by Jaleta Clegg
Lopei met him outside, opening the door of his flitter and climbing in behind him. “How’d it go?” he asked once they were airborne.
“Never expect a decent meal at a place called The Greasy Chicken. I’m starved.” Luke settled back in his seat. “Take me to the spaceport,” he ordered the pilot.
“We’re leaving him alive?” Lopei glanced at his boss.
“For now. His proposal was interesting, but it needs more research. Have you heard of Burundia?”
Lopei shook his head. “Why?”
“We’re going to investigate some real estate investment opportunities. How much cash can we liquidate?”
“Plenty, if that shipment of Glitter makes it to Callisto. It may take a few weeks.”
“Then I’ll leave that in your capable hands, Lopei. See that I’m not disappointed.”
“Of course.”
“It’s time to make some business acquaintances. Do I look like a rich playboy to you?”
Lopei studied Luke, looking for a hint of the right answer. Luke’s bland smile gave nothing away. “Do you want to?”
Luke laughed and patted Lopei’s cheek. “It’s all part of the plan. Cygnus will be my playground very soon.”
Chapter Eight
The reentry alarm startled me awake. I scrambled under my pillow and came up with my blaster before I was completely awake. I’d been dreaming again, this one involved Tayvis. I put my gun back and promised myself that I would go the Patrol base on Shamustel, if they had one, and find a way to send him a message.
Clark was in his seat, pushing buttons. He looked as awake as ever.
“Don’t you ever sleep?” I ran a hand through the mess of hair on my head.
“It’s sticking straight up now.”
“I like it that way,” I said.
Jasyn joined us, in her bright purple pajamas and bare feet. She didn’t say anything, but slid into her chair with a yawn.
The ship hiccuped on reentry to normal space. I frowned and checked a few dials.
“Something wrong?” Jasyn asked, through another yawn.
Nothing showed up on the indicators. “Probably just a bubble, but I’ll check it when we land.”
We got a course in to the planet. Shamustel was a busy port. We were shuttled in behind a wallowing freighter and two luxury yachts. A Patrol cruiser slid past us, circling the planet. The landing went smoothly enough. We got a berth on the very far side, miles from the main gates and port offices.
I opened the hatch and stood breathing in the smell of the planet. It was night, very late night. The city beyond the field was mostly dark. Only the bars and businesses next to the port were still open. The air was cool, almost chilly, and smelled of oil and burnt plascrete.
“Who gets what?” Jasyn asked, standing behind me and shivering in her pajamas.
“I get port authority, unless you want it this time,” I said.
“I’ll do it,” she answered. “You find us something that we can make money hauling.”
“I’ll go with you,” Clark offered, looking at me.
“We’ll wait until daylight,” I decided.
“Port authority won’t wait,” Jasyn said. “I’d better find something to wear.”
I stood in the hatch a while longer. Another ship landed not far away, its mag drive barely whispering. I couldn’t see stars overhead, too much light from the ships and the field security lamps. I heard Clark behind me, getting something in the galley.
I breathed in the scent of the port and almost felt happy. This was what I wanted. My own ship, the freedom to go wherever I wanted, the smell of oil on the wind. If I didn’t have people chasing me, I could have been happy. Especially if Tayvis were somewhere I could reach. Later, I promised myself. I shut the hatch and went to eat breakfast with Clark.
Jasyn left as the sky was turning a pearly gray. She looked at the offices, tiny in the distance and sighed.
“Want to call a transport?” Clark asked.
“I’ll walk. It’s good for me.” She started off across the port.
“How about I wash up, again, and then we go hunt for cargo?” Clark asked me.
“What happened to calling me captain?”
“I’m doing the dishes. What more do you want from me?”
“As long as you don’t forget who owns this ship,” I said, watching him work.
“Don’t get any ideas from my books.” He tossed a grin over his shoulder.
“As if I would try any of that,” I muttered.
“I heard that.” He turned back around. “All done. Ready to go?”
I stood and checked that I still had my ID plates. “Let’s go find something to trade.” I felt the excitement rising, one reason I’d decided to go merchant. It wasn’t just the freedom, it was the fun of finding things and trading them for more than I paid.
The excitement lasted only halfway across the field. The sun rose, a huge golden ball that sent bright light streaming across the field. I squinted, trying to see where I was going. We were walking straight into the sunrise.
A transport rumbled up and slowed next to us. “Need a lift?” the driver called.
The bed of his transport was empty except for half a dozen spacers in various colored outfits. We climbed on. The transport rumbled off.
“Just in?” one of the other spacers asked. “What ship?”
“Phoenix Rising,” Clark answered. They were talking to him, not me.
“That old crate hauler?” The man laughed and slapped his leg.
“It’s a good ship,” Clark said mildly.
I bit my tongue and didn’t say anything.
“Beats yours, Ren,” another spacer chimed in.
“Fancy lady yacht,” someone else teased.
They bantered back and forth for the five minutes it took to reach the gate. We all climbed off. The transport driver waved and drove away. We headed for the entry checkpoint. Shamustel wasn’t an open port with free access. Offworlders, especially ship crew, had to check in and out. We showed our id plates, the port security officer scanned them then let us through the gate.
We were stopped by another officer. “Purpose on Shamustel?” she asked in a clipped voice.
“Trade,” I said and showed my ID again.
She entered the information on her desk comp. It beeped and let us through. We were finally loose in the port city.
“Guild office,” I said. I had paid my dues back on Tebros while we were refitting the ship. It would be a good place to start looking for something to ship somewhere. Clark nodded. We found the office without much trouble. Huge pillars lined the front of it. Most of the buildings on Shamustel had pillars.
Clark stopped at the bottom of the steps. I was already halfway up.
“I’ve got some personal business,” Clark said. “Do I have to formally ask for shore leave?”
“Can I call you if I need you?”
“It will only take a couple of hours.” He flipped me a mock salute.
I watched him saunter away. I was trying to find a way to get away from him to visit the Patrol offices, anyway. Finding Tayvis was personal. I looked at the Guild offices behind me, debating. Since I was already there, going in and taking care of business won.
I found the cargo listings on a screen at the far end of the lobby. I had to prove I was registered and up to date on my dues before they let me access it. On worlds where the Guild was respected, those that weren’t dominated by big shipping companies or by thugs, Guild membership paid for itself. Guild ships got the pick of the cargo list that wasn’t already contracted. I scrolled through the listings, checking the destinations against where I didn’t want to go. Back towards Viya and Tebros was out, as were the frontier worlds around Dru’Ott. I found eight possible listings.
I used the vidphone nearby to call them. Four had already contracted their cargo. Another one didn’t answer. Two of the others wanted me to take the cargo on consignment. I didn’t have the cash for those deals.
I turned them down. The last was a possibility. The listing said decorative ceramics, the mass would fit in the holds of my ship. And they were to be shipped to Kimmel, a planet off in a completely new direction for me, one far enough away that I didn’t think I’d have to worry about the Targon Syndicate. I called the company.
I had to listen to a long diatribe about shipping companies that canceled contracts after jacking up their prices to the point that a decent businessman couldn’t possibly afford them. I managed to finally break in and ask the man for details on the shipment. Then I got to listen to a long lecture on how he had structured his business. He had outlets on ten different worlds. His ceramics were collectibles that had a respectable following. He was looking for someone to sign a long term contract.
I offered him a short term one instead. We dickered for a while, he didn’t trust me not to just steal his cargo. I finally talked him into setting up a meeting for lunch. I promised to bring my Guild ID and ship specs. I wanted to make him promise not to lecture me again, but I didn’t dare take the chance on losing the only cargo I’d found so far.
I hung up feeling a bit better. Maybe I could sign a contract with him, depending on how often he wanted runs made. I had a list of the worlds where he shipped his goods. I went to the library section and put in a request for trade items listed for those worlds. I was informed it would take several hours to process.
I wandered back out to the street. Now would be a good time to visit the Patrol offices and look for Tayvis. My heart skipped a beat at the thought. They didn’t know me on Shamustel, they wouldn’t kick me out like they had on Tebros.
At least I hoped they wouldn’t.
* * *
The Patrol offices were at the far end of the port. Most of my walk was through the market district.
I stopped by a jewelry shop, caught by the display in the window. Shimmering winged jewels smaller than my fingernail danced and glittered on strands of gold so fine they floated. I went into the shop.
The air inside shimmered on every breath. The whole ceiling was aflutter with more of the jeweled creations. I stared up at them, entranced.
“May I help you?” a soft whispery voice asked.
The woman who had offered was as shimmery as her creations. She was a wispy thing, barely my height. She wore a shapeless gray dress that fluttered and danced with every movement. She watched me with strange silver eyes.
“They’re beautiful,” I said, pointing at the display overhead.
The woman’s face glowed with pleasure. “The real ones are even more beautiful. Would you like to try one on?”
I couldn’t refuse. She plucked a gossamer strand of gold from the air. A single lavender creature fluttered down with it. She handed it to me. It was an intricate net of fine gold. The lavender creature, slender body with six lacy wings crafted from precious stone, was caught in a delicate knot.
“It’s beautiful.” The gold draped over my hand. I was acutely aware of the chewed state of my nails. I had a scar across the back of one hand, the creature fluttered near it. I could never wear something so delicate. I felt thick and cloddish just holding it.
“You don’t sell many,” I guessed.
She shrugged, a thin movement that sent her dress dancing in gray waves.
“How much do you want for them?” I lifted my hand, watching the lavender jewel flutter.
“What do you want?” she asked, her silver eyes suddenly dark and mysterious.
“I could sell these quite well, on a planet closer to the inner worlds.” I could, too. If I could find the right boutique shop.
“What do you really want?” she asked me, her wispy voice carrying the sound of distant bells.
“A cargo,” I said.
She studied me a bit longer, with her strange eyes. Then she laughed, a sound like the chiming of tiny bells. “Come talk to me later. Perhaps I’ll let you buy some. You may keep that one as a sample.” She tucked my hand around the single lavender creature. Her touch was light, cool, smooth as Partha silk.
“Thank you,” I said, and meant it.
She smiled, a mysterious curve of lips that hinted at secrets she knew and I didn’t. The smile followed me all the way out the door.
I tucked the jewelry in a pocket and made a note of the shop name and location. Maybe I’d send Jasyn back to see what she thought. I walked on, enjoying the morning.
The Patrol offices were adorned with pompous pillars, like most of the buildings. The lobby was huge, paved with black stone polished until it shone like a mirror. The walls were bare gray stone, also polished. The Patrol shield, complete with glowing stars, hung in the air in the precise center of the room, rotating slowly. I crossed the floor, boots clicking, to a reception desk at the far side.
It was a huge imposing block of stone. The single man ensconced behind it stared as I approached. I leaned on the chest-high counter. He didn’t say anything. His hands moved constantly over a set of controls.
“May I help you?” he finally said, in a voice that let me know that the answer was most likely no. His hands kept moving.
“I’m looking for someone,” I said, nervous and unsure of exactly how to ask. “I need to get him a message.”
“We are not a message service,” he said.
“Then can you tell me how to contact him? He’s Patrol, on assignment somewhere. It’s important.” It was important, to me.
“What is his name?”
“Malcolm Tayvis.”
His fingers clicked over keys. “Rank?”
“Sector Commander.”
He stopped moving his hands and glared.
“Maybe not. Can you just search for his name?”
He hit a button, the click sounded final in the vast stone lobby. “There is no one by that name.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite.” He looked away, at a screen. His hands moved over the controls again. I was dismissed.
“Thanks anyway,” I said.
I felt his eyes on me the whole way across the lobby.
I walked out into a morning that didn’t seem as bright. I could send a message to Grant Lowell, I knew that one would go through, but then Lowell would want something in return. He wanted me, in the Patrol, under his command. That was the last thing I wanted to do.
I had one more option to find Tayvis. I could find bars where off-duty Patrol hung out and ask them if they knew Tayvis. And maybe in a hundred years I’d get lucky and find one. Tayvis was in the Enforcers, who didn’t hang out in bars, at least not ones I could get into. I could search public directories for him, but I had no idea where his home planet was. There was no way the directories could list every citizen of the Empire. I might get lucky, but I doubted it.
I headed across town to my lunch appointment with the ceramics dealer.
Lunch was disappointing. The restaurant we met at was one of the cheaper ones. The flowers on the table were plastic. The food may as well have been plastic. The dealer, Juntis Shoot, was a thin man, wearing old fashioned glasses, and a huge chip on his shoulder. The last ship he’d contracted with, he told me in a loud voice, had stolen the last shipment he’d sent with them. It was never delivered.
I asked him if maybe the ship had been lost, it did still happen. He glared and kept right on telling me how untrustworthy spacers were, especially the independent traders. I shifted in my seat so he could see the patch on my shoulder, the one that said Independent Traders Guild in big red letters. He didn’t even pause.
“Why don’t you use a contract shipping service?” I finally broke in to ask. “Since you don’t trust traders.”
That launched him off on a new stream of complaints, this time about the prices charged by the big shipping companies for even small cargoes.
I ate my bland food and waited for him to slow down.
“Hom Shoot,” I said, raising my hand to interrupt him and using the local form of address, “Do you want to sign a contract with me or not? I am an independent tr
ader, bonded by the Guild, which guarantees your cargo, even if something happens and I can’t deliver it.”
“How much?” he said abruptly.
“For one run?”
“No, no,” he said and waved his hands. “How much for you to contract to deliver all of them? One shipment a week. One week off every four months.”
“I’m not sure I want to sign a permanent contract, Hom Shoot. How about a trial run for both of us? I’ll take your cargo to Kimmel and send a message back if I decide not to continue shipping for you. Otherwise I’ll be back for another—”
“Won’t do,” he said and frowned, shoving his glasses up his nose with one bony finger. “I have shipments for Ytirus, Cygnus, and Kimmel taking up storage space. I’m paying for them to sit there and collect dust. And I’ll have another shipment ready in four days. You’ll have to take all of them.”
“And what if I don’t?”
“You can’t do that,” he said primly. “Guild rules.”
“Hom Shoot, I haven’t signed anything. I can walk out without breaking any rules.”
He blinked rapidly several times. He looked like a fish, one that wasn’t in water at the moment. He dove into a thick case he’d brought with him and pulled out a fistful of papers.
“Sign here,” he said stabbing at the paper.
I picked it up and started reading it.
“You don’t need to do that,” he protested. “Standard contract. Just sign it.”
I shifted away from him and continued reading. It was much more than a standard contract. I was basically agreeing to haul his ceramics until the universe ended if I signed it as written. For the same price forever. I picked up the pen. He quivered, eager to see me sign. I crossed out several chunks of small text. His nose twitched.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Trial contract,” I answered, writing in additional clauses. “I’ll deliver the three cargoes you currently have in storage, over the next three weeks, and then I’ll contact you to decide if I want to sign something more permanent.”
He spluttered, outraged to the point where he couldn’t talk. It was an improvement.
“I’ll charge you the standard delivery fees,” I added, writing a list of charges below the clauses I’d added. “Payable either up front or on delivery, whichever you have arranged.” I signed my name and ship name and put the pen down. “Failure to pay will result in legal action taken on my behalf by the Guild.” Which also meant he’d be blacklisted by the Guild, I could tell he knew that by his sudden gulp.
