Jirik grinned. "But not high enough to make them back out, I suppose."
"No," Tomys grinned back, "Not that high. But you're an experienced trader. They'll expect you to go for all the market will bear. If you cave in too easily or cheaply, they'll be suspicious. Especially if Cony is their boss, as I suspect. He's the Minister of Trade. I'd expect him to have contacts that would let him know if you were known to be a smuggler. He'll also know what you're risking if you go for the offer. He'll know that you won't want to jeopardize a million-credit deal for a few miserable credits.
"One thing, Captain. If your business requires you to see him again, be very careful. He's very intelligent, and more than a little ruthless. If he is the leader of the terrorists, then he's the one who had your man beaten."
Jirik started to reply, then looked up at the sound of clattering footsteps, and quickly waved Tomys away. Tomys glanced up as well, then smoothly rose and walked away without a word as Tor came clattering up the hallway, out of breath and puffing mightily.
"C-C-Captain!" Tor gasped between exhausted breaths, "H-How is he? Is he going to be all right? How bad is he hurt?"
Tor's arrival had plunged Jirik back into the somber mood from which his conversation with Tomys had briefly diverted him. "I dunno, kid. They haven't told me anything yet. They have him in emergency surgery now. They said they'd let me know as soon as possible. It's been almost three hours, now."
Tor sat down in the chair that Tomys had just vacated. "Three hours! When I got my leg crushed, I was only in surgery for less than an hour! With growth stimulators and tissue regenerators, it wouldn't take this long unless he was nearly dead! D-Do you know what happened, sir? Bran s-s-said that he'd been in a fight, and was hurt, b-b-but that's all he knew."
Jirik shrugged. "All know is that he was involved in a bar brawl, and was found afterward, badly hurt. Damn! I wish they'd tell us something!" He got to his feet and began pacing back and forth.
After a perfunctory "Me, too", Tor lapsed into a morose silence, which dragged on for long minutes. Jirik paced restlessly and Tor sat slumped, staring at his feet.
The oppressive silence was broken by the appearance of the doctor that had been operating on Bran. Both men's heads swiveled toward the doctor, though Tor's eyes skidded from the man's blood-stained operating gown. Jirik rushed toward the Doctor. "Well?" He demanded, "How is he? Is he all right?"
The doctor wearily peeled his surgical gloves off before answering. "I think he'll make it. I wasn't too sure for a while there. I'll say one thing, he's tough. I've never seen anyone beaten that badly survive."
Jirik's breath "huff"ed out in relief. "That's great, Doctor. Are you sure he's going to be all right?"
The doctor shrugged. "As far as I can tell, he's going to make it. Don't get too excited, though. It's probably going to be a month before he's fully recovered; at least, physically recovered. Actually, I'm as worried about his mental recovery as I am his physical recovery."
Tor had been paying close attention to the doctor's every word. "Why is that, Doctor? Do you think he suffered brain damage?" he asked.
"No, son," the doctor replied, "It's not brain damage that worries me. Oh, he's suffering from a concussion among his other injuries, but he should recover from that. No, It's his mental state. When someone undergoes that much agony, and comes that close to death, it changes them. The very toughness that lets them survive begins to evidence itself more in their daily dealings with others."
Jirik smiled somberly. "'Tough' is not a word that I would normally associate with Valt. I can think of a number of other terms that would better describe him. But doctor," he continued, "You say that it might take a month for him to recover. We're scheduled to lift off tomorrow – er . . . today. I assume that he won't be fit to leave with us."
The doctor shook his head. "Not a chance. I don't expect him to regain consciousness for at least another day. You'll have to leave him, I'm afraid. I could release him for limited, light duty in two to three weeks, but not before then."
Jirik nodded. "That's what I thought, but I wanted a medical opinion. Thank you, Doctor. We'll leave sufficient funds with the Spacer's Guild to pay his medical expenses and living expenses for several months. We should be back here in four to six months, local time. Please tell your billing office to contact the Guild to arrange payment."
The doctor nodded briefly, and then walked off.
Chapter 7
An exhausted Jirik trudged wearily back to the Lass with Tor. He checked his ring watch. 0600. He despairingly realized that it would be hours before he could justify even a nap. No doubt about it, he was getting too old for these games. In this gravity, he was dragging around 120 kilos instead of his usual 1G weight of 85 kilos. Long hours in high gravity had further frayed a temper already stretched near the breaking point by worry for his ship and crew. Even Tor's seemingly endless cheerfulness was grating on him..
Leaving the hospital, he had snapped at the kid. He'd nearly lost control and poured out his anger and frustration on Tor until he saw the stricken, wounded expression on the kid's face. That expression on the kid's normally sunny face had stopped him short. He'd spent the rest of the trip back to the Lass jollying the kid, trying to make it up to him. Before they reached to ship, Tor was back to his normal, cheerful, chattering self.
Jirik took a quick shower and donned a clean uniform, then hurriedly briefed Bran on the latest developments before going to his office to call the Spacer's Guild, to arrange to deposit their entire remaining capital in an account for Valt, to arrange a replacement for Valt and to await the call from the smuggler. The guild had only one astrogator presently waiting for a berth. They promised to contact her and send her over as soon as possible, since Jirik had emphasized the urgency of his need. In the meantime, they transmitted a copy of the woman's log book to Jirik over his vidphone terminal. Her name was Via Telson, and her record was impressive. She had been a spacer for some nine years. She had begun her career on an Interworld Traders "milkrun" freighter, where she had trained in astrogation for some three years. She had then signed on to an independent trader as full Astrogator. For the past six years she had been a "gypsy"; a crewman who stays only a short while with any particular ship before paying off and looking for another. She had somehow worked her way to the rim, having the poor judgment to sign off her last ship on Boondock some nine standard months ago. She had rapidly discovered that Rim Tramps' crews were clannish and insular, and their captains unwilling to sign on such an obvious innerworlder, no matter how good her credentials.
Performance ratings from her previous captains were largely positive; highly complimentary about her abilities as an astrogator, though several mentioned her reserved manner and inability to integrate smoothly into their crews. Telson was obviously a "loner," unable or unwilling to enter into close relationships with her shipmates.
Her record made Jirik somewhat uncomfortable. A good crew needed a closeness approaching that of a family, especially on an independent trader. With only four crew aboard, one member who isolated himself could seriously affect morale on a long passage; and they were going on a long passage. Having written many himself, Jirik was well aware that performance evaluations typically understated shortcomings. Like anyone else, Captains tried to avoid confrontations with their crewmen. One learned to read meaning into cautious phrases. Terms like "reserved," "private" and "standoffish" frequently meant "surly," "argumentative," or "hermitlike." This Telson sounded like she could be a serious crew problem on the run to Alpha and back.