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EIGHT

Captain, pilots and crew sat in the galley together, staring with varying degrees of disbelief, anger, and worry at a modest pile of dark-grey goods in the center of the table.

“I suppose,” said Rusko, “that it’s not just stuff we somehow missed when we were cleaning house?”

“Where they were?” Tranh snapped. “Where they were, a blind inspector could walk in here and find ’em by smell. No, it’s a set-up.”

“Mitsy and Ditsy,” Klay said, putting his mug o’mite by, “were dead clear. They saw Susrim put these things in the cubbies.”

Klay had a headache, Mitsy and Ditsy having been that insistent. Also, he was trying not to think about how he should’ve strangled Susrim when he had a chance.

“So, it’s a set-up. Where’re the inspectors?”

“Station’s a thought busy right now,” Rusko pointed out. “A little matter of grey-shipping isn’t near the top of their list. Now, if we’re found to be trading ’em—”

“Which we won’t be, which Susrim’s gotta know,” Tranh said. “So why make the effort?”

Klay noticed that none of them were asking where Susrim had gotten the items, when all crew had been ordered to turn anything remotely shading to grey to the captain for a determination, with the understanding that all grey goods was forfeit, as not being in line with the ship’s new policies.

“Prolly he didn’t figure on it being so busy like it is,” Klay said. “It’ll take him some time to come up with a new plan.”

He didn’t add, not one of your fast thinkers, Susrim, but he might’ve thought it too hard, because he saw Rusko’s lips twitch.

“Right,” said Rusko. “We should put some thought onto what he’s likely to do next.” He paused frowning, and glanced at Tranh.

“Not likely to go after Falmer, is he?”

Tranh sighed.

“He’d have to know she’d got in with the congress catering crew, which isn’t impossible, but not easy, either. Then, he’d have to find her in the dorms or the kitchens, which is even less easy. No…Dulcimer’s the obvious target. We’re right here where anybody can find us with just a search on the name.” He shook his head. “There’s only the three of us—” he glanced at Mitsy and Ditsy “—the five of us. I was hoping to let us each work solo—get more information and contacts that way. Guess we’ll do partners, though. To be safe. Two on port, alt-crew on-ship, and one with ’em as backup.”

Ditsy and Mitsy showed Klay a picture of the tobor being faced down by themselves, the image glowing. He countered with an image of himself curled down in a pile of greenery, sleeping.

Mitsy gave the norbear equivalent of a chuckle, but Ditsy produced a sigh at him being alone, and thought Squithy into the scene, curled beside him, head on his shoulder, which caught him right in the chest.

“Everything good there, Klay?” Rusko asked.

“Good as can be,” Klay answered, which was the truth, and reminded himself that Squith was in good hands. Dulsey Omron and the seven side-traveling norbears would none of them let anything bad happen to Squithy. Hadn’t Dulsey made it clear enough that none of Dulcimer’s travelers was coming back until it was safe for them? And hadn’t Susrim been thrown out on his own, contract terminated, ship-share in his pocket, so they could show Dulcimer safe?

Because Squithy was a dozen or more of Susrim, and nobody sensible would make an argument against that proposition.

“I propose,” Rusko said, “for us to sit together with the conference schedule and plan out which sessions and workshops we need to have covered. There’s appointments open for private consults with trade route specialists and Dust experts, too.”

“Sounds to me like we should start there,” Tranh said. “Practical first, then theory.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Rusko. His eye fell on the sorry pile in the center of the table.

“Any ideas what to do with those?”

“Space ’em,” Klay said. Tranh shook his head.

“Not while we’re at station.” He frowned, then nodded. “I’ll put ’em in one of the deep secret cubbies that I didn’t even know about and Dulsey only found with a device I wouldn’t swear wasn’t an actual Before. Oughta be safe enough, even if the inspectors do get bored and come out to see us. They won’t be where Susrim told ’em, and I’m betting he told them.”

“Inspectors might find some other cubbies, if they’re inspecting,” Rusko pointed out.

“Right. And I’m willing to come clean as to how the former captain and mate were awful grey, and now deceased. Ship falling to me, we decided to get rid of anything was here. Traded ’em to Crystal. Got the receipt to show.”

There was a long pause before Rusko gave a low whistle.

“The truth,” he said. “I like it.”

“All right. I’ll get these stowed. Rusko, you want to pull the conference schedules up on the screen in here? Klay, can you put together some snacks?”


Klay had just finished putting up the snacks when the main hatch’s tone sounded. He stepped to the screen, and triggered the camera.

The woman standing at their hatch was…familiar. Klay had the feeling he’d seen her before, and recent. Thin, tough and take-charge, that was what went through his head, and then he knew where he’d seen her.

Port Chavvy, first with that Jethri, then, later, going down the line of ships talking about the terrible “accident,” and her name was…

Freza DeNobli, off Balrog.

He flipped the speaker switch.

Dulcimer. What bidness, Balrog?”

She grinned into the camera—good grin, just crooked enough, and a pair of eyes that’d see right through you.

“Your port-notes come to my attention, Cousin. I’m working with the Envidaria team, and I gotta say that list of wants shows you as zackly the kind of ship and crew the Envidaria was written for. Trader Gobelyn saw you was in, too. Remembers Dulcimer kindly from Port Chavvy, where you lent him the means to not get killed, the way he has it. Asked me to come by and see if we can get you routed straight to what you need.”

Klay blinked.

“Thank you,” he said. “We were just sitting down to a sorting session. If you got time…”

“I got some little bit of time, right now,” Freza said. “Might have more, later. Won’t have any, once the congress starts.”

“Right,” Klay said, and made a senior crew decision.

“I’m coming down to the hatch for you. Cousin.”


Say what you liked about Freza DeNobli, Klay thought half-an-hour later, but the woman was organized and unflappable. Mitsy and Ditsy liked her, though they were being very good about not clamoring for her attention. For herself, Freza received the image of her patching up Jethri Gobelyn’s head with a blink, a nod, and a calm, “Pleased to meetcha. Didn’t see you at Port Chavvy, or I’d’ve done the pretty then.”

“They were keeping low at Port Chavvy,” Rusko told her. “They’d created an environmental mess.”

“The flour,” Freza DeNobli said, clearly not a fool, either. “I remember that.” She sent a Look at the norbears. “Not a good thing to have all that dust clogging the vents. You know better, now, I bet.”

Ditsy assured her that they did. Klay watched her face, and saw her get something, but not, he thought, the full impact.

“All right, now,” she said, turning to Tranh. “Let’s talk about your port notes. Looking for contacts and consultants, right? Especially somebody has some straight data about the Dust. You got a copy of the Envidaria? Went out on all-band—”

“We have it,” Rusko said. “We haven’t studied it.”

“Do that,” Freza told him. “What’s your current shipping look like?”

Tranh shook his head.

“Previous captain and mate, they didn’t want to be tied into a Loop, and I won’t lie to you, Cousin, they had some shady contacts. Current captain and mate have different views. We’re in for a Loop, or to tie into a figure-eight. Those’re the kind of contacts we need. And the Dust—the pilots’re able, but Dulcimer’s old.”

“Small ships in the old style are zackly what’s gonna make sure the Seventeen Worlds don’t starve. And the Seventeen Worlds ain’t the most of it. The Dust’s moving. There’ll be need ongoing, is what I mean.

“Here,” she pulled the bag she’d been carrying up on the table, began to unload modules and hardcopy.

“This gets you started, right? I gotta get over to the exhibition halls. I marked out some work sessions that’ll be useful for you, and people for you to talk to—and here—” Another reach into the bag, and out came three badges spinning on bright green ribbons.

“Congress IDs,” Freza said. “Guests of Balrog. They’ll get you in, no questions.”

She patted the bag, assuring herself that it was empty, then folded her elbows on top.

“Jethri Gobelyn ven’Deelin is gonna wanna talk to you, is what I heard, so we’ll need to clear some time on his schedule for that. In the meantime—”

The main hatch chimed. Rusko got up, went to the screen, let out a hard breath, and said, “Well,” before he turned around.

“Susrim,” he said to Tranh. “He’s got Choody with him.”

“I’ll go,” Tranh said, pushing himself to his feet.

“With me,” Rusko answered. “Pairs on port, didn’t we say? And for just this reason.”

Tranh hesitated then gave a sharp, tight, nod.

“With me, then. Klay, take Cousin Freza out the side hatch, an’ walk her to wherever she’s gotta go.”

“Right,” Klay said. He walked Tranh and Rusko down to the main hatch, made sure they had their belts; that Rusko had the stun-stick, and Tranh had the override.

Then he walked back to the galley and Freza DeNobli.


Freza was standing at the screen when he got back.

“That’s Choody Wharton?” she asked.

“It is.” Klay sighed gustily. “Former management—Choody was their idea of a good contact.”

“Well,” said Freza, “I never heard anything good about him or his organization.”

“’Cause there’s nothing good to say,” Klay answered, and brought up the volume on the screen.

“Tranh Smith, what’ve you got yourself into?” the slim man in the upscale trade clothes asked heartily. “Why, I was just talking to Captain Smith here, an—”

I’m Captain Smith,” Tranh said, and Choody smiled.

“That’ll depend on if you can come up with a better deal, don’t it?” he asked. “Though it would be awkward, being as I already promised Captain Susrim Smith this ship, for considerations.”

“Susrim Smith has no claim to this ship; his contract’s been bought out, and he’s no longer needed nor wanted on Dulcimer.”

“Now, that’s where you’re wrong,” said Choody. “It happens that I want him on Dulcimer, and that’s what’s gonna happen—there’s no other outcome possible. The only choice we have between us is—do we do this the easy way, or the hard way?”

Tranh said nothing, though he crossed his arms over his chest, which brought his hand that much closer to his hideaway.

Beside Choody, Susrim smirked.

“Better just sign over the ship, Tranh. You can prolly get a job as a pilot—big hiring fair here on-station, right now. Rusko an’ Klay, too. But that ship is mine. Da meant me to have it. I’m willing to work with our contacts, but you? You sold everything away to Crystal! Going reg’lar. Ain’t no money in reg’lar.”

“Yes,” said Choody, “we will need to have a talk about your disposal of my goods, Tranh Smith, but my first priority is to get Captain Susrim here installed on Dulcimer, with a good crew of my cousins. You can come with us down to admin and sign over the ship’s ownership now. There’s law-jaws enough to do the legal. Do that, and you walk away, alive, and free to seek a berth on a reg’lar ship.”

Klay felt Freza move beside him, and turned to see her at the table, a comm to her ear.

He cast another look at the screen, and moved toward her.

“Look, we gotta get you outta here.”

“Nope,” she said, and jerked her head toward the screen. “Monitor that, Pilot, right?”

Klay hesitated, then turned back to the screen.

“Right.”

“So, I’m hearing the easy way’s of no interest,” Choody was saying, with a shake of his head. “Just like your Da. Though I should be grateful; the hard way’s gonna be fine on my side. We’ll just get that started now. Captain Susrim?”

Choody turned and walked away, but Susrim—Susrim tarried, malice in his eyes, as he leaned in.

“Greyware report ain’t enough to get through to the proctors with this fair going on, but a report of diseased animals’ll get their attention right quick. Stations take disease serious. You’ll lose the ship, your license, and your stake.”

He grinned up into the camera.

“Shoulda done it the easy way.”


“So, I’m takin’ it that these are the diseased animals?” Freza nodded at Mitsy and Ditsy, who were crouched together on the end of the table, touching along their whole lengths, and as glum as Klay’d ever seen a norbear.

“They’re not animals,” he said now. “They’re people.”

“Got that.” Freza gave him a nod, and looked around, to Rusko and Tranh. “I got somebody covering my first meeting, but I gotta be at the next one. Choody’s right that disease is gonna be bringin’ proctors on the run, but we can buy some time. First thing is to cut ’em off.”

“Cut ’em off, how?” Tranh asked. “Can’t deny a port inspection.”

“That’s right.” Freza gave him a nod. “But you can take your own law-jaw and go on up to admin and file a harassment complaint against Choody, and demand your right to a ship inspection, and a clean bill of health from Meldyne Station.”

There was a short silence, before Rusko said that still meant inspectors on the ship, and the norbears were a solid fact.

“They’re people,” Freza said, nodding at Klay. “He hears ’em. I do, some bit.” She pointed her chin at Rusko. “You hear ’em.”

“I get the very edges,” Rusko said, “an’ only sometime. Klay here’s fluent, though not so much as Squithy.”

“Squithy. She’s the one gone to catering?”

“No, that’s Falmer,” Klay said. “Squithy—” he shook his head. “Long story. Profit line is that it’s me right now who’s most fluent in norbear.”

Freza gave him an approving smile. “That’s right—long stories later. First thing’s to get this mess straightened out. Thinkin’ on it, I agree that the best thing is for there to not be any norbears present to confuse overworked station health employees. So, we shift ’em, with Klay as translator. They ain’t big, Balrog’s got room, and Klay can get a grounding on base Dust ’quations from our pilots.”

“Not that easy,” Tranh said. “Norbear food’s gotta shift, too, or there’ll be question why we’re shipping bales of greens. We got a special ’ponics set-up—”

“Which we can use to prove Susrim was shorting his duties, to the harm of the ship,” Rusko murmured, and Tranh turned to stare at him.

“Well, now, that’s true,” he said slowly. “I hadn’t thought of it, there having been so much else ’gainst Susrim’s staying.”

“Which is why you need to get up to admin with your law-jaw,” Freza said, breaking into this moment of revelation.

“We ain’t got a law-jaw,” Tranh said.

“You can have one waiting for you at the main mall tubeway, soon’s you say yeah. Tell ’em the whole story on the walk up to admin.”

Tranh hesitated, then moved his hand. “I’m grateful, and I’m willing, but I’m not seeing my way to there’s no norbears nor signs of what’ll look like animals being kept on this ship.”

Freza nodded. “You and Rusko get off to your appointment. I’ll call in some cousins to move the necessaries, and stay here, to keep the ship. You’re short-crewed, and it was pure good luck you happened on some cousins to help you out, am I right?”

Tranh blinked, and nodded slowly.

“You’re right. The way life’s been, Dulcimer crew’s been cut off from cousins.”

“Time to fix that. So! Time’s short. The cousins’re on their way. The law-jaw’s on her way. Tranh and Rusko, you better be gettin’ on your way. Klay and me and Mitsy and Ditsy’ll stay here ’til the cousins arrive, and Klay’ll let ’em know what’s gotta get moved, and what other clean-up might be good. Then him an’ me’ll take Mitsy and Ditsy to Balrog, and I’ll make a run for my next meetin’.”

She put her eye on each of them, one by one.

“If there’s anything else on this ship that ought not to be here, now’s the time to bring it forward.”

Tranh got up.

“Won’t be a minute,” he said.

Freza turned to Rusko. “This will be the grey goods Susrim filed with the port?”

“Right. Left ’em real obvious, but we’d cleaned, and weren’t lookin’. Happens alt-crew witnessed what happened.” He nodded to Mitsy and Ditsy. “They told Klay. Klay told us. Tranh moved ’em to a…more secure situation, but better if they’re off the ship entire.”

“Witnesses…” Freza frowned at the norbears, then shook her head. “Too complicated,” she said, maybe to herself.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Rusko said, “and understanding that we’re grateful for the help, but—why did you start the cousins moving before you’d talked to us?”

Freza grinned at him.

“Saw your port-note, saw you were short-crewed, saw Choody’s playing games. Any of that, you needed cousins. You was sensible at Port Chavvy and I was countin’ you’d stayed that way.”

Tranh came back, and put the greys in the center of the table.

Freza extended a hand, pulled it back, looked up at him.

“That? That’s what he was gonna call the inspectors on?”

“Not the brightest light on the board,” Rusko murmured.

“It is grey,” Tranh added.

“There’s that.” Freza sighed. “All right. One of the cousins will wrap it up and get it courier’d to a safe holding. I’ll write a note. Pilot Klay an’ me, we can get these norbears on the move.”

“Take a minute to get my gear,” Klay began. She cut him off with a wave of a hand.

“Be a few minutes before—” She stopped, frowning, and Klay waited, not sure how much she’d caught.

“What’s this I’m getting—family? There’s more than just these two?”

“There are,” Klay said, “but they’re touring with Dulsey Omron, from Crystal Energy, for the next while.” He turned up a hand. “Part of that longer story I owe you.”

“Right.” She nodded. “Like I was sayin’—we all of us gotta move. Tranh and Rusko—go meet the law-jaw. Tell her the truth and the long story, including the unclassified sentients that Crystal Energy’s taken a personal innerest in. Pilot Klay an’ me’ll wait on the cousins. Once they’re here and put abreast of the situation, we’ll move these two down to Balrog.” She stood. “Jet!”

Rusko and Tranh left. Klay went to his quarters to pack changes of clothes, and some gear. When he came back to the galley, Freza was sitting in a chair, Mitsy and Ditsy on her knees. She had the air of a woman who was listening hard, while the norbears were offering simple, clear messages, sending wide delight when she caught the whole of it.

The main hatch chimed, and Klay went to the screen.

“Freza,” he said, not wanting to disturb class, but mindful of time moving on.

She got herself untangled, stood, glanced at the screen, and headed for the hatch.

“Come on and meet your cousins, Pilot Klay.”


The cousins were on the job, and it was time to move. Klay considered the norbears. Freza walked over to the table, picked up her empty bag and held it open.

“In,” she said to the norbears. “It’s a walk, so you be patient, and quiet, and trust Klay and me to do what’s right for you.”

Klay waited for the inevitable argument—but it didn’t come.

There was a feeling of—resignation, but nothing more as Mitsy and Ditsy marched purposefully forward, side by side and climbed into the bag.

“I’ll carry,” Klay said, stepping forward.

Freza nodded.

“All right, then, let’s go.”


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