Free Dark Sky (Keiko) by Mike Brooks Page B

but a person’s signature on a physical contract, or at least expected it as part of a transaction; a sort of ceremonial accompaniment to a genescan, fingerprint or what-have-you. However, to find an entire planet where the government actually used it as standard …
    Well, in a way she supposed it was fiendishly clever. It was so outdated that no one would even consider needing to be prepared to forge something like this unless they already knew about it.
    ‘Well, we’ve got no real option,’ Drift concluded. He ran his finger down one of the pages, then rubbed it gently between thumb and forefinger and held it up to the light. The flag of the governing conglomerate rippled in the top-right corner, a holo fluttering in a non-existent breeze.
    ‘Except turning around and heading back to Orlov,’ Rourke suggested from the cockpit doorway. ‘We could tell him his mole refused to cooperate, explain Shirokov’s demands.’
    ‘I don’t think that will help anyone,’ Drift replied pensively, ‘least of all us. Orlov won’t pay us, at the very least, and we’d be lucky if he didn’t spread it around that we couldn’t handle a simple information transfer. He doesn’t get to make his killing in the stocks, and Shirokov is still stuck here. No, if we get the mole off-world and he gives us the data then he gets what he wants, Orlov gets what he wants and by extension, we get what
we
want.’
    ‘Orlov gets what he wants until he next wants a jump on the ore market, you mean,’ Rourke pointed out, folding her arms. ‘How do you suppose he’ll react when he finds out we’ve taken his meal ticket away from him?’
    ‘Nothing to do with us if Shirokov somehow bought his way off-world,’ Drift shrugged. ‘We’ll be long gone from New Samara by that time anyway, even if we linger for a few days so our disappearance isn’t suspiciously quick.’
    ‘Except that Orlov is bound to have enough influence to access the shipping records here,’ Rourke said, her tone taking on a slight edge of exasperation, ‘and they’ll record his emigration on the
Jonah
.’
    Jenna raised a finger, feeling for an incongruous moment as though she were back on Franklin Minor watching her parents bickering over some small grievance. They’d never really fallen out, but the other person’s idiosyncrasies had clearly started to grate over time. ‘Uh, I can sort that. The Shirokovs might be
recorded
as leaving on the
Jonah
, but I can alter that as soon as we’re clear from the docking bay.’
    ‘Which, incidentally, cannot come quickly enough,’ Rourke muttered, casting a dark glare over at the shape of the
Pouco Jacare
. She shook her head, a disapproving twist to her lips. ‘I suppose it’s too much to hope that Apirana actually knocked some sense into anyone’s heads?’
    ‘A couple of them might think twice about trying something again,’ Drift conceded, ‘but I won’t believe Moutinho’s out of our hair until I see him take off or we leave him in our trails. They haven’t been up to anything, I take it?’
    ‘Saw him and that big guy you mentioned unloading some cargo,’ Rourke replied, ‘but they didn’t so much as look this way. I don’t like it, the bastard’s up to something. He’d be pissing up against the side of our ship, normally.’
    ‘He’s welcome to,’ Drift laughed, showing the first sign of genuine good humour Jenna had seen in him since they’d set foot in Uragan City, ‘petty malice doesn’t worry me. We’ll just have to stay sharp in case he tries anything more meaningful.’ He started to fold the plaspaper and nudged the comm on with his elbow. ‘A., get your boots; we’re going back in.’
    Ten minutes later Jenna was watching Apirana carefully slide her forgeries into the secret compartment in the sole of one boot. The Maori was so tall that the extra half-inch of height given by the slightly thicker soles of this pair didn’t look at all incongruous, and since he had the biggest feet