Trading in Danger (12 page)

Ky tried not to glare. “I am Kylara Vatta; my father is CFO of Vatta Ltd. But this particular venture is my idea—”

“In other words, you are applying as an individual, and it is as an individual that I must reluctantly refuse your application,” the finance officer said. “I have no doubt that you have your own reasons for doing this, but we simply do not extend credit to individuals.”

“But my family—”

“Is not in the contract, Captain. No, I’m sorry, we simply cannot do it. Good day.”

It was not a good day. It had not been a good day sinceQuincyhad called down to report that the misbehaving drive had cavitation scars “you could put a fist into.” Now it was more than squeezing out the fifty thousand credits for the sealed unit; this was going to take big money. It had become even less of a good day when the Captains’ Guild inquired delicately just how long Captain Vatta meant to stay and when Captain Vatta would like to settle her bill and with what. Ky reminded the desk clerk that Vatta Transport, Ltd.’s account was, in all stations, classified 5A, and thus had no limit, and found that the concern arose because she was not on the list sent to them yearly of expected Vatta arrivals. They agreed to retract their request when she was able to prove who she was, but the argument frayed her patience. It was clear from the streets that the threat of war had frayed everyone’s patience.

And now this. She walked out of the office with as much grace as she could muster and wondered what now. Her escort fell in beside her without a word. He had already suggested that she stay in the Captains’ Guild or return to her ship—for her own safety—and she had already refused. She had a contract… She now had the merchandise to fulfill that contract, but… she didn’t have enough money to repair the ship. She could get the merchandise—but then she couldn’t get it back to Belinta. Or she could get the ship repaired enough to make it back, without the merchandise.

It was like those logic problems in children’s activity cubes, where a problem seemed impossible unless you looked at it in a very different way.

Ship or merchandise? Impossible, which meant it had to be the wrong question. She could not—would not—renege on her deal with the Belinta Economic Development Bureau. That would foul the family name even though she had taken on the contract as an individual. Vatta would come through; Vatta had to come through. So there had to be some way to get the merchandise and the repair; she just hadn’t thought of it yet.

The obvious thing was to call home—tell Vatta Transport, Ltd., what the problem was. They would bail her out; she knew that. But it would be, if not a black mark, a gray one. She had not followed the plan laid out for her, and even if Gary and Quincy had made it clear no one really expected her to take the ship tamely to Lastway, her decisions had led to a problem. A problem involving cash flow, which was… embarrassing. She hadn’t overspent an allowance since she was nine and bought all that candy for visiting cousins.

She really wanted to find a better way. There wasn’t a better way. If she didn’t want to renege on the contract and she didn’t want to risk spreading herself and her crew in a fine dust somewhere in deepspace, she had to have more money and no one, on the brink of a war, was going to lend it to an independent.

Back at the Captains’ Guild she ignored the desk staff and went up to her room. Best get it over with. She set up the room’s secure comdesk for an intersystem call and waited for the access light to go green. While she waited—on these smaller worlds, it could take a few minutes—she kicked off her shoes and hung her dress cape in the closet. The room seemed stuffy after the crisp air outside, but the windows didn’t open. Shrugging, she sat on the end of the bed and massaged her feet, with one eye on the comdesk. The little voice in her head ran through all the things her father might say and the tone of voice he might use, and she carried on a long imaginary conversation defending her actions so far.

The light was still red. Had she set up the call wrong? She reached out for the hardcopy sheet of directions to check that just as the local system rang. It shouldn’t do that. No local call should come in while the comdesk was set up for intersystem access, even if it was on standby. She picked up the handset anyway.

“Yes?”

“Captain Vatta, our board shows that you are attempting to place an intersystem call…” The voice on the other end did not identify itself.

“Yes, I am,” she said. “Who is this?”

“We require an additional credit deposit for intersystem calls,” the voice said. “Please make arrangements with the desk staff—”

“My credit here is 5A,” Ky said, trying for icy. “That is supposed to cover all services…”

“We have no prior record of your account,” the voice said. “Vatta Transport, Ltd., has a 5A account, but you—”

“We went over this already,” Ky said. “I am Kylara Vatta; my father is Gerard Vatta, CFO of Vatta Transport. You’ve already verified my identification…”

“But you are here as an independent,” the voice said. “We have received information from Helmsward Yard to that effect… I’m afraid we cannot consider your account covered by Vatta Transport, Ltd.’s credit rating. We will expect you to settle your account another way. And in the meantime…”

Rage brought her up off the bed, almost to tiptoe; she clamped her jaw on the words she wanted to say, starting with whatever sneak at Helmsward Yard had called the Captains’ Guild and continuing with the ancestry, present attributes, and probable postlife destination of the person on the line.

“How unfortunate,” she managed at last, in a flat voice. “Since I was in the process of calling home to instruct my father that I would need more funds to secure an investment opportunity. However, I don’t need
your
equipment to make that call. Excuse me.” She signed off the comdesk, jammed her feet into her shoes, and reached for her cape. She could use the embassy link to the ship, and the ship had its own intersystem link capacity if the consul didn’t feel like trusting her for an intersystem call.

As she stalked past the front desk, the clerk tried to catch her eye; she ignored him and nodded to her escort. “We’re going to the embassy, then back here,” she told him. In the lobby, several captains were gathered around a vidscreen; she saw a swaying mass and smoke rising above it.

Away from the Captains’ Guild, anger drained away as she walked. They were pinheads, and they would regret being pinheads someday, but right now she had to contact her father and arrange a funds transfer. It didn’t matter if she was embarrassed at having to ask. All that really mattered was getting herself and her ship and crew to a safe place. Already things were worse on the street; her escort looked worried as they were jostled by hurrying pedestrians.

“Captain, we should take transport on the way back,” he said, as they neared the embassy.

“Agreed,” Ky said. She had never been in a war, though she’d heard stories, but she could feel the mood of the street.

The guards at the embassy entrance checked her ID carefully, then let her through; a different desk clerk checked them again.

“You were here yesterday,” he said, after consulting a log.

“Yes. But today I need to make an intersystem call to my family, back on Slotter Key.”

“I’m sorry, Captain, but we’re sending out only diplomatic signals now.”

“I suppose I’ll have to go up to the station and link in via my ship then,” Ky said.

“The Captains’ Guild has a secure uplink,” he said.

“But the Captains’ Guild is being sticky about my credit,” she said, wondering if the embassy could help.

“About Vatta credit?” he asked, brows raised.

“Yes. Even though I’m the CFO’s daughter and fly the Vatta flag, because I’m on an independent contract they’re acting as if Vatta won’t cover the bill. I don’t suppose you can get it across to them?”

“Oh, dear,” he said. “This is not a good time, Captain; Secundus has threatened to blockade Prime. My advice to you is to get yourself up to your ship and out in space as fast as you can. Call from there, if you have the time—”

Ky felt cold all over. If the planet were blockaded…

Her implant pinged her. Tobai reporting that the ag machinery had arrived, and the four strays. That was something. But she could not be stuck down here while her ship, cargo, and crew were up there and needed her.

“We could get you onto a diplomatic shuttle to the station,” he said, interrupting her thoughts.

“Thank you,” she said. “When—”

“It leaves in a little less than two hours,” he said. “The next would be tomorrow morning. I know all the commercial shuttles are full. Rats and sinking ships, et cetera.”

“Which bay?” Ky asked.

“Twelve. You’ll need your IDs; I’ll put your name on the list—” He did so as she watched. “Transport from here to the ’port takes at least forty minutes.”

“I have to pick up my duffel at the Captains’ Guild…”

“Best hurry,” he said.

Ky’s escort had caught a short-haul transport; it took them fifteen minutes to get back to the Captains’ Guild. Ky hurried upstairs, stuffed her things into the duffel, checked her account, retrieved the signed agreement from last night about her credit, and went back downstairs. Before the desk manager could open his mouth, she spoke.

“I am checking out. I have your signed agreement from yesterday that you will charge the Vatta Transport account; here is the authorization code again, and the account number. I want a receipt.”

“But—”

“Now,” Ky said. She had no idea what, besides frustration, was in her voice, but he backed up a step.

“Yes, Captain Vatta.” He glanced at the data sheets she’d laid before him, and printed out a hardcopy of the receipt,
Charged to Vatta Transport, Ltd.
on the last line. “I’ll need your signature…”

Ky scrawled
Kylara Vatta, Captain, Vatta Transport, Ltd.
on the yellow copy and handed it back.

“Have a good trip,” he said as she turned away. In the lobby, the same cluster of captains was still watching the vidscreen, now showing someone with a strange hat talking at the camera.

Her escort had another transport waiting. “You don’t have to come,” Ky said.

“I do,” he said. “I’m not letting you go alone, not in this. It’s my duty.”

“Very well. Let’s go.”

Traffic to the shuttle port was slow and heavy, but they arrived in time. Ky signed off the escort’s time card at the entrance to Bay Twelve, and slung her duffel over her shoulder. The guards at the gates were thorough with their ID check—as she expected—but she made it onto the shuttle in plenty of time to find a seat and belt in. Like the Vatta private shuttle, the diplomatic shuttle had separate compartments for VIPs and the ravening hordes. Unlike the Vatta shuttles, captains of ships did not count as VIPs, and Ky found herself wedged into a narrow seat between two other Slotter Key citizens who had decided to leave.

“It’s ridiculous,” grumbled the man on her left. “If the government had just opened the Tertius mines to investment—”

“It has nothing to do with Tertius,” said the man on her right. “That’s just a side issue; the real problem is Secundus’ perception that Prime is misrepresenting them to the universe as a backward, violent society—”

“Well, they are—,” said the other man.

“They’re pioneers. Pioneers have to be tough to survive.”

“They don’t have to have a habit of blowing up their neighbors. That’s hardly a survival trait.”

Ky felt like the net in a tennis match. “Excuse me,” she said. “I just got here two days ago, and I have no idea what’s going on.” That wasn’t, strictly speaking, true, but she hoped it would slow down the high-speed volleys.

They both looked at her as if they had not realized there was a human in the seat between them.

“Oh!” said the one on the right. His eyes focused on her uniform. “Uh… you’re a merchanter captain? Uh… Vatta Transport?”

“Yes,” Ky said. “Picking up a load of ag machinery.”

“Oh, ag machinery,” said the one on her left with a tone that suggested it might be something else. “Well… did you visit Secundus?”

“No,” Ky said. “FarmPower’s here on Prime.”

“Yes, of course. Of course. Secundus… you heard me say they are pioneers…”

“What made it come to a head now is that the Prime government decided not to open the Tertius mines to investment, but to keep them as a government monopoly. To prevent destabilizing overexploitation, as they put it. Actually, to keep control of the richest mineral deposits in this system and funnel the output to Prime’s industrial backbone—FarmPower among them—and ensure that Secundus keeps buying its… er… ag machinery from Prime’s suppliers.”

“And meanwhile,” the other man said, “Prime’s telling everyone that Secundus is backward and not worth trading with—bunch of ignorant roughs who shoot visitors in the street for no reason.”

“It has happened, Harmy,” the first man said.

“No more often than on Prime,” the other man said. “The case they always cite,” he said to Ky, “was a university student—one of a group—who went to Secundus on break. They went to get drunk and disorderly far from home, if you ask me. Anyway, the young man not only got drunk and disorderly, he pulled a young woman down from a wagon, ripped her clothes half off, and was about to rape her when she shot him. It would have been less trouble overall if she’d killed him, but she shot for deterrence instead, so he was able to come home and tell everyone what unreasonable people there were on Secundus.”

“If they had proper law enforcement,” the first man said, “it would never have happened; a policeman would have stopped him the moment he grabbed her off the wagon.”

“Yes, but there was a reason she shot him. It wasn’t ‘senseless.’ And there are streets in Prime’s cities where you need a team of escorts, not just one.”

“Criminal elements are everywhere.”

“Including in First Families and government bureaus.”

Ky interrupted, sensing another long volley about to begin. “So—Secundus is a pioneer society? How do they think they’ll do in a war against Prime?”

The men stopped, looked at each other, and her, and said simultaneously, “I don’t think I should comment on that.” In eerie synchrony, they opened their workcases and began staring at the little screens.