“MORE wants to see all of our customers succeed, so we’ve put together a number of new tools for collaboration,” Jim said, as Larry studied the display. “There’s a built-in rating system that allows affiliated traders to grade each other’s contributions so you can build a reputation. I know you’re thinking that the whole point of being an independent trader is going it alone, but—”
“I already have a reputation,” Larry cut him off, handing back the tab. “I appreciate the offer, but I once subscribed to the Raider/Trader platform the Verlocks maintain, and though I earned steady money, it made me feel like I was running a delivery service. I grew up in a trading family, third generation, and I’m not in it just to squeeze every last cred out of my cargo.”
“Oh well, we can’t force you,” Marcie said, slipping the tab back into her shoulder bag. “If you change your mind, any MORE rep can provide you with a free tab and set up your credentials.”
“You’re a hard sell, Larry,” Jim added, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Our goal is to become the top financial services partner for independent traders, so don’t be surprised when you find that all of your friends are availing themselves of our services.”
Larry watched the pair of sales reps head towards the other two-man Sharf trader currently parked in Mac’s Bones and wondered just how many mortgages MORE had acquired. Then he saw Joe McAllister walking towards him with a slender brunette, and for a second he thought that the ambassador’s husband had found a customer for the ten thousand air-tight salad containers he was hoping to unload for cash. Then he saw her press ID and realized she wasn’t a buyer.
“Evening, Larry,” Joe greeted him. “Did you get that fuel pack bolted up without a problem?”
“Fit like a glove. Thanks for welding on the adapter bracket for me. I might have burned a hole in the pack if I tried welding it myself, but I couldn’t afford the exact replacement size.”
“Sharf fuel packs are practically indestructible. They build them that way so you can’t disassemble it and replace the catalyst yourself.” Joe ushered the reporter forward and continued with a simple introduction. “Georgia, this is Larry. Larry, Georgia is trying to find a ride. She has a peculiar travel itinerary and renting a ship from Tunnel Trips wouldn’t make financial sense for her.”
“Pleased to meet you, Larry,” the reporter said, shaking the trader’s calloused hand. “Joe told me you might consider a passenger?”
“It’s not out of the question,” Larry replied. “I don’t have any commitments to be anywhere for the next few weeks, and I was going to check the trade section in the Galactic Free Press and see what looked promising. You’re a full-time reporter?”
“I was. As of today, I’m a freelance investigative journalist, though I’ll be writing some local food articles to pay the bills.”
“I’ll just leave you two to talk then,” Joe said. “I can vouch for Larry and his family, Georgia. They’re good people, been stopping here since I opened the place. If Larry takes you on, don’t forget to stock up at the chandlery. It’s run by my son-in-law.”
“He’s a great old guy,” Larry told Georgia as soon as Joe was out of earshot. “Most places rent tools, but everything here comes free with the camp rental, and Joe’s a genius at tracking down replacement parts. So where do you need to go?”
“I’m working on a story about the Colony One movement and I want to follow them around for a while. You know, see what kind of people show up at their events, whether they present everybody with the same story, that sort of thing.”
“And you can get paid for that?”
“It depends on whether the paper wants to buy what I write, but I have some savings, and they’ll pay me per article to keep writing food stories.”
“So how much were you looking to spend?”
“I’m giving up my apartment and I was hoping to keep my transportation costs to something like a rent payment. Or maybe I could work my way?”
“Cash on the barrelhead,” Larry said. “I have a mortgage payment to make, and the truth is, I’ve got more merchandise than ready money.”
“Would fifty creds a week help?”
“One cred a week would help, but that doesn’t mean it would be worth sharing my living space and chasing around after the Colony One people. How about a hundred?”
“I don’t really have any experience with the whole trading culture thing so I don’t want to get in a haggling war with you. Would seventy-five work?”
“You’re better at negotiating than you think,” Larry said. “Come aboard and take a look around before we shake on the deal because you may want to change your mind. Have you ever traveled on a small ship?”
“No, but I’m not claustrophobic,” she said, following him up the ramp. “And it’s a lot larger than my apartment.”
“The fat part of a trade ship is cargo space. The skinny end is where we live.”
“Oh.” Georgia paused as they entered the cargo hold, which fit between the technical deck and the bridge, and waited a moment for her eyes to adjust. “You use cargo netting in space?”
“Can’t have the goods floating around in Zero-G, and stackable containers are too inefficient in terms of the limited storage space on a small ship like this. Cargo netting is flexible. We take the ladder to the left there.”
“No stairs?”
“Some larger trade ships have a companionway, which is like very steep stairs, but a ladder makes the best use of space unless you can afford a field lift.”
“What’s that?” Georgia asked when they reached the ladder. “You go first, I’m wearing a skirt.”
“All of the advanced
