“I ’m sure you don’t want someone you’ve never seen before trying to get access to corporate accounts,” Stella said, putting full force charm into her voice. The Crown & Spears account manager nodded, eyes wary. “Even though I know the account numbers and passwords—of course even with the best security such things have been compromised. But I want to open a new corporate account. We have funds coming in, owed us by the convoy that just arrived, and I want the same terms as in the other Vatta account.”
“Er…that seems reasonable,” the man said. “And if you really needed…perhaps something could be arranged…”
“No need,” Stella said, smiling at him, watching him react as nearly all men did to that smile. He was certainly more susceptible than Customs and Immigration’s Inspector Knae. “But I don’t want to be paying higher bank charges than the regular account; it will annoy our people and give me a black mark.”
“Surely not,” the man said. “In such an emergency—”
“You don’t know my aunt Grace,” Stella said ruefully. “She doesn’t believe in excuses.”
“A close family firm,” the man said, smiling now. “There’s a dragon in every family, isn’t there? With me it was my mother’s mother. Until she died, we were all hauled up at least once a ten-day.” He shook his head. “Let’s see, then. In the present state of things, with financial ansibles down, we aren’t taking credit transfers from outsystem institutions, but we are accepting hard currency or trade goods from incoming spacers.”
“Of course,” Stella said.
“Existing Vatta corporate accounts fall into our Preferred category; I believe you’ll find the amenities acceptable.” He passed across a hardcopy sheet; Stella glanced over it quickly.
“Yes, that’s quite acceptable. Now if you can refer me to a licensed appraiser…”
“Certainly. Ballard Valuations is bonded, quite reputable. So is Actuarial Appraisals.”
Stella flipped a mental coin and chose Ballard. Two of Aunt Grace’s diamonds produced a respectable first deposit to the new Vatta account. Stella sent the necessary information to the other convoy captains and instructed them to make their deposits promptly, then told Mackensee that she had done so.
She had just returned to the ship from Crown & Spears when the station security chief called.
“We’ve checked your story with the Mackensee commander and your crew personnel; we are now satisfied that you are not a pirate and that you are in legitimate command of your ship, though you are not actually qualified…but that’s not your fault. We accept that in an emergency you did what was necessary. Nonetheless, we require that you hire an experienced captain and necessary crew before proceeding.”
“Thank you,” Stella said. “I fully intend to hire someone who knows more than I do.”
“We are not yet convinced that your cousin is as blameless as you think, however. She failed to submit to our judicial investigation.”
“Ky is…impulsive sometimes,” Stella murmured. “She was always very upright, however.”
“That may be, but she is now running an armed vessel to which she has no adjudicated title and she claims to have a letter of marque and thus a prize claim—”
“She has the letter of marque,” Stella said. “I’ve seen it.”
“And there’s the matter of the person with her whom you think is working on behalf of the ISC. But he didn’t fix our ansibles the way you say he fixed others.”
“Did you ask him to?” Stella said.
“Well…no.” A longish pause, then a grudging nod. “All right. I see your point. We didn’t ask for that help, and we weren’t being overly welcoming to your cousin. I suppose if she felt she had to exit the system, he could hardly have jumped ship into vacuum.”
“Precisely,” Stella said, smiling. “And now, I’d like permission to unload my cargo and go about my business—trading business.”
“Quite so. Go ahead, then. We’ve greenlighted your cargo access.”
Three shifts later, the first of the convoy ships had made its deposit into her new account, and she had made the required transfer to Mackensee for their escort service. Their own cargo, small as it was, sold for a good price; she now had enough in the account to hire new crew.
Balthazar Orem had lost his ship to dock charges; with no transfer credit and a cargo that didn’t compete well in the current market, he’d been unable to keep up, and the station had seized his ship. “I’ll be glad to work for a company like Vatta,” he said in his recorded interview. “I know Vatta’s had problems, but it’ll recover. It’s always been a respectable line. Maybe I can save enough to start over m’self someday, but realistically—” He rubbed his left hand through thinning gray hair. “I’m gettin’ on for that. Just to be in space, just to have a ship, that’s what I want. All my papers are in order; I’ve never had a judgment against me.”
“He’s the best we’ve found,” Johannson said. “He worked up to his own ship from cargo handler; he knows his job and he has a good reputation, other than being ‘too small to compete.’”
“I’ll take him,” Stella said. “At least, I think I will, but I still want to meet him myself.”
“Pilots are a bit chancier,” Johannson said. “We found you what we think is the best available onstation, but she’s got a reputation as a handful. Here’s her interview.” He flicked on the vidscreen. The hard-faced redhead sat bolt upright, looking as if she might explode any moment.
“I’m a pilot,” she said. “Not a navigator, not an engineer, and for sure not a cargo worker. Pilot. Best one around, and that’s why I insist that I’m just a pilot, nothing else.”
Stella tried to imagine that personality in her crew and almost refused.
“I don’t get in rows, I don’t cause trouble—I’ll do my share of general shipwork, in the galley and so forth. But I’m a specialist, see? This is a small ship you’re talking about, and sometimes these small ships think everyone can do everything. They can’t. I need to run my sims every day to keep my skills up and stay sharp.”
That didn’t sound as bad.
“She’s abrasive,” Johannson said, “but she passed our skills test with a very high score.”
“I’ll take her,” Stella said. She needed skills more than a sweet personality.
Orem came for his interview within minutes of her call; he must have been waiting just outside the dock space. Stella recognized the same quiet competence that characterized many Vatta captains. It was hard to make herself ask more questions, and she finally shook her head and said, “This is ridiculous—you’re clearly qualified, Captain Orem, and I hope you’ll accept this position.”
“Thank you, ma’am; I’ll be glad to.”
“Just give me time to move my things out of the captain’s cabin—”
“You don’t need to do that, ma’am. I can bunk anywhere.”
“Of course you’ll have that cabin,” Stella said. “It’s set up for communications to the bridge.” She didn’t really want to bunk in crew quarters, but she knew better than to shortchange her new captain.
By the end of that business day, she had hired an excellent environmental technician as well, and Orem had already worked up a watch schedule for the old and new crew.
“I like him,” Quincy said to Stella in the rec area. “He feels solid to me. And she’s prickly, but qualified.” No question who she was…the new pilot.
Over the next few days, as Orem settled into command of Gary Tobai, Stella completed the financial transfers from the convoy to the new Vatta account. It was tedious, as not all the convoy captains had accounts with Crown & Spears, and two of them had to wait for their cargoes to sell in order to clear the amount needed. Stella suspected that Ky would not have had the patience to keep after the various ship captains without annoying them too much.
She had told Quincy to organize a priority list for repairs; now she told Orem how much they now had available to spend. Repair crews moved into the damaged cargo hold and began rebuilding the wiring. Stella looked at their balance—much healthier than she’d expected, even counting the cost of repairs—and went in search of trade goods. With traffic down, what would the market on Rosvirein be looking for? Or, assuming a reasonable course, something she couldn’t predict with Ky, the next logical port, Sallyon?
If Vatta was to rebuild, it would need contacts on as many stations as possible. Garth-Lindheimer had been a prosperous and respectable trading station for some time; the system had several habitable planets, and insystem trade sustained the economy even with the ansibles down. No interstellar traders headquartered here, but she visited the branch offices of those who had regular routes through Garth-Lindheimer. Everyone’s business was down, pirate activity was up, and no one wanted to subcontract with Vatta, even for short runs. She paid a visitor fee to make use of the Captains’ Guild, where she expected the dining room gossip to more than repay that expense. At first she heard nothing new, just complaints about the time it was taking ISC to repair the ansibles, the apparent increase in pirate attacks, lost revenues, rapacious insurance companies.
“So what is Slotter Key like?” asked Captain Parks of Amber’s Dream on her third visit; he offered to buy her lunch, and she accepted.
Stella shrugged, letting the soft knit dress she was wearing almost slip off one shoulder. He appeared to be only a few years older than she, sandy-haired with pale blue eyes. She’d seen him watching her before; perhaps he would be less cautious than the other captains. “It’s my home world; I think it’s beautiful. Pretty much standard type for unmodified human colonization. More ocean than most, I’d say.”
“And why are you all the way over here?” he asked, his eyes straying to her cleavage.
Stella took a calculated breath. This kind was the easiest to pump for information. She explained, briefly but emotionally, about the attacks on her home and family. “And then my cousin went off in the other ship, and left me to take care of things here.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” he said. He was leaning forward now. Stella sat back.
“It’s not, but what could I do? I had to find someone to help me with the ship. I’m not a licensed captain, as you know.”
“You could have asked me,” he said.
This was too ridiculous. “You have a ship already,” Stella said, with just a hint of tartness. “And I am asking your advice now. What sort of cargo do you think will be profitable if I were headed for, say, Bissonet? And is Rosvirein the best way to go, or should I head for the Topaz Cluster?” Stella had picked Bissonet as most obvious populous system beyond Rosvirein and Sallyon.
“Bissonet? They’re a major manufacturing center, and your ship’s too small to carry any raw materials they might want.” Parks moved his wineglass a centimeter. “I’d try culinary additives, art glass, things like that. Tricky, if you haven’t been there before.”
“I’ve got to do something,” Stella said, shrugging. “If I’m going to rebuild Vatta, it has to start somewhere.”
“A hard task,” Park said. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, inadequate chin resting on his hands. “You are young for it, but then the young and beautiful find many things easy that others would find impossible.”
He was impossible. If he leaned any closer, he would upset the whole table in her lap.
“You flatter me,” Stella said. Usually she enjoyed a game of flirt and fly, but now it seemed as juvenile as a child’s circle game. What she wanted was information, useful information, not admiring glances and barely veiled lust. It was her own fault, she admitted to herself; she had dressed to arouse, but it was still a bore.
“What an excellent fish,” she said, applying herself to the pink-fleshed fillet in front of her. It was good; Ky had said that the food at the Captains’ Guild dining rooms was nearly always good.
“It is,” the man said, starting in on his own pair of chops. “If you like fish,” he added.
Stella smiled sweetly at him but went on eating. When she had finished, she thanked him and excused herself. “I’m sorry, but my ship tells me there’s a call waiting—it was a lovely meal, and you were most generous.”
His smile brightened. “Perhaps I’ll see you this evening, if you stop by the bar—”
“It will depend on business,” Stella said. If you couldn’t leave them laughing, you could at least leave them hopeful. Not that she wanted to fan his hopes, but no need to leave him feeling used.
In the days that followed, while the repair crew finished their work, Stella picked up small amounts of a varied cargo. This was much more her sort of thing than running a ship. She had always had a knack for recognizing what would become a style trend well before it did; she could read quality in merchandise types she didn’t know as if it were printed in bold on the surface. Now this led her to pick up bales of handwoven cloth, several crates of art glass, some spare parts for larger ships’ environmental systems, two crates of porcelain dishes, and 250 Kospar Infini toilets, top of the line across the galaxy. Captain Orem told her about those when they came up on the auction board.
“I thought toilets were toilets,” Stella said. “Mature technology, been around thousands of years—I mean, I know the name, and they’re nice, but to haul around on spaceships?”
“All Kospar products are first-rate,” Orem said. “But the Infini model is what the rich and famous put into their homes and private offices. Kospar limits the manufacture every year, well below demand. Designers beg for them. What was in your father’s house?”
“Kospar,” Stella admitted. “Benites upstairs, and there was an Infini in the master bath and the main guest bath, but I never used those. What’s the difference?”
He shrugged. “What’s the difference between synthsilk and real silk? Grape juice and wine? For one thing, each is unique in some way: color, texture of the exterior, inclusions—”
“Inclusions?”
“Decorative elements incorporated into the structural material. I saw one once that had ferns…it was a work of art, not just a basic human necessity. For another thing, they don’t break. They never require cleaning. They never need repair or adjustment. Anything that damages one of them will destroy the house around it. They all monitor for a wide range of health concerns. And they have the most comfortable seats. They also cost, of course, and the profit on them, even for the shipper, is quite generous.”
“So you think we should take them.”
“We should take twice that many if they were available. I don’t suppose you’ll sell many on Rosvirein—though the criminal element has never been noted for austerity—but if we do go on to Sallyon and Bissonet, I’d expect a very nice profit indeed.”
The toilets came aboard, along with hand-knit scarves of wool from a local game animal, bright-painted religious icons, packets of freeze-dried “wild” meat and fish, and anything else that caught Stella’s eye and passed Captain Orem’s experienced trade sense.
Ky brought Fair Kaleen into Rosvirein’s system cautiously. Rosvirein had the reputation—according to her father’s implant and Rafe’s memory—of a rough place in which few questions were or should be asked. The automatic beacon when they arrived requested confirmation that the beacon ID was correct, nothing more. Ky checked the scan. Twenty-eight ships insystem, twenty of them carrying trade beacons, and eight of them showing as armed, weapons hot, under the Rosvirein Peace Force logo. Twelve of the twenty traders were in space; the others were listed as docked.
A list of system rules came up on screen. Armed ships were welcome, but if their weapons went live they would be fired upon by Rosvirein Peace Force. Military personnel must declare their organization and current contracts, if any. Privateers must declare any letters of marque currently in force and provide a facsimile of such documents. Pirates were advised that any `attempts at piracy insystem would be severely dealt with. Patrons were welcome to carry whatever personal arms they wished onstation, but were held responsible for any damage caused to persons or property. Registered bounty hunters could locate and identify fugitives, but not capture or kill them.
The last line read: “Be advised, the death penalty is frequently imposed and we do not have an appellate court system.”
“It may not keep us alive, but anyone who attacks us will be taken down,” Rafe said, reading that. “Cold comfort, though. And did you notice, their ansible’s live. The bad guys have been here, if they aren’t here now.”
“So we can expect attacks.” She would have to have security if she left the ship; that meant Martin and Rafe.
“Maybe not. If Osman was the real push behind the attacks on Vatta, the other bad guys may not care. And if you act like you think he was the real cause, and they don’t have other reasons, they’ll be glad to let things lie.”
“That’s so reassuring,” Ky said, for want of anything better. A trickle of sweat ran down her backbone.
“It could be,” Rafe said. He eyed her. “Nervous, Captain?”
“A little, yes,” Ky said. “Can you find out through these which ansibles are functional?”
“I can if they have a list up,” Rafe said. He sat down at the console and queried the local ansible. “Ah. Repairs have been made to thirty-seven percent of the ansibles originally down, but some of those aren’t considered stable. Slotter Key’s still not up. Garth-Lindheimer is; it just came back online eight days ago. I’m not sure I find that good.”
“Why not? I can contact Stella if she’s still there.”
“It strikes me as suspicious that an ansible starts working just after we leave a system…at least, when I had nothing to do with it. Either a legitimate ISC repair crew showed up there, or…or something.”
Ky felt a cold chill. She hadn’t wanted to leave Stella back at Garth-Lindheimer; if something happened to her cousin or that ship, it would be Ky’s fault.
“Stella’s smart,” Rafe said, answering her unspoken fear. “She’s been in tight places before. And she’s less confrontational than you are.”
“Confrontational…”
“It’s the military training, I suspect. Meet trouble head-on.”
Ky thought of explaining that sound military theory was against direct confrontation if sneakier maneuvers were available, but thought better of it. She did have a history that suggested confrontation, even though she hadn’t meant to take that route. And experience was teaching her that getting into arguments with Rafe rarely accomplished anything but raising her heart rate.
Rosvirein’s Customs and Immigration looked over the facsimile of Ky’s letter of marque with what looked like practiced boredom. “Slotter Key, right. Here’s the rules for privateers. You can’t take ships in this system unless you assign half the prize to us prior to the attempt. If you fail to take the ship you indicate, you still owe us half the prize value as assessed prior to. However, you are welcome to gather information and guess where your target ships are going next and attack them there. Onstation, we don’t want trouble. Or, we don’t want trouble that interferes with trade. We’re a free-trade system. No limitations on merchandise categories.”
“I’m here to trade,” Ky said. “No targets in sight, and I don’t want trouble, either.”
“That’s what they all say,” the officer said, grinning. “Trade’s reasonably active now, but we’ve had reports of unidentified ships bouncing in and out of the system, and with that and all those ansibles down, some of the traders are talking about traveling in convoys. Not that I’m brokering or anything, but if you’re in the escort business as well as trade, you’ll probably find someone interested.”
“I’ll think about it,” Ky said. Thinking about it was all she could do, until she had the whole ship aired up and weapons crews to operate the weapons. First she had to sell some of her cargo so she could hire people, and even before that she had to avoid being killed. Tempting as it was to think that Osman’s death ended the threat to Vatta, it could be fatal to make that assumption. Especially on a station with Rosvirein’s reputation.
With Martin and Rafe along, and her own personal weapon loaded and handy in its holster, she set out for the Captains’ Guild.
The concourse bustled, as busy as Lastway’s and subtly more varied. Dress ranged from plain shipsuits to elaborate costumes Ky would have expected at a formal diplomatic affair. Visible personal arms included swords, firearms, shocksticks. Local security, just as obvious, wore full battledress, faceplates up, carried combat-quality firearms, and walked in pairs.
Ky watched a group of women, all in lush blue velvet pantsuits, lace ruffles at wrists and throat, lace headdresses, stroll along looking at shop windows. They turned in, finally, at a display of custom electronics. Out of a grocer’s came a woman in a blue uniform dress and white headdress, shepherding a line of small children, each clutching a fruit of some kind. A humod with four forearms, two hands carrying books, one a briefcase, and one rummaging in the briefcase…another with a floret of tentacles on one shoulder, all rolled into a compact mass; the other arm appeared normal.
The Captains’ Guild onstation looked like any upper-level spacer bar, with its protective doorman. Ky checked in, listing Fair Kaleen as having cargo to sell, crew vacancies, and no firm destination.
“The status boards are in there, the bar’s over there, and we have three private meeting rooms, if you need them,” the clerk said, pointing in various directions after she’d finished signing in. “We don’t see Vatta captains in here that often.”
“The ansible problem has a lot of people off route,” Ky said.
“We’ve heard. Luckily we’ve got our own techs. Annoys ISC that we don’t call them every time a blip happens, but we’re not stuck like the rest of the tame sheep who depend on ISC for everything. Slotter Key’s your headquarters, right? And its ansible’s still out. Guess you people are on your own now, no one to tell you what to do.”
“Something like that,” Ky said. She didn’t look at Rafe; she could imagine what he was thinking. She looked at the status board. Ten ships in dock, counting hers. Those docked when she arrived insystem had left, except for two. She’d already noticed that Bal’s Tiger and Ratany had been there a long time. Captains R. Taylor and G. Pinwin. Awaiting cargo, according to the Captains’ Guild board. Others had come and gone, finding cargo. Something to be wary of, no doubt. Still, she could use more crew, and ships that stayed too long in one place often had crew who wanted to move on.
“The local market’s hot for custom and specialized electronics right now,” the clerk went on. “Woven fabrics is cold—the local system produces and exports excellent natural-fiber fabric. Foodstuffs, unless you’ve got something really exotic, are also cold. Munitions always have a hot market here. Fine arts—it depends. High-end furnishings are the same.”
“Thank you,” Ky said.
“And since you’re looking for crew, or you have something specific in mind, I might know a connection…”
“I’ll need to consider our cargo in light of what you’ve told me,” Ky said. She wasn’t about to give this one information he could sell on.
Her first priority was resupply anyway, and that meant she needed quick cash. The ship’s limited hydroponics space hadn’t begun to replace the air lost to space when the air lock blew out, and she wanted those now airless cargo spaces aired up so they could be inspected and the reserves replaced. Rosvirein’s air charges were high, but not impossibly so. She would contact Crown & Spears first, see about accessing the corporate accounts, and if that proved impossible then she’d sell something—anything—to pay for air.