Sharon Lee: Adventures in the Liaden Universe

Twenty Standards. And Kore had remembered.

She set down as pre-arranged in Vashon’s Yard and walked over to the office, jump-bag on her shoulder.

Vashon himself was on the counter, fiddling with the computer, fingers poking at the keys. He looked up and nodded, then put his attention back on the problem at hand. Midj leaned her elbows on the counter and frowned up at the ship board.

Rebella was in port—no good news, there—and BonniSu, which was better. In fact, she’d actively enjoy seeing Su Bonner, maybe buy her a beer and catch up on the news. Been a couple Standards since they’d been in port together, and Su had bought last time...

“Sorry, Cap,” Vashon said, breaking into this pleasant line of thought. “Emergency order, all good now. What’ll it be?”

All spacers were “Cap” to Vashon, who despite it was one of the best all-around spaceship mechanics in the quadrant—and maybe the next.

“Ship’s Skeedaddle, out of Dundalk,” she said, turning from the board. “Got an appointment for a general systems check. Replace what’s worn, lube the coils, and bring her up to spec—that’s a Sanderson rebuild in there, now, so the spec’s’re—”

“Right, right...” He was poking at the keys again, bringing up the records. “Got it all right here, Cap. How’re them pod-clamps we fitted working out for you?”

“Better’n the originals,” she said honestly, which was no stretch, the originals having seen a decade of hard use before Skeedaddle ever came to her, never mind what she’d put on ‘em.

“Good,” he said absently, frowning down at his screen. “Now, that Sanderson—we have it on-file to tune at ninety percent spec that being efficient enough for trade work, like we talked about. You’re still wantin’—”

“Bring her up to true spec,’’ Midj interrupted, which she’d decided already and, dammit, she wasn’t going to second-guess herself at this hour. If she was a fool, then she was, and it wouldn’t be the first time she’d made the wrong call.

Not even close.

Vashon was nodding, making quick notes on his keypad. “Bring her to true-spec, aye, Cap, will do.” He looked up.

“You’ll be wanting the upgraded vents, then, Cap? If you’re going to be running at spec I advise it.”

She nodded. “Take a look at the mid-ship stabilizer, too, would you? Moving her just now, I thought I noticed a slide.”

“‘Cause you come in without cans,” he said, making another note. “But, sure, we’ll check it—ought to ride stable, cans or no cans.” He looked up again.

“Anything else?”

“That’s all I know about. If you find anything major that needs fixing, I’ll be at the Haven.”

“Haven it is,” he said, entering that into the file, too. “Cash, card, or ship’s credit?”

“Ship’s credit.”

“Right, then.” He gave her a crabbed smile. “She ought to be good to go by the end of the week, barring we find anything unexpected. You can check progress on our stats channel, updated every two hours, local. Ship’s name is your passcode.”

“Thanks,” she said, and shifted the bag into a more comfortable position on her shoulder. “I’ll se e youat the end of the week, barring the unexpected.”

She nodded and he did and she let herself out the door that gave onto the open Port.

“Going where? ’’ Su Bonner paused with her beer halfway to her mouth.

“Shaltren,” Midj repeated, trying to sound matter of fact, and not at all reassured by the other woman’s decisive headshake.

“Shaltren’s not the place you want to be at this particular point in time, Captain Rolanni, me heart.” Su put her beer down on the table with an audible thud. “Trust me on this one, like you never have before.”

“I trust you plenty,” Midj said, spinning her own beer ‘round the various scars on the plastic tabletop, that being a handy way to not meet her friend’s eyes. “You know I do.”

“Then you’ve given over the idea of going to Shaltren.” Su picked up her beer and had a hefty swallow “Good.”

Midj sighed, still navigating the bottle through the tabletop galaxy.

“So, what’s wrong with Shaltren? Besides the usual.”

“The usual being that it’s Juntavas Headquarters? That’d be bad enough, by your lights and by mine. Lately, though, there’s more. Chairman Trogar, they say, is not well-loved.”

Frowning, Midj glanced up. “Must break his heart.”

“Not exactly, no.” Su had another swallow of beer and shook two fingers at the bartender. “What I heard is, he means to keep it that way. Anybody who talks across him or who doesn’t rise fast enough when he yells ‘lift!’—they’re dead right off. He’s got himself an aggressive expansion plan in motion and he doesn’t mind spending lives—that’s anybody’s but his own—to get what he wants.”

Midj shrugged. “The Juntavas always grabbed what they could.”

The new beers came, the ‘keeper collected Su’s empty, looked a question at Midj and was waved away.

“Not always.” Su was taking her last comment as a debating point. “I’m not saying every decent spacer should sign up onto the Juntavas workforce, but I will say they’ve been getting carefuller in later years. They’re still trading in all the stuff nobody ought, but they haven’t been as gun-happy as they were back in the day...” She raised a hand, showing palm.

“Cold comfort to you and yours, I grant. The fact remains, there was a trend toward less of that and more... circumspection—and now what rises to the top of the deck but Grom Trogar, who wants a return to the bad old days—and looks like getting them.”

“Well.” Midj finished her beer, set the bottle aside, and cracked the seal on the second.

“So,” Su said into the lengthening silence. “You changed your mind about going to Shaltren, rig ht? At least until somebody resets Mr. Trogar’s clock?’’

Midj sighed and met her friend’s eyes. “Don’t see my business waiting that long, frankly.”

“What business is worth losing your ship, getting killed, or both?” Trust Su to ask the good questions. Midj kept her eyes steady.

“You remember Korelan Zar,” she not-asked, and Su frowned.

“Tall, thin fella; amber eyes and coffee-color skin,” she said slowly. “I remember thinking that skin was so pretty-looking.” She fingered her beer. “Your partner, right? He was the one that told you one day he’d take you to Panore for a vacation, right?”

Midj nodded, said nothing.

Su’s sip was nearly a chug, then she continued into the silence.

“Right. Always wondered what happened to him. Never got around to asking. Must be—what? Fifteen, eighteen Standards?”

“Twenty.” Her voice sounded tight in her own cars. “What happened to him was he figured he had to sign on with another crew—he had reasons, they seemed good to him, and that’s all twenty Standards in the past. Thing is, I told him, if he ever needed to ship out—call, and I’d come get him.”

Su was quiet. Midj had a swig of beer, and another.

“And where he is, is Shaltren,” Su said eventually, after she enjoyed a couple of swigs, herself “Midj—you don’t owe him.”

“I owe him—I promised.” She closed her eyes, opened them. “He asked me to come.”

‘‘Shit.” More quiet, then—”How soon?”

St. Belamie’s Day had begun as a joke; at need, it had become a code—he’d remembered that, too, and trusted her to do the same. It was a moving target, calculated by finding the square root of the diameter of Skeedaddle , multiplying by the Standard day on which the message was sent and dividing by twelve. Accordingly, she had about twenty Standard Days on Kago before she lifted for Shaltren.