Starship

by Michael D. Resnick

  “That's a beautiful pile of money,” said Sharon admiringly. “I hate to leave it.”

  “As the Chief of Security, you're in charge of it,” noted Cole. “I expect it to remain intact.”

  “You're not even going to pay me for sexual services rendered?”

  “What the hell—fair is fair,” said Cole. “Take ten credits and don't bother me again.”

  “Wait'll the next time you're taking a shower and Security informs your room that it's now being occupied by a methane breather.”

  “Okay, fifteen.”

  She laughed and began locking the money away. Then Christine Mboya's image appeared in front of him.

  “I've found the insurer, sir,” she reported. “It's a division of the Amalgamated Trust Company.”

  “Where is it located?”

  “Phalaris II, sir.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “It's headquartered in the Albion Cluster, sir.”

  “Hell, that's a third of the galaxy from here,” he complained. “If they're an arm of Amalgamated, they should be all the hell over the Republic, maybe even on the Inner Frontier. See if you can hunt up something closer.”

  “Working…” said Christine, obviously studying her computer. “There's a very small office on Binder X, but as far as I can tell they just sell, they don't handle claims. I think your best bet is the branch on McAllister IV, sir.”

  “A Republic world?”

  She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Figures,” he said. “How far away is it?”

  “From our current position?” said Christine. “About three hundred and ten light-years.”

  “All right,” said Cole. “That's where we'll sell them back their jewelry. Find me a populated Frontier world where we can rent a ship.”

  “Will you be sending Mr. Morales again, sir?”

  “No. Even if he had a new ID, they've got his prints and holograph on record. If he walks in, it'll set off every alarm on the planet. Let me think about that while you're hunting up an appropriate world.”

  He broke the connection.

  “You know,” said Sharon, who had finished securing the cash, “as long as the money for the jewelry is earmarked for a ship, why not buy it now out of these funds and pay yourself back when you unload the jewelry? It might cause a lot less problems than renting another ship.”

  “That's not a bad idea,” Cole admitted. “I knew there was some reason I let you stick around after you put your clothes on.”

  “Then let me give you another one,” she said. “If you can bear to part with about a hundred thousand credits, I can probably pick up whatever we need to give everyone passports and identities that'll pass muster even in the Republic.”

  “Since when does printing and coding equipment cost that much?”

  “It doesn't. I can get the equipment for well under fifty thousand credits.”

  “What's the rest for?”

  “The forger.”

  “Can't you do it yourself?”

  “I'm good, but I'm not that good. If we want to beat the Republic's security, we need a real pro.”

  “Are you on good terms with many expert forgers, Colonel?” he asked sardonically.

  “No,” answered Sharon. “But when word gets out that I'm willing to spend that kind of money on one, I'll have to fight them off with a stick.”

  “How long do you think it'll take?”

  “To find someone who can forge ID disks and passports?” she replied. “They're on every populated world on the Frontier. The trick is to find a good one.”

  “I mean, how long will it take him to do the job?”

  “There are forgers who can give you an ID that'll pass every test my Security department can devise, and they can produce it in three hours or less. We're carrying a complement of about thirty. We'll have to get one for Morales, now that he's blown the one he used to rent that ship, but on the other hand Wxakgini might spend the next ten years in his little plastic cocoon, tied in to the navigational computer, so he certainly doesn't need one.” She paused, as if counting up the hours. “I'd say a dozen Standard days should do it.”

  “I'm not going to hang around some planet for twelve days while we get new IDs made for the whole crew,” said Cole. “We'll give him half the money up front, I'll wait long enough to get an ID for myself and maybe a couple of others, and then we'll come back with the rest of the money after he's had time to do the job.”

  “I don't imagine that any forger will object to that,” said Sharon. “After all, he'll have the retinagrams, voiceprints, fingerprints, and holos of everyone he's making them for.”

  “But if he's on the Inner Frontier, who's he going to turn them in to?” said Cole with a smile.

  “Bounty hunters,” she replied seriously. “They're just about the only law the Frontier's got. Some of them are really good at their jobs.”

  “How do you know all this stuff?”

  “When I'm dressed, I'm the Chief of Security, remember?”

  “Okay,” he said. “I'll leave it to you and Christine to choose a planet. Once I get my new ID, I'll buy a ship and go transact our business on McAllister while the rest of the IDs are being made.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” said Sharon.

  “Fine. Then I'm finally off to grab some lunch,” he said, walking to the door of the lab. “I'll catch up with you later.”

  “Now that you're worth three million credits, bring money.”

  Cole bought a ship on Hermes II, and stuck around long enough to get a better ID. The Teddy R remained in orbit while Sharon arranged for IDs for the rest of the crew, and Cole took off in the new ship, alone this time, for McAllister IV.

  Once there he landed at the planet's only spaceport, cleared Customs, and went to an information kiosk, where he was given instructions for getting to the Amalgamated Trust Company.

  It was a large building for a thinly populated planet. Then he remembered that insurance was just a small piece of the action that Amalgamated Trust had carved out for itself, and that McAllister was probably the banking center for a dozen nearby agricultural planets and twice that many mining worlds.

  He entered the building and looked around. Clearly the main floor was strictly a bank. Most of the tellers were human, but there were a few Lodinites, Atrians, and even a Mollute. As one neared the Inner Frontier and got farther from Deluros VIII and the other major worlds of the Republic, the credit was in much less demand. There was a very busy exchange booth that flashed an ever-changing rate, to four decimal places, for the credit, the Maria Theresa dollar, the Far London pound, the New Stalin ruble, and half a dozen other currencies that were likely to show up at this end of the Republic.

  Finally Cole walked up to a human guard.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I'm looking for the insurance company.”

  “There are three of them in this building,” answered the guard. “Do you know which one you want?”

  “Amalgamated.”

  The guard nodded. “Yeah, that's the biggest of them. They've got the whole fifth floor. Take the airlift that's off to your left, not the one across the lobby.”

  “Thanks,” said Cole.

  “When you get there,” continued the guard, “if you don't know the name of the person you want to see, at least tell the receptionist whether you're here to buy some insurance or make a claim.”

  Cole thanked him again, and headed off before the guard could offer any more self-evident advice. He ascended to the fifth floor, stepped out onto a glistening resilient floor, and walked directly to the well-marked reception area.

  “Good morning and welcome to the Amalgamated Trust Insurance Company,” said a furry Lodinite, speaking into a T-pack and waiting for the translation to come out in a dull monotone. “How may I help you?”

  “Who's in charge of your claims division?” asked Cole.

  “If you have a claim to file, I can give you the proper form to fill out,” said the recepti
onist. “What type of property was insured?”

  “I don't want a form,” said Cole. “I just want to know who the head man is.”

  “Head man?” repeated the Lodinite, offering its equivalent of a frown. “All men have heads. All men within my experience, anyway.”

  “Who is in charge of the claims division?” Cole asked again with growing irritation.

  “I must not have made myself clear,” said the Lodinite. “First you must fill out a claim form. Then I will send you to see the next available agent.”

  “If you don't direct me to the man in charge, I will go to one of the other insurance companies in the building,” said Cole. “But first I'll need your employee number and the exact spelling of your name for the letter of complaint I intend to write, so Amalgamated will know who to blame for losing all of my corporation's business.”

  The Lodinite stared at him silently. If it was nervous or frightened or angry, Cole was unable to tell from its expression. Finally it spoke: “I will tell Mr. Austen that you are here to see him.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But I will not tell you my name or how to spell it,” it added. Cole imagined that the pre-translated tone was petulant.

  “That is no longer necessary.”

  “I must see your identification,” said the Lodinite.

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “You don't have to see it,” said Cole. “I've already passed through security at the spaceport and again when I entered the bank on the main floor, so you know it's valid. All you need is my name, which is Luis Delveccio.”

  Another long silent stare. Finally the Lodinite spoke softly into a communicator, then looked back at Cole. “Mr. Austen will see you now.”

  “Thank you.”

  “He is a very busy man,” added the Lodinite. “This had better be important.”

  “It's important to me, and the customer is always right,” replied Cole. “Where is his office?”

  “I will take you there,” said the Lodinite, getting to its feet and waddling off without another word.

  Cole followed it down a corridor, where it turned right and went all the way to the next corner, stopping at a large office. It ordered the door to vanish, announced that Mr. Delveccio was here, waited for Cole to enter, then stepped back into the corridor and ordered the door to reappear.

  Austen was a young man, dressed and groomed to perfection, but looking just a bit haggard, as if he'd dealt with either too many serious claims or too much office politics. He stood up, walked around his polished desk, shook Cole's hand, and asked him to take a seat as he returned to his own chair.

  “It's very rare that I meet personally with one of our clients, Mr. Delveccio,” said Austen. “But you clearly have convinced our receptionist that no one else here can handle your particular problem. May I inquire as to its nature?”

  “Let me begin by saying that I'm not a client,” said Cole.

  Austen frowned. “Then you want to speak to someone in Sales, not Claims.”

  “Why don't you hear me out?” suggested Cole. “I assure you I'm speaking to the man I need to speak to.”

  “All right, Mr. Delveccio,” said Austen, staring at him curiously. “How can I help you?”

  “You can't,” said Cole. “But I think I can help you.”

  Austen arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “My profession can loosely be defined as treasure hunter,” said Cole. “I recently came into possession of some items your company has insured—very valuable items. I'll be happy to show you a number of holos so you can positively identify them.”

  “For which you want…?”

  “We'll negotiate later. First I want you to have someone bring a Neverlie Machine here.”

  “That won't be necessary,” said Austen.

  “I think it will.”

  “Mr. Delveccio, I meet so-called fortune hunters every week. You're going to swear that you didn't steal the items in question, and for whatever reason the Neverlie Machine will confirm your testimony, quite possibly because of the way you word the question. We can save some time if I stipulate up front that I am prepared to accept your word.”

  “Are you also willing to sign a statement that Amalgamated will not pursue any legal action against me or cooperate in any police prosecution involving these items?” asked Cole.

  “If we agree to terms, I will sign such a statement,” said Austen. “Now, Mr. Delveccio, what have you got?”

  Cole pulled a cube out of his pocket and laid it on the desk. Austen picked it up and inserted it in a computer that was hidden in one of his desk drawers, and an instant later the surface of the desk was covered by holographic images of the tiara and the other jewelry.

  “Do you recognize it?” asked Cole.

  Austen nodded his head. “They belong to Frederica Orloff, the widow of the Governor of Anderson II. Magnificent, aren't they?”

  “I'd say they're worth six million credits, easy,” suggested Cole.

  “No,” said Austen. “They are worth seven million four hundred thousand credits.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “I say that, Mr. Delveccio, because that is the amount we paid on the Orloff claim,” replied Austen. “You are in possession of stolen jewelry. They are worth nothing to Amalgamated, as we've already paid off the claim.”

  “Then I guess I'll take my leave of you and sell them elsewhere,” said Cole, suddenly wary.

  “You're not going anywhere,” said Austen. “I don't know how you came by the jewelry, whether you stole it from Mrs. Orloff yourself or whether you stole it from the man who did, but you're a thief, and it's my duty to detain you until the police arrive.” He smiled. “Of course, if you were to turn over the jewelry to me, I might be so blinded by its magnificence that I couldn't see you escape…”

  “And then, without telling Amalgamated that this meeting ever took place, you'd get a partner to sell it to Mrs. Orloff for maybe half of what you already paid her?” suggested Cole. “Now that I know who it belonged to, I can do that myself.”

  “Only if you can leave the building,” noted Austen, “and I can hit the alarm on my computer before you can reach me.”

  He's probably not bluffing—so my first order of business is to get out of the building in one piece. If the police detain me for even an hour, they're going to find out who I really am.

  “All right,” said Cole. “You seem to have the advantage. Let's deal.”

  “There's no dealing involved,” said Austen. “You take me to the jewelry—I assume you're bright enough not to have it on your person—and I let you leave McAllister without turning you over to the police.”

  “I deserve a little something for getting the jewelry and bringing it to you,” persisted Cole. You'll never agree, but it might scare you off if I don't behave in a normal manner, and a thief—even one who was just caught in the act—would normally ask for a piece of the action after having gone to all the trouble of obtaining the jewelry.

  “We'll discuss it—after I get my hands on the stuff.”

  Cole paused an appropriate length of time, as if considering, then shrugged. “All right. I guess I'm going to have to trust you.”

  “A wise decision,” said Austen, opening a drawer and pulling out a small burner. He got to his feet and gestured toward the door. “Shall we go?”

  Cole got up and walked to the door.

  “Remember,” said Austen, pressing the burner into Cole's back. “No sudden movements.”

  Cole walked back to the reception area, then stepped into the airlift. Austen followed him.

  “Keep your back to me.”

  Cole stood facing the wall of the airlift until they reached ground level, then walked out into the bank lobby and headed for the exit.

  “Stop,” said Austen. He spoke softly into a communicator. “I've ordered my aircar. It will be here in a minute and can take us to the spaceport—unless you've hidden the goods between here and ther
e?”

  “Get the car,” said Cole.

  “I keep getting the feeling that I've seen you before,” remarked Austen as they walked outside and stood waiting for the aircar.

  “This is my first time on McAllister.”

  “I know. I've only been here three months myself. But you seem very familiar.”

  The aircar pulled up and hovered a few inches about the ground. Cole got in first, and after they were both seated Austen ordered it to head to the spaceport.

  “Is it here?” he asked. “On the planet, I mean?”

  If I say yes, you'll kill me right now, because you'll know the only place it can be is on my ship.

  “No,” answered Cole.

  “Where then?”

  “Elsewhere.”

  “You know I'll kill you if I decide you're lying to me,” said Austen.

  “And you know you'll never see the jewelry if you kill me,” replied Cole. “Just relax and you'll see it soon enough.”

  “Then it's somewhere in the solar system?”

  “No comment.”

  “I'll take that as an affirmative,” said Austen.

  “Take it any way you want,” said Cole. “But remember that there are fourteen planets and fifty-six moons in the system. You'll never find it without me.”

  They rode in silence for the next few minutes, and then the aircar came to a halt.

  “We have reached the spaceport,” announced the aircar.

  “Take us to the area reserved for private ships,” said Cole. “Aisle 17, Slot 32.”

  “I am not programmed to respond to your voice, sir,” said the robot.

  “Aisle 17, Slot 32,” said Austen, and the vehicle immediately began approaching the location. “You're sure we've never met before?” he said, staring intently at Cole.

  “Never.” He looked out a window. “We're here.”

  “Return to my reserved space beneath the Amalgamated building when we exit, and once there go to standby mode.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied the aircar.

  They climbed out and approached Cole's ship.

  “No sudden moves,” warned Austen.

  “Sudden moves aren't my style,” replied Cole. He stood before the hatch and uttered a seven-digit number.