four-on-one return,
guaranteed by a Master Trader's card? It was possible. Jethri had
seen the rabbit-and-moon sign on a land-barge that very day. And
Sirge Milton was going to collect tomorrow mid-day. Jethri thought
he was beginning to see a way to buy into a bit of profit,
himself.
"I have a cantra to lend," he said, setting
the schooner aside.
Sirge Milton shook his head. "Nah--I
appreciate it, Jethri, but I don't take loans. Bad business."
Which, Jethri acknowledged, was exactly what
his uncle would say. He nodded, hoping his face didn't show how
excited he felt.
"I understand. But you have
collateral. How 'bout if I buy Stork's share of your Port-deal,
payoff tomorrow mid-day, after you collect from Master
ven'Deelin?"
"Not the way I like to do business," Sirge
said slowly.
Jethri took a careful breath. "We can write
an agreement." The other brightened. "We can, can't we? Make it all
legal and binding. Sure, why not?" He took a swallow of ale and
grinned. "Got paper?"
Gobelyn's Market
"NO, MA'AM," Jethri said as
respectfully as he could, while giving his mother glare-for-glare.
"I'm in no way trying to captain this ship. I just want to know if
the final papers are signed with Digger ." His jaw muscles felt tight
and he tried to relax them--to make his face trading-bland. "I
think the ship owes me that information. At least that."
"Think we can do better for
you," his mother the Captain surmised, her mouth a straight, hard
line of displeasure. "All right, boy. No, the final papers aren't
signed. We'll catch up with Digger 'tween here and Kinaveral and do the legal then."
She tipped her head, sarcastically civil. "That OK by
you?"
Jethri held onto his
temper, barely. His mother's mood was never happy, dirt-side. He
wondered, briefly, how she was going to survive a whole year
world-bound, while the Market was rebuilt.
"I don't want to ship
on Digger ," he
said, keeping his voice just factual. He sighed. "Please,
ma'am--there's got to be another ship willing to take
me."
She stared at him until he heard his heart
thudding in his ears. Then she sighed in her turn, and spun the
chair so she faced the screens, showing him profile.
"You want another ship," she said, and she
didn't sound mad, anymore. "You find it."
Zeroground Pub
"NO CALLS FOR Jethri Gobelyn? No message
from Sirge Milton?"
The barkeeper on-shift today was maybe a
Standard Jethri's elder. He was also twelve inches taller and
outmassed him by a factor of two. He shook his head, so that the
six titanium rings in his left ear chimed together, and sighed,
none too patient. "Kid, I told you. No calls. No message. No
package. No Milton. No nothing, kid. Got it?"
Jethri swallowed, hard. "Got it."
"Great," said the barkeep. "You wanna beer
or you wanna clear out so a paying customer can have a stool?"
"Merebeer, please," he said, slipping a bit
across the counter. The keeper swept up the coin, went up-bar, drew
a glass, and slid it down the polished surface with a will. Jethri
put out a hand--the mug smacked into his palm, stinging. Carefully,
he eased away from the not-exactly-overcrowded counter and took his
drink to the back.
He was on the approach to trouble. Dodging
his Senior, sliding off-ship without the Captain's aye--approaching
trouble, right enough, but not quite established in orbit. Khat was
inventive--he trusted her to cover him for another hour, by which
time he had better be on-ship, cash in hand and looking to show
Uncle Paitor the whole.
And Sirge Milton was late.
A man, Jethri reasoned, slipping into a
booth and setting his beer down, might well be late for a meeting.
A man might even, with good reason, be an hour late for that same
meeting. But a man could call the place named and leave a message
for the one who was set to meet him.
Which Sirge Milton hadn't done, nor sent a
courier with a package containing Jethri's payout, neither.
So, something must have come up. Business.
Sirge Milton seemed a busy man.
guaranteed by a Master Trader's card? It was possible. Jethri had
seen the rabbit-and-moon sign on a land-barge that very day. And
Sirge Milton was going to collect tomorrow mid-day. Jethri thought
he was beginning to see a way to buy into a bit of profit,
himself.
"I have a cantra to lend," he said, setting
the schooner aside.
Sirge Milton shook his head. "Nah--I
appreciate it, Jethri, but I don't take loans. Bad business."
Which, Jethri acknowledged, was exactly what
his uncle would say. He nodded, hoping his face didn't show how
excited he felt.
"I understand. But you have
collateral. How 'bout if I buy Stork's share of your Port-deal,
payoff tomorrow mid-day, after you collect from Master
ven'Deelin?"
"Not the way I like to do business," Sirge
said slowly.
Jethri took a careful breath. "We can write
an agreement." The other brightened. "We can, can't we? Make it all
legal and binding. Sure, why not?" He took a swallow of ale and
grinned. "Got paper?"
Gobelyn's Market
"NO, MA'AM," Jethri said as
respectfully as he could, while giving his mother glare-for-glare.
"I'm in no way trying to captain this ship. I just want to know if
the final papers are signed with Digger ." His jaw muscles felt tight
and he tried to relax them--to make his face trading-bland. "I
think the ship owes me that information. At least that."
"Think we can do better for
you," his mother the Captain surmised, her mouth a straight, hard
line of displeasure. "All right, boy. No, the final papers aren't
signed. We'll catch up with Digger 'tween here and Kinaveral and do the legal then."
She tipped her head, sarcastically civil. "That OK by
you?"
Jethri held onto his
temper, barely. His mother's mood was never happy, dirt-side. He
wondered, briefly, how she was going to survive a whole year
world-bound, while the Market was rebuilt.
"I don't want to ship
on Digger ," he
said, keeping his voice just factual. He sighed. "Please,
ma'am--there's got to be another ship willing to take
me."
She stared at him until he heard his heart
thudding in his ears. Then she sighed in her turn, and spun the
chair so she faced the screens, showing him profile.
"You want another ship," she said, and she
didn't sound mad, anymore. "You find it."
Zeroground Pub
"NO CALLS FOR Jethri Gobelyn? No message
from Sirge Milton?"
The barkeeper on-shift today was maybe a
Standard Jethri's elder. He was also twelve inches taller and
outmassed him by a factor of two. He shook his head, so that the
six titanium rings in his left ear chimed together, and sighed,
none too patient. "Kid, I told you. No calls. No message. No
package. No Milton. No nothing, kid. Got it?"
Jethri swallowed, hard. "Got it."
"Great," said the barkeep. "You wanna beer
or you wanna clear out so a paying customer can have a stool?"
"Merebeer, please," he said, slipping a bit
across the counter. The keeper swept up the coin, went up-bar, drew
a glass, and slid it down the polished surface with a will. Jethri
put out a hand--the mug smacked into his palm, stinging. Carefully,
he eased away from the not-exactly-overcrowded counter and took his
drink to the back.
He was on the approach to trouble. Dodging
his Senior, sliding off-ship without the Captain's aye--approaching
trouble, right enough, but not quite established in orbit. Khat was
inventive--he trusted her to cover him for another hour, by which
time he had better be on-ship, cash in hand and looking to show
Uncle Paitor the whole.
And Sirge Milton was late.
A man, Jethri reasoned, slipping into a
booth and setting his beer down, might well be late for a meeting.
A man might even, with good reason, be an hour late for that same
meeting. But a man could call the place named and leave a message
for the one who was set to meet him.
Which Sirge Milton hadn't done, nor sent a
courier with a package containing Jethri's payout, neither.
So, something must have come up. Business.
Sirge Milton seemed a busy man.