Chapter Five
Frenzel Port
Theo changed from basic ship clothes into a white shirt and dark trousers; she would have liked to have the Laughing Cat stitched above the pocket of the shirt but that hadn’t happened yet—maybe some of those catalogs would yield an embroidery service. Her hair was as it always was, just a touch neater than if she’d just rolled out bed from a quick tumble. No worry—the chance that she, or any pilot, would be in the height of style on arrival at any particular world was on the order of vanishing to none.
To receive company, she wore so-called “shore boots,” shiny and waterproof, too, for all that she didn’t intend to go walking in water today. She’d also found and collar-spotted the pin she’d gotten so long ago from Win Ton: wings. Being a nexus of violence and thereby banished from academy meant, among other things, that she’d never received the official Anlingdin graduate wings, but the Scout-issue wings Win Ton had sent were both more subtle and in their own way truer.
She gave a last glance in the mirror, seeing a wiry kid with flyaway blonde hair and serious black eyes. Nothing to do about that, she guessed, and headed for the door.
* * *
“Are we prepared?”
This she asked as she entered the command deck, where the screen reserved for Bechimo showed a staid chart listing available long info sources.
“What’s this?” she asked, pausing behind Clarence’s chair.
“Pilot, after discussion with Pilot Clarence, I will remain in radio silence unless there is a major emergency. All ordinary ship spaces are unlocked, as per the directives of the Executive Officer. We have selected Rosencrantz II as an emergency destination if there is a need for us to evacuate the system in haste. I am maintaining regular watch on public areas inside and outside the skin.”
The watch outside the skin showed the same area in three of the ten screens: a miserly patch of grit-blasted tarmac and the bare bones hotpad linkage. It looked like more than one ship had lifted in a hurry, or landed crabbed, leaving the contact arm swinging slightly askew, striped with a multitude of colors, including one that looked surprisingly like rust. But according to the locals, Frenzel Port got rain and major storms—the directives had been clear about tie-downs not being optional in certain seasons!—and she felt better about the chance of Bechimo disengaging in a hurry, if necessary. No less an authority than Rig Tranza had maintained that always having a clear right of way was the sign of a good pilot…
She ran her hands through her hair, gently. The remaining seven views from outside showed other medium and small ships within easy range, all sitting tied to similar hardpoints in a row of craft fed by a runway-and-road combo capable of accepting podcranes and perhaps even vehicles bearing surface dry docks.
The view on the main screen showed the local tower as well as the road—it was echoed on Screen Fourteen, to her lower left, and to Clarence’s upper left. On it, was a fleet of five vehicles, three of them a bright off-hue green, and other two somber brown.
“Visitors on the screen,” Clarence pronounced, rising from his chair.
He’d done some clean-up in honor of port-side visitors, too. For starters, he’d added red to his hair. Theo was startled, then saw the sense of it. He’d left enough grey for authority, but not so much that a someone seeking advantage would automatically assume he was weak. For the rest—shore boots, polished bright, bright white shirt, and, at his hip, a ship’s gun, a detail she hadn’t considered.
“I take it we’re second in line,” he said, looking down at her. “Looks like they’re slowing down outside the good ship Geranny Smith, in case you forgot anything, Pilot.”
“In fact, I did. Be right back.”
When she returned, it was with a gun on her belt, an urge for tea, and a feeling she ought to take another look at the port rules Tower had transmitted in the welcome packet. She tapped the file to her screen first, saw that Clarence was also reviewing the legal.
“Cup?” she asked. Clarence nodded.
“Rose tint for me, if you might? Thanks, Theo.”
She was back quickly, bearing a Vodamorang blend, said to be lightly calming, the fragrance playing well Clarence’s rose, which she guessed was his third favorite.
At the board she scrolled port rules, finally asking “We in violation of any of these that you see? Clarence? Bechimo?”
Clarence waggled his fingers, deliberately meaningless.
“No more’n most ships are. I guess we’re not going to share the complete ship’s specs, I guess we’re not gonna go overlong into our history wherein we might have broken a law somewhere and not properly balanced it…which they ask us to certify we never have, within the parameters of being on the up-and-up right now.”
Theo nodded. She’d read plenty of port legal before, and this, like most, was in place to provide an excuse from liability for the port, in case that became an issue.
Early in her time with Rig Tranza, she’d been concerned that Anlingdin’s declaration of her being a nexus of violence might have followed her into the spaceways. Tranza had been good about it, comparing, finally, his riot to hers, and pointing out that his riot had actually been couple of riots in three days, and had involved actual time in detention…which, he insisted, hers had not, other than the protective custody thing.
She wondered if Clarence had any riots in his back history, but now prolly wasn’t the time to ask.
“Bechimo,” she asked instead, “are you prepared to follow these rules to the letter?”
The staid catalog image on Screen Six gave way briefly to a roiling blue, and then faded back to the public face.
“Pilot, in all cases local rules and regulations fall considerably lower in my decision trees than standing orders from captain, pilots, and crew; general operating protocols as derived from files and observed practice, and the basic instruction set granted to me by the Founders. I see a number of conflicts between the materials received from Frenzel Port Authority and my understanding of ship’s practice. My study of your own voyages as outlined in discussions, and my brief experience as your transport inspire me to believe that at all times ship survival and crew survival are paramount, and that there is certain information that is best not shared.
“I have, for example, sealed the blast doors leading to the Remastering Chamber. The outer doors there now appear to be those sealing an older-fashion oxygen regeneration plant of a type still common on smaller manned stations and long-term orbiters. These are among the suggestions the Founders left with me in regard dealing with outside polities.”
“And if they ask us for the information or access to the items in section four and five, are we prepared to permit inspection of the subsystems bay and other potential storage areas?” she asked, naming other areas that had been on the list of hidden compartments.
A pause; a flicker on Screen Six.
“There is a viewable subsystems bay which, given the acknowledged antiquity of our craft, will be sufficient. Other potential non-standard storage areas are likewise not likely to be seen, and the interior holds and exterior pod-blanks are of course accessible at all times to crew and to visitors as appropriate.”
Clarence waved his mug gently at the screen, his other hand forming a lazy query.
“Folks just poking around, even with a dimension sheet, they won’t find any of the places we don’t want to people to know exist?”
Another pause, and a pink edge around Screen Six until the catalog grids returned simultaneous with what might have been an attempted laugh.
Theo jumped, and so did Clarence, though maybe not as far.
“The Uncle himself designed and oversaw installation of many of the masking systems. It is my estimation that what should not be found or seen by others will not be.”
Clarence nodded forcefully, with his following irony perhaps lost on Bechimo,
“And who better to have in charge of fooling the universe than the Uncle, who we Disallow.”
“His measures and those of the other Founders have served me well in times not precisely anticipated: that was the point, in fact, that I may operate autonomously, as necessary.”
Clarence shook his head, and sipped the last of his rose tea.
“One day when I got time, and Pilot Theo’s got time, and the proctors aren’t at the door, the three of us will have a talk about the Uncle…Meanwhile, Theo, I’ll stand as Exec to the door in the greeting parlor, and hope Bechimo will be kind enough to brighten up the Cat and the Tree-and-Dragon, seeing as how we got us a shiny bright day out there, and we want to impress these folks as pleasant and biddable and forgettable, if we can manage that.”
On the big screen, the three green cars proved to be arriving, the brown cars just behind.
* * *
“Tree-and-Dragon has a good reputation.”
The young man—Hervan, his name was—smiled as he leaned toward Theo, rather closer than she usually liked.
“We did hear some recent odd news from Liad, which of course would represent Liad’s views. Perhaps there was a…contractual disagreement between the planet and Tree-and-Dragon; such things happen. But an organization with a thousand year history rarely makes really major mistakes.”
Theo nodded, hands still burdened with the so-called valcomvoggen, a basket containing a bottle of wine, three stripy orange fruits, and several pale, shiny-wrapped objects that might be anything from modeling clay to cheese to high explosives, as well as his card announcing him as Hervan, Sector Arrival Director.
The card sat atop her basket, slowly changing colors. Their tiny trade parlor was crowded, what with Clarence and Hervan and his three aides, but she didn’t want to bring port officials into the command space if she could avoid it—for the sake of her nerves and Bechimo’s.
They’d been trading pleasantries and formal welcomes after the official exchange of port fees was accomplished by key codes, until this sudden sally into news.
It might be, Theo thought, a push at her reserve, to see how much she was willing to gossip—and especially to gossip about Clan Korval.
She considered that, and came to the conclusion that she was willing to gossip…not at all, and smiled.
“Laughing Cat is a recent contractor, as I’m sure you saw, Hervan. I know very little about of the action on Liad, except, like you, by news report. Tree-and-Dragon’s trading reputation was the primary consideration for us when we were offered the opportunity to explore trade more aligned with their new seat.”
Hervan nodded, emphatically.
“I understand perfectly. An opportunity to partner with Korval as they enter a new phase! Surely a marked opportunity for a ship of your Bechimo’s style, which is hardly large enough to ply the great routes, yet which is far more than a mere courier. Yes, you have chosen a wise course, Theo Waitley. And wise, too, to stop at Frenzel, where there is often need for small and intermediate shipments. This port tends toward the commodity trade, and the hurry-ups and replacements and model-year changes often need a ship of your carrying capacity.”
He smiled and nodded at the basket she held.
“I hope you’ll take advantage of our sponsors’ offers and contacts; and be aware that I am Bechimo’s link if you should have any need on port. If your stay is extended, we have many cultural opportunities available. Please call on my office if you have trading needs, as well. I am often able to open doors and make presentations in person. Also, you must feel free to regard my time as yours—understand that I have a considerable leeway and flexibility in scheduling.”
Clarence, having stacked his basket in a corner with the “crew basket”, took hers with a wordless nod. Hervan, holding the small official packet of ship info Theo had for him, looked momentarily nonplussed.
Oh, Theo realized, this was also a gift exchange game, and she was without a gift, or a bribe.
“Your sponsors,” she said firmly, making good eye contact, “are generous, Hervan. Bechimo appreciates and is gladdened by our welcome. We have, as you know, just begun our contract and our route, and are not so lucky as to be able to share samples with you at this time.”
There was that about Hervan which was interesting despite his tendency to lean close, and it came to Theo that there was a scent, elusive and familiary…
Vya! she thought, suddenly identifying it. Just a slight trust inducement for the potential visitor…She’d have to have Bechimo rev up the air cleaners!
Hervan’s eyes widened slightly and she was concerned that she’d overstepped somehow. She’d need to do a better job of prepping—suppose he’d been affected by his own vya and thought she’d made an intimate offer! Then she spotted the slight off-shade behind his ear. He was wearing an aid.
“Pilot Waitley, please,” he said reproachfully. “My goal is to see that your needs are met fully and with as little trouble to yourself as possible. Regrettably, my aides and I have not the time at the moment to take a complete tour. Rest assured, however, that I would be pleased to receive a visit from you, perhaps to show you some of the many fine restaurants and gaming places located within easy cab ride. Also, included in your baskets are chip-keys for discounted spa-style accommodations at nearby Kyhatts.”
“I must ask—Pilot Theo, please assure me that you have a contact already. I tremble to think that you might be considering a catalog-drill for names to cold call. Have you a contact? Perhaps I might help you connect sooner.”
Theo glanced at Clarence, who showed her an absolutely bland face. No help there! Well, Shan hadn’t said his information was secret, after all.
“I am to contact Chaliceworks Aggregations, on-world here. I gather they are within surface transport range…”
“Chaliceworks?” Hervan abruptly stepped back out of her personal space. “Why yes! Yes of course! Leave after breakfast and arrive before lunch, as we say. They close on the sixth day, which you’ve missed by two days.”
He gave her a smile much less winsome than formerly, and turned to wave his aides out before him.
“Thank you for your time Pilot Waitley, thank you! May the trade do well by you. If my office may direct you to restaurants, please do let me know!”
“Forgive me, time presses!”