Wildcatter

Wouldn’t be hard to give him a real one. Seth judged that he could spot JC Lecanard a baseball bat and still take him in thirty seconds. But if JC fancied himself as stud male among five women or part-time-women, then pink might have been a very good idea.

“I expect you’ve gotten hold of my police record.”

“That would be illegal.”

“So?”

“It’s clean except for a minor incident eight years ago. The court accepted your plea of self-defense.”

“Which it was.” Two muggers, armed with a knife and a shotgun. He’d knocked them both down and disarmed them, but one had claimed brain damage.

“You!” JC roared suddenly, “Are a fucking braggart, too fucking good to be true! I think half of this resume is bullshit. Get your ass out of here and stop wasting my time!”

His bluster impressed Seth no more than his palatial office. Big feathers make big birds.

“Well? What are you waiting for?”

“Your next question, sir. You didn’t fly me all the way here to throw me out like that.”

JC went back to the steady stare trial for a full minute. “It won’t be fucking romantic, you know. Years of utter boredom, like time in jail. You’ll be the gofer, bottom of the ladder. You do the housework, because we can’t afford the fancy robots the majors take. You’ll have machines to do the cooking, but you’ll have to wait on table, load the dishwasher, pick up the laundry, clean the showers, tend the hydroponics. Are you man enough to be gardener and cabin boy, Seth Broderick?”

“Yes, sir.” They knew from his resume all the things he’d done to pay for his education. They knew that even now he was a janitor by day, a bouncer by night, and taking a course in Advanced IT on time off.

The big man grunted again. “Any questions?”

“Tell me about Cacafuego, sir.”

Big smile. “I know nothing about Cacafuego-yet. That’s just Mighty Mite’s own name for a target we still have to choose. All new data on exoplanets is funneled through ISLA, which saves it up until the final day of the month and releases it in one super news flash at midnight. Wildcatter ships stand by in dock orbit, waiting for it. If there’s a decent lead they’re off and running. If not, they wait for next month.” Even bigger smile, even less convincing.

Seth nodded as if he didn’t already know all that. The trick was to bribe someone to give you advance notice of next month’s release. Or even two months ahead. Better still: buy data that never did get turned in to ISLA. It would all depend on how much you were willing to pay.

“If you do hire me, when do I embark?”

“According to the schedule, a week ago.” Was that a deliberate slip, to make him overconfident? Or just a lie?

“What gear do I bring?”

“Your body and two kilos of anything you want. That’s it. No drugs or crap like that.”

“How is my share paid out? Who calculates it?”

A cloud-shadow of caution crossed JC’s face; he leaned forward on his desk and seemed to choose his words more carefully.

“You get your share in Mighty Mite stock. We’re a publicly traded company, audited, regulated, the whole shit. One hundred thousand shares authorized and issued. Five hundred shares will be registered in your name prior to departure and held in escrow until you return. Mighty Mite will make or break on this trip. The banks hold a ten-billion first mortgage on the ship and more than that in non-convertible bonds. If you can shovel up some useful crap for us when you go downside, we’ll all be rich, and you’ll get your share. Everything’s aboveboard, no room for double dealing.”

No? It wasn’t how the rich got rich you had to watch, it was how they stayed rich.

“No more questions, sir.” He had several, but none were deal breakers, so he needn’t ask them. He was almost certain now that he had the job, but he wasn’t going to let his guard down until he boarded. And not then.

“The first thing we must do is measure you for your EVA suits. How soon can you check in?”

Seth shrugged, mouth dry, heart beating wildly. “I’m yours as soon as I’ve read over the contract.”

“No affairs to settle?”

“Nothing a couple of phone calls won’t fix.”

JC pulled an “I am impressed” expression. “Give me an access code.”

Seth gave him a random number. “47746.” He blinked and saw his com register a download.

“That’s the offer and the contract terms. You have twenty-four hours, but I’d appreciate hearing sooner if you decide not to come. We have a coupla’ thousand other candidates on hold.”

“I’m a fast reader, sir. I can do it outside, there?”

“Of course.” Lecanard stood up, displaying that ugly, unconvincing smile again. “There’s nothing in there you won’t accept. I know a fanatic when I see one, and you’d sell your balls if that was part of the deal. Welcome aboard, Mr. Broderick. You’re a real find! Glad to have you.”

He held out a hand to shake. Seth saw the crush coming and let it happen. It was bad. He didn’t have to fake his yelp of pain.

One day he’d return that.