“What department are you two with? I don’t see any insignia.”
“No department.” Ethan slid into the broadcast chair as though he owned it, trying to hide his nervousness. “I want to make a private call, First priority.”
The middle-aged beam technician rubbed his golden crew cut. A single long, silver earring dangled from his perforated right earlobe. “A private call? First priority?
That means clearing the lines between here and wherever you want to call to.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“You know what that’ll cost? The amount of time and energy involved? Even if it’s Drax IV, and that’s the nearest world with a receiving station, the number of relays involved are…”
“I don’t want to talk to Drax IV. I want to talk closed-beam to the House of Malaika, which is located in the city of Drallar, on Moth. Can you set that up?”
The operator looked mildly offended. “I can set anything up—if you can pay for it. Right through Santos V and Dis and on to Terra. You’re talking a lot of parsecs, friend.”
“Devil take the parsecs. Set it up.”
The operator shook his head. “I don’t touch button one until I have some kind of financial clearance.” A hand hovered over instrumentation that had nothing to do with chatting in null-space.
Ethan swallowed. “Enter code twenty-two double R, CDK.”
Warily, the operator entered the information. “Mighty short code. This wouldn’t be some kind of joke, would it? I wouldn’t put it past Marianne and the guys.”
A few moments fled before the words “Unlimited Credit” appeared on the small tridee screen near the operator’s elbow. His eyebrows lifted. He gaped at the two words but nothing else materialized, no elaboration, no explanations. Just the two words.
“How’d you gain access to an account like this?”
September put just enough of a Tran-like growl into his voice to be intimidating. “You a cop or a beam operator?”
The man shrugged and turned to his instruments. “Hell of a distance,” he grumbled. “Have to patch in fifty stations at least.”
“You can set anything up, remember?” Ethan taunted him gently.
September leaned close and whispered, “How did you get hold of a code like that?”
“Colette du Kane,” he reminded his tall companion. “Remember her? She said if I ever needed anything, to use that code.”
“My kind of woman.” September had not forgotten the plump industrialist’s daughter who’d been marooned on Tran-ky-ky in their company. She’d proposed marriage to Ethan only to be turned down.
“Let’s not make fun of her in her absence,” Ethan chided his friend. “Especially since she’s paying for this.”
Despite his boasting it took the operator ten minutes to set up the call. Outside the communications bubble the functionaries who’d mocked Ethan cooled their heels while trying unsuccessfully to peer through the opaque plastic dome.
The static-filled screen in front of Ethan cleared slightly and the first sound filtered through. It was distorted and incomprehensible, not surprising considering the distance it had to travel. The operator cursed softly to himself as he adjusted his instrumentation.
Deep-space beams traveled in the mysterious region known as null-space, while KK-drive ships ploughed their way through space-plus. Sandwiched in between were stars, nebulae, and people in the region called normal space. Glory and a lifetime of ease awaited the physicist who could find a way for a ship to travel in null-space, a discovery that would reduce the travel time between the stars from weeks to minutes. Unfortunately, everything that ventured into that insane dimension came out scrambled, like eggs: Experimental animals sent through null-space arrived at their destination as soup. This muted the enthusiasm of potential human followers. So far, pictures and chatter were all that the Commonwealth’s men had figured out how to put back together again.
The picture cleared, revealing a figure as massive as September but not nearly as tall seated behind a hardwood desk. His complexion was ebony and his beard rolled out over his chest like waves across a beach. Though his frame occupied most of the image Ethan could make out a few details behind him. There was the desk of inlaid rare woods, a glass wall, and in the distance a city glowing with light. Drallar. Only a name on company documents until now. No reason for salespeople in the field to visit Moth. Actually, he’d heard it was something of a backward world, largely unpopulated, successful only because of its extreme laissez-faire attitude toward commerce. As a result it was headquarters for a number of major trading houses, among which was the House of Malaika.
Maxim Malaika regarded his caller across a distance of some seven hundred parsecs. The awesome gulf reduced his booming voice to a whisper.
“Faida, but this is a surprise. I don’t take calls from lower-level field representatives, but then they usually don’t call from such a distance.” He paused while he glanced at a monitor whose screen was hidden from pickup view. “Tran-kee-kee, is it?”
“Tran-ky-ky.” Ethan delicately corrected the pronunciation.
“And I never get calls from lower-level field representatives that they are paying for. I am intrigued, Mr. Fortune. What prompts this extraordinary communication on your part? You must have concluded quite a sizable transaction or two to justify such a transmission.”
“Actually, sir, I haven’t sold a thing in nearly two years.” Malaika said nothing, nor did his expression change. He was accustomed to receiving explanations. Now he awaited one.
Ethan told him how he’d been outbound on the long run from Santos V to Dustdune when he’d stumbled into the kidnapping of the heiress Colette du Kane and her father, how they’d taken care of the kidnappers but crashed on the world called Tran-ky-ky, how they’d subsequently managed to strike up a friendly relationship with some of the natives, and how they’d spent the last year and more just surviving.
More than surviving, they’d set in motion the unification of fiercely independent city-states, thus putting the Tran well on the way to forming a planetary government capable of applying for associate status within the Commonwealth. The Tran proved to be intelligent, eager to learn, ready to adopt new ideas. As long as corrupt officials like the late Jobius Trell could be kept away from them, they should develop rapidly.
“I’m glad to hear that,” said Malaika approvingly. “A developing race is a consuming race.”
Ethan hesitated. “Then I still have my job?”
“Still have your job? Of course you still have your job. You did what you had to do. I’m sure you did not crash on this world on purpose. I don’t fire competent people because they’re caught up in circumstances beyond their control. I am impressed with your resourcefulness and skill in surviving. I am so impressed I’m not even going to dock you your base pay for the past couple of years. Of course, you gained no commissions during that time but there’s nothing either of us can do about that.”
Ethan was speechless. It was more than he had any right to expect.
Malaika leaned forward and his face filled the distant pickup. “And who is the large economy-size gentleman standing next to you, Mr. Fortune?”
“Just a friend. Skua…”
“Davis,” September said. “Skua Davis.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Davis.” Malaika frowned. “That face. I’ve seen that face before. Have you always worn a beard, my friend?”
“Not always.” September eased a couple of steps backward, taking himself slightly out of focus.