Free Drifter's Run by William C. Dietz

patiently. "Look at the plot points for orbital junk. You'll see quite a few."
    Cap did as he was told and found she was right. Most planets had at least some junk in orbit, worn-out satellites, abandoned habitats, fuel tanks, cargo modules, wrecks, you name it. But scanning the schematic Cap saw that Pylax had more than its fair share.
    Each piece of debris was marked with a dot, an orbit designator such as OL-23, and a serial number that set it off from functional satellites, habitats, and ships. The serial numbers were consecutive but scattered all around the globe. The highest one that Cap saw was D-1,247. That meant there were at least 1,247 pieces of junk in orbit around Pylax and maybe more. More than enough to be a hazard to navigation and justify the cost of a cleanup.
    Cap saw where Joleen was headed. He looked her in the eye. "Come on, Lois… there's got to be something better than this. A tow, a salvage job, something."
    Joleen shook her head. "I'm sorry, Cap, I really am, but you know how it is. The big companies like Stellar Tug & Salvage get the really lucrative jobs. They have lots of clout and pay heavy-duty kickbacks. It stinks, but that's how the system works. Still, I wouldn't turn my nose up at the Pylax job, it pays pretty well."
    "How well is 'pretty well'?"
    "Fifty thousand credits, minus my ten percent, makes it worth forty-five. That, plus salvage rights to anything worth the trouble."
    Cap brightened a little. Most of the stuff would be close to worthless, but somewhere among those 1,247 pieces of junk there had to be a valuable nugget or two, and that could make all the difference. Some quick mental arithmetic informed him that the forty-five was just enough to pay off current debts, fuel the ship, and operate for the next two months. It wasn't great, but that's all there was.
    "Okay, I'll take it."
    "Good," Joleen said evenly. "Half up front and half on completion."
    "No way," Cap countered. "I've got expenses. Seventy-five percent up front, and twenty-five on completion."
    "You're out of your mind," Joleen responded pleasantly. "Two-thirds up front, with a third on completion."
    "Deal," Cap said, and stuck out his hand.
    Joleen pumped it once and offered a rare smile. "You drive a hard bargain, Cap, but not as hard as Mel. She'd have held out for the full seventy-five."
    Della Dee stepped into the saloon and looked around. It was one big open room, with a wooden bar that ran the length of one wall and a huge fireplace. The air smelled of peat, tobacco, and the sweet reek of dope sticks. Two dozen pairs of eyes swiveled around to look her over. Those that were male liked what they saw and took another look.
    Dee was about five-ten, shapely, and dressed in a blue one-piece ship-suit. She also wore the top half of some flat-black ceramic body armor, a slug gun in a cross-draw holster, and knee-high boots.
    But none of these things accounted for the interested looks. Those resulted from her flaming red hair. It surrounded her face like a frame, shining waves of red, which fell gently to her shoulders. That plus bright green eyes set in flawless white skin caught and held their gaze.
    Careful to avoid eye contact Dee scanned the faces and found nothing but the usual mix of barroom scum. Not too surprising all things considered.
    Dee moved and most of the eyes broke away. But a few followed, and as Dee headed toward an empty corner, she felt them running up and down her body.
    There was a small table and two chairs. Dee chose the one that would put her back to the corner. Then she waited for the first one to arrive. It didn't take long.
    He was tall and fairly good-looking, the kind that did well with women, and expected easy pickings. He had a glass of Dista Mist in each hand and put them down without asking her permission.
    "Name's Brodie… thought I'd buy you a drink."
    Dee sighed. It was always the same. The red hair was like a magnet. Or better yet a flame, a flame that attracted every