whatever planet or station in our spoke you desire, with generous stipends. But do you realize how nervous you’d make all our captains by openly roaming the shipping lanes?”
“What’s the point of getting a pardon if we’re only going to take up piracy again? We’ll even give you the slipspace compass. But we want trading rights with the aliens.”
“No direct trading rights. Distribution rights to the Rim colonies for three years.”
“With a perpetual option to renew.”
“For one-year increments.”
“Done.”
They smiled at each other.
“And shall we say thrice market price on my current cargo?” she added.
To her surprise, he nodded. “You’ll need funds,” he said. “The transaction’s a good way for you to get them legitimately.”
She grinned.
“I didn’t say ‘legally,’” he said irritably. “I don’t even want to know what I’m buying.”
She smothered her grin. “All right. Your pilot knows what to do once we get to Albarz?”
He nodded.
“Tell me where to find him, and I’ll go fetch my crew—”
“I assume your crew isn’t necessary for operating the compass.”
She frowned. “It takes a crew to run a ship.”
“The pilot will be able to assist you. The fewer people involved, the better. What details could you trust them with?”
That was true enough. An Aequitus -class could survive with two crewmembers. “I’ll need to notify them, then.”
He gestured to the room’s comm. “One call. You know what not to say.”
She had no doubt he would listen in. She went to the console, impatiently tapping it awake when it failed to rouse from sleep mode at her first touch, and slipped in a crypto-key. It was good for a single use. Beyond that, the encryption codes could potentially be broken. It automatically set up a web of connections that eventually reached her father, hopefully too complicated to follow.
“Well?” his voice asked. There was no visual—the less data sent between them, the less the risk.
“I can’t tell you what I’m doing, but it’s solo, and it may take a while. Let Creeds and the rest of them know.”
“So you took the commission.” He sounded satisfied. “What are we getting out of it?”
She swallowed. “Exclusive distribution rights to the Rim colonies of any alien goods, and pardons.” She put them in the order she thought would best please him.
There was a startled pause, and then he said mildly, “I would’ve asked him to throw in a Swallow.”
She glared at the console. “And a mighty cargo hold it has for trade goods.”
He laughed. “You’re right, we won’t have any time for joy rides when we’ve got distribution rights to the Rim. Well done, Daughter.”
“Yes, about that,” she said, shaking off the glow of his approval. “You and your ‘dearest daughter’ routine. This wasn’t a favor for you, was it? The premier asked specifically for me.”
He didn’t deny it. “I couldn’t resist his offer.”
“You sold your own daughter?” She was only half-joking.
He grew serious. “I got assurances of your safety, ones I checked on. But I also got a good price.”
“I want a cut when I get back,” she said, pushing aside any indignation. This was her father, after all.
He sighed. “This is the problem with dealing with someone who’s learned from the best. I’ll give you a sixth, and if you didn’t bargain something sweet for yourself out of the premier, that was your oversight.”
The key started blinking. “The encryption’s expiring. Take care of my crew.”
“Take care of yourself, Lin,” he said, somber again, and the key’s indicator light winked out.
He’d never said that before, even before her first space battle. Her father wasn’t a particularly paternal type, preferring to treat her as an adult. It made her wonder what had drawn him and her mother together, when they were such stark contrasts, but she never dared ask. Take care of yourself was the sort of sentiment her
“What’s the point of getting a pardon if we’re only going to take up piracy again? We’ll even give you the slipspace compass. But we want trading rights with the aliens.”
“No direct trading rights. Distribution rights to the Rim colonies for three years.”
“With a perpetual option to renew.”
“For one-year increments.”
“Done.”
They smiled at each other.
“And shall we say thrice market price on my current cargo?” she added.
To her surprise, he nodded. “You’ll need funds,” he said. “The transaction’s a good way for you to get them legitimately.”
She grinned.
“I didn’t say ‘legally,’” he said irritably. “I don’t even want to know what I’m buying.”
She smothered her grin. “All right. Your pilot knows what to do once we get to Albarz?”
He nodded.
“Tell me where to find him, and I’ll go fetch my crew—”
“I assume your crew isn’t necessary for operating the compass.”
She frowned. “It takes a crew to run a ship.”
“The pilot will be able to assist you. The fewer people involved, the better. What details could you trust them with?”
That was true enough. An Aequitus -class could survive with two crewmembers. “I’ll need to notify them, then.”
He gestured to the room’s comm. “One call. You know what not to say.”
She had no doubt he would listen in. She went to the console, impatiently tapping it awake when it failed to rouse from sleep mode at her first touch, and slipped in a crypto-key. It was good for a single use. Beyond that, the encryption codes could potentially be broken. It automatically set up a web of connections that eventually reached her father, hopefully too complicated to follow.
“Well?” his voice asked. There was no visual—the less data sent between them, the less the risk.
“I can’t tell you what I’m doing, but it’s solo, and it may take a while. Let Creeds and the rest of them know.”
“So you took the commission.” He sounded satisfied. “What are we getting out of it?”
She swallowed. “Exclusive distribution rights to the Rim colonies of any alien goods, and pardons.” She put them in the order she thought would best please him.
There was a startled pause, and then he said mildly, “I would’ve asked him to throw in a Swallow.”
She glared at the console. “And a mighty cargo hold it has for trade goods.”
He laughed. “You’re right, we won’t have any time for joy rides when we’ve got distribution rights to the Rim. Well done, Daughter.”
“Yes, about that,” she said, shaking off the glow of his approval. “You and your ‘dearest daughter’ routine. This wasn’t a favor for you, was it? The premier asked specifically for me.”
He didn’t deny it. “I couldn’t resist his offer.”
“You sold your own daughter?” She was only half-joking.
He grew serious. “I got assurances of your safety, ones I checked on. But I also got a good price.”
“I want a cut when I get back,” she said, pushing aside any indignation. This was her father, after all.
He sighed. “This is the problem with dealing with someone who’s learned from the best. I’ll give you a sixth, and if you didn’t bargain something sweet for yourself out of the premier, that was your oversight.”
The key started blinking. “The encryption’s expiring. Take care of my crew.”
“Take care of yourself, Lin,” he said, somber again, and the key’s indicator light winked out.
He’d never said that before, even before her first space battle. Her father wasn’t a particularly paternal type, preferring to treat her as an adult. It made her wonder what had drawn him and her mother together, when they were such stark contrasts, but she never dared ask. Take care of yourself was the sort of sentiment her
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