“Why would No’shto-shti-stlen give you the boy?”
“Because hani aren’t as frequent here as they used to be. Because if gtst has had a political object dumped in gtst lap, No’shto-shti-stlen is going to want rid of it in the way most guaranteed to absolve gtst of responsibility. Gtst couldn’t dump him on aunt Py, gtst couldn’t return him to Sahern, and here we come, Pyanfar’s close relatives, just so convenient to hand him to … I don’t know that’s the case, but thinking about it is going to cost me sleep, this trip, it’s going to make me uncomfortable until he’s off our deck and out of our lives, and I don’t want him loose gathering data at our boards, hear me?”
“Let me understand—you think Sahern planted him here?”
“I think it’s a possibility. Maybe to create an embarrassment, maybe it’s something else. I think it’s a possibility there’s something more to him than he’s showing us …”
“Captain, he’s a kid!”
“I don’t like where he was, I don’t like anybody dropped into a kif-run jail and I don’t like Sahern dragging hani clear to this pit on the backside of the universe to drop him, where, if they wanted rid of him, they could at least have dropped him at Urtur. It smells to me like a captain with a god-complex, but I don’t swear that’s the case; there are all the other possibilities, some of which aren’t pretty and aren’t conducive to good sleep, but that’s the way I see it, that’s the way I know how to call it, and that’s the only way I know to keep this ship out of trouble. We’ve got enough problems going, let’s not take any additional chances, shall we?”
“Trouble?” Fala asked from the doorway to the little galley.
“No trouble. I trust you locked that door.”
“I locked it. I don’t see, begging the captain’s pardon, why he’s—“
Hilfy leaned her forehead on her hand.
“Tell you later,” Tarras said.
“We’re in count,” Hilfy said, leaning back and looking at the clock. “Load’s got to be finished by 2300. Gods, I want out of this port.”
“Have we got a problem?” Fala asked.
Something ticked over, like a piece in a game falling. A roll of the dice. “I want an instrument scan.”
“What?” Tiar asked.
“I want a thorough read-out, I want a camera scan on the hull, I want to know if any skimmers have approached us during our stay here.”
A solemn stare from several pairs of eyes.
“Is something going on?” Fala asked.
The camera scan turned up negative. Nothing had approached their hull. Station skimmers always came and went, on such business as external inspections, catching the occasional chunk of something that escaped a ship’s maintenance systems, things nobody wanted slamming into their hull or catching on some projection, to be accelerated with the ship and boosted to lethal v. Trouble was, such skimmers had legitimate business back by one’s vanes and engines and up near one’s hatches; and if a ship with legitimate reason to worry didn’t have cameras to prove where such little tenders had access, that ship had far more reason to worry.
But being the Personage’s niece had convinced her before the Legacy was outfitted that the camera-mounts were a good idea and that motion-sensors and tamper-alerts were mandatory. So they didn’t have that to worry about—at least so far as they opted prudently to use them.
There wasn’t, of course, a way to monitor everything. But they were sure it was water that had gone into their water-lines and that that water was Meet-point ice-melt, the sensors above the valve had proved it or that valve would have shut. Being Pyanfar’s niece and having shipped aboard The Pride, she had been in ports where one had good reason to wonder about the lines; absolutely right, being sure was worth the cost. Unfortunately having solved all the high-tech means of sabotage, one still had to worry about the low-tech means at an enemy’s disposal. Certain things one could solve by carrying all supplies aboard, and by not refueling and not taking on water at certain ports: but carrying extra mass cost a ship, if one wasn’t paying somebody else’s freight plus station-cost getting it to the station. If it was local, you were financially ahead to buy it. If it wasn’t, and it massed much, you were ahead to freight it, and that was the sum-up and payout of it: if you operated otherwise you weren’t competitive, in a tightly competitive market.