Alliance Unbound, page 18
And just that quick, her part in the meeting was done, and even that was kindness on Uncle’s part. Mostly she suspected she was here in case someone had questions Uncle hadn’t thought to ask her or Nolan earlier.
“You thought right,” Uncle said. “For the record, Nolan Monahan, Galway’s cargomaster, who is available by com should we need him, gave us a list of the suspect F-class items, into which records is still looking. But first the trees. —Rennie?”
“Purchased nine years, eight months, and three days ago, station time,” Rennie said. “First displayed to the public nine months ago. The seller of the specimens was one Connie Bellagio. Ship name—” Rennie paused, glanced around the table. “Come Lately, Bryant’s registry.”
A murmur traveled the table, and Jen pressed her lips on an exclamation. Come Lately. One of their missing ships. Here?
Rennie continued matter of factly: “Purchase price 130,000 VC, was actually a court settlement, whole case rushed through in five days; and that took a bit of finagling to discover. The freight office delved deeper at our request, and, credit where due, Emilio gave us a stationwide clearance, without which we might never have gotten answers.”
130,000 VC? That was quite a price, for five practically no-mass items. And why in Venture chits? How weird was that? Why not just take Pell credit and do a black box transfer of the balance to Venture . . . or wherever they were headed . . . when they left, like everyone else did? And them being here was weird to begin with. Venture-Pell was an extremely hard pull for ships of that vintage, by what the Galways had said. By what they’d said, Galway herself couldn’t make it fully loaded, and Galway was the newest and most powerful ship there was in the Hinder Stars.
“That was the first of the two visits Emilio told us about,” Rennie said. “Come Lately took on low-mass dry goods, foods, and medicines on that particular trip. The whole cargo weight under 2 tonnes, incidental to a supposed contract for transport of iron ingots listed at 3 tonnes, destination listed as Bryant’s, though no buyer’s name is listed. However—as our touch at Bryant’s tells us, and we in Research are very confident—Bryant’s records do not show any corresponding ship-call at Bryant’s, certainly nothing about that iron ore . . . which was paid for locally with Venture chits. Prior to, I might add, settlement on the payment for the trees. The next recorded appearance of Come Lately at Bryant’s was almost three years after the sale of the trees . . . keeping in mind Come Lately’s black box is, as we’ve noted before to our frustration, old and likes to keep its secrets.”
The virtue of working black boxes was records from everywhere the ship docked, updated at every station with every ship call. But working was the operative word there.
“Contract for transport,” Mum said. “Would be somebody else’s iron, somebody else’s purchase, a freight-only haul, bulk, not cans. Unusual for Bryant’s. They don’t do a lot of manufacturing there.”
“If it had gotten there,” Uncle said, “we probably wouldn’t think twice. A Bryant’s local, seeing the ship’s ultimate destination as Pell, might well have made a last minute request of the Bellagios, it being hard to get raw metal out of Venture. But the order didn’t show on Bryant’s or Venture’s manifests. Neither did their other cargo. We have no clue where she dropped those goods. And there is that three-year gap until Come Lately turns up at Bryant’s. What did they do? Carry the iron around all that time?”
Lucent lifted a finger for attention: “It should be noted that this is not an unusual dropout of records for Come Lately. Venture records do not have it docking with any regularity, and Glory—well, Glory has periods when the entire system is down, so no help there. But the point is, I’m not sure this specific silence should be considered significant . . . except in that it is part of a pattern of black box behavior, whether by design, simple negligence on the part of the Bellagios, or a faulty system, is hard to say without physically examining their box.”
“Provenance of the specimens?” Mum asked, which was Jen’s question, and Uncle answered.
“The Bellagios told Pell—paraphrasing from the transcript of the settlement hearing—it was a chance find at Bryant’s, supposedly from a hobbyist who happened to have found unidentified seeds, started them, and found himself with these trees he thought might be the ones on that list. The Bellagios claimed they took a chance that these were the trees Pell wanted and made the jump to Pell primarily on spec, but supposedly only after that order for iron came through to cover the trip. Fiscally smart, but a curious bit of detail, to my thinking. For one thing, there’s no evidence that they listed on the boards anywhere as bound for Pell—but I digress. In their statement, they claimed they knew nothing about the Pell ban on biologics, but curiously—and even more curiously, a question nowhere posed in the transcript—when they actually got to Pell, rather than declare their find to customs, which by that ban would have gotten the trees immediately destroyed, they just smuggled them directly to the Garden office, in, apparently, sealed containers inside crew duffles, and the seedlings so excited the chief botanist, the Garden got a court injunction against their destruction—and of course latched onto them. The white-coat folk examined them up and down, declared them the real deal and free of contaminants and were not about to give them up. It ended in court when the Bellagios sued to get compensation. They ultimately settled for 130,000 VC for the three that survived, which was, according to the transcript, far less than they’d wanted, but since they had tried to skirt the ban, far more than Pell legally had to give them. But here’s the thing: there’s no name given for the supposed Bryant’s hobbyist, and no evidence of Come Lately docking at Bryant’s in the time frame necessary. It’s possible the Bryant’s hobbyist is a cover story for an under the table trade with pusher crew, but that theory has its own problems. —Fletch?”
“Nolan Monahan said he had personally spoken with both pusher crews about the wishlist,” Fletcher said. “He had specifically asked about these Dawn Redwoods, and did they have any, bonsai evidently still being a favorite pastime on pushers. Both said they did not, however one crewman did imply a little under the table was not out of the question. Nolan wasn’t interested, however armed with the knowledge of that wishlist, some enterprising and mildly larcenous pusher crewman could have gotten their hands on the seeds—on Sol Station, who of course wouldn’t give a damn: the only contamination they worry about is incoming from Pell—and done that under the table with some other ship. I looked up, and those seeds are damn small. You could outright palm ’em through customs real easy. Any ship could have done the transaction in any friendly bar restroom, and later traded them to Come Lately . . . or even that Bryant’s hobbyist, to prove viability. If this is the actual scenario, that bathroom trade was not made with the Bellagios. According to Alpha’s records—because we are thorough and checked every angle of this—in the last thirty years, station-time, Come Lately’s docking schedule has not corresponded to either pusher ship’s presence at Alpha—nor, for that matter, has Miriam B’s.”
“None of which explains that thing on the table,” Mum said dryly. “Seeds can be slipped hand to hand, but not something that size.”
Curious eyes turned to the box in the middle of the table. Jen pressed her lips tight. She really, really wanted to know what they’d found out about that model ship.
“We’ll get back to that in a minute,” Uncle said, with a glance her way. “So. We have these three trees Pell Gardens wanted so badly they didn’t want to pursue the origins too carefully. They had what they wanted, to hell with the biologics ban. Cyteen might not be so forgiving if they caught wind of it, and the political fallout of Pell actively violating the biologics ban would be huge. Hypocritically, destruction of the specimens would be, I’m sure, unthinkable—to all sides. I’m including Cyteen in that. You can bet Pell will get their 130,000 back just selling cells to the Carnaths. Likely already has, though I don’t think records has checked that one.”
“Not yet,” Rennie muttered, and tapped the table’s touch keyboard in front of him to bring the computer alive. “You might have said.”
“Just thought of it myself. —So rather than try to sneak these trees into their collection, Pell waits ten years, then makes a big deal of it, too big to have anyone question the ancient transaction, marks its provider as anonymous, and gives it as vague a cover story as they could manage. Meanwhile Come Lately exits, if not flush with cash, at least full of fuel and with a small cargo. Not how you prefer to do business, but let’s assume she broke even on the run, and her crew got a chance to see Pell firsthand. Again, there’s an explanation, even for the subterfuge. The Hinder Stars are suffering, big time, ships and stations, and she’s not the only ship who runs mostly dark, and likely runs some exotic contraband. If it were just the trees, just the iron, we might be inclined to write it off. But that . . . is a big if. —Fletch?”
If? It struck Jen suddenly what recent study of ship cargos in the security office might have been for.
“Throughout this trip,” Fletcher explained, “we’ve been building a picture of what Hinder Stars finance looks like for repairs and other Alliance operations. Peripherally and not in any overwhelming urgency, we’ve been looking for the Mallorys’ Miriam B and Bellagios’ Come Lately, two ships that are off and on in the black box system and have been overall elusive. But here’s the interesting part: in the record of goods-on-hand just ticking up and down mysteriously from time to time throughout all the system—there may be the heartbeat of our two ghosts running supply. We’re not sure, but we’ve been working on that. Depletion can be a station draw on supply due to some local situation: people eat more than you plan. But a sudden rise in a commodity, without ship manifest corroboration, there you are. Ghost action. And now, thanks to all the stations’, including Pell’s, complete cooperation with records, we’re beginning to see how that ghost might be operating. Simple cash deals. A tendency on the part of Hinder Stars ships, including here at Pell, to take payment in Venture chits, which are spendable anywhere in the Hinder Stars, and hard to track. Clever notion, and a massive thank you due to Research.”
There was a murmur. Rennie nodded a balding head. “Numbers, numbers,” Rennie said, all the while tapping his keys, his eyes fixed on a tabletop directional display visible only to him. “My division’s not been enjoying life on the docks. Thanks to our guests’ observations, we know we’re chasing something more than seeds and trees. Once we plugged in the Venture data—and you know Venture chits are good clear to Glory—that uptick and downtick of supply began to look more obvious. And when we plugged in figures clear to Alpha, there was little doubt left. We believe those two ships on more than one occasion bought electronics and printing supplies at Venture that don’t turn up down the line. Who’s ever cared about little ships? Their records never get checked. And but for one extremely lucrative sale of one high-demand, unique product a decade back, with a claimed provenance at Bryant’s—we might never have put the pieces together.”
Uncle lifted a hand to stop Rennie, giving everyone time to process. When he lowered his hand, Rennie continued, no longer tapping.
“Brothers and sisters and cousins, once you look at the big picture, there’s just a lot to worry us mathematicians. Ghost activity in the commodities. Supplies of various things turn up. Others just disappear. It’s no wonder, really, that Emilio doubted Abrezio’s claims of need—and there’s the tragedy. Alpha asked for aid and was denied . . . because Pell has received Sol goods that did not come legitimately through Alpha—not in the last thirty years, at least—including Emilio’s scotch. It’s possible those were hoarded, waiting for the selling price to escalate, but the return numbers are even more worrisome. More consumables have been purchased, in the name of the Hinder Stars, than have ever made it to those stations . . . unless Glory is overflowing with flour. And it’s not just the odd food lot. Massive lot of electronics that we know hasn’t gone to refurb Alpha.” He tapped the table in front of him again. “And here’s the big tell: twenty years ago, ship parts and supplies desperately needed in the Hinder Stars disappear from Venture and don’t show up in station inventory down the line. Parts that could account for two elderly ships suddenly able to reach Pell and other places that you wouldn’t think they could.”
Ears perked at that.
“Doing their own upgrades?” Katrin D asked. “Retrofitting, except the black box?”
“Is that even possible?” JR asked, and Katrin shrugged.
“No one’s ever tried, that I know of. No reason to. The new systems, with the integrated boxes, are better than any retrofit. But this lot . . . looks like they’ve done everything possible to avoid the modern box, doesn’t it? Pretty massive case of paranoia.”
“Any evidence of any other big Pell paydays for Come Lately?” Mum asked, and Rennie shrugged.
“What we found confirms what Emilio told JR. Only two appearances on the Pell market for Come Lately in the last eighty years, the trees being part of the first, and the second one two years and change ago. Ship trade was similar to the first time: nothing much coming in, consignment going out, paid with VC. We’re still checking into the whole category of F-class items which could be attributed to that last call, including those.” He raised his chin in the direction of the boxed ship model. “Lot of stuff marked Sol. As Jen pointed out, sometimes in lots rather than individual second hands. Low mass stuff. And again, it’s all stuff our Monahans haven’t seen or even heard about—I sent a list to Nolan Monahan just before this meeting, and he confirmed. Records thus far indicate it all came from Come Lately, and landed them a nice little nest egg. Other F-class trickles in on other ships on the Venture-Pell route, but nothing like what showed up on Come Lately’s return visit. But it all indicates there has to be pusher trade involved somewhere, the question is, when. Were those items warehoused at Alpha and the owner just got tired of waiting and made a deal with Come Lately? Or is it . . . something else?”
“Maybe Come Lately’s making secret runs to Sol,” Mum said dryly.
Clearly impossible, Jen thought . . . and then remembered Galway . . . and had to wonder.
“When did Abrezio say he got those coordinates for the Sol run?” Madison asked, and Uncle shook his head. “Since the last pusher left. Timing doesn’t work.”
Mum snorted. “Doesn’t mean someone else didn’t find them. —Redline it.”
Which meant: don’t just delete the possibility.
“Anything about Miriam B?” John asked, and Rennie nodded.
“Only one Pell docking for Miriam B, to and from Venture, some six years ago. The only particularly flag-worthy trades from the Mallorys were Scotch and coffee, and those only because of the quantity involved. They wouldn’t be the first to keep a bit in reserve for emergency dock charges, but the quantity would suggest a fresh supply, an observation that had Nolan using highly colorful expletives. Some evidence of F-class cash trade with locals, but mostly standard ship credit transaction, more than enough of that to cover the round trip between here and Venture, and leave them with a nice little cash reserve.”
Damn, Jen thought. Fresh supply? Those ship models? Had these two ships had some kind of sweetheart deal with the pushers coming into Alpha that left all the other ships . . . like Galway . . . struggling? And if she was thinking that, damn sure others were, maybe some not in this room. She bit her lips and looked from one to the other of her gathered family, wondering were they thinking the same?
“So,” Uncle said, “thanks to our Monahan guests, mystery not solved, but a spotlight shone on our two missing ships, both on first-gen box systems, which they claimed here at Pell were broken, but no, and, no, they don’t want to install a modern box, even if Pell offers it free, along with a nav system upgrade. They don’t want one and there’s no law saying they have to have one.”
“They’re right about that,” Fletcher said. “There is no law. The original black box was an add-on. Information being a high commodity, no merchanter in his right mind ever thought of refusing it.”
Lucent said: “For our non-technicals present, the modern black box is an integrated part of the modern FTL nav system: if your ship runs, if it comes into port, it’s logged. The old box system is a separate unit—doesn’t integrate with nav. The old boxes—and those are the last two left except for Firenze, which is currently getting replaced—also turn off and on at the discretion of the crew. That was part of the deal in getting the original boxes generally accepted. A handful of times forgetting to turn it back on and losing the data-flow revenue associated with it cured most Families of the obsession for that bit of privacy. However . . . it would explain the ghostly presence of these two dinosaurs in the records.”
“Their systems may stay off during certain runs,” Fletcher said. “But that doesn’t explain some of the gaps in station records. They’re going somewhere. Clearly.”
Rennie frowned and tapped the table again, reactivating the computer.
“Overall, except for that clinging to the old black box, there’s not that much difference between them and the other First Stars ships,” Uncle said, as Rennie’s fingers flew on his tabletop keyboard. “The entire lot are clinging to existence by any means they can find. The nature of the Bellagios’ official trade, within the Hinder Stars, is small stuff and random. How they’ve kept operating is not a question anyone ever seems to have asked. No merchanter has complained about their actions, and stationers don’t much care. They’re figures out of the old days. Among the very first purpose-builts. Marginal traders. Certainly no economic threat to the locals. Everyone just pats them on the head and lets them slide through the rules. One suspects their secret is that F-class trade. Merchants buy from them, under the table . . . everywhere but here. F-class is a hole you can put a planet through. But it’s a sacred cow. And apparently it’s been enough to keep them going.”
Jen wondered how the Monahans were going to take this assessment, what they were going to think about being played this way.
