Lem and Chubs left the airlock of the ship and stepped out into the docking tunnel. The drop master was waiting for them. He was a dirty little man in a jumpsuit and a mismatched pair of greaves on his shins who carried a holopad that looked like he had beaten it against the floor a few times. The air was warm and thick with the scent of rock dust, machine oil, and human sweat.
“Name’s Staggar,” the man said. “I’m the drop master here. You boys are Jukies, eh? Don’t see too much of your type around here. Most corporates stick to the A Belt.”
“We’re testing the waters, so to speak,” said Lem. “There are a lot of rocks out here.”
Staggar laughed-a cackle that showed a train wreck of teeth. “Snowballs are more like it. If you can get through the frozen water and ammonia, you might find something. Otherwise, this is no-man’s-land.”
“You’re out here,” said Lem. “Business must be going well for you.”
“Business doesn’t do well for anybody out here, mister. This place used to be booming, long time ago maybe, but a lot of the clans have left. We scrape by like anybody else.”
“Where do the clans go?” asked Lem. “I thought this was a free miner’s paradise.”
Staggar laughed. “Hardly. Most of the clans scurry back to the inner system, to the A Belt. They can’t take all this space or the cold. I take it this is your first time out in the Deep.”
“It’s not deep space,” said Lem. “It’s only the Kuiper Belt.”
Staggar scoffed. “Only the Kuiper Belt? You make it sound like a vacation spot. Got a summer home out here, do you, Jukie?” He laughed again.
“We’d like to sell some cylinders,” said Lem. “For cash. Whom would we speak with about that?”
“You’d speak to me,” said Staggar. “But I should warn you, you won’t get the same prices here that you’ll get elsewhere. We have to adjust to reflect the greater distance we find ourselves at. This is the outer edge. I’m sure you understand.”
I understand that you’re a crook, Lem thought. But aloud he said, “We’re prepared to negotiate.”
“I’m not promising we’re buying, though,” said Staggar. “Depends on what you’re selling. We get a lot of folks trying to pass off gangue. So if that’s what you’re intending, don’t waste my time. We don’t want any worthless crap. We may look dumb to hoity-toities like yourself, but dumb we ain’t, and you’ll be wise to remember that fact.”
“You strike me as a shrewd businessman,” said Lem. “I wouldn’t dream of conning you. I think you’ll find our cylinders of high quality.”
Lem nodded to Chubs, who had been holding a sample cylinder all this time. Chubs gently floated the cylinder in the air toward Staggar, and the man easily caught it. Staggar limped over to a scanner on the wall-apparently his mismatched greaves had a different polarity and affected his gait-and he slid the cylinder into the designated slot. In a moment the reading came back. Staggar tried to appear unimpressed.
“Your scanner doesn’t lie,” said Lem. “That’s some of the purest iron-nickel I’ll bet you’ve seen in a while.”
Staggar shrugged. “It’s decent. Nothing special, really.”
“So are you interested or not?” asked Lem.
Staggar removed the cylinder from the scanner and turned to them, smiling. “Depends. You see, I got this little tickle in my brain that I can’t seem to scratch. Why would a bunch of Jukies want to sell cylinders here? You boys have your own depository down near Jupiter.”
“Jupiter’s a long way off,” said Lem, “and I’m eager to give my crew a break. All the cash you give us will likely go back into the economy of your weigh station here. So the way I see it, this is a win-win situation for you.”
Staggar studied their faces, his smile broadening. “Well, aren’t you the generous captain.” He turned the cylinder on its side and began expertly spinning it in the air in front of him on the tip of his finger. “You’re doing this out of the kindness of your heart, is that it? Giving the boys and girls on board once last hurrah before setting out for home?”
Lem didn’t like where this was heading. “In so many words, yes.”
Staggar laughed. “I told you I wasn’t dumb, Mr. Hoity-Toit, and I meant it. A, a corporate never says what he means, and B, corporates never do squat for their crews unless there’s something in it for them.”
“You think I have some devious motivation,” said Lem, acting amused. “Did it not occur to you that perhaps I want a break as well?”
Staggar shook his head. “No, it seems to me you boys want this one off the books, am I right? Don’t want old Ukko Jukes to know you’re skimming a little off the top for yourselves. Under-the-table mining, eh? Then you can scoot on home and tell your corporate stuffies that you didn’t quite mine as much as you hoped. And everything you sell here, as far as they’re concerned, never existed, while you drop a load of cash into your private bank accounts.” He laughed. “I wasn’t born on an asteroid, boys. I know a pocket scheme when I see one.”
“Is this how you always do business?” Lem asked. “By insulting your customers first?”
“We ain’t doing business until we understand one another,” said Staggar. “You corporates must have iron balls to show yourself around here. This ain’t the headquarters of the corporate fan club, if you catch my meaning. Lot of people here won’t be particularly happy to see you.”
“We didn’t come to make friends,” said Lem. “We came to sell a few cylinders and have a decent time. I doubt your merchants will mind us giving them our money.”
“My money, you mean,” said Staggar.
“How much per cylinder?” asked Lem.
“Can’t answer that until you have an account,” said Staggar. He began typing on his holopad. “Whose name should I put this in?”
Lem and Chubs exchanged glances.
“We’d rather avoid any record,” said Lem.
“I’m sure you would,” said Staggar, “but I can’t buy without adding it to the inventory. You boys can skimp off your boss, but I can’t skimp off mine. You get an account or no sale.”
“Put in my name,” said Chubs. “Chubs Zimmons.”
Staggar looked at Lem. “Not your name, mister? Fancy clothes like that and from the way you were talking, I figured you for the captain.”
“My name,” said Chubs.
The drop master shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He typed some more. With his eyes still down he asked, “Out of curiosity, where did you boys find this iron-nickel?”
“We’d rather not say,” said Lem. “Trade secrets. I’m sure you understand.”
Staggar smiled. “I figured as much. How much of this do you want to sell?”
“Depends on the price,” said Lem.
“I’ll pay you by the tonnage,” said Staggar, “not by the cylinder.”
“What price?” said Chubs.
Staggar told them.
Chubs was furious. “That’s outrageous. It’s worth twenty times that amount.”
Staggar shrugged. “Take it or leave it.”
Chubs turned to Lem. “He’s trying to rob us.”
“That’s the cash price,” said Staggar. “If you want to trade in food or fuel, I might be able to go a little higher.”
“A little higher?” said Chubs, angry. “You’re crazy if you think we’ll accept that.”
“You came to me,” said Staggar. “I’m telling you my price. You don’t like it, go elsewhere.”
“He’s right,” said Lem. “We should have gone to Jupiter. Come on, Chubs. We’re wasting this man’s time.” Lem turned and moved back toward the ship.
Chubs squinted down at Staggar. “Yes, you seem to have so much business here, why not let a big shipment like ours slip away? It’s not like you need the money.” He looked Staggar up and down, showing his disgust at Staggar’s appearance, then turned away and followed Lem back to the ship.