Jirik nodded. "When you get done, come on down to the mess deck. We'll be having a little meeting down there." He turned to the Boondockers. "Would you gentlemen care to join us?"
The silent Boondocker nodded, but the other said, "No, thanks. I think I'll stay here and watch Bran work." His friendly smile belied the hardness of his eyes
Jirik nodded. He, Valt, and Tor, accompanied by their silent escort, adjourned to the mess deck.
Jirik launched into a presentation of the offer that they had received. Though the others had of course been expecting it, they played their parts welclass="underline" Valt, reluctant; Tor, excited and eager.
By the time that Bran and his guard arrived, the others been "convinced". Valt continued to voice complaints, but it was obvious that he had been "sold" on the terrorist's plan
Jirik turned to Bran. "What about the nav comp, Bran? Is it all right? I wouldn't want any repairmen to have to come out here. It'd cost us a fortune."
"No problem," Bran replied. "It was just an oscillator out of phase. It should be fine, now." A miniscule nod told Jirik that Tomys' transmitter was in place
Jirik nodded. "All right. Now, how soon can we be ready to leave?"
"Fuel is no problem," Bran replied, "We refueled before we left the station, while they were offloading. We didn't reprovision, though."
Jirik glanced at the Boondockers. "That shouldn't be a problem, unless we're jumping to the Empire, or unless our friends, here, eat enough for four." His grin took the sting from his words, and the talkative Boondocker smiled back. "Then," Jirik continued, "I guess we can lift out of orbit any time we get clearance from the station and from Cony." He turned to the Boondocker. "Any idea how long that might be?"
The big man grinned. "Nope. But I wouldn't start any long novels. Mr. Cony's been working on this for a long time, and he's anxious to get started."
"Well," Jirik replied, "I guess you can call him and tell him that we're all ready. At least, we will be, as soon as I can get this," he hefted the suitcase full of credits, "into the ship's safe. I wish that there were an easier way to transport large sums."
"I wondered about that," the talkative thug replied. "Why not just leave it there, or get a letter of credit?"
Jirik grinned. "You obviously aren't a spacer. Jumping from system to system, you learn not to trust banks; and over long distances, banks don't trust each other. For instance, If I tried to deposit a letter of credit from a rim bank on an Empire planet, they'd hold up the funds until the letter of credit cleared, which could take months, given the limited travel contact. Of course, if the rim bank had assets on that Empire planet, it might be a bit quicker; but as a spacer, I wouldn't want to count on that."
The big man looked puzzled and outraged. "But, the rim worlds are prosperous. A letter of credit on the Bank of Wayoff is as solid as iridium!"
Jirik shook his head. "It doesn't matter. The only reason that the bank on Alpha accepted the letter of credit for the book deal was that the Bank of Wayoff happened to have that much on deposit with them, and the fact that we were going to be on Alpha for several months before they'd have to risk much of it. I'd bet that during those months, they hustled that letter out here and the cash back; or maybe they just covered the withdrawals out of Wayoff's deposits. Innerworld banks know that planetary governments have a tendency to change without notice; and they've been stuck before when a new government refused to honor the old one's commitments. After all, isn't that what you're trying to do, change some governments without notice?"
The thug grinned. "Don't you mean 'we're'? You're part of this too, now!"
Jirik shook his head soberly. "No. Understand this. We're in this for money; lots of it." He shrugged. "I guess you could say that we're mercenaries. I told a guy on Boondock that spacers make lousy missionaries. Well, we make even worse revolutionaries!"
The big man's grin faded. "That's straight enough. At least you're honest."
Jirik shrugged again. "No use trying to pretend otherwise. Do you really think that Cony would believe that we just suddenly became devoted Actionists? He knows that he's bought our services, but he also knows that if it all goes to hell, we'll be looking for a way to bail out with our asses intact. We're not fanatics; we're businessmen."
The man's expression had turned sour. "Hell of a C and C skipper you'll be! Maybe Mr. Cony wasn't as smart as he thought, hiring you!"
Jirik shook his head. "No, he was smart. He knows that a mercenary with no political orientation can be objective. If we win, that's great. But, if we lose, he doesn't want a fanatic who'll fight to the last man; he wants someone who'll try to salvage what he can so that he can fight again."
"Someone who'll run away, you mean!"
Jirik grinned. "If the situation demands it, you bet your ass I'll run. Cony promised us big credits for this; but the obvious clause in the contract was 'if we win'. He knows that I'll want to make sure that if we lose the first battle, there'll be a second, and a third, if necessary. Don't accuse us of cowardice until you've seen us in action!"
The man obviously remained unconvinced, but he accompanied Jirik to his cabin to lock the credits in the ship's safe without another word. Then, dropping Jirik off back on the mess deck where his partner could watch the crew, the talkative man stamped off to the bridge, presumably to report on their readiness for space.
When he returned, he was once again his cheerful self. "Mr. Cony's on the space station. He's coming out by boat; he'll be here in about two hours. Meanwhile, we'll just all relax here." He turned to Tor. "He'll be jumping over from the boat by suit. You, kid, are going to cycle him through the personnel airlock. Right?"
Tor flicked a glance toward Jirik, then nodded. "Y-Yessir!" he replied
While they waited, Tor drew the big man out, talking about the student Actionists that he'd met at the University on Boondock, and recycling some of the Actionist propaganda that he'd been given. Jirik nodded to himself. The kid was sharp. The two thugs had relaxed, and as the discussion went on, Bran joined in, pretending ignorance and asking questions. By the time Cony arrived, the thugs were quite at ease, seeming to have adopted Tor as at least a budding Actionist, if not a terrorist. They were almost as comfortable with Bran, whose earnest questions and seeming acceptance of the answers convinced the thugs that he might be converted to their "cause."
Valt seemed oblivious to the byplay, sitting surlily in the corner. All right, Jirik decided, That leaves me to play the hardcase mercenary. Valt just isn't up to it. Besides, the terrorists would be expecting Valt to dislike them, after what he'd been through. But once the terrorists categorized each member of the crew, they'd be easier to deal with. Once people put you into preconceived categories, they tend to make unjustified assumptions about you, which could give the crew an advantage.
By playing the straight, tough-talking mercenary, Jirik hoped to convince the terrorists that he couldn't he doing anything very devious. Tor, by playing up to their beliefs, might be able to make them less watchful of him. And, as long as they had hopes of converting Bran to their philosophy, they'd probably be more considerate of him, which might allow him to stretch the limits of their tolerance without repercussion.
Slightly over two hours later, a muffled clang announced that Cony's magnetic suit boots had grabbed onto the hull. Tor and the talkative guard went to cycle him through the personnel lock.
When they returned, they were accompanied by Cony and two other men, whom Cony introduced merely as his astrogator and comm expert, giving no names. Both of the men were carrying equipment. As the rest of the group headed for the bridge, Cony motioned Jirik to stay behind.
"All right, Captain," Cony began, "It's time for some straight talk. I don't trust you, of course. Not yet."