Khat pushed the plate away with a regretful sigh and reached for her mug. A couple more sips, settle her bill and then back to the lodgings, she thought, with a sinking in her well-full stomach. Wasn't nothing wrong with the lodgings, mind, except that they was full-grav lodgings, and dirtside, and subject to the rules of the lodge-owner. But still, Market's crew had a section to themselves, inside which each had their own cubby, with cot and desk and entertainment bar. No complaints.
Excepting that Captain Iza was nothing but complaints—well, she hated dirt, always had; and didn't have much of a fondness for worldsiders. Without the routine of her ship, she stood at sevens and eights and spent 'way too much of her time down to the yards, doubtless making life a hell for the crew boss assigned to Market's refit.
Zam had suggested the captain might file as freewing with Central, for which insubordination he had his head handed to him. Seeli'd come by no gentler treatment when she spoke to her mother, and Dyk declined even to try. Paitor had his own quarters at Terratrade, and when the temp slot went solid on Cris their second day a-ground, he all but ran to the space field.
Which left them a mixed bag—and bad tempered, too, held uneasy by Iza's moods.
And the year was barely begun.
Khat sighed again, and finished off her brew. She put the mug down and waved at the keeper for the bill. He, up-counter with the crew of three, held up two fingers— be there in a few . She nodded, shifted on the stool. . .
"Hey, Khati," an unwelcome voice came from too near at hand.
"Shit," Khat muttered beneath her breath and spun the stool around to face Mac Gold.
He hadn't changed much since the last time she'd seen him—some taller, maybe, and a little broader in the shoulders. Khat nodded, curt.
"Mac."
He grinned, and ran a hand over his head. His hair was pale yellow; buzzed, it was nearly invisible, which his eyelashes were. Behind those invisible lashes, his eyes were a deep and unlikely blue, the rest of his face square and bony. A well enough looking boy, taken all together. If he hadn't also happened to've been Mac Gold.
"Good to see you," he said, now, deliberately aiming those unlikely eyes at her chest. "Buy you a brew?"
She shook her head, teeth gritting. "Just on my way. Next time, maybe."
"Right," he said, but he didn't move, other than to cock his head. "Listen, while we're face to face—square with me?"
She shrugged. "Maybe."
"I'm just wondering—what happened to Jethri? I mean, what really happened to Jethri?"
"He's 'prenticed to the trader of a big ship," she said. "Cap'n Iza must've told your dad so."
"She did," Mac agreed, "and I'm sharing no secrets when I tell you my dad was some pissed about the whole business. I mean, here's Iza asking us to make room for your extra, and m'dad willing to accommodate, and what happens but then she says, no, the boy ain't coming after all. He's gone someplace else." Mac shook his head and held up a hand, thumb and forefinger a whisper apart.
"Dad was this close to calling breach."
Khat sighed. "Breach of what? The legal wasn't writ."
"Still, there'd be the verbal—"
"Deals fall through every day," Khat interrupted and caught sight of the barkeep out of the corner of her eye. She turned on the stool and smiled at him.
Behind her, Mac, raised his voice conspicuously—
"Rumor is, Khat, that Paitor sold the boy to Liadens!"
That drew starts and stares from those close enough to hear; some turned carefully away but others lifted eyebrows and raised their heads to watch.
Deliberately, Khat turned, away from the barkeep and back to Mac Gold. Deliberately, she drew a deep breath, and glared straight into those blue eyes.
"The boy holds a Combine key. He's as legal as you or me. He's a 'prentice trader—signed his own papers. Jethri ain't no boy ."
"Well, rumor is that Liadens paid for this upgrade the Market's gettin'."
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