Cantilever Jones Swings Low, Part 1
Book of Zinnagun.”
“You are an educated man,” said Pale-Face.
“I am a Galactic Man,” I said, “But how can I be of service?”
“We require transport,” said Dark-Face. “To Senel-4.”
“I know Senel-4,” I say.
“Another captain said you were not otherwise engaged,” said Pale-Face.
“That’s correct. What’s the cargo?”
“Passengers only,” said Dark-Face, “Ourselves and one other.”
“Who’s the other?”
“She is at our lodgings,” they said together. There must be some pattern to that. Obviously some kind of psionic
link between them, communal consciousness or some such. They belong to some manner of society, but there
robes bear no symbols are garnishment, so whatever they belong to, it’s probably new.
“Why isn’t she here?” I ask.
“This is not a place for her,” said Pale-Face.
“What is your price?” said Dark-Face.
I pretend to look at Norl in a meaningful way, and he makes a filthy joke in my mind while I do so in order to make
me crack up, because he thinks that’s funny, and he’s kind of right. But I don’t crack up. Instead I meet their
creepy eyes and say “10,000. All in advance”
They look puzzled again.
“We got here for less than half that,” said Pale-Face.
“Senel is a Free System,” I said, “Outside of Imperial Jurisdiction. That means there’s no galactic law to appeal to.
Plenty of local scumbags and pirates, though. The risk is higher, the price is higher.”
“Half now, half when we arrive,” said Dark-Face.
“No,” I said. “I don’t know you, and have no way to know or reason to trust that you can pay the full amount until I
have it in my hand.”
“Our sacred word…” they said together, but I cut them off.