside the com chamber. Relieved, they sped up just a bit, until they reached the outer door. There was the pod, not fifty meters away.

  Dane wanted to keep his gaze on the relative safety of the maglev pod, as though that would vouchsafe their reaching it, but he forced himself to turn his head from side to side, scanning.

  No one was in sight—no one at all.

  Bad sign.

  "Hurry," he breathed, the word coming out in a whuff. Ignoring the protest of joints, muscles, and lungs, he quickened his step, and Rip did

  the same beside him.

  Twenty-five meters.

  Twenty.

  Fifteen—

  Shadows appeared on the periphery of his vision, spiking his adrenaline. Crouching slightly, he turned—and his hand encountered the ceremonial weapon of a huge Shver.

  Pain lanced through Dane’s knuckles. The Shver—a first-rank citizen, a part of his mind noted hazily—had moved with preternatural quietness right up behind him.

  More Shver appeared, hemming in Dane and Rip.

  The Shver whose weapon Dane had inadvertently touched began to speak, his low voice sounding like thunder in a distant valley.

  Rip stayed silent and watchful, until the Shver suddenly turned and departed as silently as they had come.

  "I got that last," Rip said, as they eased themselves into the pod. "Something about Monitors?"

  "They’re reporting to the Monitors," Dane said, shock ringing through his head. "All nice and legal," he added bitterly. "Flindyk wins again—a legalized murder."

  "What?" Rip exclaimed, then gasped for air. "Murder?"

  Dane said, "I’ve been challenged to a duel."

  Craig Tau watched Jellico’s impatience steadily increase until at last he laid his hand decisively on the table and said, "I can’t wait any longer. The Kanddoyds might keep all hours but Ross doesn’t, and I don’t want to risk talking to whoever sits in his office when he’s gone."