John set course for Marchand. During the long days of jump, John confronted his worst enemies: loneliness and boredom. He spent the time familiarizing himself with his new ship and carefully exploring its near-sentient artificial intelligence. Despite Rey Teros's assurances, John was still suspicious and even a bit intimidated by Tess, the newly modified AI. There was a persistent rumor that in the years before the Fall, the Alliance had actually produced sentient AI's, and John was haunted by the possibility that Tess was one. What would a 400-year-old intelligence bound to a ship be like after centuries of bouncing around the galaxy under hundreds of owners? Would it even still be sane? What if it decided it didn't like him? Or got angry with him? There are dozens of ways a ship can kill its occupants without harming itself. John tried using conversation to probe the AI without marked success.
John also stopped his depilatory, and grew a full beard. Beards were rare in this part of space, and John had learned that if a person sports an unusual feature, an oversize nose, say, or a full beard, people focus on the distinctive feature, and do not look very closely at the person displaying it. Just before grounding, he emphasized the beard even more by trimming it into a fanciful design that most should assume was common on some rural planet. He also cultivated a slight limp.
John had only a name and a place to use that name on Marchand; he had never been there. Marchand was reputed to be one of only three planets in the sector retaining the capability to provide deep-level body sculpting, and John needed the deepest level sculpting available if he was to escape Townley permanently.
The contact point was a rather large ship's chandlery and general merchandise store adjoining the spaceport. John decided it was perfect cover for the man who controlled much of the criminal activity on Marchand. "I'd like to see Joma Alcar," he told the security guard just inside the door.
The large man with the bulge on his hip looked unimpressed. "He's busy. What's it about?"
"It's about money. I was referred to sire Alcar by Sarky Camro."
The man shrugged. "I heard Sarky was dead."
John nodded. "I heard that too." Actually, John had been there. Sarky had been careless going through a door. He merely stood looking at the guard as silence began to drag. Finally, the guard shrugged again and said a few words into a wrist mike. He slid off the stool he occupied, and with a negligent, "C'mon," headed for an inconspicuous door near the front of the store.
As soon as the door closed behind John, the big man whirled and slammed him against the wall. The point of a knife pricked John's neck.
"Hands up!" the man demanded. Then, "You carryin'?"
John raised his hands above his shoulders. He had expected to be searched. He nodded slowly. "Knife, behind my right hip. Nothing else. I heard the johns on Marchand were really rough about weapons."
A rough chuckle sounded from behind his head. "They are. It costs Joma a bundle to keep it that way."
He felt a light touch at his hip, and then the knifepoint vanished and the man frisked him quickly but thoroughly.
"Okay," the big man said, "Come on. You go first. It's the third door on your right. And don't move too fast, okay?"
Joma Alcar looked more like a politician or aging vid star than the head of a criminal syndicate. He sat behind a large desk with a single uncomfortable-looking chair in front of it. The rest of the office was almost completely undecorated and shadowed. The dimness was relieved only by a pool of bright light on the desk area. John recognized the psychology. Put your visitor in a hard, uncomfortable chair in front of a massive desk, in a pool of bright light, with no distractions and yourself in a large, comfortable swivel chair. Instant dominance.
John took a seat in the hard chair at Alcar's casual wave. The distinguished-looking man flashed a bright smile that did not reach his eyes. "So," he said in a bass voice, "You're a friend of Sarky's, huh?"
John smiled and shook his head. "Naw, we worked a few jobs together, is all. But he give me your name in case I ever needed anything on Marchand."
The man nodded, the phony smile still in place. "Uh huh. Last I heard he was workin' for a pirate. That 'Terror' guy. You a pirate too?"
John laughed aloud. "Me? Gods no! Too much blood an' guts. Besides, I don't think I could kill. I'm strictly a heister."
Alcar seemed to relax slightly. "So, what can you do for me?"
"Isn't that supposed to be 'what can I do for you'?"
The man's smile grew even wider as he shook his head. "Nope. You're here because you need something from me. What's gonna make it worth my while to hear about it? Sarky was strictly a small-timer. He never put together a decent job in his life. How do I know you ain't just like him, and flat broke?"
John turned his smile nervous. "Look, sire Alcar. I'm not gonna lie to ya. I'm pretty small time, too. But I got lucky, if you can call it that. A job I did turned out to be a lot richer than I thought it would be. Enough richer that the pigeon put out a contract on me and I hadda run. I heard there's still some bounty hunters on my tail. I've used up the entire score runnin' for months, now. All I got left is a beat up old ship and my emergency fund.
"As for what I can do for you…" He reached into his shirt pocket and removed a folded piece of velvet. Stretching, he put it on Alcar's desk and opened it. A seven-millimeter sunstone lay revealed. Alcar inhaled. "Well!" he pulled the gleaming stone across the desk, and avarice showed even through the body sculpting as he admired its amazing beauty. Sunstones are the rarest gems in the universe. A seven-millimeter sunstone could buy a small, brand new starship on the few worlds still producing them.
"This is my emergency fund," John continued. "I've kept it for more than five years. Get me everything I need and it's yours."
Alcar's eyes narrowed and the smile turned predatory. "So why don't I just take it from you — or your body?"
John swallowed noisily and produced a weak smile. "Because you don't work that way. I checked you out, sire Alcar. You got a rep for playin' it square with those who play square with you. And what I'm gonna ask for won't cost you a tenth the value of that rock."
Alcar reluctantly pulled his eyes from the stone and nodded. "Okay. Now we get to what I can do for you."
John bobbed his head submissively, an obviously fake smile plastered on his face. "Of course, sire Alcar." He took a deep breath. "I'll need a deep-level biosculpt. The whole package. DNA analysis and modification, as well as the usual hair and eye color, height and weight mods. I'll also need all the records of the procedures. The original records. I have to make sure there's nothing for the bounty hunters to find."
Alcar frowned. "The biosculpt's no problem, of course, though DNA mods can get expensive. But making the records disappear, now that could be a problem."
John's smile changed, became cynical. "I'm a small-timer, sire Alcar, but I'm not stupid. Biosculpt keeps Marchand on the star maps. It's one of, what, three? four? planets that still has the DNA analysis and modification capability. And you control Marchand, at least the not-so-legal side of it. Making records disappear is probably one of your standard services." He sighed. "Look, sire Alcar. You're already getting everything I have. I have to live aboard my clunker of a ship because I can't afford a hotel. Once I pay my port fees, I'll be running with empty pockets. I can't even try to pick up a small cargo because it might let them track me. I won't be back to Marchand, so the records won't do you any good for blackmail. And the third thing that stone has to buy me is your silence if the hounds track me this far." He firmed up his expression, and sat back. "If you can't help me, just let me know. I'll take my stone and keep running."
Alcar straightened. "I like you, kid. You've got brains. If you weren't hot, I could use a guy like you in my organization." He smiled, a genuine smile this time. "You got a deal. You'll get the whole package, including the original records. After that, I've never heard of you."
John put on a desperately grateful expression. "Thank you, sire Alcar. Keep the stone. I know you'll honor your word."
After giving Alcar his Yor-Tarken name and berth, John allowed himself to be ushered out. He hurried back to the Scorpion.
"I've made the contact, Tess," he told the ship's AI. "I expect they will want to check me out. We have already cleared customs, so we shouldn't be having any official visitors. If we do, verify their idents, but refuse to let them aboard without my permission. And I haven't ordered any repairs. So any "repairmen" that show up are fakes, no matter how good the signatures look on a work order."
"Understood, sir," Tess replied.
Within the hour, "Sire Yor-Tarken" received a vid call "reminding" him of his appointment at the DNA Scanning Center the next day.
Alcar was as good as his word. Within a week, Scorpion lifted. John was still confined to a float chair as the result of the surgeries that made him five cems shorter than John Smith, and racked by the pain of DNA restructuring.
After a month of discomfort and anguish, John Smith was gone. John Smith had been 178 cems tall; Cale Rankin was 173. John had weighed 90 kilos; Cale massed 80. Cale's darker brown skin, black hair, and brown eyes had replaced John's fair complexion, brown hair, and grey eyes. Scorpion 's papers showed that James Yor-Tarken had sold her to Cale Rankin, a native of Warden's World in the Sirius sector, some two years ago. Cale once again began growing a beard.
During the long hours in the regen booth, John, now Cale, had studied the various star atlases he had bought, searching for a refuge.
The Alliance of Free Systems would have been the perfect place to retire. It was the oldest and largest of the entities surviving the Fall. "Released" by the declining Empire some four hundred years ago, the thirty-one inhabited planets of the Alliance enjoyed the highest standard of living in man-settled space. The Alliance had foreseen the Fall, and prepared for it. Among other things, unfortunately, that meant they had very effective border controls, a strong anti-pirate bias, and a deep suspicion of armed ships. If Cale approached the Alliance in Scorpion, his papers would be scanned for the slightest inconsistencies, and he would be asked some very hard questions. Cale decided it would be safer to stay in the Old Empire, where fewer questions were asked and fewer documents demanded.
Perhaps one of the old "glory worlds." The 'Mission for the Greater Glory of God' was a repressive theocracy. At its height, it had ruled twelve systems, with seven inhabited planets. Finally, some 275 years ago, its brutal excesses triggered a response from both the Alliance and the declining Empire. Even the Glory's large fleet had been no match for the combined might of the Empire and the Alliance, and once that fleet was defeated, uprisings on all seven worlds overthrew the Glory in bloody revolutions. All seven inhabited worlds had considered themselves betrayed and abandoned by the Empire. Three had petitioned to become members of the Alliance. However, the other four all became fiercely independent. One had rejected all government, and had reputedly declined into total anarchy. For some reason, though, pirates seemed to avoid Liberty. It might be interesting to find out why.
Or perhaps Libertad, with nine systems and three inhabited worlds, all ruled by a hereditary king.
Even discounting the worlds that had reverted to barbarism and those that had lost space travel capability, Cale had plenty of choices.
His next stops, though, would not be to settle. He needed to convert some of his sunstones into more easily usable form. The fabulous value of even a small sunstone meant they were difficult to convert to local currencies, and even if the conversion were possible, it would certainly draw attention to the converter.
No, he needed an intermediate form of wealth. One still easily portable and one that had value on almost all worlds, regardless of their local currency. He had settled on diamonds. Diamonds are still the hardest natural substance known to man, still made spectacular jewelry, and were still rare enough to be worth more per carat than anything except sunstones. They could also be converted to any of a thousand local currencies without a lot of questions being asked, as long as one was careful. And Cale planned to be careful. Sunstones were so rare and valuable that his conversion of even one large one into diamonds would be known throughout the sector in less than a month. He was going to have to convert one stone on one planet, and then quickly head directly for another planet to convert another one before word of the first transaction got around. However, he could not afford to let Scorpion be identified as being on both planets at the critical time. Finesse was needed. Fortunately, he had been foresighted enough to allow Yan Carbow to present him with a remarkably sizable amount of another "universal" currency: gold bars.
Cale turned Scorpion toward Torlon. Torlon had been a moderately successful trading center before the Fall; now it was sinking more and more quickly down the slope toward poverty, and was on the verge of losing spaceflight. He was not challenged on his way in from the jump point. In fact, he apparently wasn't even detected.
Cale didn't have a contact on Torlon. In fact, he had no leads at all, just a barroom story about a scrap operator who scooted around the sector in a small, fast boat with jump capability. However, he found what he was looking for immediately, an orbiting junkyard full of old and scrapped ships. He grounded Scorpion at the dilapidated, weed-grown port field, careful to land as far as possible from the tower and as near as possible to the two rusting tramps occupying the field. He dressed in the workman's clothing Yan had provided him, then climbed down the footholds on Scorpion 's hull, sneezing from the smoke of the still-burning weeds his landing had ignited. Throwing the small but heavy bag he carried over his shoulder, he began the long hike to the tower.
There was only one man in the tower, and his appearance matched that of the field. His worn clothing was none to clean. Neither was he, or the tower itself, for that matter. He was lounging in a floatchair in front of the communications board.
"Good morning," Cale said cheerfully, "Can you direct me to the best place to buy a used ship?"
"Hmph," the man replied ungraciously, "What fer? Ya gotta ship, ain't ya?"
"Naw," Cale replied casually, "He just gimme a ride here. My ship give up on Cutler's World."
The man snorted. "Cutler's World?" They ain't even got space flight anymore!"
Cale shook his head sadly. "Don't I know it? I spent a year there workin' my ass off for food before this guy showed up an' gimme a lift. So where can I buy a ship?"
"Huh! Th' only person on Torlon that might still have a ship to sell is Ber Nabel. But he might not have anythin' to sell. Mostly he's in the scrap business." The man waved vaguely. "His yard's over on the other side of the port. But he'll probably be up at the orbital yard cuttin' up another ship."
"Thanks," Cale replied offhandedly. "I guess I'll try the yard. Maybe I'll get lucky."
The man just shrugged and turned back to the comm board. Cale set off across the hot plascrete in search of Ber Nabel.
Nabel's yard was easy to find. It consisted of at least a hectare of rusting hulks and ship parts. Small intrasystem freighter hulls were mixed inextricably with their larger interstellar brothers. Here and there, hull alloy gleamed brightly through scarred antirad coating. Cale recognized two DIN-class freighters that had been scavenged to near-skeletons.
Ber Nabel was a small, grizzled man, his salt-and-pepper hair matched by a full beard even larger than Cale's. When Cale found him, he was using a plasma torch to cut a hull section free on a medium-sized bulk carrier.
"Sire Nabel," Cale shouted up to him, "I wonder if I might talk with you on a matter of business."
Nabel pushed his protective goggles up onto his forehead. "What d'ye want?" he shouted. "I'm busy!"
"Too busy to do business?"
The man scowled. "Business, eh? Oh, all right."
He lowered himself in his safety harness until he stood beside Cale. "What kinda business?"
Cale shrugged. "I might want to buy a ship. Don't you have an office where we can discuss it?"
Nabel snorted. "Buy a ship? What kinda ship?" He led Cale to an Old Empire corvette hull that apparently served him as an office. Inside, the ship's messroom had been gutted and a scarred real wood desk installed, along with a remarkably modern comp. Nabel threw himself into an old float chair that had been welded to the deck.
There was no other chair, so Cale simply stood. "I want something small and fast. Small enough to operate by myself, and fast enough to run courier jobs — and outrun pirates."
Nabel shook his grizzled head. "What makes ya think I got any ships? I'm not a dealer. I'm in the scrap business." The man's tone was short, hostile; and his eyes cold as space.
Cale smiled. "A man that strips ships for a living, well, I just gotta believe he'd build himself a sweet little job to run around in. Somethin' small enough to put in the hold of a ship he bought at auction."
Nabel scowled. "A man's gotta have a way to get to auctions in other systems. But what makes you think I'd sell it? And why would I sell it to you?"
Cale's smile widened as he reached into his bag and dropped a gold bar on the battered desk. "That's why. I've got gold, and a proposition."
Nabel's eyes widened at the sight of the gold bar, and then narrowed with suspicion as he looked back at Cale. "What've you got in mind?" His eyes dropped and his fingers began to caress the bar.
Cale leaned forward his hands resting on the desk. "Here's the proposition. I need a fast ship for a courier job; a one-time, fast job. If I like your ship, I'll buy it. Then I'll make my run. Once I've done the job, I'll bring the ship back, and sell it back to you for, say, half price."
The old man's eyes gleamed. "So, what you want, you wanta rent my ship. This job. Is it legal? I don't wanta get arrested at an auction for somethin' you did!"
Cale waved a finger in negation. "No questions. Do you have something, or not?
Nabel looked up at Cale. He was having trouble tearing his eyes away from half a kilo of pure gold. He swallowed, and then scooped the bar into a desk drawer. "Folla me,"
As the two worked their way across the yard behind the "office," Cale caught sight of something that excited him. He was pretty sure he saw a stinger-class courier like the one Scorpion was imitating. If everything went well, he might want to talk to Nabel about that hulk-especially, if he had the registration papers on it!
Nabel led him to a shed made of hull plates. With a flourish that could only be described as pride, he swung open a sagging door. In the dim interior was a small Old Empire courier ship. At first, Cale thought it looked to be in good repair, but he saw nothing to produce Nabel's evident pride. Then his eyes began to adjust to the dimness.
The front of the tiny ship looked normal. But aft of the passenger area, the hull widened out, and showed a number of odd bumps and bulges. It looked as though the old man had put in larger inertial drives, and a much larger fusactor than the Empire had installed. Cale examined the ship more closely. The modifications were obvious, but the hull plates had been carefully fitted to restore the aerodynamics of a ship that had to fly in planetary atmospheres. L'rak was lettered proudly on the hull in a garish purple. Cale knew that a L'rak was an ugly reptile native to Sata IV that was famed for its speed. The old man touched the handle and the ship's hatch opened smoothly. Internal lights came on, and Nabel waved Cale into the cramped vessel.
"As ye can see," the old man said, "she's an old Gnat-class courier. But I lost out on a scrap deal because she was too slow. So I give her the inertial engine an' fusactor outta an old Strengl long-range fighter. Had to upgrade th' jump engine, too."
Cale examined the pilot's panel. Gnat-class couriers had a crew of two, but a man alone could run one. Nabel's modifications had obviously extended to the control panel. Instruments and switches dangled from unmarked wires. Nabel was probably the only man in the universe that could fly this ship with all the jury-rigs. After a moment, though, he began to make sense of the confusion of wires. Most of the wires protruded through openings usually occupied by more traditional instruments. Nabel had not jury-rigged, so much as replaced instruments and switches with others intended for different sized and shaped instrument panels. Everything was worn, but clean, and the instruments themselves looked almost new. Cale looked at Nabel with a new respect for the old man's capabilities.
"I'll need you to label all these loose instruments, but mostly I'm impressed. You say the inertial drive came out of a strengl?"
The old man bobbed his head with a proud smile. "Yep. I've had her up to 4G's. She'll do more'n that, but I'm too old fer such nonsense, an' I quit at four. Even so, I had to wear a blamed G suit!"
Cale nodded. "All right. I'll want to try her out, but if she's as good as you say, how much will you take for her?"
The old man cackled and rubbed his hands together. "It'll cost ya more'n one of them bars, that's fer sure!"
They finally made a deal. Cale paid four of his bars for the ship, with the stipulation that he could bring it back within three months, and Nabel would buy it back for half price. In effect, Cale was renting the ship for two gold bars. He knew he was overpaying, and there was a chance the old man would refuse to buy L'rak back. However, nobody rents starships. At least no one who wouldn't ask many questions and demand a lot of documentation. Oh, they run charters, of course, but not rentals. This would give him a nearly untraceable ship with which to cash in a few of his sunstones. He figured that by the time word of the first deal got out, he would be able to convert two more stones, return the ship to Nabel, and take off in Scorpion without being traced. Moreover, of course, it appeared L'rak was fast enough to outrun any police or pirate ship in space.
He used the Yor-Tarken identity on the ship's papers. It would stand up to fairly strict scrutiny, and Cale Rankin could not be tied to the ship. All this rapid and repeated name change stuff was irritating, but it wouldn't be necessary much longer; once he turned his sunstones into negotiable diamonds, he was sure he could assume the Cale Rankin identity permanently.
Once the old man had labeled his jury-rigged instruments and removed the painted name on the hull, they had moved L'rak out onto the landing field. Cale lifted off.
He was impressed. L'rak lifted with the quiet smoothness of a new vessel. Once he cleared Torlon space, he opened the throttle. A wide grin spread onto his face as acceleration climbed. He watched the accelerometer as it passed 4G, then five. He throttled back at 5.5G because he was starting to gray out. The little craft was amazing. Its acceleration and maneuverability were unlike anything Cale had ever experienced. He decided this must have been what it was like to pilot a Strengl long-range fighter in the Old Empire Fleet. He began to try to figure out ways he could keep the little monster. It was a shame L'rak would never fit in Scorpion 's tiny hold!
Satisfied, he returned to Torlon and loaded provisions for his trip. He figured he would have to complete his task in less than a month, which meant short jumps and quick turnarounds. Any more than that, and people, especially law enforcement people and pirates, would begin taking an interest in a man zooming around in a modified Gnat-class with a supply of sunstones and diamonds!
He waited until dark to sneak back to Scorpion. He reported events to Tess, and left his instructions. No one was to come aboard under any circumstances. In the morning, Tess was to lift off and hide behind the second moon of one of the system's gas giants until she detected L'rak emerging from the jump point. At that time, she would return to Torlon and assume orbit, waiting for Cale's signal before grounding for a quick pickup. Cale was becoming very grateful for Scorpion 's advanced AI. Few ships in space could have executed Cale's orders, but Tess seemed confident she would have no problem.
Cale had spent many hours with Tess poring over star charts, navigation charts, and Stellar Index entries and working out an itinerary. From Torlon, two short jumps would take him to his first stop, New Chin. New Chin's most famous product was jewelry. John had never been there, but rumor had it that New Chin jewelers were not particular where they obtained their gems. Several of his pirates had mentioned selling stolen jewels there on occasion. Cale hoped to sell two sunstones there before lifting off for Ararat, a regional banking center one jump away. He should be able to sell at least one stone there. Given the planets' wealth, he hoped to sell his largest, a 15mm monster. Then, he would immediately lift off for Refuge, formerly the sector capital, but now a wide-open trading center. Refuge was the only place Cale worried about; its reputation was not encouraging. Nevertheless, he had decided it was worth the risk to get rid of one more stone.
If he succeeded in his quest, he should have more than enough diamonds for a luxurious retirement on any planet in the Old Empire, or in the Alliance, for that matter. Refuge was two short jumps from Torlon. Once there he would return L'rak to Nabel, board Scorpion, and disappear into the cosmos, just as rumor began inspiring searchers and pursuers.
Once off Torlon and clear of pursuit, Cale could begin making long-range plans. He planned to head first to Ilocan, to check out what should be his own, luxurious villa. He had hopes that he really could settle there. His Aunt Jessica; uh, John Smith's Aunt Jessica had retired there some years ago. Her glowing descriptions had caused John Smith to select it as a possible home. Perhaps he could even get a license to practice law! However, if he found anything there that indicated his secret was known, body sculpt or not, he would have to run. Perhaps he would head deeper into Old Empire space, to begin retirement or a new career as a courier. For the moment, his immediate plans were worrisome enough!
The tiny L'rak was barely large enough for a cramped bridge, two tiny "staterooms" consisting of a foldout bed and desk and a small closet. The so-called "staterooms" were so small that one had to step outside the door to climb into the open bunk, and then close the door after himself. One of these was presently filled with Cale's provisions, since the miniscule "hold" consisted of less than a cubic meter of space. The rest of the passenger spaces were limited to a single cramped 'fresher and a coffin-like med cabinet.
L'rak did not run to an AI, of course. Her simple-minded astrogation comp seemed crude compared to Tess's abilities. Cale was forced to use studied-but-never-used astrogation techniques and cross his fingers a lot.
But she was fast. It had taken Scorpion 44 hours to reach Torlon from the jump point. L'rak made the return trip in 32. Tess had computed that the two jumps to New Chin would take 92 hours, followed by a recal stop requiring 39 hours, a jump of 87 hours, and 42 hours to reach New Chin from the jump point, for a total of 304 hours, or almost 13 standard days. L'rak shaved that time to just under ten. If she could maintain that pace, Cale should be able to meet his one-month goal for the complete trip.
An Old Empire destroyer picketed new Chin's jump point. In less than an hour, a customs official had been dispatched, L'rak 's papers had been examined, and she had been given a cursory search. Cale held down his speed inward. There was no sense advertising L'rak 's capabilities.
Once the communications lag was down to five seconds, he was hailed by a large orbital station, demanding to know his business. Cale's terse "Gem trading" seemed to satisfy them, and he was directed to a berth on the landing field near the planet's capital city.
Even before he landed, jewelers and gem dealers were calling, inquiring about his merchandise. Cale claimed to be unwilling to discuss deals over open comm circuits, but actually, he queried the station's library directory to locate the largest jeweler and the largest gem dealer on the planet. He wanted to sell two sunstones here, but he wanted to do only one deal for both. He wanted to be on his way out of the system before tongues started wagging. Only the largest dealer or jeweler would be able to handle the purchase of two eight-millimeter sunstones.
As soon as he had grounded and taken care of the port formalities, he walked two blocks from the port before grabbing a hovercab to the headquarters of Peng Gems.
An attractive young woman operated the reception desk. When he asked about meeting with a gem buyer, she seemed unimpressed, until he mentioned sunstones. Suddenly she became very attentive, and began pressing buttons on her console. In only moments, a small, middle-aged man hurried to the reception desk with a large, if insincere smile.
"A very good day to you, sire… uh…"
"Averano," Cale supplied, using the name of a long-dead pirate.
"Of course, sire, of course," the little man ushered him down a short, deeply carpeted hall and into a small, but tastefully decorated office. The large real-wood desk supported a small sculpture John Smith would have estimated at fifty thousand Alliance credits.
The small man ushered him to a comfortable-looking chair facing the desk. "I'm Ricardo Fong," the man said as he hurried around the desk. "I understand you have a, uh, high-value gem to show me." The smile never wavered but the man's eyes gleamed with avarice.
Cale smiled. "Two, actually," he replied casually, "both about eight millimeters in size."
The smile slipped. " Two?" Fong rose again. "Sire Averano, am I to understand that you can offer two sunstones?"
Cale's smile faded. "Yes. But can Peng Gems afford to purchase two eight-millimeter sunstones? I am prepared to sell them one at a time, if necessary, but I would prefer a single transaction."
Fong looked shaken. "If I may see the… uh… merchandise?"
Cale reached into his shirt pocket and removed a small packet. Feng hurried to place a piece of black velvet on the desk. Cale unwrapped the packet and the two sunstones rolled out onto the velvet, seeming to glow in the room light. Fong hurried back around the desk, snatching a well-used jeweler's scanner from the center drawer. With it, he hovered over each of the stones. After a moment, Fong released the scanner and dropped backward into his chair with a thump. He looked dazed.
After a moment, he roused and began frantically pressing buttons on his console. "I'm sure Peng Gems would be willing to make an offer," Fong said weakly, "but of course such a large transaction would require the personal attention of sire Peng himself."
Fong carefully folded the velvet over the stones, and watched helplessly as Cale returned the gems to his pocket. Fong's eyes followed them hungrily. Then, seemingly rousing himself, he ushered Cale down the hall to a lift shaft. Fong looked briefly into a sensor, and then urged Cale into the shaft. They rose some thirty stories before the shaft disgorged them into a small empty area facing a single large real wood door. The door was heavily carved with fanciful creatures. The walls of the small reception area were also covered in real wood. Cale suspected the intricate carvings concealed several weapons.
Another retinal scan and the large door swung silently open. The large room it revealed contained only a large real wood desk and three heavily padded chairs. The carpet's pattern identified it as from Songhast, and was the deepest Cale had ever seen. Since Songhast was hundreds of light years from New Chin, and a carpet this size would take years to complete, Cale knew he was looking at an artistic treasure. He began to believe that Peng Gems actually could complete the deal.
The man behind the desk was almost obscenely fat, and was firmly ensconced in a float chair, which seemed to be struggling to maintain its flotation.
"Well," the man said impatiently, "Let's see them! Let's see them!" his voice was high-pitched and irritating.
Cale smiled slightly, but made no move. "Sire Peng, I presume?"
Fong looked shocked, but the fat man merely frowned. "Of course, of course! Let's see them. Two sunstones, y'say?"
"Yes," Cale replied, "both eight millimeters in size."
The fat man nodded impatiently. "Well, let's see them!"
Cale placed the black velvet on the huge expanse of real wood, and uncovered the stones. Peng gasped at the beauty spread before him. An expression of avarice crossed his face briefly before he regained his normal impassivity.
He reached for them, but Cale interposed his hand. "There is still the question of whether Peng Gems can afford both stones," he said pleasantly.
Peng scowled. "It might be done. It may take a day or so to obtain sufficient currency…"
Cale interrupted him with a wave. "I'm not interested in currency. I would prefer to deal in diamonds."
Peng's scowl faded. "Diamonds, eh? Excellent. Yes, I'm certain we maintain sufficient stock to conclude the purchase." His eyes narrowed." Assuming we can make a deal, of course."
Cale nodded. "Of course. My price is twenty-five thousand carats. Pure white, no flaws, no single stone larger than five carats or smaller than two."
A flash of triumph appeared on Peng's face before he could impose its normal impassivity. "Twenty-five thousand is quite a large sum. Perhaps fifteen?"
Cale sighed and rose. He reached for the stones. "Really, sire Peng, if you weren't serious, you shouldn't have wasted both our time."
A fat arm rose to interpose itself between Cale and the stones. "Twenty thousand, then. Pure white, with no flaws."
Cale reached over the arm for the stones. Sausage-like fingers swept them up. "Very well, then. Twenty-five thousand carats, pure white, flawless, no single stone larger than five carats or smaller than two. Agreed?"
Cale smiled. "Of course, sire Peng. If you'll hand me the stones, I'll wait until the diamonds can be selected, valued, and inspected by me."
"NO!" Peng almost shouted. He struggled to regain his composure. "Uh… We will wait here. I'm sure Mr. Fong can gather the diamonds. He is our most experienced diamond broker." Fong nodded and hurried out. "And now," Peng continued, his impassivity once more in place. "I'll have tea brought in, and we will discuss diamonds. I assume you are a… uh… wholesaler, sire Averano?"
The fact that Peng knew his name despite his mentioning it only to Fong did not escape Cale's notice. He smiled broadly. "One might say that, sire Peng. Actually, I deal in many different products. One might say I'm an intermediary. In the present case, I've been retained by a client to dispose of the stones he… uh… inherited from a wealthy relative."
A knowing smile spread over the fat face. "I understand, sire Averano. Such inheritances are a major source of gems for Peng Gems."
The conversation continued for half an hour, with insincere smiles on both sides. Cale reflected that not all pirates raid ships and planets. Some, like this fat spider, sit in the middle of their web and wait for other pirates to bring them their loot.
Finally, Fong returned with a bulging cloth bag. "Please, sire Averano," Peng said expansively, "use my desk and scanner to inspect your diamonds. The House of Peng is well known for the quality of its gems."
The size of the bag and the number of diamonds it held surprised even Cale. The bag massed more than a kilo. Nevertheless, he used Peng's scanner to closely examine each stone for flaws in the stone or the cut, and verify the weight. He was no jeweler, of course, but he trusted himself to notice any irregularities. Peng and Fong simply waited until Cale began gathering the stones back into the bag. Fong stepped forward as though to help, but Cale waved him off with a smile.
Relief tinged Peng's smile. He touched a control on his desk. "Perhaps something a bit less, er, conspicuous to transport your stones?" He offered. A moment later, a young woman entered carrying a small businessman's attache case.
Cale nodded, while examining the case closely. "I thank you for your consideration," he replied. Finding no visible signs that the case was rigged, he placed the bag in the open case, shifting the stones until the case could close.
He shook hands with both men. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen. I will certainly keep the House of Peng in mind for future gem transactions. I assume I may rely upon your discretion in this matter?"
A huge smile wreathed Peng's fat face. "Of course, of course," he assured Cale. "If our discretion were not absolute, we would be out of business in a month."
Cale allowed himself to be ushered out of the building. The receptionist had called him a hovercab, but Cale walked two blocks before hailing one off the street. As soon as he was out of sight of the building, he removed his belt and buckled it around the case. By now, Peng should be burning up the phone lines getting people to find out all about "sire Averano," and checking recent arrivals and departures. His picture was no doubt even now being circulated. He had no time to waste. He left the cab three blocks from the landing field, and strode quickly for the port.
A gate guard gave him a puzzled look, but did not stop Cale. He nearly ran for L'rak and scrambled aboard. In seconds, he was requesting departure clearance, and in less than five minutes was cleared to lift. As L'rak lifted, he thought he saw a large ground sedan full of men approach the gate, but he could not be sure.
Cale risked running L'rak at a higher rate of acceleration than he had used on the trip inward. He could not fight an Old Empire destroyer. If Peng had the power to have him stopped, there would be little Cale could do. He slowed as he approached the jump point some thirty-four hours later. It would be best not to attract unnecessary attention. He requested jump clearance, and held his breath. He expelled the breath in a huge gust when a routine-sounding voice cleared him to jump
Once safely in jump, Cale turned to the case. He loosened the belt he'd wrapped around the case. The bottom of the case sprang open, pulling the belt from his hand. With a sour grin, Cale took the bag of diamonds from the case, closing the spring-loaded bottom and latching it.
Very clever, he thought. Once Cale was safely away from the building, Peng triggered a signal, and the bottom of the case would have dropped out, spilling the bag of diamonds into the undoubtedly rigged hovercab or the street. No doubt Peng employees were conveniently on hand to grab the bag and run. He took the now-empty case and put it in the med cabinet, then activated the cabinet's stasis field. He would dispose of the case at the first recal point, but in the meantime, he wouldn't have to worry about timed explosives. Cynical suspicions garnered from hard experience on Jurgen and Mina's death had stood him in good stead on New Chin. There is a fine line, he thought, between an aggressive businessman and a corrupt thief. No, all the pirates weren't raiding ships.