Institute for Foreign Studies, Pell Branch.
John Adams Pell University. Oxford University Special Extension: Earth Studies.
Angelo Konstantin Research Institute, tours available.
New Alexandrine Library, reproduction paper texts available.
Museums. Cultural exhibits. Local artifacts. Botanical gardens.
Religious Institutions… the list was a page long.
Restaurants, from fast food to cultural, ethnic, and scenic, entertainment live and otherwise.
Stores, Ship Suppliers, General, Special Listings.
Sleepovers, various classes.
Technical centers. Special training. Recreational courses.
Trade Organizations.
And so on, and so on, pages of ads for suppliers, outfitters, services, importers, exporters, manufacturers, associations, lawyers, specialist medical services, reproductive services… a trading ship was self-contained for almost any necessity: but the choices on a major station were legion.
Two hundred eighty-five restaurants. Name your ethnicity.
Sleepovers that made you think you were camping on Down-below surface. With virtual rainstorms.
Walk-through theater.
Venus Hotel. Adults-only tape links. Experience your partner. Luxury accommodations. Restaurant class A pass. 200c and up. On-premises security. Ship registration and age ID required. >
He Captured that address. . 1 It wouldn’t look as if he didn’t want to be found. And if, or when—Austin did come asking… He pushed another button, got the ship list back.
He’d hoped for somebody like Emilia. No such luck. Christophe Martin and Mississip, both Earth-bound, were the best of a chancy lot. He put his bet on Martin, with a departure listed for 36 hours; and on the fifteen thousand hard-won credits he had in Alliance Bank. Five thousand might tempt Martin’s recruitment officer. But ‘might’ was too chancy a word. Ten. It hurt, it really hurt, but ten was a sure thing.
The closer he got to the decision, the closer Corinthian drew to Pell and dock, the scarier it got. Not that elder brother had a shred of evidence against them, not even ID, if he didn’t give it back, and he didn’t intend to.
In point of fact he was scared stiff. Austin might not have figured out yet that Hawkins was a threat. But he had. Too damned clean. Give brother priss a year or two to get an eyeful and an earful of Corinthian’s business. Family Boy that he was, he’d start to pull back, just too, too clean for Corinthian, just too by-the-book. He’d leave them, sooner or later he’d leave them or he’d slip the evidence to somebody about the trade Corinthian ran.
He saw the problem coming. Think ahead, Austin kept saying. So he did.
Sometimes, dammit, you did things you knew you’d pay for—because you could see far enough to know where doing nothing was going to leave you. Sometimes you did what was good for the ship.
Wasn’t that what Austin used to say to him?
Didn’t mean Austin wouldn’t have him in the brig when they left port.
But he could get out of that. He could survive that. He couldn’t survive Austin finding out older brother was ever so much more spit ‘n polish and ever so much more yessir, johnny on the spot, sir, than Christian. Older brother might even have trade figures in his head that Austin might very much like to know. Older brother could get himself worked into Corinthian if they didn’t watch out, worked in so deep that younger brother Christian just didn’t know anything anymore—point in fact, he’d seemed to know less and less the harder he worked to get Austin to admit he knew anything at all.
Point in fact, Corinthian couldn’t survive Hawkins’ attack of law-abiding conscience when it came. He saw it. He even halfway liked Hawkins, for the same straight-up mentality that attracted and infuriated Austin, he saw that, too. But Austin had illusions he was righteous, Beatrice had that pegged.
Trouble was, Austin wasn’t damned righteous with the authorities in Hawkins’ case. It was the righteous sons of bitches who didn’t have any doubts when they did you in, and Hawkins was so straight you could feel honesty dripping off him—feel it in the way Austin went slightly crazy dealing with him. Hawkins being more right than Austin… got Austin dead center, and to prove he was God, Austin was just going to suck older brother deeper and deeper into Corinthian, never understanding what stupid younger brother understood as a fact of life: that wars between two righteous asses ended up in double-crosses and a wide devastation.
Righteous had never described him, at least. On Corinthian there could only be one, clearly Austin, and the rest of them slunk around the edges of Austin’s principles and Austin’s absolute yesses and absolute noes—and kept the ship out of hock.
—v—
“THAT’S WELCOME, CORINTHIAN, you’re in queue as you bear. Pretty entry, compliments to your pilot and your navigators. Market quotes packet will accompany, trade band. Mark one minute.”
“Flattery, flattery, Pell Control. Can it get us a berth near green 12? Acknowledge receipt nav pack. Stand by for Corinthian information packet, band 3. Transmitting in thirty seconds. Please signify receipt and action on signal.”
Light-lag still bound conversation. Compressed com was an artform. You jumped from topic to topic and had to remember several threads of conversation at once, with your answer and more of their conversation coming a large number of minutes later.
As well as trusting the com techs to snatch the hard compression data when it came, a squeal the computers read. Beatrice was preening, most likely. Austin propped one heel on the other ankle and sighed, hoping for that berth.
They could always breathe easier at Pell. Wholly different rules… a completely independent station with a bias toward instead of against ship-law, ship-speak, and captain’s rights. Run by a council only part of which station elected, at least two of which were always merchanters or merchanters’ legal representatives… nothing got done, in fact, that merchanters didn’t want done.
Corinthian wasn’t an Alliance merchanter—couldn’t get that clearance and didn’t try. There were too many hard feelings, and there were records Corinthian didn’t want to produce. But they didn’t need the certification to trade here. They did get the protections of ships’ rights that the merchanters’ Alliance had written into their contract with Pell. They got the benefits of Pell banking, which kept ships’ accounts at a very favorable interest, and backed them with a guarantee of services to the ship out of an emergency fund: Corinthian was signatory to it and Corinthian paid into it—if you ever got into trouble that let you limp anywhere, you made for Pell and its shipyards in preference to Viking or Fargone if you could possibly make it.
Which Corinthian had done on one notable occasion.
But mostly… the law Unionside (and never mind Viking’s new status, he personally counted Viking as Union law) couldn’t run inquiries here. Pell didn’t cooperate. Matter of principle.
Sovereign government—mostly consisting of ships. Matter of principle indeed. You could get trade figures, the same as everywhere. But the internal records couldn’t be probed.
Damned nice port to be registered to.
And if you were Pell registry, you got a priority on the berths you wanted, the docking services, all sorts of amenities. So Corinthian wasn’t Alliance, but she was Pell-registered, and that made it home, much as Corinthian owned one.