Freelance On The Galactic Tunnel Network Page 12

  “Cash?”

  The woman produced a hundred-cred coin.

  “I’ve got to check this,” Ellen said, and slotted the coin in the mini-register just to make sure it wasn’t counterfeit. “All right. Pick out three.”

  “You really are liquidating,” Marshall said after the customer left with her tablecloths. “I’m sure you could at least have gotten your money back anywhere else in the galaxy.”

  “And here I’m selling at fifteen creds under my cost, each,” she acknowledged. “But I got a bonus from the Galactic Free Press that covered my losses, and the Syndication Coordinator gig will keep me healthy going forward. Reporting that I actually sold at a loss will help make the point in my story, and besides, I don’t really know anything about tablecloths or art glass.”

  “If you put it that way, I suppose there’s a certain logic to making a clean start,” Marshall said. “Will you go back to crafting goods?”

  “I can hardly wait,” Ellen replied with a grin. “Hey, do you see anything you want?” she asked, gesturing at the goods on her blanket. “I know you’d rather barter than buy, but it’s hard to beat below cost.”

  “I went to a bankruptcy auction not long ago and it made me feel like a vulture picking over a corpse. In the end, the only thing I bought was a meal for the trader who had been foreclosed.”

  “I’ve heard of traders quitting the business but never a bankruptcy auction. Do you mean the Sharf repossessed and sold everything on board?”

  “Not the Sharf, the trader had refinanced with some Earth company. I’ve known plenty of traders over the years who gave up and sold out, but there’s always a demand for the ships. The Sharf never cared who took over the payments as long as the mortgage got paid. The trader whose stuff was being auctioned said she had friends interested in buying her ship, but the mortgage holder insisted on getting the missed payments and penalties upfront. There were also a bunch of would-be traders at the auction waiting to bid on the ship, but in the end, the auctioneer announced a reserve bid that was way over the value and that was it.”

  “I don’t understand. You’re saying that they only sold the trader’s inventory and not the ship?”

  “Right.”

  “But the mortgage was on the ship, not her inventory!”

  “That’s what you’d think, but apparently the refi deal was secured by all of the borrower’s personal assets, not just the ship. Right after the meal, Bethany, that was the trader’s name, headed for the local labor exchange to sign up for an alien contract to restore her finances. She said she’d had enough of dealing with her own people.”

  “You know what? I should make that my next story. I know that the Sharf sold my mortgage to some Earth outfit because that’s when I found out about Advantage, but I didn’t think I had a reason to care who held the note on the ship.”

  “I might have heard a rumor that EarthCent Intelligence is already looking into it.”

  “Yeah, but they don’t have any agents on Earth.”

  “Ah, the noninterference deal that EarthCent made with the governments here. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “So you’re not with them?”

  “EarthCent Intelligence?” Marshall rubbed his nose and laughed. “They’ve only been around for two decades at the most, and I’ll need more of a history than that before I go pledging my loyalty. I know plenty of traders who dabble in it, though, so if you need a contact…”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got a good friend who’s in deep with them, even though he pretends it’s only a sideline. I just wondered because you’re traveling alone and you’re much friendlier than most solo traders your age I’ve met.”

  “It’s not an easy life, and a lot of my generation saw it as a zero-sum game, where more traders meant less business. Some of the old hands blame young traders for everything from high wholesale costs to low retail prices, but I see it the opposite way.”

  “You think that new traders lower wholesale costs and raise retail pricing?”

  “I mean that trade isn’t a zero-sum game. The more of us there are, the more marketplaces become available. If you gave me a choice between rolling out the blanket somewhere with no other traders within a light-year or participating in an active fair like this one, I’ll take your company every time. It’s much easier to draw customers when there are a bunch of us together.”

  “But every great trading story I know involves visiting some isolated population that has valuable trade goods they’re willing to barter for common merchandise they can’t get otherwise,” Ellen protested.

  “I’ve been in this business longer than you’ve been alive and it’s never happened for me or anybody I’ve known well enough to trust. Think about it. The Sharf two-man traders most of us fly can’t jump on their own, they need tunnel access to cover interstellar distances. The Stryx don’t open tunnels to sparsely occupied systems, so the only way a trader is likely to encounter an isolated population is on some neglected moon or a large mining asteroid.”

  “But a few weeks ago I set down in a town not that far north of here that was only occupied by deer and coyotes.”

  “Going into the acorn trade?” Marshall asked with a wink.

  “You know about the Huktra?”

  “I saw something about the Traders Guild adding acorns to the export commodities list while I was catching up with the news on my way back from the Moon.”

  “My friend was right about trade secrets being the most fleeting of all,” she said. “I wonder how much he got for my share.”

  “Timing is everything. The article in the trader’s section of the Galactic Free Press showed a graph for the acorn futures price that was only a week old and it looked like a downhill ski slope. I’m surprised you didn’t see it.”

  “I haven’t been reading the trader’s section lately,” Ellen admitted. “I know, it’s stupid of me, but I’ve been concentrating on Earth news because of the new job, and the Advantage platform has private discussion groups for trade news where people really let their hair down.”

  “You have a buzz cut,” Marshall pointed out.

  “Yeah. The truth is, the people on those discussion groups were mainly interested in politics, why traders should vote against joining the Conference of Sovereign Human Communities and all that. I mainly stuck with the hot-markets thread, but I don’t have the time to spend on chasing rainbows. I suppose it’s good to know there are still opportunities out there for traders who are light on their feet, but you’d have to spend half of your life in Stryx tunnels to make use of the information.”

  “Did it ever occur to you they might be doing it on purpose? Maybe some of your generation sees trade as a zero-sum game too, and they’re trying to winnow out the competition by sending them on wild-goose chases.”

  “You think that the high-reputation posters in the Advantage group are lying in order to trick the rest of us into losing money?” Ellen frowned. “I can’t believe what an idiot I am. Here I’ve been thinking that it’s just a really bad platform, but now you’ve got me wondering if that’s on purpose.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Taking advantage of one’s reputation in a closed community is one of the oldest tricks in the book. It’s a type of affinity scheme. And it looks to me like you’ve got a fish on the hook.”

  “What?” Ellen looked around and saw a teenager crouched on his heels, his eyes fixed on one of her more expensive mistakes.

  “Can I try one of those fishing reels?” he asked her. “They look a little different from what I use.”

  “They’re the basic type sold on Vergallian tech-ban worlds,” she told him, handing over one of the spinning reels. “It’s saltwater safe, ball bearing construction, and you can see that the hand is reversible just by flipping the crank mechanism to the other side.”

  “What’s the recovery?”

  “You mean how much line comes back in a single crank? I don’t remember the conversion from Vergallian units, but it’s the sta
ndard amount.”

  “So you don’t know the maximum drag either?”

  “Do you see the indicator on the side?”

  “You mean I have to set the drag manually?” the teen asked, looking disappointed.

  “Vergallian reels are all equipped with a fractional drag selector. The default setting is twenty-five percent of the breaking strength.”

  “So I have to do an alien unit conversion and enter the test strength somewhere?” He turned the reel over again to see if he had missed something.

  “That’s the blue button on the side. When you change the fishing line, press it, and the reel automatically tests the breaking strength of the line.”

  “Are you serious? That’s so cool, but now I know I can’t afford it.”

  “Twenty-five creds?” Ellen suggested.

  “Really? Deal,” the teenager said. He pulled out a change purse and began to count out five-cred pieces. “If this thing works like you say, all of my friends are going to want one. Hey, how much for the carton?”

  “All sixteen? That would be four-hundred creds.”

  “No discount?”

  “I quoted you my cost. I’m sort of cleaning house.”

  “Hold on,” the teen said, and pulled out his phone. A few seconds later, he continued out loud. “Dad? I was on my way to see you and I stopped in the—yeah, I know, but there’s a trader with Vergallian fishing reels for twenty-five creds and—he’ll be here in a minute,” the kid concluded, putting the phone back in his pocket. “Dad works at the ground station for the elevator and he’s a bit nuts about fishing. If the reels are everything you say they are, we’ll take them all.”

  Twelve

  “Welcome to the Borten Habitat,” a scruffy looking young man called up to John before the ramp even touched the deck of the landing bay. “Got any work for a cash-poor trader?”

  “Talk to me,” John replied without hesitation. “I’m not a charity, but maybe you have some information I can use.” The ramp reached the deck, but rather than starting down, he gestured to the young man to come on board. “You hungry?”

  “I could eat Vergallian vegan.”

  “That bad, huh? I’m John.”

  “Mario,” the young man identified himself. “Just so you know, I won’t be able to invite you over in return because I lost my ship.”

  “Pirates?” John asked, leading his unexpected guest to the ladder.

  “Bankers,” Mario replied. “I did a cash-out refi six months ago but I couldn’t keep up with the payments. They tried to point me in the direction of some good business but nothing seemed to work.”

  “MORE?”

  “That’s them. But don’t get me wrong, it’s a great company. They even offered to let me keep living on the ship to fly consignments for some package network they’re setting up, but I just couldn’t see doing that after being my own boss.”

  “Leftover pizza all right with you?” John offered. “I ordered it from the takeout place when I got in so it’s less than eight hours old.”

  “Pizza’s great. So you’ve already taken care of your business here? I was hoping I could make myself useful.”

  “Delivered some ore, ate a few slices, and fell asleep. I’m one of those weirdos who gets bone-tired whenever I go from Zero-G to getting some weight back, even if it’s just on a habitat.” He removed two slices of pizza from the box, put them on a plate for the microwave, and instructed the ship controller, “Thirty seconds.”

  “I’ve been all over this place looking for work,” Mario said, unable to keep his eyes off the rotating plate visible through the microwave’s tinted door as he spoke. “You mentioned a delivery. Are you in the consignment business?”

  “That was just dropping off some ore for a friend. My cargo includes some good chemicals for extracting gold—cyanide salts and hydrochloric acid. I’m sure I could sell them to the cooperative that runs the refining center here on the habitat, but I think I could get a better price from independent operators.”

  “Ding,” the ship’s controller announced, and John removed the plate and handed it to his guest.

  “Half and half?” Mario asked, taking a slice and offering the plate to his host.

  “I’ve already hit my pizza quota for the day. Take your time and eat, there’s more in the box if you want, and there’s plenty of water. I actually have somebody coming to meet me so I’ve got to head back down.”

  “I’ll come with you,” the hungry guest offered through a mouthful of pizza. “You can’t be comfortable leaving a stranger on your bridge.”

  “I’ve got the security upgrade for my ship controller,” John told him bluntly. “It will inform me if you start poking around. Just relax and get some food in and then we’ll talk.”

  Fifteen minutes later, when Mario went looking for his host, he found John engaged in close conversation with a familiar-looking young woman who was dressed in black. He was about to head back up to the bridge to let them conduct their business in private when John motioned him over.

  “Mario, this is Sharon. I mentioned your situation to her and she said she knew about you.”

  “I’m the third shift bartender at Green Earth,” the woman explained, naming the most popular bar on the habitat. “You told me your life story a couple of times while you drank your last ten creds.”

  “Sorry about that,” the bankrupt trader said. “I must have gotten pretty drunk not to recognize you right away. I hope I had enough left for a tip.”

  “It’s probably better you don’t remember,” Sharon said. “I’ve got to get going. Good luck, Mario. John helped me out of a jam one time, so listen to him.”

  “Thanks,” Mario said, and turned to his benefactor. “All fed and reporting for work, Boss.”

  “Sharon told me there’s a new claim consolidator working the asteroid belt. The independent operators I was hoping to sell my chemicals to don’t come in to the habitat anymore.”

  “You’re talking about SHARE. The miners who held onto their claims aren’t very happy about it. I pick up a day or two of work here and there going out with solo prospectors to help load ore. They say that SHARE hires people who don’t have any regard for the basic rules of asteroid mining. It gets more and more hazardous commuting to claims every day with all the blasting going on.”

  “Then I guess we’ll have to hit the asteroid belt to look for customers. Do you have any things you need to get?”

  “All I have are the clothes on my back. I thought about going to work for SHARE myself, but then I decided to try to hold out until I could work my passage to the elevator hub on Borten Four. I’m sure the Drazens would give me a short term contract so I could earn enough for a ticket to a Stryx station.”

  “Play it straight with me and I’ll take you to Rendezvous. It’s at Aarden this year, the Vergallian Fleet open world that was recently admitted to the tunnel network. The EarthCent circuit ship is making her first stop there at the same time, and Flower always has work for humans.”

  “I’ll play it so straight that you could use me to draw lines. But I thought those Fleet Vergallians broke away from their empire because they didn’t want to be tunnel network members.”

  “And they’re not, but there are so many humans living on Aarden that the Stryx opened a tunnel based on our population and economic activity there.”

  “So what do you want me to do?” Mario asked.

  “I’ve only been in the Borten system once, and I never made it to the asteroid belt, so you can be my guide. Do you think you can locate any of the claims managed by SHARE?”

  “Piece of cake. All we have to do is watch for an expanding debris field and then backtrack it to the source.”

  “Makes sense.” John punched the button next to the ramp, watched while it closed, and then led the way back up to the bridge. “You cleaned up after yourself.”

  “I kind of finished off the pizza,” Mario said guiltily.

  “You did me a favor. Strap into the co-p
ilot seat. Controller. Recognize Mario as a guest.”

  “Please state your name for voice recognition,” the controller responded.

  “Mario.”

  “Now you won’t be stranded if I eat the cyanide and fall into the hydrochloric acid,” John told him. “Controller. Negotiate departure with the habitat’s traffic control and let me know when they release us. Main viewer on.”

  The ship began to move almost immediately, and Mario commented, “That was quick.”

  “The Drazens source their habitat landing systems from the Dollnicks. When you go to the expense of building a structure this big, there’s no point trying to save a few creds on the manipulator fields for traffic control that keep visitors from crashing into it,” John pointed out.

  “I always hated instructing my controller to hand over control to the local traffic system.”

  “Nobody likes it, but I can’t think of a better alternative. So, do you mind if I ask you about losing your ship? I know repossessions are becoming more common, but I haven’t ever seen one taking place.”

  “You haven’t missed anything exciting,” Mario said. “They came for my ship less than twenty-four hours after the final deadline for my missed payment passed. I’d been trying to sell my goods for any cash I could get, but it turned out that a dozen or so traders beat me to the punch. By the time I laid out my blanket here, everybody within a light-year had enough canned fish to last them a lifetime.”

  “What else did you bring?”

  “Canned beans, Boston brown bread, canned vegetables—I mean, who ever heard of asteroid miners having too much canned food on hand? Nobody was willing to pay cash, and by that point, there was no sense bartering because the only way I could make the payment on time was through my mini-register.”

  “You didn’t bring any prospecting supplies at all?”

  “That’s what people kept asking me, but I checked Advantage before I came, and canned food took up the top ten slots on the hotlist. My previous stop was at Void station, so I had no trouble trading everything else I had left there to go all-in on cans. The ironic thing is that within a day of my ship being repossessed with all of my merchandise, I would have killed for a case of beef stew.”