enough."
He lowered his large frame into the chair nearest him.
"We encountered one Adroo Macgregory, who is founder, president, chairman of the board, and just about High King of Caledonia, Inc. That's the biggest conglomerate on Canuche. He'd already realized there was a fine market for his products in those new mines and had personally arranged via transceiver a large sale of everything from digging and crushing equipment to construction materials to chemicals of various sorts. He's eager to move fast, before some competitor can edge him out. There's no time to buy or license a freighter long-term, so he was planning to utilize several of those currently in port for his initial few runs. After witnessing the stampede Rael started in the market yesterday, though, Macgregory decided to give the Queen a shot at the whole charter, on condition that we're
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prepared to accept delivery and lift within the next couple of days. We carry through on that, and we'll get the work as long as we're willing to take it and he's still hiring independents, which he does warn won't go on forever."
He fixed the woman with a wicked grin. "Our agreement's only verbal as yet. He won't actually seal it until he has our Doctor Cofort present as well."
Seeing the mischief on the pair, Rael merely arched her brows. "Now that's a remarkable display of pure democracy!" she declared. "Imagine wanting not only the Solar Queen's most exalted officers but also a lowly unskilled hand to officiate at so important a transaction!"
Jellico chuckled. "Actually, Macgregory wants to make a change in your employment status. He intends to offer you a place in his sales organization." "He what?" she asked, simultaneously trying unsuccessfully to silence her companions' laughter with an impatient wave of her hand.
"That's absolutely correct," the Cargo-Master affirmed.
"He claims that anyone capable of bringing two of his staid close competitors to the brink of fisticuffs—his word—by the mere act of waving a piece of cloth around in the air a few times could do good work in advancing the cause of Caledonia, Inc. — Seriously, Rael, he recognizes precisely what you did and promises that if you're willing and show both ability and industry, you've got an excellent future with his company."
"Why tell my superiors that he plans to bid for my services?" she inquired bluntly.
"He wants to avoid acquiring a reputation of being an underhanded dealer and scaring off potential interstellar
1
customers. Besides," Jellico added, "he probably doesn't think he's got much real chance of luring you away from us. Space hounds just don't like quitting the starianes,
however good the offer."
"Not for a planet like Canuche of Halio, at any rate," she agreed firmly and with considerable feeling. "When're we
meeting with him?"
"Noon. He's buying us lunch in one of Canuche Town's most exclusive restaurants, the Twenty-Two, down by the waterfront, so don't do too good a job on those syntheggs
and sausage."
"No fear of that. I loaded up for Sinbad's sake, not mine." Ali leaned against the padded backrest of the bench enclosing the table on three sides. "Now that that's settled," he drawled, "there remains a possibly intriguing tale to be told. No one made any mention of 'fisticuffs' yesterday."
"We'd left by then," the Captain told him. "We met Deke Tatarcoff on our way back to the Queen, and he confirmed that there was not one but several near battles before the
Thornen silk found a home."
"He was one happy man," Van Rycke said as he picked up the story. "He got absolute top price for the bolt and then sold the little examination length for very nearly the same sum. Everything else went as well, albeit at a more reasonable price. He claimed all he's got left are a couple of scraps of lint and declared that if he'd found them in time, he'd probably have moved those as well."
Jellico placed the small delicate-cargo box he had been carrying on the table and reverently lifted two bottles out;
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of it. "From Tatarcoffs private stock. — You're the one who earned them, Rael. You decide their fate."
The woman eyed the labels. Wine. Hedon vintage, golden white, dry, and the vineyard was good enough that she recognized the name. They would have no trouble trading this if they chose.
She shook her head. No. Deke was a connoisseur of wine. His personal supply was legendary, and he maintained it strictly for his own pleasure, not for sale or barter. These bottles had been given in that spirit, and she felt they should be used accordingly. "We're worth an occasional luxury. We'll turn them over to Frank and see what he can produce to accompany them. He should enjoy that challenge, especially here on-world where he can get his hands on fresh produce."
18
Rael smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle out of her tunic.
Dress uniforms did that to one, she thought. With their high collars and stark, dramatic styling, they tended to render the victim wearing one acutely conscious of his potential for imperfection. Maybe that was even a subtle part of their purpose. A little uncertainty went far in keeping a person alert ...
She glanced at her companion. Miceal Jellico, too, was encased in his formal uniform, but if he felt discomfort or a sense of confinement, he was far too practiced to give any sign of it.
Van Rycke, walking a few paces ahead, was, perhaps, the more striking figure with his greater height and bulk comprised of rippling muscle, but she found Jellico more impressive. Lean, wiry, with the feline grace a lifetime in space had bequeathed to him, bearing the aura of an authority that carried not merely the welfare but the very lives of others, he looked the part of the master of a starship plying the perilous lanes on the rim. The hard features, the blaster-bumed cheek, the eyes like tempered titanone served only to emphasize that role.
Her eyes swept the constantly shifting lunchtime crowd.
Their host had instructed the Free Traders to come to the lobby of this, the tallest building in Canuche Town, promising to meet them here and escort them to the exclusive restaurant at its summit.
The men with her raised their hands suddenly in recognition and greeting, and she studied closely the individual who returned the gesture.
Adroo Macgregory was like Miceal, she judged at once.
He was older, with more white in his hair than dark. His eyes were a deep blue, his face rounder and fuller, but the two were of one breed. Space hound or planet hugger, she recognized that strength and independence of spirit. This one would not lightly bargain his soul or his season's profits away.
The Canuchean made his way through the throng to join their party. He immediately put out his hand in the ancient Terran greeting universally recognized wherever the mother world's seed had taken root. "Right on time. It's good to see you again, Captain Jellico, Mr. Van Rycke."
"We're pleased to see you as well, Mr. Macgregory," the former replied. He motioned the Medic to step forward.
"This is Doctor Rael Cofort."
The man inclined his head in an old-fashioned bow. His eyes sparkled even as they seemed to penetrate her to her very soul. "You're lovely for a fact. Doctor Cofort, but mortal like the rest of us, I'm relieved to see. I'd be a bit uncomfortable trying to deal with a vision."
Her smile broadened. "You'd manage all the same if it was good for business."
Macgregory laughed. "I would indeed. Doctor."
Their host ushered the off-worlders toward a roped-off lift platform. As he passed the uniformed gatekeeper he said, "We have a reservation for four," unnecessarily, apparently, for the woman began to raise the barrier as soon as she saw him.
Other groups were boarding as well, chiefly pairs with a • couple of threesomes thrown in. All fell silent as they stepped onto the platform, even as Adroo did. None were mere pleasure parties, and these close quarters lacked the privacy for the kind of top-level business discussions in which they intended to engage.