worldwide depression. Nearly all the shipyards have closed or cut back, and unemployment is above 25 %. We could hire all the skilled shipyard workers we want for a couple of thousand rupees a month. And of course, that doesn’t consider the exchange rate for Alliance credits. Last I heard, it was over fifty rupees to the credit. And from what I heard, the government is so desperate for hard currency that they'll sell anything; tanks, intrasystem fighters, artillery, anything — as long as it's leaving the planet. For weapons, I expect I'll be dealing with politicians in paneled conference rooms. 'Course that don't mean they're not shady thugs! No,” he continued, “the most expensive part of the whole deal may be chartering an Epsilon-class tramp and bribing its Captain to forget about Torlon.”
Cale sighed. 'It would be nice to be able to buy a load of intrasystem fighters, but I think you'll probably just need to load up on space mines; all your ship can carry. The more mines we use, the less fights involving people. We won't have the people to spare. Try to get a dozen or so skilled orbital shipyard workers.'
Their talk turned more serious. 'So that's what a real den of iniquity is like,' Dee said pensively. 'A bunch of sad and desperate people sitting around drinking.'
Zant shrugged. 'Well, mostly. They all like to brag about how tough they are, and the fights they've had, and the big scores; but mostly they're just wanderers. They make or steal a 'score', and run straight to a place like Freehold. There they drink, gamble, brawl, and sex it away. When it's gone they sign onto a spacer or beg a lift, and go searching for another score so they can do it all again.' He grinned. 'It's not so bad. Kinda fun, actually.'
Having broken the ice, Dee decided to bring up something that had been bothering her. 'All right,' she said defiantly, hands on hips. 'Now, who wants to tell me why Zant's friend is being allowed to drink himself to death in this day and age, without someone helping him?'
Cale took a deep breath, but Zant cut in before he could speak. 'I consider Rin Tenkin an old and good friend. But he, and his drinking, is one of the main reasons I left here twenty years ago and haven't returned. Rin was a pretty big gun on Freehold. Maybe bigger than Selton is now. Then he got a message that his only daughter had died in a flyer accident on Caroway. The girl was Rin's only living relative, and he doted on her. He kept saying he was in business for her, and when he retired, how he was going to set her up as a 'proper lady', and give her all these millions of Alliance credits he'd been saving.'
Zant sighed. 'Rin did crawl into a bottle after that. His friends all got together and decided to help. We forced him into a recovery program, and we took turns watching him to make sure he didn't cheat.
'But,' Zant continued, 'he didn't even try to cheat; he didn't resist at all. He completed the rehab course, and finally the shrinks said he was completely recovered.
'That was when he gathered together all his friends. It was kind of a cross between a party and a wake. Because Rin reminded us that he had completed the rehab, was completely sober. Then he told us that he was making a completely voluntary and rational decision. He had decided that since he couldn't give his money to his daughter, he was going to drink up every credit, unless he died first, and asked his friends to please butt out.'
Zant stared at Dee for a long moment, his expression furious. ' That 's why I told you to shut up, Dee. Out here, we believe that everyone has the right to go to hell in his or her own way. Rin made his decision, and much as it hurts to see him destroy himself, he's a free man, and we have no right to interfere with him.'
Dee looked distressed. 'But he needs help!'
She turned to Cale, only to find him shaking his head, his expression stony. 'No,' he said. 'Every planet develops its own code of conduct, and passes laws to make sure that everyone lives the way they want them to live. But this is open space.' He shrugged. 'Call it anarchy, if you prefer. People out here believe in personal freedom. If that man had decided to blow his brains out at that party, no one would have interfered, though they might have questioned his taste or timing. There are no busybodies out here to push their way into our lives and force us to live their way. This isn't Faith, Dee. In open space, there is almost complete personal freedom. The only real rule is that you cannot interfere with someone else's personal freedom. The old saying is that 'my freedom to swing my arm ends at your nose.' And if it doesn't, you have the right and responsibility to balance the books. Since you're going to have to live out here, you'll have to cultivate the same attitude, or find yourself another planet where interfering in peoples' lives is acceptable.'
Dee remained silent, but her expression was stormy, and she kept to her cabin for nearly a week.
They only remained on Rama's space station long enough for Zant to take nearly all the cash and catch a ship for Vishnu. Cale reprovisioned Cheetah and they filled her with supplies that would be needed on Torlon, since Cale had no idea how much of the old Beta-class liner’s supplies remained. Then they immediately left as well, declaring a jump for Faith, though of course they did not intend to actually go there. Instead, they jumped for Torlon, two jumps away.
So Cale returned to Torlon once again. This time he didn't bother to call Torlon Control, but he did ground Cheetah just outside the groundside scrap yard. Then he and Dee, blasters prominent in open holsters, prowled the yard looking for suitable intrasystem ships. Cale nearly bit his tongue when he saw the distinctive shape of an Old Empire pattern Strengl fighter. A workhorse of the Old Empire Fleet, the Strengl mounted two Alliance-pattern quickfirers and a laser or disruptor (this one mounted a laser). They also had jump engines, which gave them interstellar capabilities. Unfortunately, this one turned out to be the donor for the inertial engine mounted in Ber Nabel's L'Rak. Since the airframe looked good, though, Cale made a note of it. They also found two old-style couriers, somewhat smaller than Cheetah. Both appeared nearly complete. Most of the rest of the groundside yard had been thoroughly scavenged by looters since Nabel's departure. The office that had occupied the Old Empire corvette hull had been gutted, papers and ram chips scattered everywhere.
They returned to Cheetah, and took up orbit. Tess clamped Cheetah to the liner’s smallest personnel lock, and Cale boarded her. With relief, he noted that life support was still functional, and nearly all lighting worked as well. Doffing his suit, he headed for the ship’s bridge. Upon arrival, he registered himself with the ship’s artificial intelligence as being her
new owner and captain, thus gaining the power of complete control over the entire vessel and it’s AI.
The huge liner was named Pride of Norta, though Cale was certain that was not her first registration. She was actually large enough to take Cheetah into one of her empty cargo holds, so Cale had Tess move in. With the hold pressurized, Cale and Dee could move freely between the two.
Cale’s first order of business was to check on the condition of the liner. Surprisingly, though well worn, she was in completely operable condition. Ber Nabel had bought her at auction on Norta. Since a Beta-Class normally had a crew of over three hundred, she was too big for him to run by himself, even with the AI’s help, so he’d hired a temporary skeleton crew to bring her to Torlon and put her into orbit. She’d been here almost fifteen years.
Apparently, though, there were few Beta-class liners still operating, and Nabel had had no call for parts of the huge Pride. Since Nabel had bought her at a bankruptcy auction, he’d bought her with everything she contained when she had been seized, which turned out to be nearly everything she needed to operate. Her cargo holds were mostly empty (though Cale intended to check out those mysterious boxes and crates remaining in the aft hold), but her storerooms seemed to be nearly full. As Nabel had mentioned long ago, he had been using the Pride as his orbital headquarters, so he’d never shut her down, instead occasionally supplementing her fuel with fuel taken from other hulks. There would be no problem maintaining a dozen or so workers for a month or two. If he’d had enough crew, Cale marveled, he could have simply taken her to Vishnu himself to bring the workmen! Oh, he might need to replenish her atmosphere plant, and the hydroponics section had become an impenetrable jungle, but overall, he was the proud owner of a perfectly usable ship!
Of course, that fact was a lot less impressive than it sounded. Beta-class liners were big ships, used to transport passenger lists of over a thousand in sybaritic luxury. Curious, Cale and Dee had the ship’s AI, which Cale had named, Bet, show them one of the Pride ’s Super-Class Suites. That single suite was larger than Cheetah ’s entire passenger section. The wine-colored wall-to-wall carpeting was over two centimeters deep. The corridor door led into the spacious sitting room, with several heavily padded sofas covered in exotic animal hide. These were grouped around a low real wood table whose top was inlaid with a grown-crystal surface.
The real wood of the table was duplicated in the sumptuous paneling of the walls. One of the largest viewscreens Cale had ever seen occupied the far wall. At present, it was displaying the starfield displayed by the main viewscreen on the bridge. One corner of the large space was occupied by a large bar in gleaming metal, well populated with an assortment of bottles and glasses. On each side of the large sitting room were doors leading to the two bedrooms. They explored the one Bet said was the largest.
The bed was large enough for four, or six if they were close friends. The ceiling over the bed hosted an oversized holovision screen, this one inactive now. The carpet in here, as lush as that in the sitting room, was a
