A Forest of Stars - Kevin J. Anderson [27]
Her mouth watered. Rlinda was a master chef herself, and had studied the cuisines of numerous cultures. Given her delight in fine foods, it was no wonder she weighed so much. Rlinda considered it an advertisement for the quality of her wares.
Unfortunately, when economic times were tight, people dispensed with luxuries; consequently, commodities such as those Rlinda carried were the first to suffer. Silly priorities. It was a lot harder to sell expensive “useless” items, but her creditors still demanded payment on time.
Rlinda returned to her cockpit and slumped into the padded captain’s chair that had been expanded to accommodate her frame. She looked at the docking bill again. Maybe she was a bit behind in her payment, but the overdue amount wasn’t significant enough to have generated such a stern notice. She would have preferred to share a bottle of wine with the bean counter, open a pack of special black chocolates, and sweet-talk her way into revised terms. She stared at the signature, not recognizing the man’s name—B. Robert Brandt. Probably some accountant recently transferred up from Earth.
Then a chuckle burst out of her mouth, turning into a deep-throated laugh as she noticed that the digits of the man’s employee number exactly matched the date of her latest wedding anniversary. “You always were a rascal, BeBob.”
Her dark eyes twinkled. Rlinda wasn’t sure whether she was more delighted to hear from him or to know that the insistent bill was simply a convenient cover for sending her a private message.
Branson Roberts—the best of her numerous ex-husbands—had captained a merchant ship commandeered by the EDF, and General Lanyan had railroaded him into flying military reconnaissance missions. BeBob’s methods as a merchant hadn’t been strictly legal, but he had generated plenty of profit, which he shared with Rlinda.
She descrambled the text using the private code they had long ago established. Because of the encryption, the text message was necessarily brief. She would have preferred a holographic image of the man—he’d never have had the nerve to scan himself naked, but it would have been even nicer. As she read the words, though, she understood why BeBob had taken precautions.
“Fed up with the military—no surprise there! After seventeen suicidal missions, decided to call it quits. The General wants to keep throwing me into the fire until I’m used up. Enough of that shit! Decided to save my own skin and—more important—save the Blind Faith. Taking a voluntary unofficial leave of absence. Hope the EDF doesn’t have the gumption or the resources to track me down.
“If you ever get a full gas tank and want to visit, come to Crenna. An out-of-the-way colony, where I can lie low and run black-market materials for the settlers. Miss you. BeBob.”
Rlinda leaned back in the captain’s chair, her face glowing, her eyes asparkle with embarrassing tears. He had always been stubborn and impulsive, impossible to live with…and a damned good man. BeBob wasn’t cut out for military service—Rlinda could have told Lanyan that—and it was a crime to abuse his particular skills.
Oh, she had loved him indeed…Otherwise, why bother getting so upset when their marriage had crumbled after five years? But Rlinda and BeBob still had enough respect—and, yes, a little bit of passion—for each other that they’d remained business partners. If only she had known what other hardships she would face, Rlinda might have been a bit more tolerant with the man as a husband. Life was too short and too hard to limit the good times.
Clutching the encoded message, she returned to her cargo bay and looked at the supplies with a different eye now, pulling down a bottle of port wine from New Portugal and one of the tins of saltpond caviar. The upscale market might be a tough business proposition