Galaxy's End: Book One by LeRoy Clary (popular ebook readers txt) 📗

five or six times the volume of smaller traders, for the same cost to operate. We can compete with others on small loads, but we can also carry large ones if they are not too heavy. You might be surprised at how many items are bulky in size and are not all that heavy.”

Inherited was the operative word that stuck in my mind. Just that. It told me a lot that didn’t need additional explanation. Not at this point. I finished my wine and waited.

She said, “You’ll be glad to hear that we’ve turned deck two, the one nearest to the bridge, into crew quarters like no other ship, simply because we have the available space. The other decks have been modified to handle cargo. Walls removed, large access ramps, secure tie-downs, and more. Deck one is the control bridge, the center for all electronics, data, and a few surprises.”

“It sounds nice.” Information is a two-way street. She’d shared. Next, she would want to know about me. That was not part of my empathic talent, but human nature. She might be a trader, but I was a street-rat and recognized the game we played.

She didn’t disappoint as she said, “I get the feeling your name recently changed?”

“To Kat. Yes, it was Kath, and before that it had a Y or IE on the end, depending on how I felt. Recently, I saw a cat near the spaceport, an orange one. It was sort of like you and me. Small, quick, and deadly.” There, I’d shared a little with her, and I wanted to know more about her. “Why were the Colosseum Cops after you?”

“Clever girl. Give me a tidbit of information and then deflect a little and target me again. Nicely done. They were after me and my crew because they were stupid. They left a barn door open for anyone to grab a bundle of credits. They let the odds of battles in the arena shift too much by the betting and they tried to correct those odds by offering better ones for wagering on the obvious loser. Manipulating odds means others might also—or take advantage of them as we did. My crew placed hundreds of wagers, some pretty steep, at odds almost as high as you did.”

“They always win. The gambling syndicate, I mean.”

She shook her head. “Not this time. They allowed me to go up against the Hoot. I provided a background that told the game masters that I was the Hoot’s equal, but when we were warming up and the crowd got a look at my clumsiness, my lack of size, and how poorly I handled that great sword I could barely lift, the betting grew lopsided against me.”

“You were a better fighter than the Hoot?”

She settled back and slowly nodded her head. “I’ve had almost as much training as the Hoot. My father insisted on that. He had size and strength on his side. I had speed. My speed prevented him from putting his strength to use, although I admit that without your help, the bout would have lasted far longer.”

“The syndicate manipulated the odds, and you took advantage of that. They were as guilty as you when you think of it logically. They wanted the odds to remain even, so they made their cut no matter who won.”

“Exactly.”

“If you had lost?”

“The ship, my ship, would have survived. A funeral wake held in my honor would have been held aboard if I died. But I didn’t intend to lose, and it was not a battle to the death. A referee was there to call the winner. Your suggestion to get behind the Hoot was a good one. I’d intended to go low, and fast, striking at his feet instead of attacking his body. He wore no armor on his feet and the sword I used was sharp enough to slice through his boots easily. Before you say it, I know he wore sandals, which was even better from my perspective, but in his last two fights, he wore boots.”

I held my tongue.

She went on, “I have extensive training with several weapons, which the games-masters recognized, but a light sword is my favorite. I thought I could cut his feet and slow him if I kept my distance.”

“If you had lost? Not counting the wake your crew would hold on your ship?”

“It was not a death-match, as I said. It was an exhibition. If he’d killed me, his handlers and team would have paid a serious penalty to the crew of my ship. That’s why they threw in the towel so quickly. The Hoot was injured, slowed down by the wounds and loss of blood, and its instincts were to make a kill to preserve itself. By the way, the Hoot is going to recover fully. I checked with the Roma hospital.”

“May I buy you another glass of wine?” a throaty voice asked although I didn’t see anyone nearby.

I bent to look over the edge of the table and found a squat, green, creature on four stumpy legs near my feet. It appeared to be smiling as it waited for a response.

As I was about to refuse the offer, Stone said sweetly, “Only if you will join us.”

The dining room steward who helped the frog-creature up onto a chair at our table didn’t appear happy at the task, but readily accepted the generous tip offered by the aquatic passenger. The being was about the weight of a medium dog from the Adrian Cluster. Its green skin appeared slightly moist or slimy and faintly smelled of lemons. Several oversized eyes on the creature centered on us.

The captain had readily accepted the offer to join us and I shut up and let the two adults do the talking. She must have had a reason. No telling what secrets would accidentally spill from my lips because