"Will I?" the port master said, who fixed his eyes squarely on Sigrid. "I'm sorry. I don't think I caught your name, Ms.…?
"Her name's Sig—
oomph.
"
"Camila," Sigrid said, extracting her elbow from where she'd planted it in Jaffer's ribcage. "Camila Valentina Rodriguez."
"Well, Ms.
Rrrodriguez
," Franco said, rolling his tongue over the R of Rodriguez in an impressive fashion. "I'm afraid this isn't a negotiation. Jaffer knows the score. These are tough times. We can't move half of what's behind us in those stacks. I only agreed to take this cargo because Jaffer and I go back a ways. Isn't that right, Jaffer?"
Jaffer merely grunted as an answer.
Sigrid, however, was unconvinced. The port master wanted Jaffer's cargo. In fact, he was desperate for it. "You do
know
what cargo Jaffer's carrying, Mr. Franco? Organic sea greens. Fresh, not processed. Do you know what the going rate for fresh produce is?"
"Do
you?
"
It was a good question. Thanks in part to Lady Hitomi and Karen, her old orientations officer, Sigrid was well versed in matters of business, but she also knew any experience she had was six years and, apparently, one war out of date.
"It's worth twenty-eight times what's on that offer sheet," Sigrid said, taking a wild guess.
"Perhaps," Franco said, studying her with renewed vigor. "But who's going to pay for it? Trade is not what it used to be, Ms. Rodriguez. I assume you have another figure in mind?"
"Ninety-six thousand."
"Ninety-six—? We're not a charity here, Ms. Rodriguez. We have storage expenses, shipping, security. Our employees expect to get paid, and our investors need to make a profit. I'm sorry, but nine thousand dollars is the best I can do. Take it or leave it."
"Then we'll leave it. Jaffer would rather dump the entire load right here in this lot than sell below cost. Wouldn't you, Jaffer?"
"Of course, I—wait—what?"
"Now it is
you
who is bluffing, Ms. Rodriguez."
Sigrid stepped closer, staring up the beak of his impressive nose. "Do you know what kind of mess dumping twelve thousand hectoliters of sea greens will make, Mr. Alvarez? In a closed facility such as this it would be quite the environmental disaster. You
may
want to consider the cost of that cleanup."
The port master's face turned instantly sour and he clutched the clipboard to his chest. "You should remind your
friend
, Jaffer, that you're lucky to be driving for the Consortium at all. If you're not satisfied with the rates, there are
others
who would be happy to take your route. Tell you what. Because I like you, and I do, I'm prepared to offer fourteen thousand."
"Ninety-six thousand," Sigrid said. "Or we dump the load. The
entire
load."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Come along, Jaffer. We're dumping it."
Sigrid grabbed Jaffer by the elbow. She'd taken two steps when she heard the low, throaty bellow behind her.
"Wait!"
Sigrid turned slowly back around.
"Thirty-two thousand," the port master said. "My original offer."
"Ninety-six thousand.
Or
…I shall personally inform your investors how you let a cargo with a retail value of more than four hundred thousand in adjusted Federated dollars slip through your fingers."
Franco's eyelid twitched twice. "Forty thousand."
Sigrid reached across and plucked the contract from the port master's bony hands. Slowly, methodically, she inscribed a new purchasing amount before handing it back to him. "Do we have a deal, Mr. Alvarez?"
~ - ~
Sigrid was standing by the loading docks ten minutes later. She had just finished offloading Bins's longspur from the storage racks when Jaffer emerged from the port master's office. He carried an overstuffed envelop in his hands, brimming with colorful bills. Sigrid was amazed, they'd actually paid him in real hard currency. One by one, Jaffer sifted through the bills, counting the stack. He practically glowed.
"Well, don't you look in good spirits," Sigrid said. "Paid in full, I trust?"
"I watched him count it myself. Seventy-two thousand. Oh, and look, thirty-five cents. I'm not sure what feels better. Hearing all those zeros or seeing the look on Franco's face. I think you actually hurt him. I mean, physically. He didn't look well."
"Don't worry about him. He'll be fine. As long as you're happy."
"Happy? Sweetheart, happy isn't half the word for it." Jaffer stared at the stacks of bills in his hands. "This'll really save my bacon. I think you just saved my life."
"Your life? Jaffer, you're not in trouble—?"
"What? No, no. Nothing like that. Just a few, er, creditors. Bill collectors and such. Nothing I can't handle."
"Goodness. I'm sorry I didn't ask for more!"
"Phhtt. This is
more
than enough. Speaking of which…" Jaffer counted out several bills from the stack. Folding them, he handed them to her. "Here's your cut."
"
My
cut?"
"Of course! You earned it."
Sigrid stared at the bills in her hand. It totaled nearly eight thousand. It was too much. Far too generous. "Jaffer, I shouldn't. I
couldn't.
" But she was also keenly aware that she would need money on Earth, and a lot more of it. Her days of easy access to her mistress's funds were a distant memory. "Could I?"
"Ten percent. Standard broker's rates."
"I'm not a broker."
"The hell you ain't! Take it. It's the least I can do. I just wish I could do more."
"First you save my life and now this? I'm starting to suspect you might be my guardian angel. I don't know what to say."
"Well, you could say thank you. And…that you'll join me for supper? There's a little place down the road. It's nothing fancy or anything, but the food eats good."
Sigrid was about to say no. She couldn't afford to stay in any one place for long. She had to keep moving. But without access to the Warp Relays, where exactly was she going? And her stomach was already rumbling at the mere mention of food. What could one meal hurt?
"Well, all right, but on one condition.
I'm
buying.
"
"A free meal and good company. Who am I to protest?"
Sigrid threw the riding coat over her shoulders and mounted the longspur,
straddling it and hooking her feet in the pegs. She was keenly aware of Jaffer's eyes on her as she went swiftly through the ignition sequence, bringing the longspur roaring to life.
"You're an interesting woman, Sigrid Novak. You've got a head for business, are one hell of a driver, and you handle yourself in a fight better than anyone I've ever seen. One of these days you're going to have to tell me exactly what they had you doing in that factory."
"One of these days," she said with a wink. "For now, let's just say they didn't have me working in the kitchens."
She revved the engine hard, letting the thruster coils heat up to a warming glow and making Jaffer have to shout to be heard. "You're not trying to weasel out of dinner, are you? I'm counting on that free meal."
"I'd never dream of it. But there's some business I need to take care of in town. Can I meet you after?"
"Sure. Sure." Jaffer thrust his hands in his pockets. She could tell he had a growing list of questions, but like a gentleman, he kept those questions to himself.
"I need to see to the cargo anyway," he said, as more an excuse than anything. "Shouldn't be more than an hour."
"Perfect. See you in an hour, then."
The longspur rose on its repulsors. Sigrid kicked it into gear, spinning it in a swift 180-degree turn before blasting away down the road and leaving Jaffer in a cloud of dust.
"Already counting the minutes."
~ - ~
Stranger and stranger,
Sigrid thought as she rode slowly through the narrow streets of the Crossroads. Her travels and adventures had taken her to many shores, but none perhaps as strange as this.
On the surface, the Crossroads didn't appear all that different from places like Vincenze or even Konoe Station, except of course that the Crossroads was on Earth and not floating through space. As with any company town, there were tenement buildings for housing the work crews, but unlike the corporate factories, there were no guard walls surrounding the tenements, and none of the usual suicide nets. There weren't even any bars across the windows to seal the workers in at night! Stranger still, the workers here weren't even indentured, at least according to Jaffer. As incredible as it sounded, they were free women and men, come here to work, and they were paid in Federated dollars rather than the usual company script.
And there were other differences, though some took Sigrid longer to notice. She'd been driving for some time before she realized she hadn't seen a single flesh-trader or drug peddler, and normally they would appear everywhere. In their place, Sigrid spied several apothecaries, cheery-looking women and men in brightly lit shops. The brothels were more difficult to spot, but only because the establishments appeared clean and friendly, looking perfectly in place next to the neighboring cafés and dress shops.
Apparently this
Consortium
had its own way of doing things. Those looking to imbibe could have their drugs without having to bother anyone or be bothered in turn. Others looking for shared intimacy could have that too. The only difference appeared to be the drugs were clean and monitored, and the sex-workers were of consenting age and worked willingly at their own volition, rather than coerced through drugs or violence. It made for a much calmer environment than she was used to.
But neither of these were the services she was seeking. Drugs were useless on her, and sex…well, there was only one partner she was interested in, and Sigrid didn't even know if she were alive or dead.
It was in the advocates' quarter of the Crossroads that Sigrid found what she was looking for: a solicitor specializing in contract law. In the woman's dusty office, surrounded by towering stacks of leather-bound legal tomes, Sigrid received the news she was dreading most.
"I'm sorry, young lady, but this contract is quite authentic," said the gray-haired solicitor. She leaned across her desk to hand Sigrid a legal copy of her life contract—the very same contract Sigrid had discovered in the facility in Punta Arenas.
Sigrid stared at the printout in her hand. "But-but that's not possible! It's a fake—it has to be!" She'd only come here to confirm that fact, not to find out…
That it was real?
Sigrid thrust the contract back into the solicitor's hand. "This is a mistake. There has to be some other explanation."
"I can scan it again. But the answer will be the same. The contract was registered, filed and approved by the offices of the CTF on October 15, 2352. You, my dear, are the property of Cheung-Yoshida Multi-Planetary, a subsidiary of…oh, look at that. Coran Industries. And for a most impressive fee." The elderly solicitor held the contract close to her face, squinting. "Goodness, dear, you are worth a fortune!"
"Thanks." Sigrid snatched the printout from her wrinkled fingers, folding it back into her coat. "I trust you'll keep this confidential?"
"My dear,
discretion
is our specialty!" She raised her right hand as if making the most solemn of vows. Sigrid did her best not to roll her eyes. "Attorney-client privilege and all that. We have several confidentiality packages designed to suit any budget. Exactly how, er, discreet would you like us to be?"
Sigrid frowned; she knew when she was being extorted. "How much will it cost to get you to forget I ever came in here?"
"Ah! The deluxe package! I'll have my clerk add it to your bill."
Sigrid paid the solicitor's fee on her way out. More than two thousand in adjusted Federated dollars. Completely outrageous. But at least she had the information she needed, even if it wasn't what she wanted.
Standing on the steps, she did her best to make some sense of everything, but she couldn't. Her mistress, Lady Hitomi, had sold her. And to Coran Industries—and Randall Gillings, of all people.
Why?
There had to be some reason. And wasn't Gillings dead? He was the chairman of the Council, wasn't he? Weren't they all dead?
No, Sigrid doubted that very much. Gillings had proven his resourcefulness on Bellatrix. If anyone could survive a coup, it was Randall Gillings, and the contract seemed proof of that. But it still didn't answer the question: why?
The news, the lingering questions, made for a bleak ride back through the Crossroads.
~ - ~
The sun had already set when she parked the longspur outside the Starlight Lounge. It was a large shack set amongst stacks of shanties. Smoke drifted from a tall chimney. The smells of cooking wafted towards her. She could swear she caught the scent of freshly baked bread.
Sigrid pushed the half-length double doors aside as she entered. While rough around the edges, the lounge proved to be clean and homey enough. And crowded too. An old electronic piano sat in one of the corners. Its keys were yellowed and chipped in places, and while it looked like it had been the source of much music and merriment in its day, it sat unused and silent.
A group of rough-looking men and women looked up from their steaming bowls and bubbling pints as she entered, though they turned away quickly when she drew her riding coat aside to expose the shining recoilless strapped to her hip. She wanted no trouble tonight—for their sake, if not for hers.
Jaffer was nowhere to be seen. Sigrid found a vacant booth and slid in. A hand-printed menu offered everything from empanadas to torta negras. Putting the menu aside, she flipped on the viddi-monitor embedded in the tabletop. The news machine wasn't free, and her eyebrows were raised high as she was asked to feed more and more wrinkled bills into the hungry slot. It took more than a hundred adjusted Federated dollars before the monitor blinked on, granting Sigrid access to the networks.