The Danegeld
Marisa Wolf
Part 1
“Grainne ship Graci, upon docking Captain Ananda Romdee and First Officer Cal Goderitch are required to report to the officer of Acquisitions, Logistics, and Technology. Acknowledge.”
“Hello to you too, Greendoor Station,” Ana replied, taken aback by the unfamiliar brusque tone after being out of her home system for months. “Captain Romdee, receiving your message. What is this in reference to? I have a schedule to keep.”
“You have a required meeting, Graci. Jump points are closed per order of the United Nations Interim Governance Authority. You will dock and remain docked until your meeting is complete.”
Goddamned UN. Babies in uniforms had been up her ass for months enforcing every piece of the rules and regulations they could pull up on their slates, and they’d taken the long way home to avoid as many interactions as possible. Now the UN was issuing orders from stations in Grainne space. Retirement had lasted barely a month, but if Ananda had realized how many officious, useless little UN ninnies were going to pop up in every station, she might have tried harder to make it stick.
If not for the fact her wife was still dead, and her husband had become infinitely more annoying with the loss of Graciela. A fact all spacers knew by heart—no matter how good the captain, the void needed only the smallest of mistakes to kill you. So too it had been with the ocean—Gracie had grown up fishing the sea, but one terrible storm had taken her off to the depths. Better to keep both herself and Cal occupied and afloat rather than rattling around their old home with a vital piece missing. Only Graciela and shared work kept them together over the years; she should have known retirement couldn’t hold them without their Gracie.
“Closing jump points?” Sammy leaned back from nav, blowing out her breath. “That’s fun.”
“It’s like they can’t help being stupid about how big space is.” Ana shrugged, forced herself to sit up straight, and sent her acceptance of the meeting. “Tell your father to get ready for a meeting. I’m gonna make sure Hank and Tico have everything stowed safely for our visit.”
Sammy nodded, flicking through the docking course once more. No need for showboating when the UN had a lock on them, and always better to be careful when the agency was trying to throw their weight around. Ana watched her wife’s daughter for a moment, then pushed the warmth away and swung out toward the main body of her craggy hulk of a ship.
Sammy sent the slow-burn signal through the ship, letting the three other members of their crew know it was as safe to move about as it ever was. Ana turned the first corner and found the corridor full of Tico.
“We’re stowed.” As usual, their cargo master anticipated her, confirming that all remotely questionable goods were squirreled into the cubbies, bolt holes, false bulkheads, and hollow bottoms they’d spent months creating and covering. Never a precaution they’d used in Freehold space, but the sheer number of inspections they’d weathered lately had them all jumpy.
“Good. Because when we dock, Cal and I are summoned for a meeting with UN Acquisitions.”
“I thought Sam was taking the old girl in slow.” He thumped the closest wall with the affection of a lifelong spacer. Not for the first time, Ana congratulated herself for stealing him from her uncle’s—well, nephew’s now, she supposed—ship. After more decades than she’d count, they had a strong understanding of each other’s priorities.
One, fuck everything but safety. Treat the ship well, and the ship would keep them alive. Two, profit. Three, take care of family—blood and ship. Four, extra fuck off to the UN and anyone who got in the way of one through three.
“They don’t need to know how fast we can be. And no one’s in a rush to be lectured, again. What’d you leave on the manifest—the persimmons, crate of gems, frozen fish?”
“And the embroidery. Why go to NovRos and not pick up glamorous tapestries?” He gave a mocking half bow, as though presenting their goods to the Acquisition nerd waiting on Ana and Cal.
“Good. Not going to offer them anything they don’t ask for, but be ready to poison that fish if they try and commandeer anything.”
“Your wish is my task list, Cap.” Tico whistled his favorite off-key aria as they passed each other, and they both knew the tune would be stuck in her head until they docked.
* * *
“Spacers Romdee and Goderitch, welcome. Please, sit.” This UN man looked competent—shipshape, cleanly pressed uniform, his eyes steady on hers. Unfortunate—she preferred her UNers bumbling or plain ignorant, even pompous left her plenty of room to navigate. “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Josiah Severson. Appreciate your taking the time.”
Ana smiled, all friendliness with nothing to hide, even showing a hint of frustration—as any honest trader would, schedule getting yanked about by an admin—as she sat. Cal gave his charming grin, leaned forward to press his elbows on the back of the second chair, and lounged comfortably. Neither remarked on how much choice they’d had about the meeting.
“Can we get you anything to drink, maybe some refreshments?” Severson leaned forward attentively as he took his seat.
“Cocoa would do, thank you. Or coffee. We’ll have some time to make up after this meeting,” she said, careful to show mild interest.
“I hope to make it worth your while, spacers.” He pressed a button, and a moment later an aide slipped in with a tray, steaming mugs of coffee neatly balanced. The response had been so fast he must have prepared ahead.
The officer had done his homework, and Ana forced herself not to tense with worry. It did her no good to spiral into all the possibilities of what he might want with them. He’d tell them soon enough.
“You need some persimmons?” Cal offered, projecting casual amusement as he took his mug.
The man shook his head in half amusement, half disgust. “Not that kind of deal, Goderitch.”
“We’re all ears,” Ana prodded, not gently, and gave a nod of thanks to the aide for the coffee before the woman slipped out.
“Your rig’s new to you, is that right?”
Cal put in, “We’ve been in this work longer than you’ve been walking space stations, so—”
“You misunderstand me.” The officer held up a hand to interrupt Cal, his attention still focused on Ana. “This isn’t part of your inspection, and I’m not questioning your professionalism. On the contrary, I have a proposition.”
“The rig’s new,” Ana allowed, holding the mug close to her mouth without sipping. Smelled good, and fresh. While the jump point had been bureaucratically locked down from this end, the UN still had supply coming in. “We tried retiring. It didn’t take.”
“Spacers belong in space,” he agreed, smile too broad. “You owe quite a bit, to be just starting out.”
“We made a good deal, and most stops made us a bit more black in the ledger.”
“‘Most’ is a generous claim. You owe more than you did before, when you factor in your expenses. The debt plus your age plus all the growing tension…” He tsked a bit, and Ana drank her coffee to hide the downturn in the corners of her mouth. “That’s a lot to balance. What if I told you there’s a way I could cut your debt?”
“I’ve plenty of years in me still, and so does the ship. We don’t have anything in the holds the UN needs worth that kind of pay.”
“Not yet.” He sipped his coffee, looking pleased with himself.
“You have something you need us to move?” She let doubt color her tone, and put the mug down. “You have newer, faster ships than ours. And plenty of them, far as I can tell.”
“We have any number of ships.” He waved his free hand dismissively. “You have a ship that’s gone system to system, and unless I miss my guess, capable of orbit to land.” The smugness in his tone indicated he wasn’t guessing.
“We have a lighter.” Leaning her chin in her hand, Ana made it a casual declaration. The shuttle had exactly the rickety air she wanted it to, making it seem an unlikely contender to go to ground on a regular basis. “I haven’t had as much time to fix it up as I’d like.”
“I imagine it does just fine, Captain.” Severson paused to drink again, enjoying the conversation far more than his guests. “We have a great deal of material we need to get to ground, and you know Grainne airspace well enough.”
“It’s more expensive to fuel those on-planet landings and takeoffs, not even considering the safety of it, Colonel.”
“You know what spacers say,” Cal offered, grin widening.
“Yes, safety above all.” The UN official interjected the sanitized version before Cal could continue, eager to get on with it. “We pay well, Captain. And you may have noticed, even former Freehold ships are not immune to the rules and regulations of UN space. This could ease many of your troubles at once.”
Ana knew exactly what he meant, and thought Cal had figured it out as well. The UN had decided to put down on Grainne, and more likely than not that meant their ships were taking potshots from residents. Did this Uno think Freeholders would bother to run a transponder before firing?
Of course, if they did get shot down, well, the UN only lost a load of cargo, not a ship and crew on top of it. Smart of them to pay well, with that kind of upside—they’d still come out ahead.
“Colonel Severson, you’re asking us to run goods for you, and take on a lot of risk to do so. Why, exactly, would we do that?”
“Risk, Captain Romdee?” Severson chuckled, a good-natured sound, and put his mug on his desk. “I’ve heard quite a bit about the Graci, and of course your previous berth. The Rom’s Horn, wasn’t it? Both seemed adept at getting where they needed to go without undue attention. I have utter faith you and your small crew can figure it out.”
Ana blinked. She hadn’t expected him to show his stick so blatantly, calling them out as smugglers. He must have caught the change in her expression, as he hurried to follow up with the carrot.
“We’re buying up bad loans across Grainne—some economic stimulus for your struggling colony.” The word colony grated, but Severson continued airily, “The rates on yours aren’t the most forgiving, given the…quality of the establishment you partnered with. We acquired your loan. If you give us one year of service, we call it paid off. The schedule will be a full one, but we’ll cover your fuel costs and other expenses, and in two years—Earth years, at that—your ship is yours outright, and we’ll renegotiate your pay as an independent contractor.”
Instant rejection flooded through her on a wave of bile. She wanted to tell him no, knock over the coffee, and storm out in a righteous fury before he could clean up. But the deal…
A handful of months, and they’d pay off the ship. Graciela’s island, their leverage, would be theirs again. She’d counseled any number of younger family members through tough times or shitty jobs with her father’s old advice: “You can do anything for six months.” What difference did a few more make?
Even playing delivery boy for the UN.
“I’ll talk this over with my crew.” Ana inclined her head. The risk wasn’t worth the shiny reward, but Cal had a stake in their ship, and the crew had a vote. They needed to weigh the offer—and the consequences of rejecting it—before committing to anything.
“I’m eager to hear your decision. Docking fees are on the UN while you consider. I’ve already taken the opportunity to let the dockmaster know.”
Meaning they couldn’t just unhitch and drop into space. Too mild for threat, too heavy-handed to be anything else. Typical UN.
* * *
Cal waited until they got back to the ship to say anything, which Ana silently blessed him for. There were some stations where she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, for good reason. Never before in Grainne space, but the UN’s sticky fingers meant a first time for everything.
“Of course we take it.”
She leaned back against the airlock, closed her eyes for a second, giving him all the permission he needed to double down on his point.
“How is it a question? This is the kind of deal that changes our lives. We’ve been running on the edge. Now every trade is gravy from here out. Take a few more risks. Don’t need to worry about inheritance.”
“You’re worried about inheritance.” Her voice was too flat to be a question. Cal had never been the conservative one, and was lucky enough a gambler to come out ahead more often than not. But it was always about the gamble, for him. “The kids still have an entire island to carve up between them, worst case if we somehow lose our leveraged one, and we have plenty of time to pay off the ship. We’re not desperate.”
“This isn’t desperate, Ana. It’s sense. Couple months dropping supplies around Grainne, get in some visits with the family, guaranteed walk-away-with-the-ship. What’s to discuss?”
“The UN’s making moves on our home, and you want to run their errands?”
“UN’s always making moves somewhere, pretending they got weight. What they do have is resources, so I say we take ’em. Pick up and drop off, do some boring work for a few months, and then fly off with our own ship.”
“And not make any money in the meantime,” she reminded him.
“And not pile up any expenses, either. There are worse things—you know there’ll be months we only break even up here, staying in-system while the jump point’s closed.”
“Why are they buying up all the Freehold loans?” Did they think it would give them some real say in local matters? She was sure the loans looked risky from some cushy UN office, but Freeholders weren’t stupid—very few, in her experience, made bad bets with their money, having a pathological hatred of debt.
“Ana. I say this with love—who cares?” He crossed back to reach for her hand. “They’re a bunch of spoiled morons who think they can blow and bluster the house down. Let’s run their goods and take their money. This will all be over before a year’s out, and we’ll be free and clear.”
“Will we? They’re on Grainne, Cal. We do this, we work for them, and we always work for them. We’re theirs.”
“The UN?” The noise deep in his throat was pure scorn. “They can’t hold on to shit. They’re annoying, not dangerous. Worst of it comes out, we take their money, take the kids, and scamper. You know they can’t catch us.”
“Let’s talk to the crew.” She let go of his hand, pushed upright from the door, and started walking without looking back at him.
“Yeah, sure, but Ana—it’s our call. We run goods for a few months, maybe some fall off along the way that we sell to keep the income moving, and we have no chance of losing Graciela’s island for the kids. I know they’re not your kids—”
“Don’t you dare,” she snapped, picking up her pace until her hip’s warning twinge radiated down to her knee. Fragged old joints, taking the wrong time to make themselves known. Better to think about that than her urge to throttle her husband. “I love every one of those monsters, and always have. They’re yours, and Graciela’s, and that makes them mine.” She didn’t miss that flash of his smile. He’d roped her on that one, and knew it. “And I love you.”
“But you don’t like me,” he finished dutifully, repeating her refrain for her. Then, that hint of a smile stretching full on, he added, “Because you know I’m going to win.”
* * *
“Fucking danegeld.” Hank slammed a hand down on the crate Tico had just loaded, making everyone scowl. “Remind me why we’re doing this?” He ran his other hand over his bald scalp, the bulk of him radiating disgust.
“Because the UN aren’t Vikings, and our one ship isn’t going to make them so strong they’ll keep coming back.” Cal rocked on the balls of his feet, ready to drop the lock and get the show on the road. “We get our ship, and whatever of their goods we want to keep. Win-win, Hankers.”
“Fuck off.” Hank took his hand off the crate, but his tone was too dark for the usual banter. He’d been the most reluctant to sign on to this idiot scheme, reading the entirety of an ancient Kipling poem to them repeatedly, and Ana couldn’t dismiss the creeping discomfort he was correct. They needed the money, sure, but if the UN won out, insane as she told herself that was, where could her crew and family go? NovRos? Run forever? Serve as permanent gofers for a smug and over-regulated occupying force?
She buried the thought yet again, down with Graciela’s face, and reminded herself of the payoff. The ship would be theirs, free and clear. No matter how bad the aftertaste, she could swallow it.
“Hank.” She pitched her voice to carry, and he turned toward her. Lifting one shoulder and both eyebrows, she silently asked if he’d finished what they discussed. He snorted and stalked off to the front of the shuttle, which meant yes, but he was still mad about it.
Fair enough. The manifest passed for exactly as it had been when they’d accepted delivery of it, despite the difference in several numbers. Every crate perfectly sealed, UN stamped, though the Graci’s various cubby holes were getting overfull. She’d have to find an excuse to go home and offload, or a buyer that didn’t leave her wanting to vomit.
“Let’s do it.” At her signal, Cal and Tico moved smoothly, the former cycling the lock and lining up the gangplank and the latter getting the servos loaded.
“You’re late.” The UN lackey on the ground yanked the card from her hand and barely glanced at it before glaring at her. “We’ve been out here for two hours.” The snap in his voice didn’t cover the hunch to his shoulders, or how twitchy his men were.
“You set the meeting, and changed it twice,” she replied, voice level as she stared over his left shoulder. “Some reason your base doesn’t work?”
“Someone keeps shooting at us,” he snarled, hand half lifting toward his holster. “Maybe you heard? Your feral asshole countrymen can’t seem to keep their hands off their firearms. You all forget sex exists, got to blow things up to feel good?”
“Ready for the shipment?” Ana kept her eyes fixed in the middle distance, face neutral. She had never longed so strongly to ram the butt of her gun down on someone’s forehead, which after a lifetime with Cal really said something.
“Have your crew unload it, we’ll keep watch.”
She wanted to needle him, ask if he knew how big the predators got on this side of the mountains. But she barely trusted them with their weapons, no need to add an excuse for one of them to take a shot at her crew because a shadow flickered.
She gestured back to the ship, and heard the whine of the servo lifters as Tico responded. Ana regretted the time she and Hank had spent doctoring the documents and seals when the sergeant tossed the card back to a lackey who barely looked at it. Pride of work was all well and good, but this group made it insultingly easy. A distracted amateur could have skimmed off these idiots. The growing pile of UN goods siphoned away and stowed throughout her ship from the first month of runs was still a win, but not nearly as satisfying.
She felt some measure of justification when the sergeant examined each pallet loaded into their truck and checked it off the manifest. Would have been better if he’d cracked open even a single crate to ensure, but deliveries remained sealed until they reached base. Maybe they didn’t trust their own troops, or didn’t believe anyone could reseal and stamp their packages so perfectly. She couldn’t imagine they had anyone with Hank’s eye for detail or the intricacies of their own electronic seals.
Ana exchanged a look with Tico as he maneuvered the next load down the gangplank. He’d noticed the mood, and had none of his usual attempts at banter. No sense provoking twitchy soldiers with none of the discipline instilled in a Freehold child. For a moment she allowed herself to picture Graciela’s oldest son Seb, how quietly proud and exhausted and confident he’d been after his first year of military training. Had these striplings ever experienced that level of rigor?
She cut that line of thinking short—did it matter? The UN soldiers were here, regardless. Armed. Outnumbering the Freehold force. Muttering about her and her crew, and about her fellow citizens. Covering all of her expenses, patting her on the head.
Fuck.
“Making good time?” Cal asked as he strolled down to her, grinning at the clustered UN soldiers as though none of them had a care in the world on this blindingly sunny day.
“Everyone is very efficient.” She kept her voice neutral, her body relaxed. No point in adding to the tension Cal ignored.
“That’s the UN in a nutshell, isn’t it? Handling their business. Sergeant Norris, a pleasure to meet you.” Cal waved and took a few steps in the younger man’s direction, dropping his hands loose at his sides. “Senior Corporal Tennison said if I saw you, to tell you he’d gotten better at poker, but is still shit at spades.”
The UN man swiveled away from Tico and faced Cal fully, sudden interest replacing some of his twitchiness. “He’s still shit at poker. Where’d you see Tennison?”
“Northern slopes. He bargained for extra parkas. Lost a few rounds of poker.” Cal laughed, so genuinely the sergeant cracked half a smile. “You’re right—if that’s him playing better, he must have been shit to start.”
“The worst,” Sergeant Norris agreed.
“You’re smart to be on your guard out here—sorry the meet had to change. Orders all around, eh.”
Norris grunted, a comfortable sound. Ana still wanted to bash him, but she marveled at Cal’s ability to put even the tetchiest ass at ease. At least at ease enough to not shoot her people because a branch cracked.