7.

Dot was a satellite, not a planet. A little s.p.a.ce-scouter or a basketball would be too, in the proper orbital entrapment. Dot was a little bigger. Murph was no large planet and its fourth moon was a mere dot in s.p.a.ce. So it had been named. The dot in s.p.a.ce was called Dot. It was not even sufficient to eclipse Murph's sun, Aristarkos, when the hurrying little satellite was between planet and star. It certainly was bright, though, and hot as well, on Dot's sunward side. And at its closest proximity to Murph-its Perimurph -Dot positively wiggled.

On Dot, the horizon was just right over there. The curvature was easily visible. Claustrophobia awaited anyone on Dot, with s.p.a.ce all about and stars cl.u.s.tered thick as blossoms of white and yellow, red and blue in an untrodden twilit meadow.

Starlight provided plenty of visibility, even when Aristarkos was on the far side of Murph. Nevertheless, Murphside mining interests had seen fit to provide big well-mounted lights. The mining machinery and dumps of ore and waste were festooned with lights, too.

Firedancer made contact with T.M.S.M. Company's Dotside operations manager, from s.p.a.ce. He-some- 108.

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one named Aaron-had to alopogize for the static in his transmission. His data terminal was presently receiving and recording an information transmission from the onplanet central processor, he explained, and Dot was almost at Perimurph. After a little electronic conversation, Corundum and a single aide were invited to "come on in and discuss business."

Janja, with no idea as to why Corundum had identified himself as "Captain Tojuna of Qalara," became the accompanying aide.

The others-Hing, Sakbir, and Bearcat-would remain silently on Firedancer. They would stand ready to free and offload the cargo, and for any of the other less prosaic duties a pirate had to be ready to perform. There were various occupational hazards, constants, and an emergency was always just around the corner.

Corundum explained the purpose of metacerebri-nene, known along the s.p.a.ceways as Stand-up, and insisted that Janja take one when he did. She allowed herself to be persuaded, despite her antipathy for drugs -things of Them. The Galactics, the Thingmakers.

In s.p.a.cesuits, the two of them left the ship and made for the big bubble decorated asymmetrically with solar collectors and sensor cl.u.s.ters.

Walking was not easy, despite the Stand-up, a vesti-bular correction drug. They moved slowly. The stars seemed to lean on them.

Dot was an ugly little wart on the nose of the universe. Its gravity was 0.24 standard, with even less oxygen. Humans hardly floated at one-quarter G, but strides became long flotations adventures. A dropped object could be caught easily before it drifted to the surface. A heavy spanner would fall with all the hurry of a leaf on a one-geeI1G planet. Should a person slip and fall, Janja knew without quite understanding, she would ease down to bounce, gently. Sortabounce, the miners of Dot called it.

Those employees of TMSMCo signed on for three years up here. The benefits were great but only after 110.

return to Murph. The duty was lousy. Somebody at TMSMCo felt that women on Dot would lead to trouble. Male or female, that person might have been right with such an old-fashioned att.i.tude, but the decision and the reality of its implementation didn't help matters.

TMSMCo's employees here were called miners although they did not mine, on Dot. Machines did. The miners-all males and all on the pill, sooner or later- directed the machines, one to one, by means of telepresences.

Janja did not know these things. She was surprised to see no s.p.a.cesuited men out laboring on the little ball that had so gingerly caught Firedancer.

Dot merely looked barren, untenanted, and small. The visible curvature and all that gem-flashing s.p.a.ce were far from pleasant. Still, there was the bubble to herald human presence. Here and there she saw definite heavy equipment tracks, and now and again a gleaming smooth area of metaliferous stone sliced or sc.r.a.ped too neatly to be the result of any natural process. Dot was tenanted, though there was no settlement. Just the bubble. It must enclose both working and living quarters for a score or so of Galactics. Males.

A port opened to admit them to the bubble that was large and sprawling, a gigantic walnut sh.e.l.l, and yet that did not seem large enough to house work areas, computer terminals, telepresence equipment, mess, bunks, and living area. . . . Since they stepped into a small chamber that faced another hatch, they knew that the bubble was pressurized. This was an airlock. The hatch closed behind them. The interior one opened. Only a voice greeted them.

It bade them enter what it called the phone booth- in a bubble empty of people!

"They're down inside the satellite," Corundum said, as much to himself as to his "aide."

They knew they were in air, now, but they retained 111.

their helmets while they float-walked over to the tall rectangular box. A phone booth-or an upended coffin.

It was neither. It was another airlock!

"They are most cautious," Corundum muttered. "Wise men."

Janja glanced at him. They were being monitored, surely. Why had he troubled to say that? For her benefit? Merely to be talking? Or was it a deliberate compliment, a sort of early opening of his sales talk?

They entered the strange little structure, an airlock within an airlocked bubble with presumably breathable atmosphere. In the steel or cyprium floor was a trapdoor of steel-or cyprium? Corundum depressed a wall-mounted key, as directed. The wheel atop the trapdoor spun, rose. The trapdoor came up to stand as a thick slab over a flight of narrow plasteel steps. They were painted turquoise with luminous white stripes that were safety treads. The vertical shaft, about a meter and a half on a side, was brightly illuminated.

"Safety precaution after safety precaution," Corundum muttered, easily descending nine steps. "One could easily drop down into this little well, and jump up and out, in this gravity that hardly merits the name. But someone seems to have thought of everything or nearly. Little human precautions and comforts. Extra expense to keep men happier in what has to be lonely duty. Living quarters down here will be next to luxurious, I'll bet."

He was looking up, watching Janja descend into that claustrophobic trap. Descending stairs was strange, in the bulky s.p.a.cesuit and in one-quarter gravity.

Corundum pressed another wall-mounted key, yellow. The trapdoor came down above them; behind them. Thank Aglii that the stairwell was well lit, in eye-eez turquoise!

Someone was cautious and wise indeed. The aerated, pressurized bubble, only slightly flexible, was first protection from oxygenless Dot. The "phone booth" was 112.

the second, a haven within a haven. The little chamber at the bottom of the stair was a third. The trapdoor, too, was an airlock, though there was no hiss or change of pressure when it closed. Precaution after precaution after precaution, adding up to failsafety.

Janja imagined the spinning of that big locking wheel above her head, a giant screw penning them underground, and tried not to feel trapped.

The wall before them was about three meters high and only about sixty sems wide. It grew a door about forty meters by a hundred eighty meters, which slid open to reveal more surprises.

"Come in, Captain," the squat, prognathous-jawed man said. He waved a big hand. He wore some sort of soft shoes and and an obviously lightweight coverall. It was open to the navel and he was hairless. He had a gut and would show a lot more gut on any normal-G planet. And Janja wasn't through being surprised.

Here were Dot's miners. The TMSMCo employees stood or sat all around the walls of the rectangular chamber, and standing must have been a matter of choice. None of these men was truly tall, or truly fat.

Walls and ceiling were beige. The floor was gra.s.s green, a high-piled carpet. The lighting was a lovely gold or muted yellow, bright without being bothersome. Three walls were mostly viewscreens, with banks of instruments and viewscopes and TP gloves at waist level of the seated men. Each faced his screen and not one of them looked around at the newcomers. Discipline could not have been so good, and they must always be delighted to greet those few visitors who came here. Thus they must have discussed, and decided. Coming up was a discussion and possible deal that was hardly straightforward. The decision, then, was to continue with work and let Aaron deal with the visitors who might be merchants or pirates. No one else would so much as glance around at them.

Janja wondered if she and Corundum really were 113.

trusted. Were these men armed? Was each armed? Was the entire underground chamber perhaps covered by automatic or TP weaponry? She realized that she saw no living quarters, no bunks. There was at least one more chamber, then. Probably about half this many men were in it; they must work in staggered shifts.

Yes, she thought, we are surely being monitored.

Some of these "miners" sat with their faces fitted into shaped viewscopes. While they stared, their hands seemed to be working away at their instrument panels.

Others wore the weird telepresence helmets or coifs; TP-coifs. Some were manipulating wall-mounted circular mechanisms like old steering wheels. Others fingered keys and occasional toggles or levers of varying sizes and shapes, and the hands of some men were fitted into gauntlets. Telepresence gauntlets: TP-wal-does.

Janja realized that every one of them must have studied and practiced at length before coming up here. They were professional miners but hardly the burly, smudgy men one might expect. She would bet their knowledge embraced far more than sports scores and the Akima Mars series (starring Setsuyo Puma as Akima Mars: The Biggest Pair in the Universe!).

These men were mining. One way or another, each was manipulating a piece of machinery elsewhere on Dot, or in Dot. It and its "driver"-manipulator were TP-connected, electronically. The feedback on such devices was mutual. The men directed the equipment as if they rode it or pushed it, and yet better. Via TP, men were part of machines. Each was electronically present at the site of his mining activity, as part of the machine doing the mining. Each saw what his equipment "saw" and even felt changes of resistance in the portion of Dot he worked.

Some had to be digging. Some must be moving ore. Others must be operating or at least monitoring ex- 114.

tradingIseparating equipment. Maybe some were monitoring the others?

"I'm Aaron, Captain."

The man who had greeted them gave no other name or identification. He had no need. His preoccupied miners did not turn or so much as glance around. Corundum unhelmeted. Janja, as he had instructed her, did not. She was s.e.xless and faceless in the bulky turquoise suit with the viewplate of one-way hyperplas.

"Captain Tojuna of Qalara, Aaron," Corundum said, when he had bared his head, and Janja was surprised still again. "But never mind the 'Captain' stuff. This is my aide-uh, Cinnabar."

"Your Mate?"

"Not capitalized, no. Ship's Mate is...o...b..ard, ready to offload some d.a.m.ned fine equipment you men need and are going to love, Aaron."

"We need it, yes. Uh-I think it may be best that I call you-ah-Captain Viking?" Aaron's expression was mildly arch, which was strange on that slab of a face centered with a nose that appeared to have survived a seismic disaster-barely.

Corundum showed him raised eyebrows. "Oh? And why is that?"

"We're all engineers here, Captain, true, but we do have various other areas of specialization and interest," Aaron said quietly, leaning a bit toward Corundum. "We are not cut off from the rest of the galaxy. Oh, we are physically, yes. But we have input, a library with anything available on Murph, since we're com-puterlinked with Murph; and we get the news. We try to stay current, you see."

Corundum nodded, looking polite but uncomprehending.

"You are unexpected, and the name and planet you gave sound a lot like another name, someone else from that same world. Someone rather . . . famous. And, ah, cautious. I see no reason for anyone else here to know your name or the name you've given, 115.

which is transparent, Captain-since you are about to offer me good equipment at a substantial discount, no questions asked."

The broad, shortish man looked levelly into Cor-undum's strange eyes, which were little more eyes than the TP cameras-viewers used by the men hi this chamber. Janja held her breath. For some reason, Corundum had made this fellow believe that he was Jonuta. And now Corundum was nodding.

"It may just be a pleasure to do business with you, Aaron. You are empowered to negotiate purchases?"

"Pos. What are you hauling, Captain Viking?"

Corundum gave him a printout. Aaron looked at the list, at the pirate, at the faceless Janja. He nodded. He turned and strode to the four-faced computerminal hi the chamber's center. With a glance at Janja, Corundum followed. She remained where she was. Aware of her facelessness. Aware of the weight of the stopper against her thigh. She watched interestedly and saw little. Just the backs of coveralled men, all concentrating on the work of their eyes and hands. It was new to her, as Dot was. New and fascinating, and yet dull.

Aaron held the paper not out to the side, but directly before him as he stood before the terminal.

"Economic adviser," he drawled. "I want some prices and a total."

Janja saw a picture-that is, a holographic simulation-appear on the screen. An oldish man, pretentiously bearded. He nodded to Aaron hi a mixture of greeting and condescension, as if silently saying "All right, you've got me; what is it you want?" Aaron began reading off the serial numbers Sakbir had taken off the machinery of Captain Ota's cargo. The bearded, white-haired man sat nodding from the display, tapping some sort of electronic stylus against his teeth.

Janja realized that he was a program. Someone chosen-or invented-to anthropomorphize Aaron's "economic adviser." That he was also the simulacrum 116.

of a dead and still highly respected economist, Janja did not know.

"Please hold the total until I ask, Myrzha Sarcon," Aaron said, using what Janja had learned was a rather formal and semirespectful t.i.tle for the program, whose name was Sarcon. Aaron turned to Corundum. "You heard?"

"I heard. I admit surprise that you have such a fine computer system here, Aaron."

"T.M.S.M. is no molecule-size company, Captain. Too, we are partially subsidized by Murph's government. It is lonely on Dot."

Corundum was nodding. One of the things he had learned on the way out here was that the government of Murph was almost an extension of T.M.S.M.-for-Mining. Hence part of the mining activity here was financed by the people of Murph, probably on the grounds that they benefited from TMSM's presence and contributions to the planetary economy and well-being. Strange things happened on some planets. Strange systems and situations existed, and stranger alliances. Corundum was aware of the theory that TGO did not really crack down on such men and Jonuta and so many others, because slavery was good for the galactic economy. So Murph's government was almost company controlled. So what? Companies tended to be run more intelligently than governments, anyhow.

"The mam banks," Aaron was saying, "the central storage and processor, are down on Murph. We have a satellite data bank and a smallish peripheral processor. Naturally, data we have more frequent need to access is stored here. We also store lots and lots of holodrama tapes, several programs such as Errar Sarcon here, and other . . , entertainments. This terminal's capability gives us something to look at, think about, talk about. Someones to talk at besides each other." Aaron half-turned to gesture at one of the men at work.

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"That's Sabusaku, in the yellow with the TP helmet and floppy sandals. In another year-Murph he will be well off-since none of us spends anything here. Through his off-hour studies using this terminal, he will also be a true expert in something called sam-you-rye. He wished to become expert and he has, right here. He wishes to teach. He will!"

"All from this fine audio-visio-multiprogram com-puterminal the TMSM Company provides," Corundum said, "and full linkage to the planet's main bank."

"Exactly-and the private display unit Sabusaku uses, in his turn. We have four available to us, with sound-sight inhibitors to make study a private matter. This is a crud job and we are all highly skilled experts, Captain Viking. TMSM takes good care of us."

"I have been impressed with its precautions on your behalf," Corundum said, leaning on the word that might apply to the man he was pretending to be-by allowing his "subterfuge" to be seen through. Doubtless Aaron was pleased with himself for having seen through the ruse; Captain Cautious just hadn't been cautious enough, this tune! "And," Corundum said, with a tiny wry smile, "you stay current."

"Yes. When new data, even irrelevant s.h.i.t, is available from anywhere off-Dot, off-Murph, out-of-sys-tem-anywhere in the galaxy-it's beamed up here and stored until we can view it. Some we keep. Most we wipe. Why store things we'll never access? Murph-comp Central is Dot's data storage vault. We feed up to Murph too, of course. Daily. We are also well guarded and defensed."

"I understand you, Aaron," Corundum said without a blink at the words and a repeat performance of Aaron's anomalous arch look, "and elect not to be insulted at the warning."

"Warning!" Aaron waved his arms and the printout from Jinni rippled with a rustling sound. "Oh no, Captain. Delighted to have visitors, always delighted.

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And to have equipment that we have long wanted. I'm so familiar with some of that stuff I even recognize the serial numbers. It's also nice to be able to pay less for it, with less paperwork."

Within her helmet, Janja smiled. Paper hardly existed but the phrase persisted. More than ancient, Corundum had told her. Aaron meant that there would be no formal requisition orders and no red tape in dealing with this . . . merchant.

"No," Aaron said, "just sort of bragging, I guess. We know what we're lacking, Captain . . . Viking, and naturally we love the opportunity to brag about what we have. And will have! Now, Captain Viking. Your list shows no prices. Do you know them, or the aggregate value at current market?"

"I do not. I a.s.sume that Myrzha Sarcon does," Corundum said, though he did of course have another listing back on Firedancer, complete with prices and total privided by Jinni. These men had not had time to prepare lies for him. Why not pretend to be trusting, then, even naive?

Besides, Corundum was neither Captain Cautious nor infallible.

A smile had lit Aaron's slab of a face. "Unless the price has changed in the past four em-ess," he said, p.r.o.nouncing the usual verbal shortcut for "months standard." He was adding, "Give me the total market value of all those items, Myrzha Sarcon," even as he turned back to the display.

The program did, aloud, and seemed to inscribe the figure on the inside of the screen with that electronic "pen."

From inside her cerulean s.p.a.ce helmet, Janja stared. So much! So many stells for mining equipment-millions of stellar credits!

"I accept that figure as accurate," Corundum said, with a glance at a miner who looked around from his wall-screen, with mild curiosity. His machine-per- 119.

haps kloms away, but not many, on little Dot!-must be shut down while he rested his eyes and neck.

Aaron said, "What's half of that figure, Myrzha Sarcon?"

"That," Corundum said, "I do not accept."

Aaron, gazing at the excellent representation of the dead economist, turned only his head. "Oh?"

"I offer a huge bargain, Aaron, at twenty-five percent off market value."

Aaron regarded the taller, darker, rangier man. "A bargain, true, if everything is intact and functioning perfectly-"

"We both a.s.sume it is or we would not be bothering. All is in its original crating. A scan will confirm that, and report intact seals, all the way from the manufacturer."

"But," Aaron went on as if he had been interrupted and had not heard "Captain Jonuta's" quietly confident rea.s.surance, "what sort of bargain for you if I refuse to buy at three-quarters market value?"

Janja tried not to stiffen. Clever devil! She felt tension and wanted to up her suit's aircon a bit. She did not. Now what? She must remain still and silent while these two bargained. Would their pride and stubbornness make all this for nothing? Then what would Corundum do?