by Mike Resnick
"Greetings and felicitations!" he said with no trace of an accent. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am David Copperfield. And to whom do I have the honor of speaking?"
"Call me Steerforth," replied Cole.
The alien called Copperfield threw his head back and laughed. "So you're a reader too! I can tell we're going to become great friends as well as business partners. And between us, perhaps we can get Mr. Jones to change his name to Barkus-that is, if he's willin'." He laughed again at his own joke, then suddenly became serious. "So what treasures have you brought me, Steerforth?"
Mr. Jones carried the case over to the desk and opened it. Copperfield reached in-Cole saw that his hands were seven-fingered-and pulled out a handful of uncut diamonds.
"Very nice," he said softly. "Very nice indeed." Suddenly his left eye seemed to double in size and bulge out, as he held a diamond up to it. "Excellent!" he said, putting the diamond back into the case as his eye resumed its original shape. "And how many have you brought me, my friend Steerforth."
"Four hundred and sixteen," said Cole. "I assume you'll want to count them."
"You cut me to the quick!" said Copperfield in mock hurt tones. "I thought we were friends. Of course I trust you." He paused. "But they are diamonds. Yes, I'll have them counted, just as a matter of form. Mr. Jones will do it before you leave. A gentleman like myself doesn't sully himself with such mundane tasks." He leaned over the case. "What else is in the bag?"
"Jewelry," said Cole. "Mostly gold, with a lot of inlaid stones. Some rubies, too."
"I love gold!" enthused Copperfield, pulling out the tiara. "Ah, but this is exquisite! I'll wager there's not another like it in all the galaxy!"
"How much will you wager?" asked Cole.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You've seen the quality of my goods," said Cole. "What kind of offer are you prepared to make?"
"Why, the best of any resale specialist-I abhor the word `fence,' don't you?-the best of any resale specialist on the Inner Frontier."
"That's encouraging," said Cole. "Name a figure and we can conclude our transaction or at least have a basis for negotiating."
"How very civilized of you," said Copperfield. "You, sir, are a man after my own heart. Let me see ... four hundred sixteen diamonds ... well, why haggle? I'll give you my top offer."
"Don't forget the jewelry."
"I'll make a separate offer for it. I assume it's all unique, so I'll have to examine each piece. But for the diamonds ..." He closed his eyes for a moment, as if computing figures. "For the diamonds, my dear Steerforth, I will offer you six hundred and twenty-five thousand credits."
"What?" yelled Cole, so startling the alien that he almost lost his composure.
"Six hundred and twenty-five thousand credits," repeated Copperfield. "Trust me, that's the best offer you're going to get anywhere."
"Just a minute," said Cole. "How much do you think one of these diamonds is worth?"
"They're really quite exquisite, as I said," replied Copperfield. "I should think thirty thousand would not be an unfair estimate."
"We've had higher, we've had lower," continued Cole. "But let's say, okay, thirty thousand. When I multiply thirty thousand by four hundred-"
"It's four hundred sixteen," noted Copperfield.
"I'm making the math easy," answered Cole. "When I multiply thirty thousand by four hundred, I get a market value of twelve million."
"That is correct," said Copperfield. "Give or take. There may be a few truly exceptional stones, but there may be a few inferior ones."
"Now, I know you're not going to pay market value. I can't prove ownership, nor would you expect me to, and you have to make a profit too. But I was figuring any fence would offer between a quarter and a third of market value. You offered ..."
"Five percent," said Copperfield promptly. "It's the best offer you're going to get anywhere. If you can find a better one, I'll match it."
"No wonder you're living in a mansion, if all you pay is five percent," said Cole angrily.
"That is a generous offer, my dear Steerforth," said Copperfield. "Would I be correct in assuming you're new to this business?"
Cole made no answer.
"I thought so. Please understand, Steerforth, not all my offers are at five percent. Show me provenance, show me certificates of authenticity, and I would happily offer thirty percent. But these diamonds come from the mining world of Blantyre IV. The blue-green tint at the heart of each of them makes it certain-and it happens that seven miners were killed on Blantyre when a pirate ship robbed their outpost and made off with approximately four hundred diamonds. That is common knowledge to every jeweler and collector on the Frontier and in the Republic, as well as to every law-enforcement bureau. I cannot sell these diamonds in quantity, and I shall probably have to sit on them for at least five years before I begin selling them at all.
"Or," he continued, "let us take the jewelry. I didn't have to look beyond the tiara. It was taken from the dead, shattered head of the diva Frederica Orloff when she was robbed and killed at a charity ball on Binder X. The insurance company has sent holographs of that tiara, and the ruby earrings, and all her other missing possessions, to every jeweler, every trader, every buyer, every collector, and every police department from the Rim to the Core. For the risk I would be taking by selling it, five percent is actually far too much to pay. I consider that I'm offering three percent to you and two percent to the memory of Charles Dickens." He suddenly smiled. "You really should be a little more careful who you kill. Had you merely stolen the diamonds and the jewelry, there would not be quite so many vengeful people looking for them."
Cole was silent for a long moment. "It sounds reasonable," he said at last. "I don't know if you're bullshitting or not, but it makes sense."
"Then have we got a deal?"
Cole shook his head. "No. I have a feeling you've known all along who I am-I've made no attempt to disguise my face, and my passport was probably transmitted here the instant I produced it at the spaceport-and if so, then you know that I've got a crew to pay and feed, and a ship to power, munitions to keep in stock, and a lot of enemies to avoid. I can't do that on five percent of market value, now or in the future."
"I happen to know the gentleman you appropriated these from, though I have no idea how you did so or whether he is still alive, nor am I asking," said Copperfield. "But I must point out that he lived most handsomely on his percentage."
"His ship didn't cost a tenth of what mine costs to run, he had a far smaller crew, he didn't begin to have the armaments or the cost of their upkeep, he had less concern for human life-and he wasn't being pursued by two navies."
"Two?"
"The Teroni Federation is the enemy of all Men. The Republic is the enemy of this man."
"I am going to do a remarkable thing," said Copperfield after a moment. "I am going to let you take your goods and leave. I could stop you, you know. Even as we speak, more that twenty weapons are trained on you and your companions. But any man who knows enough to call himself Steerforth to my Copperfield deserves one free pass. Go in peace and friendship, and remember that my offer still stands: if you get a bona fide bid of more than five percent, I'll match it. But I tell you truthfully, you never will."
"The young man with me used to serve under Captain Windsail," said Cole. "He told me that Windsail liked you. I can understand why."
"I hope we shall meet again, my dear Steerforth," said Copperfield as Cole closed the box, locked it, picked it up, and headed to the double doors. "Mr. Jones, please escort Steerforth and his party back to the spaceport."
All the way back to the Theodore Roosevelt Cole considered his options, rejecting one after another. When he arrived he was still wondering how Blackbeard and Captain Kidd ever made ends meet.
Cole was sitting in his rarely used office, speaking with Sharon Blacksmith, Christine Mboya, and Forrice.
"It's something I hadn't considered," he said. "In this era, with the w
hole damned galaxy interconnected, steal a necklace on the Inner Frontier and an hour later every dealer and every cop on the Rim, on the Spiral Arm, in the Quinellus Cluster, and in the Republic has already got a description and probably a holograph of it. Five percent probably is the best offer we're going to get."
"Can we survive on that?" asked Sharon.
"We don't have much of a choice," answered Cole. "It's not as if the Navy will welcome us back with open arms. Hell, they're more likely to welcome us back with open prison cells, and that's only if they're feeling friendlier toward us than they were when we left."
"There must be other alternatives," said Christine.
"Like what?" shot back Cole. "We're not in the cruise-ship business." He sighed deeply. "There's got to be a way to make a decent return on those diamonds. I mean, hell, all our lives we've watched dramas and read thrillers about jewel thieves. It can't be as hard as it seems."
"It's starting to appear that the only easy part was acquiring our illicit goods in the first place," complained Forrice.
"Captain Windsail wasn't starving," noted Sharon. "How did he pay his crew and fuel his ship?"
"Once we figure that out, we'll know what to do," said Cole irritably. "It's the damned technology, like I said. You steal something today, and everyone's got all the data on it by tomorrow morning."
"How?" asked Sharon. "I don't have any holographs of my necklace or bracelet. How would I get them once the jewelry was gone?"
"Not to be insulting, but your necklace and bracelet aren't worth stealing," said Cole.
"Get back to the question," said Forrice. "How do they get the information so quickly and thoroughly?"
"If the stuff's any good, I suppose the insurance company passes it on," said Cole.
"What if it's not insured?" persisted the Molarian.
"If it's any good, it will be," said Cole.
"So you think it's the insurance companies that spread all the information?"
"Wouldn't you?" asked Sharon. "They're on the hook for it if it's not returned."
"I suppose so," said Forrice. "Well, that's another dead end."
"No, it's not," replied Cole suddenly.
"What are you talking about?" asked Sharon.
"I've got the solution. At least, I think I do."
"Can we help?" asked Christine.
"Yeah, let's try a little Socratic dialogue here," said Cole.
"Whatever that may be," retorted Forrice.
"Let's hypothesize that I just inherited a very valuable necklace, made of pearls from the freshwater ocean on Bareimus VII. I say it's worth fifty thousand credits. You say it's worth forty-two thousand. Sharon says it's worth forty-five thousand. Who's right?"
"How should I know?" asked Forrice.
"You shouldn't," agreed Cole. "So how do we find out?"
"We hold an auction, and the sales price is what it's worth," answered the Molarian.
"That presents a problem," said Cole. "It was bought when the economy was booming, and now we're in a deep recession. Besides, we don't want to sell it for peanuts. We want to know what it's worth, and then either sell it or hang on to the necklace until we can get a decent price for it."
"All right," said Forrice, annoyed that Cole kept putting up new obstacles, even if they were just imaginary ones. "Take it to a jeweler and get it appraised."
"I'll do better than that," said Cole. "I'll take it to three jewelers. One says fifty, one says forty-five, one says forty-two. Now what? How do I get the real value for the necklace?"
"You go to an insurance company, and whichever appraisal they choose is the right one."
"And if they disagree with all three and bring in their own appraiser, then what?"
"Then that's the official value of the necklace."
"Why?" asked Cole.
"Because that's the amount they'll pay out if it's stolen," answered the Molarian.
"Very good," said Cole with a smile.
"I don't even know what I'm saying," complained Forrice irritably.
"You will, and soon," promised Cole. "Now once this necklace is stolen, its description and holograph go out to five million worlds, right?"
"Right."
"Why?" asked Cole. "It's not the insurance company's necklace. It's mine."
"But they're on the hook for it's full value," said Forrice, "so they're every bit as anxious to see it recovered as you are. Maybe more so."
"One last question," said Cole. "You're the thief who stole the necklace. Who would you rather deal with-a fence who might pay you four or five percent of its appraised value because it's hot property and he might have to sit on it for years, and even then he's risking jail time every time he tries to sell it, or an insurance company that's got to pay its full value if it's not recovered?"
"I see!" said Forrice with an expression of dawning comprehension on his face. "That's it!"
"And that's what we're going to do," said Cole. "Even estimating lower than anyone else has suggested, those diamonds have a value in excess of ten million credits. As for the jewelry, who knows? But we'll know when we find out who insured it and for how much."
"You can't just walk up to these companies and say, `I stole your diamonds or your tiara or whatever, and I want what they're worth or I won't give them back to you,"' said Forrice.
"Of course not," answered Cole. "There's no reason for them to deal with us under those circumstances, when there's no profit to be made. But let's get back to my hypothetical necklace again. You're the insurance company. I walk into your office, and I hand you my own holograph of the necklace with some way to date it so you know I took the holo after it was stolen. I don't ask for the full value. Hell, you'd call the police and lock me away. No, I explain to you that my profession is retrieving lost articles. I explain that I heard about the necklace and was fortunate enough to retrieve it. I'll return it to your company in exchange for a reward amounting to one-third of its market value, and since I don't like the way you're staring at me, I also want a pledge from you, in writing, that you won't prosecute me or discuss our transaction with any authorities."
"Damn, that's good!" said Forrice.
"Let's get back to the diamonds, and let's say they're worth twelve million credits. You pay me four million, you get them back and return them to their legal owner, and the crisis is over. On the other hand, if you turn me in to the police or refuse to deal with me, you may feel morally superior, but do you feel superior enough to pay out another eight million credits? And if you think you may someday be able to blackmail me on your own or the company's behalf, I'll agree to-in fact, I'll insist upon-a one-question test while tied in to a Neverlie Machine, and that one question will be: Are you the one who stole these diamonds from Blantyre IV? And of course I will say I didn't, and the Neverlie Machine will confirm it, because I stole them from the pirates who stole them from Blantyre IV."
"And if they ask more?"
"I'm not so foolish as to have the necklace on my person while they're negotiating with me. If they stick to my terms and our mutually agreed-upon resolution, I'll deliver it to them within twenty-four hours. If they don't, they've lost the full insurance value on the necklace, and I guarantee they're not going to let that happen. They're not lawmen out for justice. They're a business that's concerned with profit and loss. What do you think they'll do?"
"I think you've solved it, Wilson," said Sharon. "If we're going to survive out here, that's clearly what our version of piracy has to be."
"Less romantic and more profitable, I agree," said Cole. He turned to Forrice. "As soon as this meeting breaks up, I want you to find out who insured the diamonds, how much they were insured for, and where the company's nearest branch office is. Sharon-do the same with the jewelry. In the meantime I want Christine to compute exactly what it costs to run the Teddy R for a Standard day, a week, and a month-fuel, food, hydroponics garden, repair, ammunition, everything. Then we'll be able to figure out if we're in profit or loss-and if we
're in profit, I suppose we'll need to hand out dividends."
"You make it sound awfully colorless and businesslike," said Forrice.
"Let's hope that's exactly what it becomes," said Cole.
Cole contacted the hospital and learned that they had given Chadwick prosthetic eardrums. Right at the moment they were working too well; he was complaining about the volume, and the fact that he could overhear conversations taking place ten and twelve rooms away. Cole decided that wasn't such a bad weapon to have in his arsenal, and asked if there was some way they could allow Chadwick himself to adjust the volume as he wished. The answer was negative. They told him that they'd have the volume right in another few hours, and he made arrangements for the shuttle to bring Chadwick back to the Teddy R as soon as the doctors finished with him.
"Four Eyes, this is Cole," he said, adjusting his communicator.
"I know who it is," replied the Molarian. "Your ugly image is staring at me from three feet away."
"Actually, it's staring well beyond you," said Cole. "I just ate."
"Are we through insulting each other," asked Forrice, "or do we trade a few more before you tell me why you're bothering me during red shift?"
"How are we coming on finding out who insured the diamonds and the jewelry?"
"The diamonds were insured by the Pilargo Company."
"Republic or Frontier?" asked Cole.
"Republic," answered the Molarian. "They're headquartered on Deluros VIII."
"Shit! Wouldn't you know it?" Cole paused for a moment. "What's their closest branch? Have they got any offices on the Inner Frontier?"
"I thought you might ask," said Forrice, "so I checked. They don't have anything on the Frontier. Their closest branch is on Benjamin II, but it's awfully small. I don't think they'd have the kind of money we're looking for. My guess is we'll have to go to New Madrid."
"New Madrid?" repeated Cole. "That's a good four hundred lightyears into the Republic!"
"Next time we're going to screw an insurance company, I'll be sure to tell them to relocate to Keepsake or Binder X," said the Molarian.
