the communications chamber, "That’s right. The group can assign them a task. If they don’t like it, or don’t complete it, that’s it for career advancement. If they refuse out of what the clan terms cowardice, they’re cast out."
Rip shook his head slightly, then stopped, feeling his neck twinge.
Both men were silent as Dane tapped his code into the waiting automat. Rip turned his back to Dane and watched the room for any sign of menace.
No one came in. Dane pulled something from the machine and tucked it into his pouch, then said, "Let’s move." He was breathing with rapid, shallow breaths, probably from talking so long. Rip could tell that he wasn’t put out. In fact there was an instinctive sense, though Rip had no idea where it came from since the big Viking was about as expressive as a sack of coal, that Dane was flattered to have his knowledge sought.
Still, Rip forbore asking any more questions until they were safely back on the maglev. Dane sat tensely, his hand on his sleeprod, until the pod started to move.
Then he relaxed just a little. "There they are," he said, pointing out the window as the pod began to accelerate.
Rip felt the acceleration as added weight, and was disinclined to move far enough to catch a glimpse of the Golm trio. All he saw were three Shver stalking along a grassy path at an oblique angle to the maglev concourse.
"I’m staggering the times of the visits," Dane said. "I wonder how long they’ve been there?"
Rip had no idea, and did not speak.
Instead, he gazed out the window at the squat, thick-trunked trees that crisscrossed the land in lines, or grew in dark clumps hither and yon. Some of the lines of trees had ditches at one side or another, and Rip remembered someone saying that the Shver were really like the elephants they reminded humans of in that they wouldn’t jump. A ditch was as effective as a wall for deterring Shver. At the very idea of having to jump even an inch in the punishing gravity, Rip winced; though the Shver were
adapted to their heavy gravity, still, it was a serious business to lift so much mass into the air.
He looked farther, but all he saw was green, and trees, and a few roads. No dwellings were visible, of course, only business-related buildings.
Presently the pod swooped up, pressing them back against their seats, and soon the grav began to ease. The sensation of climbing gave way gradually to forward movement as the pressure on his body dissipated.
Suddenly Dane took a deep breath, and he rubbed his neck. "Whew," he said. "Takes it out of you, doesn’t it?"
Rip nodded, gesturing toward his pouch. "What’s the word?"
Dane had already slid his hand into the belt pouch, from which he extracted a folded printout. As the pod raced along, Dane read silently.
Rip waited, his curiosity increasing as Dane continued to say nothing, just frowned down at the paper.
Finally he handed the printout to Rip. "You tell me," he said. "You’re the comtech, and I don’t know if what I’m reading is what I’m supposed to understand."
Rip took the printout, and said, "All this stuff at the top is the number and types of fire walls the ferret had to break through, and these are the routes the ferret took to isolate the information."
"Understood." Dane gave a curt nod. "Go on."
"The search field here was the Ariadne, as you already know, and—"
Rip broke off, scanning the data as the meaning reached him. Names of ships resonated through his skull like a rung bell. Finally he looked up at Dane. "This is a list of all the ships coming through Mykosian space that were insured through Trade, and the insurance codes indicating what the cargo was, in priority order."
"So I got that right." Dane’s mouth was a thin angry line. "Did you look at the date that the Ariadne was due to arrive?"
"Hell and blast," Rip muttered. "Ten weeks ago!"
"And look whose computer it came from—"
"Our old buddy Prime Facilitator Koytatik. Whatever’s going on, she’s in it right up to her mandibles." Rip looked up, and whistled softly. "If I’m right—"
"If we’re both right," Dane said sourly. "You hit the same rad dump I did—"
Rip nodded. "What we’re looking at is hijacking on the biggest level I’ve ever heard of."
Dane flexed his big fists, as though he was about to go find the perpetrator and effect his own kind of justice.
Just then the pod slid to a stop, and a swarm of Kanddoyds entered.
"Stash this," Rip murmured, handing him the printout.
Dane quickly stowed the paper in his belt pouch, and for the remainder of the journey they both sat in a tense silence, glaring at every passenger who came aboard, their hands never far from their sleeprods.
No one bothered them, though.
When they reached the docks, they bounced out onto the concourse and pulled themselves swiftly toward the Queen and Captain Jellico.
1
They were all crowded into the mess cabin—that is, all but Karl Kosti, who single-handedly was watching the Starvenger. "Johan and Jasper know how I feel," the big man had said before he boarded the shuttle. "They’ll speak for me if there’s need."
Dane stood in his accustomed place at the back, where his elbows and knees didn’t feel so desperately ungainly. His palms were still sweating, as they had ever since he and Rip had read that printout. He still couldn’t really believe it. How could anyone get away with what seemed to add up to legalized piracy?
"So this is what it looks like," Van Ryke said. For once his habitual smile was gone, replaced by a serious expression that rendered him almost unfamiliar. He gestured with his right hand to one set of printouts. "Koytatik receives word that an insured Free Trader ship is coming in, one with at least one high-pri trade item. She sends word to someone—"
"Flindyk," Rip said. "There’s a secondary set of ship names in his computer, time of arrival of messages after the lists Koytatik got. She must be forwarding these ship names to his office."
"So the by-the-books Flindyk is part of the conspiracy?" Stotz asked.
"Possibly," Van Ryke said. "Except he’s an executive, and as yet we have no proof that anything sent to him actually gets before his eyes. He could have any number of minions screening his mail—and using his ID to protect them from being scanned by coworkers."
"Conceded," Jellico said. "Go on."
"So the Ariadne was reported due in carrying an extremely rare cargo of cielanite, plus some very advanced weaponry that the Shver are always collecting. Whoever is above Koytatik somehow makes certain the Ariadne is met out in space, probably soon after snapout—"
Wilcox nodded. "Easy enough to calculate probable jump points, and sit there watching for snapout."
"And a ship is most vulnerable then," Stotz said. "You control-deck jockeys are busy making certain we are where we need to be, while we make certain the engines came through."
"Even if they came out attack-ready, like some Patrol boat, what good if they don’t have weapons?" Ali asked. "And how many Free Traders carry weaponry?"
"A few," Jellico said. "Mostly those who either are on the wrong side of the law or else ply their trade so far out on the fringes they perforce are their own law." He gestured to Van Ryke. "Continue."
Jan said, "The pirates fire on the ship to disable, not to destroy—if they can—and space the crew. Take the cargo. Replace it with ordinary stuff from Exchange. Clean the ship, including all logs and computers, space all personal effects. Then they fire on the old registry name and paint in the
name of a ship registered as abandoned and claim-released, then they leave it." He paused. "At that point, the probable sequence of events dwindles into mere guesswork."