What they’d really wanted—what they had intended to have—were draft animals, horses and oxen, self-replicating, self-repairing, long-lived, but they’d been overruled by the aristos among them. Instead of draft animals, they had polo ponies—all owned by the rich, who weren’t about to let them pull a cart, let alone a plow. The machine equivalents were faster, if they worked, but right now they had nothing but small tillers people had planned to use in their gardens. Hardly suitable for serious farm work.
So—tractors to pull various field equipment. Multigang plows, harrows, planters, harvesters. Rugged trucks to haul their produce on rough roads. Ky thought they were making a mistake not to include road-building machinery in this order, but they were the customer.
She compared the specs the EDB had given her to the information in the database, and found nothing that the EDB hadn’t told her. All these things were fairly standard, and should be easy to find. The database also had the current market value of the equipment, in the currency of several systems. Unless Sabine Prime’s prices were over the top, she should have enough for the cargo.
It was going to work. She shut down the library link and allowed herself to relax. She’d been through it again and again, on her own and with Gary and Quincy. It was a good plan, and it had no obvious holes in it.
So why this nagging cold chill that ran up and down her spine? She told herself it was just the leftover loss of self-confidence from that mess with Mandy Rocher. Naturally she would distrust her own judgment for a while. But this had nothing to do with Mandy or Miznarii politics. This was just straight-up trade and profit, something she’d known about since childhood. Simple, straightforward, easy. It was all going to work.
Endim transition felt even rougher with no cargo aboard; Ky would have crossed her toes for luck if she could.
“We really do need to get that tuned,”Quincysaid, when the vibrations settled down. “It’s degrading faster than I thought it would, to be honest. There’s a pretty good shipyard on Sabine that could do us an interim fix, probably wouldn’t take more than three or four days.”
“And how much money?” Ky asked.
“We’d have to ask.”
“We don’t have much,” Ky said. “We can’t draw on the company accounts for this—the ship’s not authorized for repairs. And we’re using my letter of credit to cover expenses.” Maybe she should have been bolder about taking the Belinta delivery payment herself instead of depositing it to Vatta Transport, Ltd.
“I know,”Quincysaid. “I thought she had at least ten more transitions in her, but that last one wrenched something. If she’s that rough coming back out, we’ll have to get it fixed. If not—I suppose we could risk the trip back to Belinta, but I’d rather get something done. I’ve only got the three engineers, you know.”
“There’s nothing we can do now?” Ky asked, already knowing there wasn’t.
Quincyshook her head. “Sealed unit. It either works right or it starts degrading. I’ll tear down the supports, try rebalancing before we shift back, but I don’t think it’s the supports. I think it’s the unit itself.”
Fine. A rotten little sealed unit the size of a large suitcase could mess up her whole plan. To keep herself from hovering behindQuincy’s shoulder during the rebalancing, she took out the ship model and forced herself to work on it. Even if it did remind her of what she’d lost, it was better than driving her crew insane. She kept up her exercise periods, using one of the now-empty holds. In a way, she found it reassuring that she did not need the rigid schedule of the Academy, the shouting of instructors, to make herself exercise. But then, she reminded herself, lack of initiative had never been her problem.
She was back on the bridge for the down transition; she could not help noticing how many of the crew found it necessary to be there as well. She nodded to Riel, who gave the slightest shrug before touching the controls.
Down transition brought them out where they should be—whatever was giving Glennys the problem didn’t seem to affect navigation, at least—but that was all the good news. The ship trembled, creaked, even groaned as vibration stressed her structual members. Ky clenched her teeth to keep from crying out along with her ship. It felt like hours, but only a few minutes passed on the ship’s chronometer. Finally it steadied. Several new status lights came up red.
“Mandatory repairs,”Quincysaid. “We have to replace that sealed unit.”
Ky didn’t argue. She could still feel a faint tremor in the ship’s fabric. She certainly didn’t want to take this ship back through endim transition again without a repair. Instead, she began downloading Sabine local information. Sabine’s manufacturers, drawing on a wealth of raw materials in their system, produced solid, basic agriculture, mining, and construction equipment for many of the colony worlds in this sector. Their advance sales information systems offered everything Ky needed to plan the stowage of their intended cargo. Sabine also offered a variety of ship services, from consumables to complete refitting.
She and her crew pored over the information. If she spent all her letter of credit on agricultural equipment, she would have very little left for repairs. If she didn’t, she’d short the order from Belinta. Surely they’d understand if she had to repair the ship… surely a couple of tractors short wouldn’t upset them.
But it would. She knew in her bones that they were really as dour, as inflexible, as unforgiving, as they’d seemed. They’d accept a fait accompli, but they’d hold it against her—and worse, against Vatta and Slotter Key—forever. She had to find some way of doing it all—fulfilling their order, repairing the ship, getting back to Belinta… There was always credit, though the interest would cut into the profits…
“Welcome to FarmPower,” the interactive salesprof announced. The voice was cheerful. “We are here to serve your agricultural needs. Please select one of the following options. If you have items on order and wish to check their manufacturing status, please speak now… If you have items on order and have received notice of shipping, and wish to check their shipping status, please speak now… If you wish to place an order for new items, please speak now… If you…”
“I need to speak to a sales representative,” Ky said. Sometimes these things could be interrupted.
“…need to register a complaint, please speak now. Have your invoice number ready…” The voice paused, and something that Ky knew was meant to be music tinkled uneasily in the middle distance. She had no invoice number, because she hadn’t placed an order yet. The salesprof paid no attention to her interruptions, and she finally gave up. She had to go planetside anyway; she’d contact FarmPower from there.
Sabine Prime smelled very different from Belinta; Ky sneezed as something acrid got up her nose as soon as she cleared Customs. She saw no humods at all in the passages, and only about half the people had the telltale bulge of implants. This time her security escort—a tall, thin man named Seward Humphries and clad in the charcoal brown livery of his employer—met her at the shuttle station, and guided her to a bubbletube. He seemed alert and competent, but radiated an unwillingness to chat with clients. Ky didn’t mind; she had plenty to think about as they neared the capital city.SabineCity—commonly called Sabine or even Prime—had sprawled across a river; the far side appeared to be more industrial, judging by the stacks and cooling towers.
The Captains’ Guild here was much larger than that on Belinta; the status board listed dozens of ships. Ky checked in, sent her luggage up to her room, and went directly to the Slotter Key embassy. It was only a few blocks away; she chose to walk, her escort silent beside her. Sabine’s citizens favored bright colors—a relief after Belinta—and some of them carried a small, round, bright-colored object in one hand. Ky had no idea what it was, but the shapes were the same even though the colors varied. Ornate glazed tile designs livened the fronts of the buildings, with exuberant decorative arches over doors and windows. Ground vehicles varied from large mass-transit cars—some red, some green—to tiny three-wheeled confections in various pastels, which unfolded to reveal a single seat inside. And the noise—after Belinta’s relative silence, the busy chatter of Sabine’s city crowds almost deafened her. She and her escort, she thought, must be the only two walking together who were not talking loud enough to be heard a block away.