Chapter 154 · On account

By early afternoon, most of the Traders’ Lounge knew that somebody had taken the Faded Glory.

Neither Eli or Stent had not told most of them. Apparently he had not needed to.

News moved efficiently among independent captains, particularly when it involved a missing ship and the possibility that the theft ring everyone complained about had found another victim. By the time Eli and Stent returned from breakfast, the story had already travelled farther through the lounge than they had.

Nobody made a spectacle of it.

A Duros captain Eli vaguely remembered from the previous evening stopped beside their table long enough to say he was sorry and ask what model the ship was. Another trader told them which salvage boards tended to show engines and navigation components fastest if somebody started breaking a vessel for parts. Someone else supplied the name of a mechanic two ports south who had a reputation for recognizing reworked transponders.

None of it was immediately useful. But it was appreciated. All of it went into Eli’s head anyway.

At some point a server brought two full plates to their table.

Eli looked up. “We didn’t order these.”

“Already paid.”

“By who?”

The server pointed vaguely toward the other side of the lounge, where several crews were eating. “Said you didn’t need to know who.”

Then she left before Eli could object.

Stent examined his plate. Eli examined his own.

It was not a modest meal. Each plate came loaded with beans in a thick savory sauce, two fried eggs, grilled sausages, slices of cured meat, mushrooms browned almost black at the edges, roasted vegetables and a wedge of dense bread to drag through whatever remained. The sort of meal designed for someone about to spend the next eight hours shifting freight rather than sitting in a lounge waiting for news.

After the deliberately small breakfast, Eli could have stared at it for considerably longer. “We should probably accept it,” he said.

Stent had already picked up his fork. Apparently they agreed.

They ate without trying too hard to identify their benefactor. Pride was useful when one could afford it. At present, they could not.

They spent most of the remaining morning in the lounge because there was nowhere better to be.

Security had their local communicator address. The surveillance request remained pending. The additional traffic-sensor review remained pending. Nobody had contacted them about the blood, although by then Eli strongly suspected the Rodian freighter sitting on top of the evidence had made the question academic.

They checked with Tiri once.

That had been enough.

She looked up their incident number, confirmed that both requests were still open, told them Security would contact them when there was an update, and returned to whatever she had been doing before they appeared.

Eli had considered asking whether she could call Security herself. Then he looked at her face and decided he already knew the answer. So they went back downstairs. By then the biological night they had been postponing finally won.

They slept badly and in shifts.

Not because either of them had formally decided that someone needed to remain awake. The lounge was public, busy and reasonably safe. There was nothing worth stealing from them in any case. It simply happened that way. Eli dozed first, slumped into one of the padded chairs with his jacket folded awkwardly beneath his head and the communicator tucked inside his hand. He woke perhaps forty minutes later with a stiff neck and the conviction that something had vibrated.

Nothing had.

Stent was sitting opposite him, reading freight notices from one of the public displays.

Eli checked the ship channel. Still nothing.

Later Stent slept.

He did it more efficiently, because of course he did. He folded his arms, leaned his head back against the seat and appeared to remove himself from consciousness almost immediately.

Eli spent the next hour looking at every publicly accessible listing for second-hand hyperdrive components within the port district. Most of it was junk. Old motivators. Damaged control assemblies. Three drives advertised as “recently serviced” in ways that suggested nobody sensible should ever connect them to a reactor. One complete class-two unit at a price high enough to make Eli look twice. Wrong manufacturer. Wrong housing.

He closed the listing.

The drive Laro had found for the Faded Glory was too distinctive in context. A relatively new class-two unit adapted into an old courier hull that had originally carried a class-four. If somebody dismantled the ship locally, Eli expected the drive to surface somewhere.

Unless they already had a buyer. Unless the ship was already gone. Unless—

He stopped. There were too many unlesses.

Stent woke some time later, took one look at the terminal and asked what Eli had found. “Nothing.”

That remained the summary of their day. Shortly after fourteen hundred local, the Traders’ Office changed shifts.

Eli noticed because Tiri left. She emerged from behind the glass carrying the same satchel she had arrived with and a cup that was now empty, crossed the lounge without looking in their direction and disappeared into the concourse.

A few minutes later a human man entered the office.

Late thirties, Eli guessed. Dark hair beginning to show the first traces of gray near the temples, sleeves already rolled to the forearms before he had even sat down. He exchanged a few words with Tiri’s relief notes on the terminal, read through whatever had been left in the queue and started working.

Eli watched him for perhaps thirty seconds.

Stent noticed. “You are considering asking again.”

“I’m considering whether being told nothing by a different person counts as variety.”

“It would provide additional data.”

“That is an appalling justification.”

Stent looked back toward the office.

Eli sighed. “Fine.”

They gave the new shift fifteen minutes before approaching.

The man looked up as they entered. “Afternoon.”

“Afternoon.” Eli put his commercial identification on the counter. “Horatio Figg. We opened an incident this morning about a missing vessel.”

The man took the credential, glanced at it and entered the name into the terminal. “Faded Glory?”

“That’s us.”

He read. Not skimmed. Read. That alone distinguished him from Tiri, although Eli could not reasonably fault her for having treated one more port incident as one more port incident.

The man scrolled through the report, then through the attached security requests.

“You’re waiting on archive surveillance and a raw traffic review,” he said, still looking at the screen.

“Yes.”

“No update on either.”

Eli had expected that. It still landed badly.

The man frowned at the status field for another moment, then reached for the communicator beside his terminal. “I’ll ask security.”

Eli glanced at Stent. Stent glanced back. Neither said anything. The call connected after several seconds.

“Hi. It’s me, Davin, Traders’ Office.” He leaned back in his chair, eyes still on Eli’s incident record. “I’ve got an unauthorized vessel movement from last night, outer commercial berths. Faded Glory. I’m looking at two requests sitting open on it—archive footage and raw traffic.” There was a pause while whoever was on the other end checked. “No, I know they’re pending. I can see that.” Another pause. “What I’m asking is whether anyone’s actually picked them up.”

Eli looked at Stent again. Stent’s expression had become very still. All morning, Tiri had also possessed a communicator. But she never made a call.

Davin listened, tapping one finger against the desk. “Right. And the archive request?” Another answer. “How far down?” He listened. “No, that’s fine. I just need to know what I can tell the captain.” That was apparently more productive. Davin reached for a stylus and made a note beside the incident number. “And traffic analysis?” Pause. “Still waiting for review. All right. Can you attach a priority note? Vessel disappeared from a commercial berth, transponder cut out during climb, possible theft.”

Eli’s eyebrows rose.

Davin waited. “Thanks.” He ended the call and put the communicator back in its cradle. “The berth footage hasn’t been reviewed yet. It’s in today’s archive queue, but they expect to get to it before end of shift. Raw sensor data will probably take longer.”

Eli stared at him for half a second. “That was easy.”

Davin looked up. “No. That was a simple call.”

Beside him, Stent lowered his gaze toward the counter. Eli knew exactly what he was not saying. So did Eli.

Davin turned back to the terminal. “Security will send the archive result here as well as to the local address on the incident. If you’re still around when it comes through, I can let you know.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. They may come back with nothing.”

It was still more than they had known five minutes earlier.

Davin scrolled farther down the record, then looked through the glass wall toward the lounge. “How long have you two been sitting out there?”

Eli followed his gaze. Their table was still visible from the office, along with the two chairs in which they had spent an increasingly unreasonable portion of the day. “Since last night, more or less.”

Davin looked back at him. “You have a room somewhere?”

“No.”

That produced a small pause. “Friends in port?”

“No.”

“Access to another account?”

“Everything useful is on the ship.”

Including his clothes, his reader, the rest of their money, every datapad they owned and considerably more besides.

Davin took that in without comment. His attention dropped to the commercial record again. “What do you normally do?”

Eli almost said fly. It was the obvious answer for a man standing in front of him under the name Horatio Figg, registered operator of a light freighter. Instead he said, “Freight.” Davin glanced up. “Mostly small contracts now, but I grew up in shipping. Scheduling, manifests, cargo allocation, turnaround planning. Fleet coordination when necessary.”

“How much fleet coordination?”

Eli considered how much of the truth Horatio Figg could reasonably possess. “My family had enough ships that somebody was always late, somebody was always broken and somebody had promised a customer something physically impossible.”

That earned the first hint of a smile. “So actual experience.”

“Yes.”

“Commercial yard systems?”

“Yes.”

“Load planning?”

“Yes.”

“Slot management?”

“Yes.”

Davin nodded slowly, then turned toward another terminal.

“What are you doing?” Eli asked.

“Seeing whether Corlan still needs people.”

Eli looked at Stent.

Stent had been silent through most of this, watching Davin with the same attention he had given Tiri that morning. The difference was that Davin kept producing actions where Tiri had produced directions.

Davin opened a staffing board and nodded to himself. “He does.”

“Who’s Corlan?”

“Freight operations supervisor on South Three. Lost one coordinator to illness three days ago and another walked off shift yesterday after an argument about overtime.”

“That sounds promising.”

“It sounds desperate.”

“Even better.”

Davin keyed something into the terminal, then reached for the communicator again. This call took longer to connect. “Corlan? Davin. You still short on the afternoon freight board?” A voice answered loudly enough that Eli could hear tone but not words. Davin glanced at him. “I’ve got a licensed independent captain here who says he can do scheduling, load allocation and turnaround. Family shipping background.” Another burst from the communicator. “No, I haven’t tested him.” Davin listened. “I can send him over and you can do that yourself.” Pause. “Yes. Figg. Horatio Figg.”

Eli had the peculiar experience of hearing his false name discussed as though it belonged to somebody else looking for work.

Davin continued. “His ship disappeared out of an outer berth last night. He’s going to be around for a while.” The answer on the other end became shorter. “Good. I’ll send him.” He disconnected.

Eli stared at him. “That was fast.”

“Corlan is missing two people.”

“I’m beginning to see the advantage of other people’s staffing disasters.”

“You start at sixteen hundred if he likes you.”

Eli checked the port clock automatically. Less than two hours.

His body, which had been requesting sleep with increasing persistence, objected. He ignored it.

“When does it pay?”

Davin’s expression changed just enough to answer before he spoke. “Temporary payroll doesn’t clear immediately.”

“Of course it doesn’t.”

“Three completed shifts before the first release. After that they can settle daily.”

Three shifts. Eli looked toward Stent again.

They had enough left for perhaps two meals, three if they were careful. Certainly not three days of food and accommodation for two people.

Davin appeared to follow the arithmetic. “Staff meal during shift,” he added.

“That helps.”

“Some.”

Eli rubbed a hand over his face. “And somewhere to sleep?”

Davin leaned back. “There are cheap boarding houses around the workers’ quarter.”

“We have a different definition of cheap at the moment.”

“How different?”

Eli reached into his pocket and tipped the remaining coins into his palm. There were sixteen credits.

Davin looked at them. “Right.” He did not say anything sympathetic. Eli appreciated that. Instead, he turned back to the directory. “There’s a place off Cargo Concourse Five. Small rooms, shared refresher, mostly dock crews and crews waiting on repairs. They’ll carry a short account if somebody local vouches for it.”

Eli looked at him. “And we know nobody local.”

“I’m local.”

That took a moment. Davin was already searching for the listing. “I can tell them you have verified commercial registration, an open security incident and temporary work starting this afternoon. They can put the room on account until your first pay clears.”

“Why would they take your word for it?”

“Because I’ve sent stranded traders there before, and because if you disappear without settling it, they know where I work.” He found the number.

Eli hesitated. “And you’re willing to do that?”

Davin looked up from the screen. “I’m willing to make a call. Don’t turn it into something larger than it is.”

That, more than anything else, made Eli believe him.

Davin made the call. The conversation took less than two minutes. A room was available. It was small. It would be held until the end of the evening. Payment could wait until Eli’s temporary payroll cleared, provided Davin attached his office authorization to the account.

When he ended the call, Eli had acquired employment he had not yet earned, lodging he could not yet pay for and a debt to a man he had met less than half an hour earlier.

It was still an improvement.

Davin sent the boarding-house address to Eli’s communicator. “There. Show them that and your commercial ID.”

Eli looked at the message. “Thank you.”

Davin waved it away. “Get the ship back. Then pay your room.” He glanced toward Stent. “And you?” Stent looked at him. “What do you do?”

There was the briefest pause. “Mechanical work, among other things.”

Davin nodded. “If you’re looking for something as well, I can probably find a workshop that needs an extra pair of hands. Port maintenance is always short somewhere.”

“Thank you,” Stent said. “That will not be necessary.”

Davin seemed mildly surprised. “You’ve got something lined up?”

“Not yet.”

“Then—”

“I will find something.” The answer was polite enough to close the subject without making anything of it.

Davin studied him for a moment, then gave a small shrug and returned his attention to the terminal. “All right. Offer stands if you change your mind.”

“I appreciate it.”

Eli said nothing. He knew Stent.

Five minutes ago they had both been stranded with no income, nowhere to sleep and no clear way to do anything except wait for Security.

Now Eli had a job, meals while he worked and a room being held on credit. Stent no longer needed to worry about keeping Eli afloat. Which meant, very suddenly, Stent had a plan.

Eli did not ask what it was. Not here. Instead he looked down at the coins still in his hand, closed his fingers around them and held them out. Stent’s eyes dropped to his palm. “Take them.”

“You still need money.”

“I have a room on credit and apparently somebody is going to feed me while I work.”

“You may require—”

“Ste… Ren.” He waited until those red eyes came back to him. “If you’re going to find something, you need cash more than I do.”

For transport. Food. A drink bought for the right person. A small favor from someone who did not accept promises from strangers. Perhaps other things. Eli preferred not to think too specifically about those.

Stent did not take the money immediately.

Eli pushed his hand closer. “All of it.”

“That leaves you with nothing.”

“Yes.”

“That is not generally considered sound financial planning.”

“Neither is losing your ship.”

Davin, very sensibly, appeared to become interested in something on his terminal.

Stent finally took the coins. They disappeared into his pocket with remarkably little ceremony.

Eli looked at his now-empty hand. There. Zero. Oddly, it simplified matters. He had nowhere left to economize.

The boarding house was exactly what Davin had implied it would be.

Cheap by port standards, which still meant more than Eli currently possessed. It occupied three levels above a row of repair shops near Cargo Concourse Five, reached by a narrow stairwell that smelled faintly of detergent, machine oil and whatever somebody on the ground floor had been frying for lunch. The woman at the desk barely looked at them once Eli showed Davin’s message and his commercial identification. “Figg?”

“Yes.”

She found the account, made him sign for it and pushed a keycard across the counter. “One room. Shared refresher at the end of the hall. No food included.”

“That’s fine.”

“Three nights authorized.”

Eli paused. Three nights. For some reason hearing the number made the situation feel more permanent than anything else had. He signed.

The room was on the second floor. It contained one bed. Eli stood in the doorway looking at it.

Stent looked over his shoulder. “That’s enough. One.”

“I can count.”

There was barely room for much else: the bed against one wall, a narrow shelf beneath a small ventilation grille, two hooks for clothing and enough floor between the bed and door for one person to stand without becoming furniture.

Eli put his hands on his hips. “Well.”

“It is adequate.”

“For one person.”

“We have shared less convenient spaces.”

“That doesn’t mean I enjoyed them.”

Stent stepped past him and sat on the edge of the bed to test it. The mattress complained. He considered this. “It is also not particularly good for one person.”

Eli laughed despite himself. That helped. A little.

He checked the time. Then stopped laughing. “I have to be at South Three in forty minutes.”

“You should go.”

“I know.”

Stent was already taking off his boots.

Eli looked at him. “You’re sleeping?”

“For two hours.”

“You can just do that?”

“Yes.”

Of course he could.

Eli envied him with surprising intensity.

Stent set his boots neatly beside the bed. “I am not going to spend the next several days waiting for Security to decide where our ship went.”

Eli leaned against the wall. “I assumed as much.”

“I will rest, then I am going to ask questions elsewhere in the port. Mechanics, second-hand dealers, people who hear about ships before the authorities do.”

“The people Davin was carefully not asking you about.”

“Probably.”

Eli studied him for a moment. “You think we should have done that sooner.”

Stent glanced up. “Perhaps.”

“That sounded suspiciously like regret.”

“It was an observation. We had reason to try the official channels first. We now know how much they are likely to produce.”

Which, so far, amounted to a transponder track ending twenty klicks above the port and several requests waiting in somebody else’s queue.

Eli could not argue with that. “Just don’t disappear completely.”

Stent tapped the communicator clipped to his belt. “I do not intend to.”

Then he stretched out on top of the cover without bothering to undress further, one arm folded beneath his head. “You can have the bed tonight.”

“We’re not assigning ownership of the bed yet.”

“I will not require it when you return.”

“You say that now.”

Stent closed his eyes. The conversation was apparently over.

Eli stood there another moment, looking at the only bed, the narrow room and the man who had gone from fully alert to preparing for sleep with an efficiency Eli considered faintly insulting.

Then Stent opened one eye. “You are going to be late.”

“I know.”

“You are still standing here.”

“I also know that.”

The eye closed again.

Eli took the hint.

He checked that he still had the communicator, the temporary work address and the room keycard. That was essentially the complete inventory of useful objects he now owned outside the Faded Glory.

At the door he stopped. “If Security calls—”

“I will answer.”

“And if you hear anything about the ship—”

“I will contact you.”

Eli nodded. He did not add be careful.

Stent would know what he meant, and Eli had no desire to hear the technically accurate explanation of why caution did not guarantee safety.

He stepped into the corridor.

Behind him, Stent was already still. Two hours of sleep. Then whatever plan he had decided not to explain in front of Davin.

His own next problem was simpler. He had to convince a freight supervisor named Corlan that Horatio Figg was worth hiring before his body remembered that, according to every internal clock he possessed, he should have been asleep hours ago.