They could always breathe easier at Pell. Wholly different rules… a completely independent station with a bias toward instead of against ship-law, ship-speak, and captain’s rights. Run by a council only part of which station elected, at least two of which were always merchanters or merchanters’ legal representatives… nothing got done, in fact, that merchanters didn’t want done.
Corinthian wasn’t an Alliance merchanter—couldn’t get that clearance and didn’t try. There were too many hard feelings, and there were records Corinthian didn’t want to produce. But they didn’t need the certification to trade here. They did get the protections of ships’ rights that the merchanters’ Alliance had written into their contract with Pell. They got the benefits of Pell banking, which kept ships’ accounts at a very favorable interest, and backed them with a guarantee of services to the ship out of an emergency fund: Corinthian was signatory to it and Corinthian paid into it—if you ever got into trouble that let you limp anywhere, you made for Pell and its shipyards in preference to Viking or Fargone if you could possibly make it.
Which Corinthian had done on one notable occasion.
But mostly… the law Unionside (and never mind Viking’s new status, he personally counted Viking as Union law) couldn’t run inquiries here. Pell didn’t cooperate. Matter of principle.
Sovereign government—mostly consisting of ships. Matter of principle indeed. You could get trade figures, the same as everywhere. But the internal records couldn’t be probed.
Damned nice port to be registered to.
And if you were Pell registry, you got a priority on the berths you wanted, the docking services, all sorts of amenities. So Corinthian wasn’t Alliance, but she was Pell-registered, and that made it home, much as Corinthian owned one.
“Number twelve is free, Corinthian,” Pell Central said. “How long will you require dock? You have personal messages accumulated. That transmission will follow, in one minute. Mark.”
“Thank you, thank you, Pell-com, for the accommodation. Request you schedule us for a ten-day. I’ll turn you back to Corinth-com, now, Pell, thank you. Helm’s in charge.”
Beatrice shot him a look. He smiled, unbelted, Corinthian running stable as she was, and went over to Helm. Squeezed Beatrice’s shoulder.
“Shift change. Twenty minutes. See you.”
“Yeah,” Beatrice said, not cheerfully.
Berth 12, opposite the warehouse, easy transport. If it of any trouble that could possibly catch up with them.
There was, however, Hawkins.
He’d a few places he personally liked to go at Pell, and he was ready to go mind-numb and forget his problems. There were times he and Beatrice worked admirably well together, and there were times not. This run was one of the times not. He was anxious to have breathing room.
But there was Hawkins.
Still might be smarter to ship Hawkins out from here. He didn’t want to. He didn’t know why. Curiosity, maybe, what Hawkins was. Maybe the thought that Hawkins was a bargaining piece if Marie Hawkins did at some point show.
Maybe, deep down, the thought that the boy wasn’t all Hawkins. That he had some investment in the boy, and that might make the boy worth something, if he could get past twenty years of Marie Hawkins’ brainwashing.
Had to deal with the kid. Had to do something, he supposed, If he packed him off to Earth or parts elsewhere, he’d ask himself what he’d given up, what the kid had become… he didn’t know why in hell he should care.
But he’d worry, among other things, that the kid’s path might cross his again, in the way of ships coming and going, and he might have an older, cannier enemy by then.
That was the reasoning that had been nagging his subconscious. He usually discovered good, sane reasons for what, seemed instinct in himself. He’d stayed alive and kept his ship alive. He’d made his mistakes before he took over the ship. Since, he’d been far more careful.
Sober responsibility, mature judgment and all that.
In that light, he probably ought to have the kid up to his office and find out if scrub duty and another jump had mellowed him.
But probably it wasn’t a good idea to do it now, when he had a mild headache and the kid might have the same. He’d satisfied his curiosity back at Tripoint. He was going off-duty, he needed to stretch out and let the kinks out of his back… hell, after dock was soon enough. Let the kid see all the crew get liberty, while he was stuck aboard, let him ferment a while in absolute boredom.