Free Collateral Trade by Candace Smith

destination feasible. They continued on their original course to save the fuel required for turning. The Engine Officer doubted they had enough left to land anywhere, so what the hell did it matter?
    Jerome rested his hands on the table. “I think we need to seriously consider evaluation.”
    “We still might be able to fix the engine.”
    “And I have the new crew working on methods to enhance the food supply.” Dr. Terar despised acknowledging it was his division delivering the news that hammered the last nail in the coffin. He had designed his program for efficiency in the small space allotted to him, and for a crew of one hundred. With a one-year journey, he had increased production requirements to a year and a half to allow them time to replant on planet.
    For some reason, the board elected not to tell him the crew number would be two thousand. His scientists’ amazing production kept food supplied for the massive increase. The original plants continued to feed the crew for an additional six months passed his projection. All this, and still his division was the ultimate reason for failure. If he could find out which asshole screwed up their estimation on fuel, he would personally feed the bastard to the damn fusion engine.
    Now, Dr. Terar made adjustments to train new workers transferred from other divisions with no research background. It was based on the outrageous and unlikely hope that new eyes might recognize an obvious failure his researchers overlooked.
    “You’ve been giving me the same reports for two years, with the exception that plants are not producing as well.” Jerome stared at the botanist’s weary, defeated expression. “I detect no more feigned excitement that synthetics are remotely close to discovery, and if we wait too long there will not be enough food left to support an evaluated crew.” Jerome sat back with a measure of relief at finally announcing his decision. It might save the remaining passengers until they found a habitable planet, and he was confident it was the only course left to them. The bonus to the plan was that everyone at the table automatically passed.
    “Form preliminary lists for your divisions, and then hand them to Manny. We’ll weed them down to the one hundred this tank was meant to hold.” Jerome stood. “We’ll meet again in two weeks.”
    No one needed to be told the secrecy. To cut back the crew on board to one hundred people meant disposing of almost two thousand. The threat of automatic evaluation for causing panic sealed gossiping lips. Manny could work out the psychological profile necessary for those remaining onboard. Jerome was damned if he would spend the rest of his life in space with a bunch of self-recriminating morons he had saved.
    Jerome walked to his quarters, acknowledging the salutes and inquiries to the meeting. Less frequently than the weeks following launch, he caught a glimpse of a single finger salute or a whispered curse. He watched young workers slide down the chutes to the lab level. Ninety percent of them would be sacrificed. He was almost sixty years old, but he would survive to continue with the necessary strength and experience to rule.
    “Janella, wait up.” A tall young woman brushed by him. “Good evening, Chairman.” King Poopah looks worried. Eyes and ears open, girl.
    The woman’s voice dripped ice and Jerome realized it was the pretty girl he considered trading Nika in for. Sharell, something. Even at the lure of accepting her transfer to Navigation, she had turned him down. He stuck her in plant research.
    Janella had one foot in the chute. “Hurry, Sharell, we’ve got three minutes to get to shift.”
    Sharell turned to look at the Chairman while she climbed into the chute. “Something’s going on.”
    “You’ve been saying that for weeks and I’m not hearing any rumors.”
    Sharell gripped the tail of her black braid and folded her arms under her breasts. After a quick ride, she slid onto the lower deck. She