K'rth has the personal presence to make even the silliest statements he comes up with sound like gospel, but he wasn't the one they had waited to talk to. At least I knew enough not to hesitate when I answered, but the sudden dryness in my throat and the fact I still wasn't 100% yet didn't make it easy. The low rumble of the air conditioning unit on the wall was the only sound beyond my heartbeat.
"We were ambushed by a Dark Night cell," I answered as calmly as I could. "They got the better of us."
"What type of ship was it?" Roman asked. Something must have peaked his interest and he decided to interrupt. He was a lot sharper than his employer but I didn't see what this had to do with anything.
"I don't know and don't see why it matters. Is there a point to this?"
"Yeah, Johnny," Richardson asked as he tilted his head to look at him. "What you driving at?"
"I'm simply interested in what happened," he answered. "In the case that it might affect this establishment's operation."
"We were tracking missing cargo," I said. "That doesn't concern you unless you were part of the DN cell. I take it that you've been here longer than a few days, haven't you Mr. Roman?"
Roman's face was blank but his eyes flashed hard for a moment or two before going neutral again. That was when something unpleasant crossed my mind and diverted my attention- what if Bayer's cell intentionally forced the fold to this planet instead if it being an accident? They were well connected and had gotten through customs without a problem, so probably anything was possible. That would mean that they would have friends around here, but didn't explain why we were still alive unless Richardson wasn't one of them. Another one of Richardson's guffaws broke my train of thought and I looked back at him startled.
"Damn boy, I'm gonna like having you around!" he laughed and slapped the desk again. "Anyone who butts heads with Johnny on his first day and don't back down is okay by me!"
"What?" I asked. "Mr. Richardson, we're operatives, not Props and we're not for hire. As for us staying around, that's not an option either."
"I'm afraid that both are," Roman said and we all looked at him. "The effort and materials required to restore you and to house and feed your squad comes to a fairly significant sum. Since you lack any valid company script, you are legally indebted to Mr. Richardson's organization until the said amount is paid appropriately."
"Valid company script?" I started, picking up only about half of what he said. "There should be enough in accounts to cover nearly-"
"When I said a 'valid' company script, I was referring to Hard Rocks's house currency," he interrupted. "Electronic means aren't accessible to us therefore you'll have to find another means to balance your accounts."
"Other means?" Nix squeaked, speaking up for the first time and picking up the other end of what they'd said. "You've gotta be kidding."
"You only have two assets - the equipment that you brought with you and the services that you can provide," Roman continued. "As SLA operatives, your primary value to us is your skills and we'd prefer to negotiate for those."
"You want us to work as Props?" Nix asked. She didn't like what she was hearing either but had beaten me to the response.
"I pre-fer the term 'em-ploy-ees,'" Richardson said. The alligator smile was back in full force and he was leering happily. "Co-operation keeps the company strong, ain't that right boys?"
My mind saw the Gorezone cartoon pig swapping his "Eat More Pork" sign for a "You been Porked" one instead and I shook off the image. There wasn't anything funny about this, despite the way these people looked and acted.
"I said that we're not Props and I meant it," I said, now fighting to keep my voice even. "We're not going to do anything for whatever soft company you're trying to run out here."
"Noble and valid sentiments, Cole," Roman answered. "But they're of no real concern to us. Very simply, we are simply asking you to repay your monetary debt. Besides, you'll have to find something to do while you're waiting to go back to Mort."
They were doing a good job of herding us and it wouldn't have taken much to pick up on how we were taking it. K'rth's tail was twitching, Nix was fighting the urge to pace and Obie had crossed his arms. The locals were probably enjoying this.
"When does the next shuttle leave?" I asked but I must have said something funny because they all started laughing again. This time even Roman joined in and I felt a chill run up my spine that even the cool air couldn't produce.
"Next shuttle?" Richardson coughed in between laughs. "Boy, you ain't on Mort anymore!"
The laughter resurged and the sound of the laughter in the close quarters was starting to hurt my ears. With my patience gone and my energy waning, I wasn't about to find anything funny.
"Yes, the NEXT shuttle!" I repeated with an edge on my voice. They couldn't hold us here and would have to get their money back through legal means.
Roman stopped himself long enough to answer but seemed close to breaking out into laughter again.
"Alex," he said. "Our last official contact with SLA was around twenty-seven months ago."
Twenty-seven months? I turned the number over in my head like a child with a complicated puzzle and it must have shown on my face.
Good lord, where in hell were we?
"Two standard years and three months since the last foldship was here? Where?"
"One of the least hospitable worlds ever to have been called a resource world and still be in SLA space," he answered and patted my shoulder. "It's listed as C3RW dash 452."
Richardson stopped laughing long enough to set his cigar down and look up at me with wet eyes.
"Welcome to the ole 'Wanderer' boy!"
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