Cony looked thoughtful. It was obvious that he had taken over the negotiation for the coalition, and Fanlin seemed resigned to it.
"I agree," he relied slowly, "This deal is nebulous enough already. I think that we can accept your suggestion. Now. Let's get down to figures. How much do you feel we should allot for expenses, and what do you consider a reasonable profit?"
The negotiation proceeded throughout the morning, with jirik insisting that they define "authorized expenses," and that the amount contain a sufficient "fudge factor" to allow for exigencies. Then there was the inevitable haggling over the percentage of profit. It was after local noon before they concluded the negotiations, and had the agreement written and signed. Jirik noted with interest that both Fanlin and Cony were required to sign for the coalition. Jirik politely declined an invitation to lunch, and made his way back to the Lass, the coalition letter of credit tucked safely inside his tunic.
***
Valt Willem whistled brightly as he walked across the field from the Lass. Valt was a happy man. Even the knowledge that there weren't any decent whores on this mudball could not undermine his mood. First, they'd got all the cargo inboard, which meant that Bran would have to stay off his back. He hated manual labor; that was why he had worked so hard to become a damned good astrogator. And he was a damned good one. Even that bastard Bran had to agree with that!
Oh, hell. Bran wasn't so bad. They just didn't understand each other. Bran was queer for his goddamned engines. Hardly ever bothered to get laid in port. For a long time, Valt had thought that Bran was homo; but he had been wrong. Once in a while, Bran would hook up with some broad in a port. But even then, Bran didn't bother with port whores; he wanted one of those snooty bitches he'd meet in a bookstore. Valt just couldn't figure it. Bran would spend a week, sometimes, trying to seduce some snooty bitch, and then he'd mope around her for the rest of their port call, instead of getting some variety. Sheol, sometimes he wouldn't get laid at all! What kind of port call was that?
All Bran wanted to do was screw around with his goddamned engines, and read. Well, Valt could understand the reading. He read a lot himself in space. He was really proud of his collection of erotica. That was another thing: he'd offered to loan Bran some of his collection one time, and Bran had turned him down flat, with a disgusted look on his face. Oh, well, Bran was all right, he guessed. Hell of an Engineer.
The new kid, Tor, now, Valt wasn't sure about. Their first few nights in port, the kid had tagged along with Valt a couple of times. The kid had acted like a little puppy, following along and trying to do everything Valt did. Valt had gotten a real kick out of it. He'd even set the kid up with one of the few whores on Boondock, and got him drunk. Guess the kid didn't really get off on it, though, because he'd stopped coming into town with Valt and started hanging around with the other kids from that university here. Oh, well, give the kid time; he'd learn.
The skipper, though! He was something else. Now, there was a man Valt could admire! He really knew his stuff. Look at this book deal, for instance. If they made it to Alpha, they stood to pick up five percent of twenty-five million credits, plus expenses! Valt giggled. Deity! the skipper was sharp! When they'd been towed onto this dump of a planet, Valt had been afraid that they'd be nearly wiped out. Well, it did come pretty close. But leave it to the skipper to find a way to bail them out. Damn! A cool million and a quarter, plus expenses. Split five ways, with the skipper getting two shares, the rest of them would clear a quarter million each! Now, that was worth dodging pirates for!
And they'd be depending on Valt, now. They could sneer at his porno book and vid collection, and even call him lazy. But now, when the chips were down, he was the one that would have to get them through. It wouldn't be easy, figuring jumps to out-of-the way systems for recomputation and reorientation, and rushing his computations to get back into Supralight as quickly as possible. The closer they got to Alpha, the harder it would be to find out of the way systems to jump to. But he'd do it! He'd show them! They might look down their noses at him, but they'd have to admit that he was a hell of an astrogator.
By the time Valt reached town, he was already basking in the glory of bringing them safely through to Alpha. Still whistling, he turned into the bar/whorehouse that had become his favorite hangout.
The bartender looked up glumly as he came through the stout metal door, but several of the regulars greeted him cheerfully, and offered him a stool. In their weeks on Boondock, Valt had gained a small reputation as a free spender who wasn't reluctant to buy drinks for his companions.
Tonight, Valt was excited and happy, and the drinks flowed freely. Before long, Valt had a girl on each knee, and was well on his way to inebriation.
"So, where the hell you been, Valt?" inquired one of his regular "drinking buddies", a man named Tan whose worn, soiled tunic and rough hands marked him as a miner, "We've missed you the last few days. Been doin' your drinkin' somewhere else?"
Valt shrugged. "Naw, jus' been busy on the ship. They been workin' me 16 standard hours a day, doin' repairs an' loadin' cargo."
The other occupants of the table made sympathetic noises, and Valt continued, "But that's over now. We'll be liftin' off tomorrow or the next day."
"That's too bad," Tan put in. "We're gonna miss you around here. An' the girls're gonna miss the fastest dick on the rim. Right, girls?"
The three girls at the table solemnly agreed that Valt would be missed. "Hey," Valt said, "Don't worry about it. We'll be back in a few local months."
"Yeah?" Tan asked, "I thought you din't like the rim. Or Boondock. How the hell come you're comin' back?" All faces at the table were attentive. Valt felt pleased at being the center of attention.
"Oh, we'll be back, all right," he answered with elaborate casualness. "The skipper got us a deal. A big one. Gonna make us all rich."
Three strangers at a nearby table had been listening. Now one of them stood and walked unsteadily over to Valt. "Look, you Alley creep," he said belligerently, "Why'ncha get outta here? Ya don' like us 'r our planet, but ya wanna sharp us outta our hard-earned credits. I think you oughta getcher ass kicked!"
Valt rose abruptly, if unsteadily, spilling the two girls onto the floor. "Yeah?" he replied, "An' who's gonna do the kickin'?" Unlike Jirik, Valt didn't much enjoy fighting, and he wasn't very good at it. But his drunken mind recognized fighting words, and his pride wouldn't let him withdraw.
"I am, you Alley slug," the man replied, and swung a roundhouse blow at Valt's head. Valt ducked, making his head swim, and butted the man's unprotected belly. The attacker "Whuff"ed and fell backward onto the drink-stained floor. The man's two companions rose and charged as Valt's erstwhile drinking companions scattered, overturning the table.
Valt was standing, trying to get the whirling room to steady down, when a fist came from nowhere, snapping his head back, and sending him staggering. His back impacted another table, sending its contents and occupants scattering. A free-for-all erupted in Valt's wake, fists and bottles flying freely. Valt sat in the shelter of the overturned table, trying desperately to regain his equilibrium and find a way out of the suddenly chaotic crowd.
Suddenly, he was grabbed by both arms and pulled to his feet. Looking blearily left and right, he recognized the strangers who had provoked the brawl. The two dragged the befuddled Valt into the alley behind the bar, their companion using a table leg to clear a path to the back door.
"What's going on?" Valt demanded plaintively, "Who the hell're you guys?"