The Privateer (5 page)

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!