Cargo was getting moved—Hallan Meras was back working on the dockside, where Hilfy had sworn he wouldn’t be, but Chihin was out there, unstoppable as a star in its course, and Fala was working the pre-launch checks and Tarras was making calls after cargo, running comp and turning a page now and again, a frown on her face.
That was all right, Hilfy thought. She didn’t expect expressions of delight when crew found out they were getting less sleep and more work. And that the standing orders amounted to outlawry. She went back to her office to fill out forms for the station legal office, not something she had rather do, but if they had a hope of recovering what they’d just paid out, those forms had to get in before any undock.
Which might come sooner than later.
And there was the matter of the contract, which now, in printout, could fill three of those cabinets. She’d given up on printout. She asked the computer to search borders/international and flight/unwillingness/refusal.
Searchborders/international negative, it said with idiot cheerfulness.
And reported … In the event of the refusal of the party accepting the contract to deliver the cargo to the designated recipient , . .
She knew that part. Double indemnity.
It came up with three similars and a couple of other irrelevancies. Then: End of search.
Tarras put her head in the door, with the same worried expression. “Captain. I have a question.”
Crew was touchy, crew was upset, crew had a right to be. It wasn’t convenient, she was trying to logic her way through subclauses and obligations and Vikktakkht an Nikkatu’s behavior, but crew was a priority above priorities. It had to be.
“About what?” she asked, and Tarras eased her way through the door, the Book a rolled-up and well-thumbed set of pages in her hands.
“First off, I was calling the police yesterday. I was trying to get them in there … that’s why I didn’t answer you right off. …”
“This thing isn’t to assign fault. You weren’t at fault. The police got there. That’s not what this is aiming at. Absolutely not. If you think I’d better have a word about that …”
“I understand what I should have done, by this. But if I’d done that, if I’d threatened station …”
“You’re authorized to threaten station. That’s in there. It doesn’t mean you open with that bid, cousin. You use your well-known sense. I don’t fault you that you were talking to the police. I hoped you were talking to the police. I’d rather you were talking with them, I was a little gods-be busy at the time.”
“If we did this, we’d be outlawed. It breaks the law, captain. We’d be blacklisted in every port…”
“We’d be alive.”
There was silence in the office. A shadow in the corridor. So Tarras hadn’t quite come alone. Fala was listening, too, juniormost and without Tarras’ disposition to ask the dangerous questions.
Tarras was thinking about the last one, and maybe thinking alive and outlawed wasn’t the career she’d planned for herself.
“I’m not qualified,” Tarras said, “to make a decision like that. I’m not a lawyer, I’m the super-cargo.”
“You’re also the weapons master. Don’t tell them you’re a lawyer. Tell them you’re the gunner and you’re left in charge and if somebody doesn’t do something you will … if I were stationmaster, I’d listen.”
Another silence. “You mean bring the weapons up.”
“If you have to. Yes. And there’s no stationmaster going to enforce a warrant on you. That’s not a thing we’ll accept.”
“There’s treaty law! There’s the treaty Chanur helped make, Chanur can’t break it—“
“You’re right,” she said, “you’re not a lawyer. You respect a treaty. They won’t.”
“I didn’t sign on for this!” Tarras said, which she supposed might mean Tarras was resigning, which she would regret to the utmost, but Kshshti was the wrong place to do that. Then Tarras said, in a quiet voice, “Are you under Pyanfar’s orders? Is that what we’re doing?”
Far leap of logic. But Tarras wasn’t a shallow thinker. And couldn’t be led off.
“Honestly, no. I don’t say Pyanfar’s not crossed the path of this deal, but there aren’t any orders, I don’t know where she is—No’shto-shti-stlen, may he rot, said she was off in deep dark nowhere, and would we take this boy and would we take this marvelous deal he had? It was my judgment to take it. It looked reasonable at the time. It isn’t. But that gods-cursed thing has a double indemnity clause, for value and shipping fee. We’re stuck. We are quite thoroughly stuck, Tarras, it’s my fault, my bad decision to deal with that son, knowing he’s a canny old stsho and a politician, and here we are. If we get out of this alive and untarnished, I’m taking no contracts but steel plate and frozen foodstuffs, I’m through with exotics, and you can write that one down to the captain’s youthful foolishness. I don’t want to lose you. I for gods-rotted certain don’t want you to walk off the ship here: it’s not a safe place.”