3
The very top deck of the Judeste is a real observation deck. Glasseen steel windows—small ones—let you see outside the ship. No screens, no avatars or representations. As close to seeing with your naked eye the glory of deep space, short of stepping out there in a suit.
The view isn’t unobstructed, though. The jump gate attached to the front end of the barge blocks most of it. Only, watching a ship emerge from the suddenly violet shimmer into normal space can take your breath away. When a ship was due, folk squeezed in the cramped space, craning to peer through the windows.
It didn’t surprise me to find the family CEO, Farhan, there. There were no ships due for three days—I’d checked. The ship Juliyana and I waited for—the Aurora Queen—was four days out. The Queen, which did not live up to her name, was one of the Hakim Hext Cruiselines’ commercial crawlers. Hakim Hext was the only spaceline company serving outrigger barges, and it operated on a shoestring, jamming passengers into cramped shells which should have been upgraded a few decades ago.
Nevertheless, Juliyana and I had tickets for its return. As Juliyana had booked them, complaining loudly about the scalper prices, it occurred to me that as a majority shareholder, I should probably inform the CEO I was leaving the barge. There would be proxies to sign before I left.
Farhan grimaced when he saw me and turned his head back to the view. He had his share of the family genes—tall and rangy. His skin was a lot darker, though. “Líadan,” he acknowledged. “What can I do for you?”
“This is a formality,” I said. “I’m letting you know I’m leaving the barge for a while.”
He glanced at me again, genuinely startled. “You?” He rolled his eyes. “Of course you’re leaving.” He laughed. It was a soft sound, devoid of humor.
I waited, puzzled.
He finally pulled himself together. With a jerk, he yanked his jacket back into place. “It’s not due to be released yet. How did you get hold of it? Or shouldn’t I ask?”
“About what?”
He narrowed his eyes. “The annual report…” he said slowly. “You don’t have it?”
“It’s bad news, then?” I surmised. I barely managed to say “then”, instead of “again”. I tried to think back to when the last report came out, only it wasn’t a highlight in my memory. The timing seemed about right, was the best I could guess.
He turned back to the view. That was why he was here. He was brooding. “We haven’t found a viable planet in over a hundred years.”
“The ore belts are lucrative,” I pointed out. The mining of ores was the bread and butter of the family. There were always more satellites and asteroids to suck the guts out of. Opening new planets, establishing gates, and selling the rights for them was cream. Very rich, very lucrative cream, but still just cream. No one gambled upon finding viable planets as their sole source of income. The Carranoak family certainly did not.
“Ore pays,” he agreed. “Just not enough—not in the long term, not for us. The hits we’ve taken lately…finding a planet would solve all of it.” He stirred. “What do you care, anyway? You’ve never shown up for a single board meeting.”
“I’ve grown aware of money and costs, lately.” I recalled Juliyana’s bellyaching.
He turned to face me properly, his expression alert. “If you’re not leaving because of the report, then why are you leaving? Is this something to do with Juliyana?”
Of course he’d heard about her arrival. Whenever a family member set foot upon the Judeste, he would be informed.
“Indirectly. She’s coming with me. I don’t know how long I’ll be away.”
“Just long enough to avoid the fallout.” His tone was withering. “Typical.”
“I’m not following.”
He turned back to the view again. “You brought all the bad luck with you. Now the cumulative effects are catching up with the family, you’re leaving again.”
“Bad luck is a myth.”
“Is it? A disgraced Ranger with a criminal son settles upon the barge, with voting rights on the Board.” He held up a finger. “Our insurance rates have risen steadily every year since you arrived. The insurance companies are now holding out for indemnity clauses and say they won’t renew without them.”
I winced. “Expensive?”
“Unbelievably.” He held up another finger. “In the last ten years, three of our major mining rights contracts have come up for renewal, and I’ve had to negotiate hard just to keep them. Asking for better terms was out of the question. In two cases, I had to lower the royalties, slash docking fees, give away storage and more. The mining companies are wary—to them, rising insurance must mean higher risk.”
He held up another finger. “The restraints on cash flow means I can’t service longer term liquid arrangements. Interest on short term is horrendous. So, the cost of commodities, including food and air and water have gone up three hundred percent.”
He dropped his hand. “People are leaving the barge, finding work and accommodation elsewhere. Exit interviews show a trend—they’re heading to other barges, where the conditions are cheaper and up to date. We haven’t renewed the dormitories in twenty years. Fewer people mean less cash flow.” He shrugged. “And around it goes.” He turned back to the window. “You asked,” he added, his tone bitter.
“It’s not all on me.” I wasn’t surprised when my voice came out hoarse.
“Noam carries a lot of it,” he said bleakly.
I only remembered then that he and Noam used to be friends. “You have a bad seed on board. So what? Every barge, every ship…hell, half my basic recruits were criminals on redemption passes.”
He nodded. “Yeah, that’s how it’s supposed to work. Screw up, fix it and work your ass off for twenty years to make amends.” His glance was sideways. “Not a single contract negotiation, the insurance renewals, not one
