Part 14 (1/2)
”When is Kiachif due here next?” Ken asked.
The big trader laughed. ”Soon, I hope! I'm supposed to meet him here in a few days, and I want to be on my way ASAP. Codep's got some new rulings about trading, and he wants everyone to hear them from his immortal lips. But I've got a schedule to keep ”Having a profitable season?” Vic Solinari asked, coming over to greet Fred.
”Oh, I've made a few credits in commissions.
Went through Zapata Three like wind through the trees. Almost thought they'd never seen an honest trader before.” Horstmann patted his credit pouch with an air of satisfaction.
”And have they seen one now?” Vic Solinari asked, winking broadly at Ken.
”Vic! That cuts me to the quick,' Fred said, his huge hands crossed dramatically over his heart.
”How many times have I given you fellows the s.h.i.+rt off my back?” Then he made another abrupt change of mood. ”In fact, I did once, when no other size I was carrying would fit one of the miners on Zlotnik.
Poor devil. Gave him a pretty good deal, I might add. Say, perhaps you'll be interested in these.
Zapata's doing a good line in metal chain, all grades and gauges.
Bobby!” he shouted to his young son who served as his supercargo.
The boy, who was driving a loader full of merchandise, stopped when he heard his father shout. ”Roll out some of that chain! I brought them a galvanizer last trip, and the results are fine. Won't ever rust.
You got my personal guarantee. They're starting a line of ergonomic hand tools that I'll bring along next time. Fit the hand.
Save the blisters. You'll be interested in those.” The two Hrrubans came over to discuss the ponies and ended up taking part of their price in narrow-gauge metal chain. They shook hands and Horstmann arranged with one of the Humans from First Village to have the beasts boarded until he was ready to load up and leave. Ken looked over the metalwork and other goods which Horstmann's son placed on the long tables. The trader himself pa.s.sed among them, shaking hands and arranging deals quickly. Some Doonans paid in credit vouchers; others with goods, such as rough or cut gemstones or finished craftwork.
Pottery, textiles, ready-to-wear tunics and overalls were placed out by Horstmann's crew for inspection. A large, floppy bundle came out on the next skidload, and Fred pounced on it.
”Well, these have come a long way. Hey, Reeve, he called.
”Here's horsehides with your ranch markings on them. Sell them, they get ridden and eaten, and the hides end up back here for craftwork.
Now, that's recycling.”
”My brand?” Ken asked curiously, making his way over to look. ”That's my brand, all right.
Where did you say these came from? Zapata? i didn't sell this many to anyone on that world. At least I don't think so.”
”Well, you must have,' Horstmann pointed out.
”I'd know the Reeve Ranch markings anywhere, and Zapatan provenance is with ”em.
Ken flipped over one hide after another. Twenty still showed his freeze mark but he couldn't remember having sold a full score of horses tc Zapata Three. He'd easily recall a sale that would have fed his family for a year or more. Then he clicked his tongue on his teeth.
Could he be lookin at hides of animals that had gone missing?
Over period of years, there'd been a fair number ol inexplicable disappearances. Some he could chal up against hunting mdas, disease, or ssersa: a fe', would be a normal enough loss for any rancher. Bu twenty? Maybe Todd was right. Rustlers hac returned to Doona and taken the animals off-worlc in spite of satellite surveillance.
Hides kept a long time. They could be acc.u.mu lated and then sold when enough time had pa.s.sec to dim memory of their loss. Someone had blun dered, letting the rustled hides make their way back to Doona.
The general method of making profi from rustling was to take the animals to a pastora world that wasn't yet cleared for animal residence where colonists were desperate for breeding stoci and fresh meat.
Thriftily then the colonists trade cured hides to other planets for goods. Probably swapped hides for some of Zapata's new chains.
Now if he could just trace the hides back, to Zapata to the colonists and then to the men who'd sold them the animals, he could pa.s.s that information on to Poldep. Having them come back in a lump proved it was one person who'd been responsible all along, not several different gangs. That'd be a good fact to pa.s.s on to Poldep.
”Fred, who sold you these?”
”Why?” The trader squinted at him suspiciously.
”Something wrong with ”em? You know d.a.m.ned well, Reeve, I don't deal in stolen goods and I've the Zapatan provenance.
”So you do,' Ken said reasonably, ”but I'd be grateful if you could give me a name.”
”Truth to tell, I can't. I was shaking hands and changing credits so fast that I have no face to attach to the goods.” Horstmann looked genuinely regretful. ”I'd've checked if I'd thought it odd, but I know you sell off-world.
Ken suppressed his frustration and asked with a friendly smile, ”How long will you be on Doona?”
”I've got to wait for Kiachif, ”come frost, fire, or flood,” as he says,' Fred replied, grinning. ”I'm supposed to take a s.h.i.+pment for him into the Hrruban arm, and he hasn't caught up with me yet.
I got a message on the beacon that this time I'd better stay where I am. Not that I wouldn't. Don't tell him, but I'm fond of the old pirate.
”Good,' Ken said. ”Fred, I know you got the provenance so don't take this wrong, but I've got a feeling that these animals were stolen from me.
Would you let me take the hides to check against the sales records?” ”I'd like to, Ken, I really would,' Horstmann said, bobbing his head from side to side in his reluctance, ”but I might be able to sell ”em. Can't sell ”em if the buyer can't see ”em, now can I? Why, my wife hear about me doing something like that, even to a good honest man like yourself, and she'd skin me and put my hide in with the rest.”
”I understand, Fred, I really do,' Ken said, hiding his exasperation.
”But look, there's a computer outlet right here in the Hall. Just let me have a chance to check the brand numbers. Won't take long and these could be evidence.” At the word ”evidence,' Horstmann froze.
Poldep investigations were the bane of any licensed trader. They meant unavoidable and unlimited delays. He narrowed an eye at Ken. ”Well, so long's it's only just across the Hall. But I didn't get ”em illegal. You know we don't deal in bad merchandise.”
”I know that, Fred. Thanks.” Under Horstmann's baleful gaze, Ken switched on the terminal and keyed in his user code. Ken watched the trader out of the corner of his eye until he got involved in a de'al and temporarily forgot about Ken and evidence.
If these were horses that had gone missing over the past few years, then he-and other ranchers who said they'd had periodic losses-might be able to break up this new spate of rustling. That is, if they could also solve how the rustlers were getting past the security satellites. Having solid evidence to show Poldep would ensure their cooperation. And prove ranchers hadn't just been careless in pulling up ssersa or keeping proper track of their stock.
Ken had to think hard to remember when he first lost track of a horse for which a carca.s.s had never been found. Even mdas left the skull and hooves and occasionally sc.r.a.ps of hide and bone fragments.
It had to have been five or more years ago. He called up his records for a date ten years back when the horses were rounded up for their annual checkup. Now he remembered. In late summer1 one of his stallions hadn't come home, a big powerful bay who'd sired a fine few foals before he disappeared. Buster he'd been called.
Ken initiated a search for that name.
The screen blanked and was replaced with the ”One Moment Please' graphic. Ken twitched impatiently while the search went on. In a few minutes, the screen cleared, then filled with name, description, and freeze mark. Ken jotted the number down and started flipping through the hides, trying to find a match. He didn't.
”I'm doing this backward, he told himself. He blanked the screen and began to type in the numbers on the Zapatan hides and asked for matching data.
The program, in the way of all computer inventory programs, was painfully slow. Each query consumed several minutes, having to access data from the master mainframe on the other side of the planet.
Fretfully Ken drummed his fingertips on the console and glared at the cheery graphic.
When the screen changed, he pounced on the keyboard.