Vicky Peterwald: Survivor (Vicky Peterwald Series Book 2) (10 page)

A
S
the sun came up, Vicky was out on the tiny apron of the hardly larger runway. At her elbow, Captain Spee watched as locals examined samples of his cargo: bulging sacks of rice, corn, and wheat; cans of meat and fish, vegetables and fruit-juice concentrates. A lot of people were eyeing them hungrily.

But it was the crates of spare parts that were the center of interest.

Several locals had gone over the stock of parts, under the close watch of a half dozen merchant sailors who had dropped down with their captain. Now the skipper asked to see samples of the crystal they had available for trade.

“It’s not much to look at,” Gus said.

“That’s why I hired a crystal mechanic on St. Petersburg when I heard where the next leg of this trip would take me.”

A tiny civilian stepped forward, a huge pair of goggles on his forehead. He reached almost reverently for the first offered crystal with long, thin fingers. Then he pulled the goggles down to cover his eyes and did some sort of adjustment to the side of them that changed their color. Only then did he lift the crystal to the early rays of the sun.

“This is a good piece,” he muttered half to himself. “All the
sharp edges have been smoothed. Note the way they’ve been evenly worn down,” he said to no one in particular. “Flutists will pay a high price for this. Forty to fifty thousand marks.”

The captain was quick to step on that. “From which I’ll have to subtract fees for transport and profits for at least three middlemen. Twenty thousand is the most I can offer.”

“One middleman should get it to a fine musician, and he will pay at least forty thousand for it. Maybe more,” Gus said. “We do follow the market out here. We’d be giving it away at thirty-five thousand.”

Vicky wondered if every scrap of crystal would have its own dickering and failed to suppress a yawn.

“There are five large vehicles coming up the road from Emerald City, fast,” Captain Torrago reported on net.

“Who’s in them?” the commander asked.

“Hard to tell. Windows look thick and darkened.”

“Mine-security people?” Vicky asked.

“No doubt. Surprised it took them this long. What do you want, Your Grace?”

“Peace and quiet,” she muttered. “Captain, can one of your Rangers stop them?”

“Stop them how? Stand in the road and maybe get run over, or should I try putting a bullet in their tires or radiator?”

“I don’t want to damage stuff they can’t replace,” Vicky said. “Try having someone stand in the road friendly-like.”

Two minutes later, the Ranger captain reported. “They damn near ran her down, Your Grace. Is it time to shoot the tires?”

“Let’s try something short of that before we do,” Vicky admitted.

“I can put five Rangers in the road armed with guns lowered.”

“Try that. If they blow by them . . .” Vicky paused and weighed what she was about to say. “If they blow by them, shoot out the tires.”

“Roger that. Make one more attempt to stop them, with guns showing. If they run them down, this time we shoot out the tires.”

“Affirmative,” Vicky said.

“Your Grace?” came from the Marine captain beside her.

“Yes.”

“There are Marines out covering the approach road with the Rangers.”

“Inez, wait one on that last order. Are there Imperial Marines with you?”

“We got a couple.”

“You got my Gunny,” the Marine captain pointed out.

“Yes, I do believe I’ve got one big, mean mountain of an NCO out here in Marine combat dress.”

“Include him in the roadblock,” the Marine captain said. “I got twenty that says he should be enough to block the road all by himself.”

“I don’t gamble,” came from Inez, on net. After a pause she added, “on open official channels.”

“Captain Torrago,” Vicky said to the Ranger skipper, “if they come near to running down the Gunny, let the Imperial Marines shoot out the tires.”

“Do you think they can, Your Grace? These cops ain’t coming at us slow.”

“Also, Your Grace,” the Marine captain put in, “I have two sniper teams in place. If they can’t put a hole in one of those tires, the Ranger captain can have my next paycheck.”

“That is definitely a bet I’m not taking,” the Ranger answered. “I’ve seen them practice with my best. Hell, Your Grace, I didn’t even know they were in the field.”

“Captain,” Vicky said lightly, “please keep the Rangers advised when your Marines chance to share a battlefield with them.”

“Won’t happen again,” the captain said, just as lightly.

“Well, while we were talking, Gunny took the road with two Marines and three of my Rangers. All weapons were aimed high, but the locals got the message. All vehicles have stopped.”

“That’s good.”

“Gunny reports the cops demand you let them through.”

“Inform them that they are entering a security zone around the Grand Duchess and will have to request admission through proper channels,” Vicky said.

The Marine captain beside Vicky looked fit to bust a gut.

The locals looked on in a mixture of terror and shock.

Well, nobody quite knows what to make of a Grand Duchess.

They all waited for the next move.

“They tell me that Milt Adaman, president of the Mine Manager’s Co-op, is headed out here. He demands to see you.”

“Tell them that is the wrong form of address,” Vicky said.

The locals quit breathing. Gus started to open his mouth, but Molly placed a restraining hand on his elbow.

Curious are you to see how this plays out. Well, so am I.

The pause in communications went on long enough that the locals had to start breathing again. Captain Spee asked for another sample of their crystal, and they began to examine it and dicker.

Things were almost back to normal.

“Your Grace, the president of the Presov Mine Manager’s Co-op requests the honor of an audience with you at your earliest convenience.”

“Much better. Tell him I’ll meet with him . . .” Vicky waved across the landing field at the log building where she’d first met with the locals.

“The Unified Guild Hall,” Molly provided.

Vicky passed that location on and broke the commlink. She began to walk across the wet grass toward the guild hall.

Well, the dickering is over, and I know the value of a Grand Duchess today.

“W
HAT
the hell do you think you’re doing, young lady?” the president of the Mine Manager’s Co-op roared.

Since he’d insisted the room be emptied of the locals before he entered, he couldn’t be playing to any public.

Vicky wasn’t either.

“Captain, I believe this man needs a lesson in court etiquette.”

“Sergeant,” the Marine company skipper said curtly.

The sergeant, who had been escorting the president as he approached the Grand Duchess, switched his rifle from port arms to a swift stroke to the gut.

Milton Adaman bent in half over his stomach. The security men behind him went for their guns. Marines in the room swiftly leveled theirs.

Rent-a-cops changed their reach from their weapons to the overhead.

“You can’t negotiate with these people,” the president got out through clenched teeth as he still struggled to raise his eyes from the deck.

“Strange,” Vicky said. “I spent most of this morning doing just that.”

“The trade delegation cut its deal with us. We bought all the cargo on the ship you brought with you . . .”

“You bought the fresh food and spare parts on nine of them. The tenth is different,” Vicky snapped, cutting him off. “The
Doctor Zoot
is an independent trader. Its captain is doing his own marketing and trading.”

Mr. Adaman managed to straighten up.

“What are your plans, Mr. President?” Vicky said. “If you cut the prices you pay the crystal miners and double the cost of their food, just how do you think they’ll manage to pay for the food we just shipped in from St. Petersburg? You can’t feed them famine biscuits.”

“Pardon me, Your Grace,” Vicky’s computer said, “but we are in receipt this morning of a bid from the deputy vice president for administration of the co-op to buy all the famine rations.”

Vicky arched an eyebrow. “When did that come in, computer?”

“At exactly 0800, Your Grace.”

“The first order of business,” Vicky said.

“It’s business,” the president bit out. He was still struggling to catch his breath.

“Business for you. Profits for you, but a lousy situation for the ranchers and farmers who sent me here. If they can’t find a market for their fresh meats and produce, what good is this trade mission?”

“That’s their problem,” the president said.

“Yes, that is their problem,” Vicky said softly, mulling it over as she spoke. “However, their problem just happens to be mine this morning. Tell me, Mr. President, based on the prices we worked out yesterday, how much food do you want delivered today?”

He said nothing to Vicky.

“I see,” Vicky said. “Computer, talk to me more about the food order that just came in from the co-op.”

“They are offering to sell all their crystal at the agreed-upon price. They want all the spare parts and gear, but only about a quarter of the fresh food. They want all of the famine biscuits. Communications passing between members of the trade delegation is such that I expect them to accept the offer.”

“Computer, inform the trade delegates that the famine
rations are not for sale. They belong to me, and I’m not selling them.”

“I have passed your statement along to them. They would like to meet with you.”

“No doubt they would,” Vicky said, then whirled on the commander. “I know this breaks your heart, Commander, but I’m leaving you in charge down here while I go topside. I suggest you keep the Marines and Rangers out and the riffraff away. Do anything you have to do to expedite trading between the independents and Captain Spee.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

He trailed a bit behind as Vicky fast-walked for the door of the guild hall.

“And try not to start a war while I’m gone,” Vicky added.

“Oh, but it would be such a short one,” the commander answered through a grin that was all teeth.

“Yes. Most likely,” Vicky agreed, “but what would I do with a crystal mine?”

“You couldn’t do much worse than these thugs are.”

“Ah yes,” Vicky agreed. “Now, Commander, think peace and prosperity, or some such thoughts. I’ve got to get topside and open bargaining on a new front. You know, Frank, I think we got snookered last night.”

“Looks like it,” he said. “But the nice thing about having heavily armed Marines at your beck and call, Your Grace, is that you get to reopen negotiations just about anytime you want.”

He turned back to the president.

“Sir, would you like to share a fine cup of tea with me?”

“Tea! Why would I want a cup of tea with you?”

“Because, sir, you will not be going anywhere very soon. Captain, would you please have these men disarmed and their commlinks removed.”

“Sergeant, you heard the commander.”

Vicky smiled as she left the building. The commander seemed to be developing just the kind of people skills she needed in a chief of staff.

“S
WEET
Jesus! We’ve been taken for a bunch of greenhorns!” Mr. Vickun shouted when Vicky laid out the latest turn of events.

“Thank God we didn’t sign anything,” observed his number two.

“We did shake hands on it after the third round of champagne,” a third pointed out.

“I’m glad the second deputy assistant vice president for odds and ends, or whatever, jumped the gun this morning,” the one woman in the delegation said. “When would we have heard about this otherwise?”

“I talked about heading out with the famine rations as soon as I could,” Vicky said. “No doubt, the flunky was afraid the food for the peasants might get away. Then they’d have to give them a shot at the good stuff.”

“Or starve them,” Mr. Smith said. Somehow, the spy had inserted himself into the discussions. Vicky found herself wondering whether if he’d been there last night, all this could have been avoided. No question Mr. Smith had a corkscrew for a brain, but sometimes, when dealing with certain types, a corkscrew came in handy.

“Is their purchase request as small as I heard?” Vicky asked.

“Yep,” said the man representing the ranchers. “They cut way back. I was looking at making a counteroffer. Lower. Much lower, to get more of this stuff off the ships. It’s not like we can keep it in storage forever. If we take it back to St. Petersburg, it will wreck the market.”

“Who’s the industrial honcho here?” Vicky asked.

A young man raised his hand.

“Not one spring. Not one nut. Not one bolt drops out of orbit until this food issue is resolved, and resolved in our favor,” Vicky said, putting some of that newfound Grand Duchess power behind her words.

“Do you think we can raise our prices for these parts and light machinery?” the young man asked. “Now that the glow has worn off the rosebud, I’m thinking we let them drive us way too low last night.”

Maybe I don’t have as much power as I thought.

“Am I the only one who thinks there are a lot of people looking back at last night’s discussions and hunting about for fine print to twist to their advantage?” Mr. Smith asked.

“There is no written contract. There is no fine print for anyone to examine,” Mr. Vickun pointed out.

“Yes, indeed. Yes, indeed,” said Mr. Smith.

Which left Vicky wondering what exactly the spy meant by that.

What she did know was that she was about to take her entire team down to the guild hall and have a completely new game played out with all the bargaining chips out on the marred top of that wooden table.

V
ICKY
had read a few books on economics and the workings of the market. She’d read them after she ended up in the Navy. She had little else to do with her evenings after Admiral Krätz caught her in the paint locker the first time and sentenced her to a nunnery, or the Navy equivalent.

She was not unfamiliar with the concept of markets. Dad had been known to mention them from time to time. Usually it was in the context that “The damn market will do what I tell it to do.”

The books in the
Fury
’s library introduced Vicky to an entirely different idea of a market. It was interesting, rational, clean . . . and maybe quaint.

What Vicky was seeing of the market today was down and dirty.

Once her commander got word of what Vicky intended, he enlisted the locals into rearranging the room. Now there were three tables in the shape of a U.

Vicky had the old table and her old chair. She imagined that was an honor.

The locals had knocked together two tables to form the legs of the U. In the case of the independent guild reps, their table
was of rough, new wood complete with splinters. So were the benches they sat on.

The table the co-op managers sat at was knocked together from old slabs of wood, in some cases complete with visible rot. So were the benches. Every once in a while, a manager would tip a bench over, sending two or three of his cohort sprawling on the floor.

If there was any doubt at all about where the power lay, one only had to glance at the Marines and Rangers arrayed against the walls, their rifles at parade rest.

The rental cops had been sent packing. Both Marines and Rangers guarded a roadblock well down the road. Mortars and antitank guns covered it with clear intent. A co-op chopper had lifted off a couple of hours ago. It had landed immediately after being painted with a laser targeting device from the ground and threatened with laser fire from the cruisers in orbit.

Even to Vicky, the president looked cowed.

“You’re telling us we have to buy your fresh meat and produce and we have to shell out enough wages to our employees so they can buy them from the company store.” He didn’t quite spit out the words.

“Now that we’ve had a chance to examine your system of company stores,” Mr. Vickun said, “we’re not at all happy to be selling to them. You don’t pay your workers an hourly wage. Instead, you put a daily value on what they cut out of a crystal vein and bring to the surface. That daily variable is what you expect them to live on.”

“It’s our business model. It’s worked fine for years,” Mr. Adaman muttered as he worried a particularly rotten section of the wood with one finger.

“Back then, you weren’t halving what you paid and doubling the prices at the store,” a man at the new table shot back. He represented the mining workers union; he was missing an arm and part of his foot. He did odd jobs for the guilds in order to eat and served as union man when he could find miners to talk to aboveground in the evenings.

“I’m not talking to that layabout,” Mr. Adaman shouted.

“But
we
are,” Vicky said. “And we, for one, are finding those talks quite enlightening.”

“He’s a liar.”

Vicky shook her head. “Let’s cut the name-calling and stay focused, or this could take more time than I care to give you. For now, there are still ships full of foodstuffs, spare parts, and famine rations in orbit above our head. Come this time tomorrow, I intend to be boosting those ships for the jump out of this system. Children are starving to death. Those famine biscuits could save lives.”

“We’re offering to pay you for them,” a junior member of the co-op said.

“They aren’t for sale,” Vicky said.

“Why not?”

Vicky turned to eye the senior member of her trade delegation. He answered for her.

“Because we won’t sell them to you even if Her Grace weren’t so adamant that we give them away.”

“Why won’t you sell them?” demanded Adaman. “We’re offering you good crystal for them.”

“Because we don’t own them,” Vicky shot back. “They were paid for by churches and collections in schools and I don’t know what all. I came here to sell beef for crystal. You’ve got crystal. If you want to sell me your crystal, you can damn well buy the beef.”

“We don’t want your beef.”

“You mean you don’t want to pay your workers enough that they can afford to buy our beef,” a rancher snapped.

“It’s the same thing.”

“No, gentlemen, it isn’t,” Vicky said. “Your crystal has only the value that we place on it. If you choose to slap a beggar’s wage on the stuff at the mine head, that’s your choice. But the crystal in your warehouse doesn’t pay you a pfennig until a ship comes by to create some value for it. As much as I hate to say it, you are free to turn your workers into beggars, serfs, or peasants. But it’s also our choice whether or not to do business with you.”

Vicky paused and eyed the mining boss hard. “We choose not to.”

“You’ve got to! You need our crystal!” Adaman almost screamed.

“Yes, St. Petersburg needs crystal. Computer, raise Captain Spee.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“How’s your trading going?”

“Very well. I’ve acquired just about all the crystal they have at present. I’ve off-loaded a quarter of my cargo.”

Vicky gave the startled Mr. Adaman a smile she hoped was pure venom before asking. “What do you plan to do with the rest, Captain?”

“Well, now that the independents have more of their rigs in running order, I suspect they’ll be headed out to prospect for more crystal. I intend to leave behind a factor and supplies on consignment. I’m teaming up with a victualer here. As they bring in more, we’ll sell more. I figure after I finish my trip back to St. Petersburg to service that market, I’ll come back here, pick up another load, and swing around a half dozen planets. If they’re still up and running, they’ll need the crystal. We will move the trade to meet the market.”

The skipper sounded quite chipper.

“That’s the way it’s supposed to work,” Vicky said, eyeing the president.

He was frowning down at the plank again, but his fingers weren’t worrying the wood. Now they were making circles.

“No. No you wouldn’t!” The union rep was dragging himself up on his half foot.

“Won’t what?” Vicky asked.

“It won’t work the way it’s supposed to work, Your Grace.” The man was shouting now.

The managers from the co-op were looking uncomfortable. They couldn’t seem to find anyplace to rest their gaze. The local independents were downright terrified.

“Why won’t this work the way it’s supposed to?” Vicky demanded of the union representative.

“Because the second your ships aren’t up there with their lasers trained on him, he’ll have his bullyboys over here. They’ll drag every gram of food out of this village. Wreck every house if they have to. Kill anyone who gets in their way.”

“Is that right?” Vicky demanded.

“Of course not,” Adaman’s words assured her, but his body language screamed “You bet I will.”

Vicky shoved her chair back from the table.

“Captain Spee, are you tracking this?”

“Yes, ma’am. The local I’m dealing with has suddenly got very uninterested in our deal. So much so that he’s running. The ones I’ve traded with are suddenly showing a whole lot less enthusiasm. Your Grace, could you leave some armed guards behind to protect my trading post?”

“I’ll get back to you on that,” she said, and turned to Mr. Vickun. “Can you make a bargain with anyone who would rewrite it the second you’re out of town?”

The delegate scowled and shook his head. “They didn’t wait for us to get out of town, Your Grace. They rewrote it between last night’s champagne and this morning’s first light. There’s no telling what they’ll do once we actually turn our back on them.”

Vicky leaned back and eyed the co-op managers. “Yes, no telling,” she said softly, then found a question coming to the fore that really puzzled her.

“What’s in this for you?” she asked the manager.

Every one of the managers kept his head down. None would meet her gaze.

“What’s in this for you?” she repeated. “Mr. Smith, help me out here. In two months, there’s a ship coming with a tax collector and maybe a mortgage collector. What do they get by doubling the cost to their workers and halving their pay?”

“It seems to leave a lot of money somewhere on the table,” the spy said. “It leaves me wondering where that money ends up. Whose pockets will it line?”

“If they don’t pay the mortgage, they could lose the mines,” Vicky said slowly. “If they don’t pay the taxes, the Emperor would take the mines.”

“Or the Imperial revenue collectors might sell the tax debt to a tax farmer,” Mr. Smith pointed out. “If he paid the king his tax, he’d get to keep the crystal mine lock, stock, and barrel. I wonder which is the cheaper way of getting the shaft.”

“Or who gets them either way?” Vicky said, ignoring the rude joke. Instead, her thoughts were going in so many directions, her brain felt like spaghetti.

“You’d have to look at the banks that hold the mortgage,” Mr. Smith offered in answer to her question.

“Computer, can you access any information on the mortgage holder of these mines?”

“I am sorry, Your Grace, but that information is not available.”

“Even from the Presov net?”

“Not on the public net.”

“However, either way, the shareholders of these mining companies suffer irreplaceable loss, don’t they?” Vicky said, eyeing the managers. Were a few of them starting to tremble?

“It would seem that way,” the computer said.

“Let me review what we know,” Vicky said. “There’s a lot of potential money to be had by lining someone’s pockets here and now at the mine operations.”

“So it would seem,” the spy said.

“And when the tax ship comes, these managers will, no doubt, have first-class accommodations to wherever they wish to go, taking their lined pockets with them.”

“No. No! You got it all wrong,” the president insisted.

“How?”

He said nothing.

“Computer, get me the JAG officer on the
Attacker
.”

There were a lot of confused looks around all of the tables.

“Lieutenant Narvid here. How may I help you, Your Grace?”

Hmm. On one of Kris Longknife’s tiny corvettes the JAG was a lieutenant. On a big Greenfeld heavy cruiser, the JAG officer was the same rank. That had to say something about the different level of respect for law that existed on Wardhaven and Greenfeld.
Vicky put that aside for later.

“I need legal advice,” she said, trying not to smile, “concerning the fiduciary responsibilities of corporate officials.”

It was hard to tell if the look of shock and surprise on the president’s face was greater than the sound of it from the lieutenant.

“I don’t get many requests on that topic here aboard ship,” the Navy officer said.

“I don’t expect so,” Vicky said. “However, if I were to level such charges against some officials here on Presov, where would they have to go to be adjudicated?”

“Presov is not a sovereign planet. It has no legal system in place. The nearest court would be a court-martial here on the ship.”

“And if the Navy didn’t want jurisdiction?” Vicky said.

“St. Petersburg is the nearest fully sovereign planet, Your Grace.”

“So, we’d have to take them off to St. Petersburg and turn them over for trial there.”

“That’s what I’d suggest.”

“No. No. No!” was coming from the president before the lieutenant rang off. “Forget our latest offer. We’ll buy all your damn food. We’ll sell you the crystal at only twenty-five percent above the last sale price. Tell us what you want, and you’ll get it.”

Vicky stood up. “Too late, gentlemen. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I don’t believe a word you say. Any word you say. I also don’t trust you to run these mines in a fashion that will make them prosper and continue to provide St. Petersburg with both crystal and a market. Captain, remove these men to the
Attacker
’s brig.”