herself to unclench her fists. "Of course, sir."
He was right. Their mission was of vital importance. Her friends were relying on her.
Sigrid scanned the room. The man they sought was here, this trader, leader of the Merchantmen. He occupied a table on a raised platform to the rear overlooking the club. He was fat; rolls of pudgy flesh billowed out between the folds of his trousers and his shirt. The vile cologne he wore threatened to overwhelm her sensors from across the room. Worse odors lingered. Two girls sat to either side of him, barely aware of their surroundings. Drugged, Sigrid knew. The morphgesic cocktail in their blood stream registered heavily in her PCM. It was a miracle the girls were conscious. Tired eyes looked up at her as she approached, suspicious, leery, their thin hands clinging to the fat man at their side and the coin he promised.
Sigrid was far more interested at the four men who stood close by. They wore their sidearms in full view, their fingers never far from the triggers.
"Corbin Price," the captain said, approaching the table.
The fat man gestured to the open seats and signaled for his men to stand down. "Captain Trybuszkiewicz, I presume. You're more punctual than most."
The captain spread his hands wide in greeting. "We are eager to conduct our business. Our client expects us to return without delay."
"Not in so much a hurry to share a drink, I trust."
Corbin Price snapped two pudgy fingers, signaling over a server; the rail-thin girl, no older than fifteen, leaned over, her flimsy garment giving the trader a generous view of her wan flesh, much to his delight. Sigrid felt her fists clenching, her nails digging into the palms of her hand.
Corbin Price retrieved one of the little glasses. "A little lubricant to smooth negotiations?"
"Negotiations?" Sigrid blurted. "We have already agreed to your fees, Mr. Price. Do you wish to sell to us or not?"
Corbin Price chuckled, raising his glass to her. "Of course. I did not mean to imply any retractions on my part. I simply thought I may have other things you might find of interest. We have both journeyed far to get here. Might as well make the most of our meeting."
Captain Trybuszkiewicz took one of the offered glasses from the tray, downing the amber liquid in one gulp. With all eyes on her, Sigrid realized she was to take one too, perhaps part of some social ritual. The contents registered as tequila; the black worm seemed an odd thing, but her database confirmed that this was done. After a cautious sniff, she downed the shot, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. Her eyes never wavered from the fat trader across the table.
"You'll have to forgive my grandniece, Mr. Price," the captain said with a firm look to Sigrid. "She is new to the life of a tramp trader. This is her first journey with us. I thought this meeting might prove educational."
"Of course. Then, Ms.…"
"Peters," Sigrid said.
"Ah, Ms. Peters," Corbin Price said graciously. "Your uncle must have informed you, trade is a fluid matter. Many new opportunities have arisen since our last communication. New items have come into my possession. One never knows what one might find unless one asks."
"I have been given certain leeway to negotiate any item of interest," Captain Trybuszkiewicz said. "Perhaps if you show me…"
Corbin Price reached down, retrieved a data-pad from the folds of his coat and tossed it across the table. Sigrid saw the screen and nearly gasped. The manifest advertised two industrial manufacturing platforms. These absolutely massive orbital facilities were self-contained factories on a grand scale. Capable of processing raw ore and minerals, they could be programmed to manufacture any number of things: building materials, engine parts, even ship components—parts enough to build an entire fleet. One of the platforms alone was worth twelve times the price of all the goods they were scheduled to pick up. Two would be worth more than Sigrid's life contract had
He was right. Their mission was of vital importance. Her friends were relying on her.
Sigrid scanned the room. The man they sought was here, this trader, leader of the Merchantmen. He occupied a table on a raised platform to the rear overlooking the club. He was fat; rolls of pudgy flesh billowed out between the folds of his trousers and his shirt. The vile cologne he wore threatened to overwhelm her sensors from across the room. Worse odors lingered. Two girls sat to either side of him, barely aware of their surroundings. Drugged, Sigrid knew. The morphgesic cocktail in their blood stream registered heavily in her PCM. It was a miracle the girls were conscious. Tired eyes looked up at her as she approached, suspicious, leery, their thin hands clinging to the fat man at their side and the coin he promised.
Sigrid was far more interested at the four men who stood close by. They wore their sidearms in full view, their fingers never far from the triggers.
"Corbin Price," the captain said, approaching the table.
The fat man gestured to the open seats and signaled for his men to stand down. "Captain Trybuszkiewicz, I presume. You're more punctual than most."
The captain spread his hands wide in greeting. "We are eager to conduct our business. Our client expects us to return without delay."
"Not in so much a hurry to share a drink, I trust."
Corbin Price snapped two pudgy fingers, signaling over a server; the rail-thin girl, no older than fifteen, leaned over, her flimsy garment giving the trader a generous view of her wan flesh, much to his delight. Sigrid felt her fists clenching, her nails digging into the palms of her hand.
Corbin Price retrieved one of the little glasses. "A little lubricant to smooth negotiations?"
"Negotiations?" Sigrid blurted. "We have already agreed to your fees, Mr. Price. Do you wish to sell to us or not?"
Corbin Price chuckled, raising his glass to her. "Of course. I did not mean to imply any retractions on my part. I simply thought I may have other things you might find of interest. We have both journeyed far to get here. Might as well make the most of our meeting."
Captain Trybuszkiewicz took one of the offered glasses from the tray, downing the amber liquid in one gulp. With all eyes on her, Sigrid realized she was to take one too, perhaps part of some social ritual. The contents registered as tequila; the black worm seemed an odd thing, but her database confirmed that this was done. After a cautious sniff, she downed the shot, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. Her eyes never wavered from the fat trader across the table.
"You'll have to forgive my grandniece, Mr. Price," the captain said with a firm look to Sigrid. "She is new to the life of a tramp trader. This is her first journey with us. I thought this meeting might prove educational."
"Of course. Then, Ms.…"
"Peters," Sigrid said.
"Ah, Ms. Peters," Corbin Price said graciously. "Your uncle must have informed you, trade is a fluid matter. Many new opportunities have arisen since our last communication. New items have come into my possession. One never knows what one might find unless one asks."
"I have been given certain leeway to negotiate any item of interest," Captain Trybuszkiewicz said. "Perhaps if you show me…"
Corbin Price reached down, retrieved a data-pad from the folds of his coat and tossed it across the table. Sigrid saw the screen and nearly gasped. The manifest advertised two industrial manufacturing platforms. These absolutely massive orbital facilities were self-contained factories on a grand scale. Capable of processing raw ore and minerals, they could be programmed to manufacture any number of things: building materials, engine parts, even ship components—parts enough to build an entire fleet. One of the platforms alone was worth twelve times the price of all the goods they were scheduled to pick up. Two would be worth more than Sigrid's life contract had
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