Orson Card - Earth unavare

“Is this how you always do business?” Lem asked. “By insulting your customers first?”

“We ain’t doing business until we understand one another,” said Staggar. “You corporates must have iron balls to show yourself around here. This ain’t the headquarters of the corporate fan club, if you catch my meaning. Lot of people here won’t be particularly happy to see you.”

“We didn’t come to make friends,” said Lem. “We came to sell a few cylinders and have a decent time. I doubt your merchants will mind us giving them our money.”

“My money, you mean,” said Staggar.

“How much per cylinder?” asked Lem.

“Can’t answer that until you have an account,” said Staggar. He began typing on his holopad. “Whose name should I put this in?”

Lem and Chubs exchanged glances.

“We’d rather avoid any record,” said Lem.

“I’m sure you would,” said Staggar, “but I can’t buy without adding it to the inventory. You boys can skimp off your boss, but I can’t skimp off mine. You get an account or no sale.”

“Put in my name,” said Chubs. “Chubs Zimmons.”

Staggar looked at Lem. “Not your name, mister? Fancy clothes like that and from the way you were talking, I figured you for the captain.”

“My name,” said Chubs.

The drop master shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He typed some more. With his eyes still down he asked, “Out of curiosity, where did you boys find this iron-nickel?”

“We’d rather not say,” said Lem. “Trade secrets. I’m sure you understand.”

Staggar smiled. “I figured as much. How much of this do you want to sell?”

“Depends on the price,” said Lem.

“I’ll pay you by the tonnage,” said Staggar, “not by the cylinder.”

“What price?” said Chubs.

Staggar told them.

Chubs was furious. “That’s outrageous. It’s worth twenty times that amount.”

Staggar shrugged. “Take it or leave it.”

Chubs turned to Lem. “He’s trying to rob us.”

“That’s the cash price,” said Staggar. “If you want to trade in food or fuel, I might be able to go a little higher.”

“A little higher?” said Chubs, angry. “You’re crazy if you think we’ll accept that.”

“You came to me,” said Staggar. “I’m telling you my price. You don’t like it, go elsewhere.”

“He’s right,” said Lem. “We should have gone to Jupiter. Come on, Chubs. We’re wasting this man’s time.” Lem turned and moved back toward the ship.

Chubs squinted down at Staggar. “Yes, you seem to have so much business here, why not let a big shipment like ours slip away? It’s not like you need the money.” He looked Staggar up and down, showing his disgust at Staggar’s appearance, then turned away and followed Lem back to the ship.

Lem had his hand on the airlock when Staggar shouted at them.

“Wait. I have another price in case you boys got all stubborn and annoying, which you have.”

“And what price is that?” said Lem.

Staggar told them.

“Double that amount and you’ve got a deal,” said Lem.

“Double!” said Staggar.

“You’ll still make a fortune,” said Lem. “Which, if my calculations are correct, is more than the alternative. Zero.”

Staggar glowered. “You corporates are all the same. Cocky thugs, the whole lot of you.”

“From one thug to another, I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Lem.

Lem had his senior officers dole out the cash to the crew. It was less than Lem had hoped to give them but more than enough for a two-day break. Because of the low price he had received for the cylinders, he had been forced to sell more than he had intended, but he didn’t worry. He still had more than enough to make an impression with the Board.

The inside of the weigh station was more attractive than the exterior, though not by much. Wherever Lem and Chubs went, merchants clamored for their attention, selling all variety of mining tools and worthless trinkets. It surprised Lem to see how many people lived here: several hundred if he had to guess, including children, mothers with infants, even a few dogs, which Lem found especially amusing since these had learned to jump from wall to wall in zero gravity. Lem soaked it all in, feeling at home for the first time in a while. He didn’t belong in space. He belonged in a city, where the energy was palpable and the sights and sounds and smells were always changing.

They found a woman in the marketplace selling men’s work clothes, and Lem bought nearly everything she had. Podolski and the two security guards might be on the weigh station for a while, and Lem thought it would be better for them to blend in and dress like free miners. He didn’t know if the clothes would fit perfectly, but since no one at the weigh station had any concern for fashion and all the clothes were baggy anyway, Lem didn’t think it mattered.

He paid the woman a large tip to deliver the clothes to the ship, and when the woman, who had a young boy with her, saw the sum of money in her hand, she was so overwhelmed with gratitude that she teared up and kissed Lem’s hand. Lem could see that she was poor and that the child was hungry, so he gave her another large bill before sending her on her way.

“You getting soft on me?” asked Chubs.

“It looked like she had sewn the clothes herself,” said Lem, shrugging. “Work like that should be paid well.”

Chubs smiled as if he knew better.

They found a shoemaker next. Lem guessed at Podolski’s and the security guard’s boot sizes and then argued with the man about the prices. When they left, after the purchases were made, Chubs laughed. “I think you were trying to overcompensate for being nice to that woman,” he said. “You took that shoemaker for a ride.”

“He was trying to cheat us,” said Lem.

“We could probably go back and find that woman,” said Chubs, teasing. “Your father would be thrilled for you to come home with a bride.”

Lem laughed. “Yes, my father would love a peasant free miner as a daughter-in-law. Especially one with a child. Father would be tickled pink.”

They entered the food court area, where a dozen aromas assaulted them at once: pastries, pastas, breads, stews, even a few cooked meats, though these were exorbitantly expensive. They ran into Benyawe, and the three of them took a standing countertop at a Thai restaurant. It wasn’t big enough in Lem’s opinion to call itself a restaurant-there was only room for six people at the most-but Lem preferred the privacy.

Late in the meal Chubs raised his bottle. “To our captain, Mr. Lem Jukes, who salvaged our mission and turned a profit in the process.”

Benyawe raised her bottle and joined the toast, but she didn’t seem particularly agreeable to it.

“You shouldn’t toast me,” said Lem. “Our real thanks goes to the lovely Dr. Benyawe here, who tirelessly prepped the laser and conducted our field tests with aplomb. Without her brilliance, perseverance, and patience with her hot-tempered captain, we’d still be shooting pebbles out of the sky.”

“To Dr. Benyawe,” said Chubs.

Benyawe smiled at Lem. “Toasting me doesn’t make you any more tolerable,” she said.

“Of course not,” said Lem. “I barely tolerate myself.”

“And we would be wise to remember that our mission isn’t over until we return to Luna,” said Benyawe. “We’re months behind schedule, and there are many on the board who no doubt have written this mission off as a cataclysmic failure.”

Chub’s smile faded.

“I’m not trying to spoil our evening,” said Benyawe. “I’m merely reminding us all that we’re still a long way from home.”

“She’s right,” said Lem. “Perhaps we’re a little premature in our celebrations.” He raised his glass again. “Still, I’ll toast Benyawe again for being such a wise counselor and an expert party pooper.”