Saltation (27 page)

There was more then: lots more norbears, and something that might have been a cat as seen through norbear understanding. More human faces—none familiar to her, and the sense of eager inquisitiveness fading into a ripple of raspy burbles . . . 

"Pilot Waitley?"

The desk-pilot had already called her a couple times, the first to ask for a date check, the next to verify next of kin, Terran-style, not Delgado-style, and then in the midst of her dreamy listening to the norbear, to ask if she had plans for dinner. She'd managed to wake up enough to decline that, pointing out that she was on assignment, and got a slow finger-flash of
work, work, work
and a
see you next trip
alongside of, "I know the best bars and restaurants on Codrescu, Pilot. Just ask for Arndy Slayn."

She hadn't promised, but she hadn't outright rejected him, either, remembering that it was good for pilots to know people.

"Pilot Waitley, I think we're set."

The desk-pilot motioned her to come forward.

"The token gave us the palm print and fingerprints and some backup on the other ID readings, and of course we have yos'Senchul's vouchers and letters along with several other letters of support that have drifted in over the last few months waiting your application. Since you brought the token direct, and Hevelin passes you, I can give you your base Guild card, assuming you'll okay your dues payments."

Dues payments meant signatures and more ID verification, and after she managed to free her lap from Hevelin she had to extricate herself from the sudden attention of Podesta, who wanted to cling to her leg as she looked over the forms and explanations and signed away three percent of her base pay for the rest of her life.

With the signature came a card; an imbedded chip identifying her as a Guild member in good standing, certifying her record to date, and a code that he assured her was to a mailbox here on station—one good as long as she was a member, and any Guild office could forward to it or retrieve from it—and a key that would let her check available berths in almost any port in the known universe. Just showing her card ought to get her into the Guild Hall proper, which on Codrescu was down the other arm, since the Guild had some bunkrooms and a rec space there. There was also a slip guaranteeing her bail if she—

Theo laughed. "Guaranteeing my bail? Am I dangerous?"

He smiled. "Compared to most dirt-siders, you're dangerous. All pilots are. Not only that, you'll be a target sometimes, because some places think prices are high because pilots make so much money."

He laughed—he had a good laugh, Theo thought. "I've been a Guild member for seven years and they've never had to throw my bail. But knowing they will, that's good. Knowing they'll garnish my wages and come after me if I
skip
bail, that helps me stay honest."

He gave her a grin and a nod.

"You're good to go! Good lift!"

"Safe landing!"

She bent to unwrap Podesta again, bowed solemnly to Hevelin, who sat in his nest, watching her alertly, waved once more to Arndy Slayn, and left, a Guild member in good standing.

Among the info she had collected with her card was a complete map of Codrescu, which was both bigger and more complex than she'd realized. Arndy Slayn had pointed out several places as having decent launch food—that meant they specialized in not serving stimulants and sedatives along with their meals—in case she wanted to take something back to her ship.

A quick study of the map showed her a more straightforward route back to Berth Sixteen, and soon she was walking past shops displaying prices almost as bad as they were on
Vashtara
, and a couple of noisy bars. A small shop had maize buttons on offer, and she
had
to grab a dozen of those. Nibbling, she walked on, passing another noisy place, this one featuring music and dancing and other frivolities.

Behind the racket was the constant station talk, now letting her know that "
Thurstan
, eight clear clear green,
Drosselmare
four, clear clear yellow . . ." and more stuff she didn't need to know.

Cherpa
's berth was down this way, the map illustrating a series of T-intersections as well as the semicircular way she'd gone to the office. There were north-south T's and east-west T's, each T offering berths at the ends of the T-arm.
Cherpa
was on the second east-west.

She sealed the rest of the maize buttons into their bag and turned into the first T-section, walking more briskly now, but still feeling mellow, which was probably Hevelin's influence.

From behind came the clattering of several people in a hurry. Theo glanced over her shoulder, seeing two uniformed men carrying gear and food. A two-minute gong sounded, and underneath it all she heard one man scolding the other:

"No girls for a billion miles where we're going and you gotta freak off the only one that even looked at us. We gonna be . . . look!"

"
Drosselmare
, two, clear clear yellow.
Thurstan
, six, clear clear clear."

The maize buttons felt heavy in her hands, and her back itched. Theo began moving a little faster, but they were hurrying for a ship and she really ought to give them right of way . . . 

"Gazo, you think? We're away in a minute!" The sound of their footsteps increased.

"Hey, lady, you, girl! You need a new ride? Best thing that ever happened to you, a ship of eight—we'll make you a queen, we will . . ."

Theo glanced behind.

They were only a few steps away now, running, but not as steady as they might be. The second warning tick went off up one of the T-arms. The guy who might've been Gazo said, "Now!" and dropped his gear.

Theo swung to the side, her back against the wall. "You have right of way," she said, tensing, hoping the camera—but the other guy had his jacket over the camera, and—

The guy who'd dropped his gear was on her, now, arms wide, like he was going to get her in a hug, and it was already too late—she threw the maize buttons into his face and twitched to one side.

"Beecha da plaza!" he yelled, grabbing for her again, but even here in the low grav she felt the move coming, saw his fist as if it was some poorly thrown bowli ball, grabbed and threw him against the wall, danced the second motion, spinning, got a foot up in time to catch his arm there and—

Crack!

Somewhere, a gong chimed, and someone was yelling, "Gazo, you're dead if you don't make the tick!"

Gazo wailed, and went running; there was a bosun at the end of the T, waving at them as the next tick went off and . . . 

The second man had a gun. Theo swung, faster than she expected in the lighter gravity, and slammed it out of his hand. He shouted; Theo grabbed his shoulders and threw him with all her might down the T-arm; her momentum taking her to the weapon. Instinct honed by dozens of bowli ball games scooped the thing up, and—

"Ferkistsake, don't shoot! We're gone!"

And they
were
gone, their backs disappearing into a hastily sealed airlock, the warning gong signaling closed and locked. Vibration ran down the hall and an odd
clang
sounded as the ship let go grapples, and then more noise nearby . . . 

There was a noise behind her. She spun—

Arndy Slayn held up one hand, the other holding the twin of yos'Senchul's data case. He grinned.

"You are dangerous," he said approvingly. "And you really needed a gun."

"Brine Batzer."

Theo's hands moved on their own
say again repeat
.

Arndy Slayn laughed.

"It is an Eylot-sounding name, isn't it? Brine Batzer; I can't say this behind the desk, but he's one of the most active of the cheap pod-breaking ship agents. It's a wonder that he'd move two whole pods at the same time, but I guess he got lucky. Anyway, that's who you'd have to start with if you wanted to pursue something against
Drosslemare
as a ship—well, look at that!"

Theo was not as buzzed up as she thought she'd be nor feeling any need to explain herself. The pilots were treating this as a serious but manageable event; so could she.

Since Slayn was witness, he sat at ease on a chair half camouflaged by the norbear's greenery, using a mobile set, while Guild Master Peltzer stood unmoving with hand on ear, listening to news from Codrescu's control rooms.

When he did move, his fingers ordered,
back here, both
, while out loud he said, "Mister Slayn, please be careful. Batzer and Peltzer, Flatzer, Mertzer are all well-known, even historic names on Eylot; please do not dismiss someone because of the name, no matter how local it may be!"

As he spoke he pushed against a section of wall, which slid open to reveal a short hall. There was a snort, and Theo felt a tug at her knee—not a muscle strain or knee injury, but Hevelin, politely tapping, and pressing with his gripping paw.

Peltzer laughed.

"Let him come along if you like; but not Podesta. The yoster still needs to learn manners!"

Theo carried Hevelin, who weighed less than the gun she'd taken from the guy in the corridor, down the short hall, following the Guild Master.

At the end of the hall was a workmanlike office with multiple screens and a three-dimensional projection showing what must be Codrescu nearspace—and the chronometer ticking away said it was in real time.

"Pilot Waitley, since one of your admirers is to hand, we'll add him to the discussion; he already requested attention and he's on his way. What wonder have you discovered, Mister Slayn?"

Slayn stood near a screen, shaking his head.

"Batzer's not listed as agent for
Drosslemare
any longer; looks the termination was effective immediately the last pod-connect was confirmed. Since the incident occurred after that confirmation . . ."

"Mister Slayn, I suggest you do a statistical analysis of the 'pod-breakers' and see if you don't find a connect/disconnect relationship on many of the ships they handle. Some of them do trade for the family ships, that's true—they don't count for this—but the real meteor-shreds are almost as leery of their agents as their agents are of them."

Theo found herself and Hevelin a seat with a view of the projection, curling into a repurposed lift chair. As soon as she sat, she regretted not being more advertent: Slayn had dragged the recovered bag in with him and sat on one of the broad-cushioned file sections that lined one wall.

Peltzer's perch was just that: a tall stool that looked like it was stolen from a port bar. He sat, turned about, quick eyes checking the real time, hand tapping at the spot on his shoulder that brought him, and him alone, information from somewhere.

"Do you have that analysis?" Peltzer's voice was dulcet, while his fingers said
soon soon quick soon
.

"You're right of course," Slayn admitted. "I hadn't thought it through. Almost all of these contracts are on-delivery or on-event automatics; the funds transfer as things occur and the relationships are short-terms. No one is responsible for a breath longer than they have to be!"

"Codrescu's Council won't move on this: they've seen the records and feel like there's just a matter of drunk-boat behavior. I think that since they pulled a gun it might be more than that, but since they didn't actually gain control of you or maintain control of their weapons, the port's willing, and even eager, to let slide."

Peltzer handed a printout to Theo, who looked it over, seeing large tracts of fine print and not much sense to it.

Theo's so-called admirer, Qaichi Bringo, had joined them and sat beside Slayn on the broad cushions, slowly inventorying the contents of the bag Gazo had dropped with a scan-camera; he looked up at Theo and waved, vaguely shaping what looked like
confused unconfirmable paths
, other hand still shuffling through the bag. He was a greying and tidy man in an old uniform; the sleeve cuffs and collar were shiny with wear and his serviceable shoes were marked with the indents of guide pedals used frequently.

He'd arrived without fanfare, nodded as much at Hevelin as at Theo, after giving her one hard stare, as if storing her in memory, and had gotten right to work. He talked without looking at her.

"Pilots working the close-in stuff, I like to know who they are, Waitley. You was new, and not Guild yet, so I needed to ask, not being rude. I'm Chief Tugwhomper, see—"

"Tugwhomper?"

He smiled. "Local usage, Pilot. I'm overseeing the yard on all but three shift; and since you drew the hardest attach slot we got right now, thought I ought to know how close to run and if I ought to notch up the safety alert. Din't, on account of you was running with a good second and aside that, the Out-Lady had your record and was giving a thumbs-up."

He sorted rapidly, mostly one-handed, the other hand always slightly away from his body like he was used to moving in g lower even than station normal.

"But how can they get away with this?" Theo waved the flimsy, scowling. "I mean, what happens if they try this somewhere else? Can't the Guild act?"

Bringo looked up, a ghost of a smile on his face as he finished a scan and threw something back into the bag. He got serious, his free hand scratching at the side of his ear where his shipcomm would usually perch.

"Because none of them are Pilots Guild members, and none citizens, and none have ever been here before, nor likely to show face again, that's how they can get away with it. Come in with a two-can transfer and they're out. Filed no plans beyond Eylot's Jump, and then they hardly followed line on that, like to make it hard to trace. The pilots are rated, but not Guild. The crew: low port or worse, I'd say."

His sorting hand found something else that made him smile as he sorted, and then he looked hard at Theo. "You really wanna cure 'em, you can: but you'll have to post bond on the cost of rousing a three-ship intercept, and then you'll need a lawyer willing to take your money for the rest of your natural life and then some. Given the situation, you'd end up dealing with Brine Batzer if you did that."