The Oilman's Daughter by Allison M. Dickson, Ian Thomas Healy Page A

strips on the table and raised them. Drinking beer through a straw was a tricky operation, and it seemed like every time Jonathan took a sip, a trail of foam floated free from the straw’s mouth.
    “Sir,” said Porter in a soft voice. “I really think—”
    “Quiet, Jefferson. Mr. Gusarov’s about to talk business. Aren’t you?”
    “ Da . When Lloyd’s paid out for Bride , I asked Captain if I could keep stovepipe as payment since I would not be digging dirt anytime soon. He agreed, so there it is, and here I am, captain of Condor . You will hire us, da ?”
    It took Porter nudging him under the table for Jonathan to realize it was his turn to speak. Microgravity and alcohol was a potent combination, and he felt quite a bit more soused than he should have been. Gusarov had the cadences of a master storyteller, and wove a powerful, mesmerizing spell with his words.
    “Oh, er, yes. You couldn’t take us to the Lagrange Sargasso, could you?”
    Gusarov looked around quickly to see if anyone had overheard. “Hush, Mr. Orbital. You do not want people to overhear you talk like that. Sargasso is no place for respectable man like yourself.”
    Jonathan lowered his voice to what he felt was a safe level. “That may be, but I need to get there. It’s a matter of desperate importance. A young lady’s life may be at stake.”
    Gusarov considered Jonathan’s words for a moment. “As much as I would like to help your lady friend, it is not possible. I was going to speak to man who knew other man who could tell me semaphore code to approach without being shot into space dust.” He took another drink. “Somewhere along line, someone did not show up, so here I am. Honest man trying to make honest living with honest work.” He spoke this last at a louder volume and looked around the bar, as if to convince anyone who overheard. No one appeared to give him more than an annoyed glance before continuing their conversations.
    “Then perhaps you could take us to rendezvous with another ship. Mr. Porter’s brother works aboard the Palmetto , and he must know the code you spoke of. We need to reach his ship as soon as possible. Can you take us to it?”
    Gusarov smoothed his mustache again. “ Palmetto . Alberto Muñoz’s ship. He and I go way back. He is day outbound, heading for drop in Lisbon. I can bring you to him, comrades. There is just question of my fee.”
    “I’m prepared to pay whatever you require if it’s reasonable,” said Jonathan. Porter nudged him under the table again and he knew he was being too easy a negotiator. Every minute they delayed, though, was one more minute Cecilie had to stay among the pirates.
    “I am small bit behind in airlock rental, thanks to misunderstanding with weekly rates.”
    “I’ll take care of that.”
    “And Condor needs coke, water, O2”
    “Done.”
    “The larder could use restocking.”
    “Give me your list and I’ll cover it.”
    Gusarov looked at Jonathan with unrestrained curiosity. “ Bozhe moy , you are in real mess of some kind, yes? Gospodin Orbital, I am charitable kind of fellow. If you cover those expenses for me, I will fly you wherever you need to go.” He finished his bulb. “I am between jobs at moment.”
    Jonathan pushed his beer aside; he needed a clearer head now that they were talking business. “Tell me more about the Condor , Mr. Gusarov. I’ve seen stovepipes before around the CR. They’re quite small. Are you going to have room for the two of us?”
    Gusarov smiled. “ Condor is not typical stovepipe. Bigger boiler, bigger can up front. I could fit four into her, long as you are good friends. She will do for us to make Palmetto .”
    “Good enough, I suppose. How soon can we depart?”
    A delicate belch escaped from between Gusarov’s lips. Too late, he covered his mouth and then grinned. “I must have bulb of coffee, Gospodin , and then there is just small matter of settling up bills and laying in supplies.”
    “Give my man your