Vicky Peterwald: Survivor (Vicky Peterwald Series Book 2) by Mike Shepherd Page B

you likely get a job with us. You complete your contract with the co-op, you take the ride home or use the ticket as a grubstake to go prospecting for yourself.”
    “Where do you get your food? Supplies? Where do you sell your crystal?” Vicky asked.
    The commander rested an affirming hand on Vicky’s shoulder. A quick squeeze, and it was gone.
    He likes me,
some little girl in a swirly dress cheered.
    He likes what I’m saying,
the desperate Grand Duchess shot back.
    It’s good to have another human being affirm me,
Vicky concluded, then concentrated on the answer to her question.
    “If you’re desperate for money, you sell to the co-op. You take what they pay and pay their prices for what you need,” Gus said.
    “If you’re not desperate,” Molly said, “you hold out, swap among us, and see what you can get when the ship comes.”
    “The tax ship?” Vicky asked.
    “Of late, that’s about all it’s been, but before, it brought supplies. Most went straight to the co-op, but the captain and crew knew we were here. They’d bring along their own bit of trading stock. Dry goods, spare parts, and gear. We’d trade with them.We sold our crystal for a bit more than the co-op paid. Some stuff fetched quite a bit more. They gave us a decent price for what we needed.”
    “When someone needed a major item, they might give the captain something on consignment. He’d get his take from what he sold it as, and we’d get what we needed such as a new buggy or a small dredge.”
    “We bought our own reactor once when Abby brought that big hunk of black back from wherever she found it,” came from down the table.
    “You trade for all your food?” Vicky asked.
    “We grow our own rice and oats,” also came from down the table. “We’ve got our own hydroponic truck gardens. Some you can even raise out in the open if we get a bit of rain and decent weather.”
    “How’s the co-op taken to that?” the commander asked.
    “Lately, they been confiscating any food they can get their hands on,” Molly said.
    Vicky let the quiet grow around that statement as she thought. Getting this expedition off to a late start was looking more and more like some laughing god’s idea of providence.
    “We added a small freighter to our fleet at the last minute,” she began, describing the tramp that had brought Kit, Kat, Maggie, and Mr. Smith out to her. “It is one of the few still making the rounds out here. When the skipper heard what we were up to, he asked to tag along. He had to throw together a cargo quickly. It’s mostly stuff on consignment. Some of it is luxury stuff. Fine wines. Coffee. Chocolate, both in confections and in the raw.”
    Vicky could hear mouths salivating.
    “But most of his cargo was a consignment of dry goods and canned goods along with some small motors and spare parts.”
    “That’s what we need,” Molly said.
    “He may have to take your crystal on consignment,” Vicky pointed out.
    “So long as he delivers some of that food and parts for us to use now, I’ll risk the trade,” Gus said.
    Vicky made the call to the
Doctor Zoot
’s skipper.
    “I got a drop ship I can use to get a couple of containers’worth of stuff down there in the next two hours,” Captain Spee announced. “I’ll need help getting more of my stuff down.”
    “I’ll arrange for the
Crocodile
to loan you a few LCIs,” Vicky offered.
    “That would be good.”
    A nod to the commander, and he was on his commlink, making it happen.

CHAPTER 25
    A S the sun came up, Vicky was out on the tiny apron of the hardly larger runway. At her elbow, Captain Spee watched as locals examined samples of his cargo: bulging sacks of rice, corn, and wheat; cans of meat and fish, vegetables and fruit-juice concentrates. A lot of people were eyeing them hungrily.
    But it was the crates of spare parts that were the center of interest.
    Several locals had gone over the stock of parts, under the close watch of a half dozen merchant sailors