The Ashes of Worlds - Kevin J. Anderson [29]
BeBob held up a hand. “Just kidding. An archaic reference.”
“I should have caught that.” Kotto looked around. “Would you like us to schedule an official ceremony later on, when things settle down? There’s just so much going on here.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” BeBob said, though he didn’t mean it. “If you’re going to wait until things settle down, we’ll have to send out invitations to my grandchildren.”
“You know, of course, about all the Llaro refugees that just came back? Someone wanted to see you. It seems you have friends among them.”
“I don’t remember anyone from Llaro — ” BeBob turned as more visitors entered the bay. He recognized a skinny old man with grayish-white hair and unkempt clothes and a young girl with short brown hair and large sepia eyes, accompanied by a Friendly compy. “Orli! Orli Covitz — and Hud Steinman!” He had rescued the two from Corribus, the only survivors of the black robot attack. “What were you two doing on Llaro?”
“Being chased by bugs, mostly,” Orli said. “Is that a new ship? Doesn’t look at all like the old one.”
“Forget the battered old vessel. Now everything’s shiny. The engines and power systems purr instead of clatter.” Grinning, he gestured to the ramp. “Step aboard my new Blind Faith.”
Orli trotted up to the control deck and poked around with a fascinated expression. “Maybe I can be your copilot or first officer someday.”
When BeBob saw she was serious, he realized that he could do worse. “I’ll think about it. Hey, I was about to take a test flight with a load of supplies for Relleker, and I wouldn’t mind the company. Want to come along? Sounds like we’ve got plenty of stories to exchange.”
“What do you think, DD?” Orli asked. The Friendly compy, obviously pleased to be with her and away from the Klikiss, seemed perfectly amenable.
“We would like that,” said Mr. Steinman. The old man glanced around the rock-walled landing bay in which the ship rested. “We don’t have anything better to do. Might as well make ourselves useful.”
* * *
17
Rlinda Kett
Though she had changed her call sign and obscured the ship’s name with a strategically applied scorch mark on the hull, Rlinda never stopped calling her ship the Voracious Curiosity. However, she took care to avoid any unwanted EDF entanglements.
Her ship carried a profitable cargo of comfort items that people facing austerity and rationing would very much welcome: preserved foods, jungle delicacies from Theroc, difficult-to-obtain cocoon-weave fabrics, thermal-resistant equipment from Constantine III. The Hansa simply couldn’t get such things anymore.
However, since Chairman Wenceslas had imposed extreme wartime tariffs, she would never enter into a formal agreement with Earth’s industries and merchants. Rlinda would find her own customers through unofficial channels, thank you very much. She still had plenty of black-market connections, and she could get her goods into the hands of customers who needed and appreciated them.
As the Curiosity passed the Moon and headed in toward Earth orbit, she was surprised to see a large, dark Ildiran warliner being towed into position above the lunar base. “What the hell is the EDF doing with an intact warliner?” Maybe it was better if she didn’t know.
Calling no attention to herself, she began weaving in among the orbital traffic. The Curiosity flew in stealthily. Rlinda cut her transmissions and kept a low reflective profile on any surveillance networks. She mixed in with local ships and sent a burst signal so that her contacts would know what items she had to trade and what her asking price was.
“Sneaking around like an illegal smuggler,” she muttered to herself. “Ah, the glamorous life of the Confederation’s Trade Minister.”
That afternoon, settled in, Rlinda waited on an uncomfortable wrought-metal chair out in the sunshine. The wafting aroma of dark-roasted coffee beans gave the café a pleasant atmosphere, though she was annoyed at having paid vastly too much for a cup of coffee. Rlinda had the equipment to make herself a better one in the Curiosity