The Reaches

She was a hair too slow to approach the dais. Hollin, Grouse, and Richards, the three most importunate of the folk who'd pestered Sal till she took cover in the pantry, closed about her in a ring as close as minimal politeness permitted.

'I've told all you gentlemen my position,' Sal said sharply. 'I'm not interested in dealing with you.'

'Yes, but there've been developments since then,' Hollin said. The trio were money men, not shippers; bankers in a large way and reputed to be well known in the Governor's Palace. 'In particular we've made an arrangement among ourselves so that the three of us aren't in competition, so to speak.'

'We've also looked into your circumstances in detail, Mistress Blythe,' Grouse added. 'You can't afford to pay the gift Councilor Duneen will expect to release your commission, much less outfit your ship for a raiding voyage. The commission won't exist unless you see reason and transfer your rights to us-for a very respectable sum. We've agreed to pay you three thousand consols-cash, not discounted bills.'

Sal turned angrily. Richards stood in that direction, a disdainful sneer on his lips. She wondered what the banker would do if she slapped him the way she'd slapped Stephen Gregg.

The advantage of a Commission of Redress was that the holder was exempted from the Governor's Fifth, the levy on cargoes brought to Venus from beyond the Solar System. If Sal sold her commission to the consortium surrounding her, they stood to greatly increase the value of prizes awarded to ships they owned in the course of the coming raid. Given the fabulous success of Piet Ricimer's previous expeditions, an extra twenty percent could be worth a fortune. Three thousand Venerian consols was a derisory offer, even if Sal had been willing to deal.

'We've called in some favors, Blythe,' Richards said harshly. 'You'll get no credit in Ishtar City or any of the other ports. And if you're thinking of raising the money you need from some pawnbroker out in the sticks-forget it! They'd need to pass the loan back to a respondent in Ishtar City, and they'd learn that nobody was willing to negotiate your paper.'

Grouse frowned a little at Richards' open threat. He gestured calmingly and said, 'There's another matter you should consider, Mistress Blythe. Your vessel operating alone is unlikely to make any significant prizes from the Federation. Probably not even enough to pay the expenses of your voyage. The chance of real profit is with the squadron forming now. I shouldn't have to tell you that General Commander Ricimer is far too good a Christian to permit a ship captained by a woman to serve with him.'

Sal jerked upright. She felt suddenly sick with frustration. 'Listen, you!' she said. 'I'm as good a Christian as any man in this room! Show me where the Bible says a woman can't captain a starship. Show me where it says a woman can't do any damned thing!'

'I'm sure President Pleyal and his toadies would agree with you, Mistress,' Hollin said. 'I'm equally sure that Captain Ricimer would not. Now, if you'd like us to take up the outstanding loans on the Gallant Sallie and leave you without a ship at all, then-'

'Good afternoon, gentlemen,' said Stephen Gregg, looming like a fang of rock behind Richards. 'I heard you discussing business with my partner, Captain Blythe, here, so I thought I ought to come join you.'

He smiled. If Death had a human face, thought Sarah Blythe, it would wear a very similar expression.

ISHTAR CITY, VENUS

August 10, Year 26

1707 hours, Venus time

'Your partner, Mister Gregg?' Hollin said. Richards, who'd jerked around as though he'd been stabbed, said nothing. Grouse twitched backward. His reflex, barely controlled, was to try to vanish into the crowd.

'Why, yes, Factor Hollin,' Stephen said. He continued to walk forward in a curving path. His advance forced the bankers to move away from Blythe and, not coincidentally, put Stephen's own back to the wall. There was no physical need for that precaution here, but at the psychic level Stephen felt better for it. We live in our minds, after all.

He knew the three bankers better than he liked them. They were the new breed of financier, young men who'd made their mark in the current expansion of commerce. Grouse was of an age with Stephen and Piet, and the other two were only in their forties.

Stephen had heard the trio described as ruthless, but the word means different things to different people. Ruthless means firing into a compartment full of people because somewhere among the screaming civilians is a Fed soldier with a gun. Ruthless is-

Stephen focused back on the present, on the three well-dressed men staring at him in horror and the woman with a look of concern. Blythe's left hand was raised to touch him, to call him back from where he'd gone for an instant.

'I was sure there'd been a failure of communication,' Stephen said. By the end of the sentence, his voice was back to its normal pleasant tenor, free of the rusty harshness that made the first words sound as though they'd been vocalized by an ill-programmed machine. 'None of you gentlemen would have insulted my honor by knowingly trying to undercut my arrangements.'

'Good God, no, sir!' Richards blurted as he backed away. The banker didn't have a high reputation for honesty, but there was no doubting the simple truth of his words this time.

Stephen smiled at the statement, but the bankers missed the humor of it. They bowed their respects and scuttled into the crowd, avoiding one another as well as their former quarry.

Sarah Blythe still stood beside him. Stephen scanned the assembly, looking over her head instead of at her. Not necessary, but-

'Those three had a good notion of what it costs to outfit a commercial vessel for raiding,' Stephen said. 'They should, after all, since they've had shares in at least a dozen raiders in the past five years. They work with the Mosterts, often as not. Were they right about your own financial condition?'

Blythe nodded, her expression deliberately blank. 'Credit's tight, yes,' she said. 'Credit was tight before I came back from Lilymead with an empty hold, though I thought-I think that I'll be able to raise the necessary on the basis of the Commission of Redress.'

She cleared her throat. 'I. .' she said. 'Ah, thank you for what you did.'

She was looking at him, but he continued to view the room. 'My pleasure,' he said. He laughed, a sound like that of bricks clinking together. 'It's a pity, I suppose, but that's really true.'

Blythe cleared her throat. 'Well, thank you again. I need to see Councilor Duneen, so-'

'We have business to transact,' Stephen said crisply. 'If you're amenable, I'll take a silent partnership in your venture. You'll retain full control of the Gallant Sallie-captain her, engage the crew, all as you've been doing previously. I'll undertake to outfit the vessel for the voyage at my own sole charge, and to provide expertise.'

He gave her a businesslike smile. 'You'll need an expert, me or someone like me. I assure you, a raiding voyage is very different from the commercial endeavors in which you've been engaged to present.'

She nodded back. 'I can see that,' she said. She didn't really understand, though. She thought he meant differences in staff and equipment. .

'The relative value of the ship's share and the backer's share will be determined by survey of the vessel,' Stephen continued, speaking with the seamless precision of a man at one with his subject. 'We'll each appoint a surveyor, the pair to choose the third man themselves. Captain's and crew's shares aren't affected, of course.'

'I'd want to discuss this with. .' Blythe said, but she let her voice trail off as she reconsidered. Her father, Stephen assumed, though there might well be a man in her life. There deserved to be.

'Alternatively,' he concluded, 'I'll put a consol down and you'll double it to me on your return. For honor's sake.'

He grinned. Her face lost the thoughtful animation of a moment before and became guarded again.

'I told those three that I was your partner, you see,' he explained. 'So I need to put something into the expedition.'

At the back of the room, Piet shook hands with Kuelow of Thorn, leaning across the table to clap the magnate on the back. Piet's eyes met Stephen's in a quick flicker. Stephen flared the fingers of his left hand in an all's-well signal; Piet nodded and switched the full force of his personality to the next man waiting to talk with him, the agent of a syndicate of Betaport shippers.

They'd been looking out for each other for a decade now, he and Piet. One way and another.