“Yes,” Gerard said. “If we can get even an ordinary price for them, it’ll help get us out of the red.”
“All right. In ten minutes, I’ll have a stack of sealable bags outside your hold hatch. You’re suited—unsuit inside, seal your suits, then bring your stuff out. Put it in the bags. Take it all to the big washroom, and before you repack it, wash the insides of the bags as well. Run your clothes through the vac unit. Use a sniffer—as long as you’ve been in there, your noses are probably saturated.” She clicked off.
“Do we take the good cheese?” Arnie asked.
“Might as well,” Gerard said. “We can at least rinse it down.” They loaded the CraigsHollow into the empty canisters, put the canisters on a load-hauler, and moved everything near the hatch.
Gerard tried not to breathe as he unsuited, but he had to take several breaths… impossible to believe that anyone ever actually ate Gumbone. Soon they were out in the passage, moving the loadhauler upship. When they arrived in the washroom Baris was there.
“I could smell you coming all the way down the passage,” she said. “I’ve already installed special equipment in the water system to handle any spores or anything.”
Washing down the containers and the bags took another hour, because Baris insisted on checking every single one for residual contamination.
“And your clothes,” she said, when they were down to the CraigsHollow pile. “No, not the cheeses… I’m still considering whether it’s a good idea to rinse them off—”
“We have to do something about them—” Gerard began.
“Right now what you have to do is your clothes,” Baris said. “Off with them.”
Arnie was already half-stripped; Gerard ran a finger under the closure of his shipsuit, feeling like a little boy whose mother had found him wallowing in a mud puddle. Baris could at least leave them alone for this… but environmental security was her responsibility. Sighing, he handed over his clothes and walked through the scrubber. On the far side, he pulled a clean shipsuit off the rack and put it on.
“I’m worried that rinsing these cheeses could damage them,” Baris said.
“They’re wrapped,” Arnie said. “We’re not even sure the spores could get in.”
“The wrapping could have sensors built in—change color if water touches them, something like that. I put in a call to Kerry, in Engineering; he’s on the way with some specialized equipment.”
Kerry and Stavros showed up together. “What’s going on?” Stavros asked. Kerry crouched over the pile of cheeses.
“Trying to save the profit,” Gerard said. Engineering hadn’t been his strong point during his apprentice voyage; he had no idea what instrument Kerry was using. He focused instead on Stavros. “We have four canisters’ worth of the CraigsHollow. If we can sell it at the next stop—”
“Allray? I don’t think that’s our best bet, not with so little. If we had forty canisters, I’d say yes. When we left Craigomar, the market price at Allray was fifty two five. You paid twenty five each for the forty—our net on just four would put us seven hundred ninety in the hole, not counting transport costs.”
“Definitely sensors in the wrap,” Kerry said, standing up. “Captain, I’d advise against any tampering, and that includes the use of water. There are at least five sensor suites in the wrapping of each cheese. Temperature, moisture, mechanical—that would be unwrapping or cutting the seal, a pH check, and one I’m not sure of. Quality merchandise, quality security.”
“Which close contact with the Gumbone may already have compromised,” Gerard said.
“If it hasn’t,” Stavros said, “there’s a hot market—or was when we left—for exotic foodstuffs on Corland. CraigsHollow cheese was starred. Two zero six per canister.”
Gerard felt a gleam of hope. Still in the hole but not as much, and maybe the price would have risen in the meantime. “And that’s only thirty days station to station from Allray—”
“Since we’re supplementary to the regular Vatta service, we don’t have to do more at Allray than drop off the consignments and pick up anything that’s shown up for Corland. We can be in and out in less than a day.” Stavros grinned. He punched Gerard lightly on the shoulder.
“Of course,” Gerard said, his mood dropping again. “We still owe for the transport of the Gumbone.”
“We’ll think of something,” Stavros said. “Only 2.8 more days of FTL, thanks be. Kerry, Baris, do you think we should let the good cheese air before packing it away?”
“The packing instructions say in sealed, dry containers,” Gerard said. “At least that way it won’t be contaminated by anything else.”
“When you get it packed,” Baris said, “come by Environmental; I have filters for you to carry back to the hold and install in the intakes before I turn the circulation back on.”
Gerard did not look at the CraigsHollow cheeses again until they were out of FTL flight, within a few hours of Allray Station.
The Gumbone canisters, the seals taped over, were as far from the CraigsHollow as possible. Gerard sniffed as he entered the hold. Air had circulated through the scrubbers repeatedly; he couldn’t smell anything resembling the stench of aged Gumbone. He pried the lid off the first of the CraigsHollow canisters… and his heart sank. Their translucent wrapping had changed to opaque orange. The CraigsHollow seal, once metallic green, blue, and gold, had turned flat gray, with no logo.
Gerard pulled out the top layer of cheeses, hoping against hope that the others were undamaged, but no—all showed a color change in the wrapping and label. He took one and headed upship to tell Stavros the bad news.
“The seals changed,” he said, as he came onto the bridge.
“What?” Stavros didn’t turn, peering at the screen which showed Polly’s position on the inbound traffic lane. Another showed the current market for the goods they carried, and a list of cargo waiting shipment.
“This.” Gerard held out the cheese. “The seals. Evidently there was something in the smell that could penetrate the wrapping and it set off the sensors.”
Stavros turned, then, and grimaced.
“Damn. Now what? We can’t sell it as CraigsHollow Premium if it doesn’t have that seal. We might as well eat it ourselves.”
They looked at each other. “We’ll be eating dry bread and water if Father finds out how far down we are. So much for trade and profit,” Gerard said. He peeled the seal off and unfolded the wrapper. It still looked like a CraigsHollow Premium round, the darker outer rind that should have a paler interior. “I can’t really smell anything Gumboney now,” he said, after a careful sniff.
“Well, the sensor could smell it,” Stavros said. “Let’s hope it’s not too bad. I should make you eat it all yourself, but I’m a generous man—”
“You’re in as much trouble as I am,” Gerard said. “You know the rule: the captain is responsible.”
“Mother should have had you first. Then you’d be captain, it’d be your responsibility, and I’d have had sense enough not to buy the stuff and cause you grief.” Stavros turned back to the screens, highlighting for inquiry those whose mass and destinations would suit their schedule.
“You’d have walked over me to be captain, no matter who was oldest,” Gerard said, prodding the cheese with one finger. “It looks all right. If it’s not too bad, maybe we can feed it to the crew and sell some standard rations.”
“Quit stalling. Go on and taste it, Gerry. I’m your captain; I’m ordering you.”
“Bully.” Gerard pinched off a crumb and tasted it. “It’s not that bad,” he said. “In fact… ” The flavors suddenly expanded, layer after layer of complexity. Gerard had tasted CraigsHollow Premium once as part of his education, but this… this was more. Better. Vastly better. “Stav… you have to taste this.”