by Andre Norton
“For a week,” Van Rycke answered. “Just seven Terran days. Then Video shall have the story of our lives. So tell your big brass to get moving. We’ll lift today—or rather tonight—and we’ll go to Poldar. Also we shall notify Trade just where we are and how long we shall be there.”
“I’ll let you fight it out with the big boys.” The Commander sounded resigned. “I have your word you’ll go directly to Poldar?”
Captain Jellico nodded. “You need not send for an escort. Good hunting, Commander.”
Dane and Mura followed their officers out of the room, but the cargo-apprentice was troubled. To be shut up in a Patrol quarantine station was the usual result of a flight to a new and unknown planet. There would be all the poking and prying of doctors and scientists to make sure that neither men nor ship had brought back any deadly disease. But this had overtones of a longer imprisonment. Yet neither the Captain nor Van Rycke appeared in the least cast-down. In fact they were at peace with their world as they had not been since that auction on Naxos.
“Have something in mind, Van?” Jellico’s voice could be heard above the rumble of the crawler taking them back to the Queen.
“I looked over Salzar’s loot pretty carefully. Remember Traxt Cam, Captain?”
“Traxt Cam—he operates out on the Rim—”
“Operated,” Van Rycke’s voice lost some of its lightness.
“You mean he was one of Salzar’s victims?”
“I don’t see how else his private record box got in Salzar’s general catch. Traxt was on his way in from a very good thing when he smashed here. He’d bid for Sargol. Got it, and was doing all right there—”
“Sargol,” repeated the Captain. “Sargol—isn’t that planet where they found the Koros—the new jewels?”
“Yes. And Traxt’s claim has a year and a half yet to go. We shall point that out to the powers that be. They might well be ready to settle with us even—our Limbo papers turned in without any back chat from us—a full shipment of supplies for the Queen—and the rest of Traxt’s claim to exploit. How does it sound, Captain?”
“Just like one of your better deals, Van. Yes the big boys might go for that. It would cost them little and get us out of their hair—put us out on the Rim where we can’t talk too much—”
“Might work?” Van Rycke shook his head solemnly. “Captain, give me more credit. Of course it will work. Sargol and the Koros—they’re waiting for us.”
His confidence built a feeling of security. Dane stared out over the bare bones of Limbo without seeing that seared waste, he was trying so hard to picture Sargol. A mining planet with a rich strike and the Queen’s Trade claims paramount! Maybe Limbo had brought them luck after all. They’d be able to answer that better in a month or two.
The End
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-66dd2a-fd8e-4b4c-7fad-83e1-10af-cc962b
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 23.12.2010
Created using: Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software
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Verdi1
Document history:
Attention: the text lacks author’s italic.
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