Union Alliance - Merchanter's Luck Part 8

"Yes, sir." Lord, was it only yesterday? His shoulders ached with the thought. "Got in with nothing but my account money and I need a lot of things."

The eyes brightened further. "Be happy to help you, Captain Stevens."

Flash coveralls. A 75 credit pair of boots; a jacket; a stack of underwear. He looked at himself in the fitting room, haggard and wanting a shave, and took off the fine clothes and ordered it all done in packages.

And he found Allison Reilly at the commodities counter, perched on a stool and going through the catalogue. "Ordered anything?" he asked with a sinking feeling.

"Making a list." She tapped the screen in front of her, a display of first line meals with real meat and frozen fruits and boxed pastries.

"Chocolates," he added in a sense of fantasy. He had had chocolate once.

"Chocolate," she said. "There we go."

"Cancel that. It's too expensive."

"Chocolate and coffee. Real stuff. Leave it to me."

"Allison-do you-get this stuff usually?"

He would have cut his throat rather than ask an hour ago. He looked into her face and suspected something as childish as his chocolates.

"For special days," she admitted. "I got some staple stuff too."

"I have 75 standard frozens. You can wipe that off."

"Good enough." She wiped the stylus over part of the order. "What about those hardware items we need?"

We, it was. He took up the seat next to her and keyed up the catalogue. "I can get better prices," he muttered.

"There's a discount system. Do your whole rig here and you get some off."

"Better." After the moment's euphoria, his stomach was upset. He ticked through the things they really needed. He felt conspicuous sitting here, at the counter in this place, dressed as he was. The list went on growing, more and more expensive, because systems were, more than crew luxuries.

"That do it?" Allison asked finally.

He punched for the total. 5576.2 came up on the screen. He shook his head in shock. "Can't go that."

"Five of us, remember? And the hardware. That's not out of line. Put the card in, there."

He shoved it into the slot. It registered. THANK YOU, the screen said. He stared at it like some oncoming ma.s.s.

Took his card back.

She patted his shoulder. "Haircut for us both," she said. "And clean up. We're meeting someone for dinner."

"Who?"

"The rest of us, who else? And why don't you get yourself a proper patch, while we're at it? I looked in the directory. There's this place does them to order, all computer set up. Anything you like, on the spot. It's really amazing how it works."

"Lord, Reilly-does it matter?"

"I'd think it would." She touched the misembroidered nymph on his sleeve. "You could do yourself a cla.s.s job. Or they've got the over-the-counter stuff. If you really want."

That was low. He scowled and she never flinched. "Mind your business," he said. "If I like the tatty thing it's my business."

"You're really going to go blank like that. They'll think you're a pirate for sure."

"I'll just get me a handful of the tatty ones. Thanks."

Lips pursed. So she knew how far she had pushed.

"The name's not Stevens," she said.

That's what you're asking, is it?"

"Maybe."

That's my business." And after a moment: "I'll get some blamed patch. I don't care what. But no shamrock. I'll promise you that."

"Didn't think so."

He nodded, gathered up his packages, all of them but the stuff they had ordered on catalogue, that would see ship delivery when they made the loading schedule.

When.

Chapter IX.

He had his doubts-had them following Allison to the patcher; and getting trimmed and shaved and lotioned at the barber-his first time, for a haircut that gave him a sleek, blond look of affluence. Doubts again in sleepover, spoiling the hour he s.n.a.t.c.hed for sleep: his privacy, he kept thinking; the life that he had-It was a miserable life, but he controlled it; there was comp, with its peculiarities; and the sealed rooms that these Dubliners would demand to open. There were things they would hear and see that were worse than public nakedness to him; that undercut his pride, and rifled through his memories.

But it had to be, he reasoned with himself. He had never had such a chance. Never could dream of such a chance. He looked at Allison looking at him in the minor-and the warmth of that drove the chill away. "You look good," she said, to the silver-suited image of him, and he faced about toward her with a surge of confidence that sent some feeling back into his hands and feet "Reckon so?" he asked.

"No question."

So it fed him his courage back. He drew a deeper breath, rea.s.sessed himself and the pathetic ridiculousness, the childishness of the things stored in comp, the nature of the sealed compartments and the relics he lived among. So if she thought that, so if she felt that, then she would not laugh-and the others, these strangers they went to meet-she could handle. As long as she was with him; as long as she found nothing humorous in a man trying to be what he was not-who listened to voices instead of family, who had never had the strength to clear out all the debris of the past; who kept a secret voice that talked to a child who should have long ago grown up; excruciating things. A lifetime of illusions.

There was always the alternative, he reminded himself. He could wait for the military; in his mind he heard the laughter of the dockside searchers who might get into such privacies. Or the techs who might strip his mind down, when his scams caught up to him, discovering the twisted child he was. They would put it all together, taking it all apart; and the thought of that-of the questions; the exposure of himself- He wore a patch, had sewn it on: LUCY, it said, white letters on a black, blue-centered circle; and that was as close as he dared come to the old one. It looked naked, too, without the swan in flight that belonged there. But someone might know Le Cygne, and Krejas; and he and Ross and Mitri had always agreed, in all the scams, to keep the Name out of it. So it was not possible now to go to station offices and say-I lied; change the name; put it the way it ought to be. That would finish everything.

And maybe, he thought, a lifetime would get him used to looking at the patch that way.

"Coming?" Allison asked him.

He walked into the restaurant arm in arm with Allison-one of those places he expected of Allison, ornate and expensive, where flash and fine cloth belonged, and stationer types occupied tables alongside s.p.a.cers of the big ships, men and women with officers' stripes: a lot of silver hair in the place. A lot of money. A waiter intercepted them-"Reilly," Allison said; and the waiter nodded deferentially and showed them the way among serpentine pillars to the recesses of the place, deep shadows along the walls.

A silver company occupied the table he located for them, a company that rose when they arrived-Sandor did a quick scan of lamp-lit faces, heart thumping, hand already extending in response to offered hands and a murmur of courtesies-and found himself face to face with Curran Reilly.

No hand offered there. Nothing offered. "Curran," Allison said, "Helm 22 of Dublin, my number two. Captain Stevens of Lucy. But you'll have met."

"Yes," Sandor said, the adrenalin hazing everything else; and in belated time, Curran Reilly took the hand he offered, a dry palm clenched about his sweating one. A grip that he expected, hard and unfriendly like the stare. And other hands, then, earlier offeree?. "Deirdre," Allison said, "number three"-a freckled, solid woman, dark-haired like all the Reillys, but with a grin that went straight to the heart, punctured his anger and half made up for Curran. Happiness. He was not accustomed to cause that in people.

"Neill," Allison said of the third, another offered hand; a lank and bearded man with an earnestness that persuaded him Curran was at least unique in the lot. "Neill," he murmured in turn, looked at the others. The waiter hovered, offering chairs. They settled again, himself between Allison and Deirdre, facing Curran and Neill.

"Would you like c.o.c.ktails?" the waiter asked.

"Drinks with dinner," Allison said. "That's all right with everyone?"

Nods all about. The waiter whisked forth a set of menus, and for a merciful time there was that amenity among them.

He was buying; he reckoned that. The prices were enough to chill the blood, but he nerved himself and ordered the best, maintained a smile when his guests did. It was, after all, one night, one time-an occasion. He could afford it, he persuaded himself. To please these people. To give them what they were accustomed to having. On their own money.

The waiter departed. A silence hung there. "Got everything in order?" Curran asked Allison finally.

"All settled."

"Megan sends her regards."

A silence. A glance downward. Sandor had no idea who Megan might be; no one offered to enlighten him. "I'll talk to her," Allison said. "It's not good-bye, after all. Well be meeting on loops."

"I think she understands," Deirdre said. "My people-they know. They know why."

"Everyone knows why," Allison said. "It's forgiving it." She laid her hand briefly on Sander's arm. "Ship politics." To the others: "-We got the outfitting done. First cla.s.s."

"What kind of accommodations have we got?" Neill asked.

The adjoining table filled, with all attendant disorganization. Sandor sat and listened to Reillys talk among themselves, plans for packing, for farewells, discussion of what supplies they had kid in. "Private cabins and no dunnage limit?" Deirdre exclaimed, eyes alight. "I'd thought we might be tight"

"No limit within reason," Sandor said, breaking out into the Reilly dialogue-expanded at the reaction that got from the lot of them. "That's one advantage of a small-crew ship, few as there are. Bring anything you like. Any cabin you like."

"You and Allison plan to double up?" Curran asked.

It was not the question; it was the silence that went after it. The look in Curran's eyes.

"Curran," Allison said.

"Just wondering."

The meal started arriving, wine first; the appetizers when they had scarcely settled from that. Sandor sat and smoldered, out of appet.i.te with the temper that was boiling in him. "I'll tell you," he said, jabbing a serving knife in Curran's direction as the waiter pa.s.sed finally out of earshot, "Mr. Reilly, I think you and I have a problem. I'm not sure why. Or what. But it started up there in blue section this morning and I'm not going to have it go on."

"Stevens," Allison said.

"I think we'd better settle it."

"All right," Curran said softly. "The number one says you're all right, that goes with me. Let's start from zero."

"My rules, mister."

"Absolutely," Curran said. "Chain of command. As soon as we get that lock off."

"Ought to be soon," Allison said. "How about that routing application?"

"Got it," Curran said. His sullen face lighted instantly. "Clear. We're routed to Venture and Bryant's, Konstantin Company commodities, on Dublin's guarantee."

Sandor had ducked his head to eat and stay out of it. He looked up again. "You're talking about our route and cargo."

"Right."

"You take it on yourself-"

"Part of the package."

"No. Not part of the package. You don't set up routes or make agreements."

"Come down, man. We've got you a deal better than you could get. A deal that's guaranteed profit. With a station commerce load that doesn't cost you, and guaranteed rate for the delivery. How do you do better than that?"

"I don't care what you've got. No. I decide where Lucy goes and if she goes."

"Slow," Allison said, patted his arm, once, twice. "Hold it. Listen: it is part of the package. I was going to tell you. It's a good deal. The best. The Hinder Stars opening up again, the stations being set up to operate-you know what a chance it is, to get in on the setup of a station? Dublin herself is taking on cargo and looping back to Mariner. But we go out to the Hinder Stars. Toward Sol. You see how it works? That's Sol trade: luxuries, exotics. We take a station load out and do small runs; and as the Sol trade starts coming in, we start picking up Sol cargo. We run small cargo at first, then see about doing that conversion that'll boost her up to speed..."

"You've got that planned too."

"Because I know this kind of economics, if you don't. We're not talking about dockside trading. We're talking about running full and being where trade can build."

"We get backing that way," Deirdre said. "Eventually we schedule to catch Dublin's Pell loop and funnel Sol goods into Union territory; and that's big profit. Dublin's not doing a total act of charity."

"They'll cut our throats. Alliance traders. Locals won't stand for that."

"Stop thinking like a marginer," Allison said. "You're linked to the Dublin operation. They won't touch us the way they won't touch Dublin herself. And after one run, we'll be local. We'll have Alliance paper."

"And I take what deals Dublin offers."

"Fair deals."

He thought about it a moment, avoiding the sight of Curran Reilly, took a drink of wine. "Hinder Stars," he said, thinking that if there was a place least likely for his record to catch up to him it had to be that, the forgotten Earthward stations. Sol goods, expensive for their ma.s.s. Rarities and luxuries. "So Dublin wants a trade link."

"Believe it," Allison said. "Both sides of the Line are interested... Pell, absolutely; Union, in keeping the flow of trade across the Line. You think Union wants Pell and Sol in bed together alone? No. Union's supporting Unionside merchanters that want to trade across the Line; and there's nothing that says we can't set up an operation on this side."

"We."

"Any way you like it. You needed the bailout. And we saw the advantage. You. We. You and the lot of us on Lucy can develop a new loop that's going to pay."

He thought about it again, excited in spite of himself. "You plan to stay on-how long?"

"We don't necessarily plan to go back. It's like I said... too far to the posted ranks. We're coming to stay."