Due Diligence Page 6

  She felt Fer Gun shift in the chair next to her. The child was about to suggest that they strike their table and retire to the ship, to study what they had gained. Not an unreasonable suggestion, yet something other than the weight of her belly kept her in her own seat, waiting–

  There was a stir at the doorway, and a trader, short for a Terran, tall for a Liaden, moved down the line of tables, deliberately, scanning each in turn. She strolled past the two big-ship tables, with a Terran smile and a nod, and paused at the table which represented the Lazarus Line, which had a long-Loop in need of a trader.

  That conversation went well, sticks were exchanged, and the trader moved on, past the empty table, and that being dismantled. She raised her head, read their sign, and glanced to Fer Gun.

  Her eyes widened; her lips parted slightly.

  Well, now; this was interesting.

  The trader stepped forward and introduced herself, and Chi drew a careful breath. She recognized the name, from Petrella's notes.

  Interesting; nearly an original. Contracted three years to Argost, and has achieved wonders, despite the limits placed upon her. Possibly Korval will want her, after she's tempered a bit more.

  Tempering, thought Chi. Surely it would do the trader no harm, if Korval took active part in her tempering?

  Fer Gun had lost the use of his tongue, she noted; first contact was hers to make.

  She smiled, therefore, wide and Terran.

  "Trader Danac-Joenz," she said cheerfully; "well-met."

  VII

  "Station master assigns us inner ring twelfth quadrant."

  "Got it," Fer Gun answered.

  Copilot was riding comm, which is how they had worked out the board between them. In addition, she had a good eye for a likely berth, and the in-ring at twelve was about as likely as they could get, coming in to Boert'ani Station.

  Their pick-up here was personnel, in particular, Trader Karil Danac-Joenz.

  He was still. . .not entirely certain how Karil Danac-Joenz had come to be their first choice for Comet's trader. She was young, she was Terran–well, she had been born into the Terran population on a world that supposed itself Liaden, and was therefore what Chi was pleased to call cross-cultured. She was well-spoken in three languages and in hand-talk, was Trader Danac-Joenz. He had liked her, but–the last seven months had taught him the value of having an older and more experienced crewmate to draw upon. And thus he had settled upon Trader Losan vey'Norember, experienced, sober, and very able to advise a new and, despite all his best efforts, ever-to-remain-foolish pilot-captain.

  Chi, however, had seen benefit in Trader Danac-Joenz's ease in two cultures, and presented as uniquely useful that the trader held both a five-year trade key from TerraTrade and wore the garnet of a Liaden trader.

  It had been Chi's opinion that a new route wanted youth and flexibility.

  "Old heads tend to be hard heads," she said. "A young captain and a young trader grow together into a team, plan routes and expansions between them; get to know each other's minds. Where you'll want older heads, if I may be so bold, Captain Fer Gun, will be on your copilot and your engineer. And if it were up to me, I'd hire general crew with multiple areas of expertise, rather than just muscle, but you'll suit yourself, of course."

  He valued Chi's opinion, and so set himself to compare the resumes of both contenders.

  And in the records, he saw Chi's point. The elder trader was surely elder, her list of accomplishments, as one might expect, many times longer than that of the younger trader. But the list of her contacts had been static for years, and the rate of gain for new was. . .slow. Very slow, indeed.

  Trader Danac-Joenz, on the other hand, had to develop markets and contacts precisely because she was new. Further, those markets she had developed remained with her, even as she added to her contacts and expanded her areas of expertise.

  And that was how Karil Danac-Joanz had come to receive their offer first, and had accepted it on the spot.

  It had been, Fer Gun told himself, his decision, based on Chi's recommendations. Chi's experience.

  He only hoped it worked out as she had fortold.

  He would, Fer Gun thought, sending a glance over to second chair, miss his copilot, her bossy ways and her encyclopedic knowledge of ships, trade routes, goods, and human persons. More, he would miss her humor, and her patience, and her generosity in bed–oh, he had learned much, this trip, and not merely the ship, and the names of those to whom she introduced him as her business partner, and proper business manners. She had said at the start that she would be generous, and she had more than kept her promise.

  Boert'ani Station was their next-to-last stop. Take on the trader, that was one thing; take on a small cargo bound for Lytaxin.

  Chi had kin at Lytaxin, and she was under some obligation to show them her belly. That weighed on her, as even he could see; weighed on her enough that he had broached the notion of arranging for another ship to take Lytaxin's small cargo, so she might spare herself at least that burden of propriety.

  She had smiled, and kissed his cheek, as if they were true kin and not merely contracted.

  "But you know, it must be done. All the forms must be observed for this child; and if I make any misstep, it must be in the direction of Too High."

  That was just melant'i games and High House spite, so far as he'd been able to determine, which had made him glad to be so insignificant, and sorry that she must bear with such nonsense, when she must have a care for the babe on his own account. Surely, this had been no good time for her to take up the frustrating hobby of polishing rough pilots, but she had never stinted him.

  Navcomp pinged, and he looked to his boards to find that the approach to their berth had arrived from the station master's office.

  "Course received," he said quietly, fingers moving; "locked in."

  He glanced over to second board.

  "End of shift, Pilot?" he asked–a broad hint; "I'll take her in."

  "Glutton," Chi said cheerfully. She rose, carefully though without strain, from her chair. They kept ship's gravity a trifle light so that there would be no strain; that had been his idea. She had noticed, of course–Chi yos'Phelium noticed everything–but beyond a raised eyebrow had made no comment, which he took to mean light grav might remain.

  "Tea, Captain?" she asked him. "A board-snack?"

  "Both would be welcome," he said. "I thank you."

  "Copilot's duty," she said lightly.

  That was proper enough. Still, he might have felt a pang, that she was required to perform such small tasks for him, had she not regaled him with tales of her time as a scout, and confessed that this trip to establish him had benefit to her, as well.

  "Far better for me to be here, where things are so much more straightforward and sensible, than negotiating the gathers, and the melant'i games, and turning the attempted strikes against Kareen, poor child."

  Kareen, had not, he thought, cared much for him. Not that she hadn't a full pod of good reasons to dislike him, not least because he was the instrument by which she would be denied what ought to have been her proper place in her clan. Having been the less-than-able among his own kin, he felt a sympathy for Kareen, but possessed nowhere near the address necessary to express such a thing to her.

  And, really, they were not that much alike, when he thought more deeply upon it. He was a barely-lettered pilot from a clan which was no higher than it should be, his failing a lack of imagination in the matter of extortion.

  Kareen, on the other hand, was a brilliant scholar, gifted in the field of social science, valuable to her clan as he had not–would never be. It was merely that she was not a pilot, and so, by Korval's own law, she could not stand delm.

  "Well," Chi had said, one evening as they lay together in bed, sated and in a mood to tell over history. "It is a difficulty with charters made so long ago. We ought, perhaps, to modernize ourselves, but we have obligations every bit as ancient, and so we abide."

  She h
ad smiled as he recalled it, wistfully, and murmured.

  "Perhaps someday there will be no reason for the delm of Korval to be a master-class pilot. But that day will not, I think, dawn within my lifetime."

  The child they had made, then, had best be a pilot, capable of mastering Jump at the very least, else Clan Korval would undergo a change–a small change, so it would seem on its face. yos'Galan would ascend to the primary Line, and yos'Phelium would fall into the subordinate place.

  It was plain to him. . .say it was plain to him now, having had his eyes opened somewhat to nuance by close association with the most complicated mind he had yet met–that the possibility of yos'Phelium failing troubled her.

  "Those who came before you ought to have seen the clan-house full of pilots," he said to her, which was surely an impertinence, but she had merely given him a wry smile.

  "We were more plentiful before we became embroiled in intemperate politics, and three of our delms came mad–two with the notion that yos'Phelium's connection to the old universe made us a blight upon this one, and far better that the Line died out."

  "Do you hold with that?" he asked, not believing it of her.

  "How can I believe us to be utterly evil?" she answered, whimsical as she was when she did not care to answer a question too closely. "And, you know, it is not the loss of precedence which I care for, but that we will lose our wings. From the very first, we were pilots, and to fail of being pilots, ever again–perhaps it were best that the Line die out."

  That had been too melancholy for pillow-talk, and he had set himself to bring her into a happier frame of mind, which he flattered himself he had done.

  And he hoped, that for once in his life, he had been apt.

  The proximity sensor beeped at him, then, and he looked to his screens, fingers already moving across the board, making minute adjustments, dancing with the station, and made a wager with himself that he would dock her tight on the first attempt.

  #

  He won his wager handsomely, sliding into dock with no slightest bobble. He refused station air, and the list of dockside services. Station would know that they were short-dockers, Chi not having been likely to have omitted that detail in negotiating their space. Still, he supposed they had to ask, on the chance that the PIC was an idiot, or the ship had a surplus of funds. Their bad luck that the pilot had lately graduated from idiot to half-wit, and ship's funds were adequate for the necessities, without running to luxury.

  Details settled, he opened the port directory, meaning to place a call to cor'Wellin Warehousing, and arrange delivery of the cargo bound for Lytaxin.

  Before he could open an outgoing line, though, the comm lit green–call incoming.

  He touched the switch.

  "Comet."

  "Good spin, Comet," said a light, cheerful voice, speaking Liaden in the mode between comrades, "this is Karil Danac-Joenz. Do I speak with Pilot pen'Uldra?"

  "Trader, you do," he said, meeting her in comrade. "I hope you are well."

  "Well, but bored–you cannot imagine how much!" she told him. "The market here is dismal and the trade floors–as Boert'ani Station acts as my host, I will say only that the trade floors are bland in the extreme. There. We need never speak of it again."

  His lips twitched.

  "Will you come aboard, then? I warn you that we are also bland, sitting at dock as we do."

  "But that is an affliction which will soon be remedied, will it not?" she said, and before he could answer, swept on, "Yes, Pilot, I would very much like to come aboard. May I? Soon?"

  "Yes," he said. "What is your direction? I have a delivery to arrange, but then I will come for you. Have you much luggage?"

  There was a small pause, as if he had surprised the trader.

  "Pilot, thank you. I am at the Spinside Hyatt, and can be at your hatch within the hour. As to luggage, I assure you that I require no assistance."

  He hesitated, but Boert'ani was rated safe, after all, and surely a trader must be dock-wise.

  "Come, then, and welcome," he told her. "We will expect you."

  "Excellent! Until soon."

  "Until soon," he answered, but the light had already gone out.

  Well, then. On to the next task. He located cor'Wellin in the port directory and placed his call.

  "This is Fer Gun pen'Uldra," he told the man who answered; "small trader Comet. I wish to arrange delivery of our cargo, hold number CW9844."

  The warehouseman's face changed. Perhaps it was dismay. He held his hands up to the screen.

  "My apologies, Pilot, but you must come to us. Your cargo has been damaged. You will want to inspect it before taking delivery."

  "Damaged? What kind of damage?"

  The man licked his lips.

  "I cannot say, Pilot. It will be best for you to come yourself, perform an inspection and file a damage report, if you deem it necessary."

  Fer Gun glared at the warehouseman. The warehouseman simply stared back at him.

  "I will be there within the hour," he said curtly, and cut the connection.

  He had hoped to let Chi sleep her fill; and now he would have to wake her for board-duty–another irritation.

  Well, it couldn't be helped.

  He rose, and crossed the bridge to the main hall –

  A bell rang.

  Fer Gun frowned–then his face cleared. Trader Danac-Joenz had arrived. Perhaps he could let Chi sleep after all.

  He turned left, down the access hall, glanced at the screen, and verified that the tall woman with the amiable face, and her pretty brown hair braided down her back today was, indeed, Karil Danac-Joenz–and cycled the hatch.

  #

  Chi was in the co-pilot's chair when they came onto the bridge, having stopped on the way from the hatch to stow the trader's meager luggage in her quarters.

  Fer Gun swallowed a curse.

  "Pilot," Chi said agreeably. "Hello, Trader; well-met."

  "Pilot." Trader Danac-Joenz bowed. "It's good to be aboard."

  "It's good to have you," Chi assured her, then turned a sapient eye to him.

  "What's amiss, Fer Gun?"

  He sighed.

  "The warehouse lets me know that the cargo for Lytaxin is damaged. They won't deliver until I've gone to the warehouse, inspected the damage and filled out some paperwork. I had hoped to let you rest. In fact, why not rest again? The trader will stand comm."

  He saw Chi look aside, and followed her gaze. Karil Danac-Joenz was frowning slightly.

  "Yes?" Chi murmured. "Do not hesitate to share your thoughts, Trader. You will find it a plain-spoken ship."

  A subtle grin briefly illuminated the trader's face before she turned to Fer Gun.

  "Unless Pilot yos'Phelium's need is dire, I think the ship is better served if I go with you to the warehouse," she said. "I am something of an expert on cargo, and on the sorts of damage cargo might reasonably receive."

  She paused, not quite a hesitation, and bowed slightly.

  "I am also an expert on paperwork having to do with cargo." She gave him a whimsical look. "My master insisted that I learn it all, no matter how tedious, and well it was that he did–the garnet exams are nearly all about paperwork."

  It was his decision. Chi could have said, "That would be the best use of resources, Pilot." She didn't say it, but he heard it inside his head, just as clearly as if she had. And, yes, he told himself grumpily, it was the best use of available resources.

  "Well, then," he said, bowing lightly; "are you ready now, Trader?"

  She returned the bow.

  "Yes, let us go now. It's a lovely day for a walk."

  #

  "I am here," Fer Gun told the clerk behind the counter, "to inspect cargo that was damaged. Lot Number CW9844, on hold for Comet."

  She glanced down, presumably at a screen set below the counter, and looked up again, face stiff.

  "Lot CW9844 is being held in the inspection bay. Down this hall, Pilots, to the end. There is a door."
>
  "We will require the presence of a warehouse representative," Trader Danac-Joenz said. "We were told there would be paperwork."

  The clerk took a breath.

  "Someone will be waiting for you in the inspection bay."

  There was a momentary hesitation, as if the trader had weighed this answer and found it wanting. Then, she inclined her head, and turned to him.

  "After you, Pilot."

  #

  The hall was short, and oddly unpeopled. Fer Gun hesitated, and glanced at his trader.

  "Do you have a weapon?"

  She met his eyes.

  "Will I need one?"

  "I don't know," he admitted, and moved a hand, fingers flickering in the sign for bad feeling. "You won't wait in the hall, I suppose."

  She laughed.

  "Already, we are beginning to know each other! No, Pilot; I will not wait in the hall, but I will cover your off-side."

  Well, that was fair enough, he owned; and, by the look of her, it was the trader's best offer.

  "To my right, then," he said, and lengthened his stride, so he was first through the door.

  The bay was bright-lit, which he hadn't expected; and there was the pallet, in the center of the light, looking remarkably unscathed. He cleared the door for his back-up–six strides beyond the door–and stopped, looking to the right of the cargo, where the light had thrown shadows.

  "Jai Kob," he said, finding the first cousin easy enough, leaning against a pod-lift, just at the edge of the shadow.

  A longer look brought him the second, deeper in the dimness, crouching on his heels.

  "Vin Dyr," he added, and over his shoulder–"My cousins."

  "Is that the contract-wife?" Jai Kob asked, strolling forward, his hands tucked comfortably into his belt. He gave the trader an appraising glance, and looked back to Fer Gun, frowning.

  "Withholding yourself, Gunny? Or just inept?"

  "I was told," Fer Gun said, watching out of the side of his eye as Vin Dyr straightened to his feet. "That my cargo was damaged, and required an inspection, with a paper filed. Working for the warehouse, cousin?"