Andre Norton - Derelict For Trade

Mura’s departure seemed to be the signal for a general breakup.

Wilcox and Stotz were ready to head down to the one-gee-level gym to work out. Jasper Weeks and Karl Kosti disappeared to engine territory and a project they had going for an upgrade to the macronuclear prefilters, based on some tech they’d discovered on the Starvenger . Rael Cofort moved toward the down-ladder, probably to wake up Tooe. Dane knew they were going back up to the Spinner, though he didn’t know why.

He also knew it was time for him to head down to the Shver territory and check the mail drop. His palms felt damp. He rubbed them down his trousers, then got up quickly. If he had to do it, best get it over with fast.

The maglev to the surface was nearly empty, though along the way it picked up more Shver, which was not surprising. Dane stayed motionless on his seat, not meeting anyone’s eyes directly, and no one molested him. He listened to the talk around him, figuring it was good practice. He rather liked the Shver voices. They sounded like a distant thunderstorm, only pleasingly resonant.

As the maglev sped toward the surface Dane looked out the windows at the gently curving landscape. This, he realized, was where Exchange really got the first part of its name—the Shver had made the inner surface of the habitat into a vast garden. Though there were farms everywhere, the trees, hills, streams, and rows of crops were pleasant to a human eye. If you ignored the up-curving horizon, it almost reminded a person of the unruined portions of Terra.

He was so fascinated he was scarcely aware of the steady increase in

gravity pull. They’d reached 1.0 grav while still well above the inner surface. Now, as they neared it, when he moved slightly there was the faintest drag on his joints, a little as if he had some kind of flu. His body felt heavy; he straightened up and accommodated his breathing in the way he’d been taught at Trade Pool years ago.

Heavy grav did not come much in his way. The cost of fuel—and added stresses on the ship—to land on and depart a heavy-grav planet was tremendous, and none of the crew liked the stress on their bodies. But the prospect of a good cargo would cause Free Traders to land anywhere, and Dane had paid attention to learning how to cope in this environment.

The maglev presently stopped at a Shver outpost. Their homes, of course, were well hidden by the forests of trees and cleverly designed hills. But the Shver outposts were nicely designed. Dane liked the huge proportions; it wasn’t often he entered a room whose ceiling and furnishings made him feel short.

Moving slowly, he stayed out of the way of the briskly marching Shver, and followed them inside. The air was heavily perfumed with scents from the surrounding plants and flowers, and it felt strange in his nose. He sneezed rapidly twice, which made his head ache. None of the Shver inside, standing at their workstations or conversing in small groups, even so much as looked up at the noise, which had sounded thunderous to Dane. Probably because the air was so dense, he decided—it was transmitting sounds more effectively to his ears.

The front area was for business of various sorts, and Dane passed a few humanoids, and even one Kanddoyd youth, who looked oddly compressed into his carapace.

Dane scrutinized the holographic signs, and recognized the sigils for "Communication." He passed through a high arching doorway into a smaller chamber. The com room was, he was glad to see, fully automated, just as Nunku had promised. He entered his ID, waited, and his heart started pounding when the computer screen indicated he had one e-letter waiting. He got it in print and chip form, paid in cash, zipped both the printout and the chip into his belt pouch, and left.

No one else had come in. No one paid any attention to him as he retreated to the maglev concourse. He restrained himself from touching the pouch until he was safely in a pod by himself. Then he pulled out the

printout and scanned it.

The first search field was "Solar Queen," and a listing had come almost promptly, Dane realized, as he looked at the header which gave the time the data had been found. It was within minutes after he had inserted the chip into the Jheel of Clan Golm’s system. The name was in a poorly protected security area in the Jheel’s own system, and the words were in Shver. Dane puzzled slowly at it, resorting to his belt translator once or twice until he had the gist of it: the Jheel of Clan Golm was ordered, by Prime Facilitator Koytatik, not to deal in any way with crew members of either the Solar Queen or the Starvenger . And the date in the sent order’s header was. Dane calculated rapidly, and realized with a flush of indignation that it had to be within scarce minutes after he and Rip had received the official registry claim on the derelict.

He went on to the second field, which was "Starvenger." This file was a very long one.

At first the words didn’t seem to add up to anything particularly nefarious or even exciting. It was merely a list of ships lost or abandoned whose quitclaims were duly registered through Trade. The list went back twenty-five years, and the number was a lot higher than Dane would have expected. How high would the number be if the list included those ships lost under mysterious circumstances and not claimed? Scanning rapidly, Dane was reminded yet again how dangerous was this life he had chosen, and he felt the danger weigh in his chest like the pull of the Shver’s gravity. But he thrust the misgiving away impatiently, knowing that if he were standing at Pool again, a raw teen fresh from the Home, he would still walk through those doors and ask for training.

He scanned the list again more slowly, and this time some of the components caught his attention. He saw two of Teague Cofort’s ships listed. He saw nearly all of one of the lesser-known Company lines, wiped out at once. Plague, he thought, and this time he didn’t bother to fight the shiver. All their vessels must have been infected, forcing them to jettison their entire line. Dane didn’t want to know what kind of plague would cause a Company to take such a drastic step.

He saw four I-S ships listed right around the time the Queen had first run into trouble with some Eysies. Had their attitude caused the problems, or had the problems caused the attitude? Interesting to speculate. He was so used to thinking of the big Companies as all-powerful, he hadn’t considered that they could still have problems of their own. He remembered what Dr. Cofort had said: even big Companies are made of human beings. An obvious statement—and easily forgotten.

Dane reached the bottom of the list, and with more difficulty tried to decode the cryptic abbreviations and signs that seemed to indicate the path Nunku’s ferret program had taken. Was this really important to anyone but computer techs? he wondered as he looked it over. The end point was Prime Facilitator Koytatik.

Was this a vector? Not really, he had to admit. It was probably well within her rights to have that data. As for the order, even that might be explained, if he and Rip, by trying to insist on contacting the old owners, had inadvertently violated some custom.

But if they had, why hadn’t the tapes indicated anything about that custom? He and Van Ryke had done a thorough reading during the dead time in hyper, and Dane knew he’d never seen any mention of this kind of custom.

He sighed, and looked at the last sheet, which was the search for "Ariadne." This flimsy was mostly blank, with a couple of lines of incomprehensible notations.

He was impatient for the long ride back to be over. Not even the gradual lightening of his body as they eased into low grav served to curb his impatience.

At last, though, he reached the end of the journey, and he bounded aboard the Queen . He found Jellico waiting, with Rip Shannon. Ya was still asleep, then.