son. You’ve just got to get up and smack it back.” — Malcolm Fletcher
H ANS S CHNEIDER FIDGETED IN THE chair opposite Charles Hollings’ desk. Hollings was still sorting through the files on his desk screen. “I do apologize, sir. If I had known you were coming so soon, I’d have had this more organized.”
Hans sighed. There was no point in getting angry with this man. “Since I arrived on the mail courier, I don’t think my message would have reached you any sooner than I did.”
“Well, I’m sure the court will take your eagerness as a good sign.”
He waved it off. “I was too late sixteen years ago. I did not want to spare a second this time.”
“Ah, here it is,” Hollings announced, sending the virtual page across to Schneider’s side. “This guardianship document meets the requirements of both the local Taschin laws along with the stricter Confederacy guidelines. You should have no problems travelling between worlds with him.”
“Good. After all these years, I don’t think I want to let him out of my sight.” He pressed his thumb into the appropriate box on the page. It flashed and sounded a chime.
“And the addendum for the Solarian Union should sort out any border issues…”
Hans flipped to the next document and thumbed it as well. “Now, what about this ship?”
“Yes, the Sophie’s Grace .”
“The what? Did you say it was called Sophie Grace ?”
Hollings checked the file again. “No, Sophie’s Grace , the possessive. I gather it was named for his mother.”
Hans took a calming breath. The nerve of that man, to use her name after she had rejected him. “I suppose it was. Do you have its specifications?”
“Not in any detail. It’s listed as a light transport, twenty-one thousand tons.”
“Is that cargo?”
“Sorry, no, that’s the total displacement. The cargo displacement is listed as thirty-two hundred tons.”
Hans dismissed it with a shake of his head. The ship was useless to him. It was too small to work any of the main routes with any efficiency. Still, its sale price would go far towards advancing the boy’s position in the company. “Have you had it appraised for auction yet?”
“No, I haven’t even looked into it.”
“Why not? You’ve had almost three weeks.”
“To tell you the truth, sir, I had not expected it to be sold. Mr. Fletcher seemed—”
“His name is Schneider,” Hans interrupted. “I don’t care what the record says. I won’t have you call him by that other name.”
Hollings nodded. “Certainly. I understand, but Michael seemed quite set on taking the ship over for himself next year.”
“At his age? They’ll laugh him out of the Guild hall. Childish nonsense.”
“Quite possibly. I’m sure you would know that better than me, but the ownership trust is clear. The ship cannot be sold without his authorization.”
Hans patted the desk twice as if that settled it. “Whatever. Send me the documents. I’ll have our lawyers go over them, and I’ll talk some sense into our young adventurer.”
Hollings’ assistant opened the door. “Mr. Rubin to see you.”
Hans stood and straightened his uniform’s vest. At long last, he was going to meet his nephew. Isaac Rubin stepped through the door, nodded to the two of them, and then the assistant closed the door behind him.
“Where’s the boy?” Hans asked.
“I wasn’t sure I should bring him yet.”
Hans bit down on his immediate response. He was not sure? “I suppose I had not made myself clear then. I have come to collect my nephew. The Heinrich should dock with your orbital in two days. I have little to no other business to conduct in this system, so I plan to leave with it and the boy in no more than three days.”
“I understand that, Mr. Schneider. I only thought that we should talk first.”
Hans looked at the man. He was hardly a youngster, but he still had a rough ungroomed appearance. His uniform was a bland and generic one, clearly not issued by
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