Free Vicky Peterwald: Survivor (Vicky Peterwald Series Book 2) by Mike Shepherd Page A

will be more following us.”
    “If I get my hands on that market, those latecomers can sing for their supper,” the rancher growled.
    “Assuming we don’t lose our shirt,” the fisherman pointed out.
    “No risk, no bucks,” was the rancher’s final rumble.
    Vicky was hardly needed for the rest of the meeting. There was a lot of talk about spare parts and raw resources likely needed by the fabricating mills on both Posnan and Presov. The people around the table had streaming databases of what those planets had usually ordered before trade collapsed. They were ready to supply those needs again.
    The difference between what had been done in days gone by and what would be happening if Vicky got her wish to start trade again was one single word. Money. When credit had dried up from the central banks on Greenfeld, managers found they could neither sell their products nor buy critical spare parts or raw feedstock to support production.
    When enough businesses fell into this vicious cycle, everything collapsed.
    Trade for this initial round would have to be handled strictly on a barter basis. If you want what the trade fleet brought, you’d have to offer something in return. If St. Petersburg offered enough of what they wanted, and they had what the people around this table wanted, trade would start up again.
    If not, the collapse would continue. Only this time, there would be no hope at all.
    A lot depended on the men and women here at the table guessing right and putting the right product on the four ships the Navy would escort.
    Five now that the
Frozen Christmas Goose
had been added.
    About halfway through the meeting, Vicky began to get a bad feeling.
    “How much of these ships’ cargo holds do you plan on filling with your goods and gear?” she put in when the room fell silent for a moment.
    “We don’t know exactly what the crystal miners will need. It’s better to take extra cargo than discover we don’t have the right part to get a mill up and running when we get there.”
    “And how much of the cargo space will that leave for humanitarian supplies?” Vicky shot back.
    “There will be space for some.”
    “How much?” Vicky bore in.
    “Maybe a third. Maybe less.”
    “No,” Vicky snapped.
    “What do you mean, no?” the rancher shot back.
    “Half of the cargo is for survival rations,” Vicky said flatly.
    “You can’t be serious about that?” had way too much skepticism in it and maybe a bit of “little woman,” cut off just in time.
    “You give me half the cargo by cubic meter, or you can get some other figurehead to open the next meeting.”
    “You’re willing to risk that we won’t have a critical part?” one industrialist said, incredulously. “This whole effort could collapse for want of a nail, as they say.”
    “Poznan will collapse completely if we don’t feed the workforce that’s been driven into the badlands to fend for themselves. We need to feed those starving to death quietly in the outback, where no one has to look at them.”
    “She has a point. Fabrication mills don’t run themselves. The more skilled the worker, the better,” the fisherman agreed.
    “Right now, too many of those workers have been driven away from the plants. You may have the part in storage, but if they can’t find the worker to install it, what good is it?” Vicky demanded.
    “That’s the likely situation on Poznan. Presov may be in better shape.”
    “Presov is only a few short jumps away,” Vicky pointed out. “You need one spare part, you make a call back to St. Petersburg and have it sent out on the next ship.”
    “They’ll charge an arm and a leg,” an industrialist pointed out.
    “And you won’t charge the same arm and leg if you find out that you hold the kingpin for that whole arm of industry?” Vicky asked.
    The man reddened but made no answer.
    A call went up to see if some more ships could be quickly made ready for the fleet.
    Vicky had to smile.
    Kris Longknife had put