Conflict Of Honors Read Online Free Page A

his desk, screwed his eyes shut, and opened them again. "You'll be having some ID on you, of course."

    She nodded, earning a flash of pain and a renewed flurry of dots. The hand that held her identification out trembled, she noted, and she was aware of a flicker of anger.

    Master Farley took the packet and fed the cards one by one into the unit beside his desk. He studied the screen carefully, sighed, and turned back to her.

    "Well, your papers are in order. Cargo master for Daxflan, out of Chonselta City, Liad—plain as rain." He shook his head. "I'll be right out with you, lass. I can't see the why of leaving you like this. A cargo master is an important part of a trade vessel. All this about being hit on the head and left—it don't add up. And I'll tell you what else: Trader Olanek was here, and we had a very pleasant chat. But I never saw this second mate you be speaking of. Nor I never saw you."

    "You don't believe me, in fact."

    He waved his hands soothingly. "Now, lass. Admit it don't seem so likely."

    "I do admit it," Priscilla told him. "I don't know why it was done any more than you do. Perhaps the second felt she had a grudge—but nothing to warrant cracking my skull." Which means the Trader ordered it, she thought suddenly, crystally. Dagmar wouldn't have mugged her and left her—not without orders. It was more in her style to try rape, if she had thought Priscilla had insulted her. And if the Trader had ordered it, that meant. . .

    Master Farley's chair creaked as he changed position. "Well, then, lass, I'm just bound to say that done's done. There doesn't seem to be any harm you've done—is that so, Liam?"

    "Yessir," the warehouseman said regretfully. "Happens that's so."

    The port master nodded. "Then the wisest thing to do is give you back your ID and send you on your way." He pushed her cards across the desk.

    Priscilla stared at him. "Send me on my way," she repeated blankly. "I'm stranded. I don't have any money. I don't know anybody here." The Trader had ordered it. Which meant that her deduction was correct: Daxflan had been carrying illegal drugs in enormous quantity. Never mind how he had gotten at her data, locked under her personal code. He had found it, given her credit for being able to make the deduction—and acted to remove a known danger.

    "Best you go to the embassy," Master Farley was saying with apologetic kindness. "Likely they'll send you home."

    Home? "No," she said, suddenly breathless. "I want to go—I must get to Arsdred." That was Daxflan's next port of call. And then? she asked herself, wondering at her own urgency. She shoved the question away for the present. She would take one thing at a time.

    "Arsdred," she repeated firmly.

    He looked doubtful. "Well, if you must, lass, you must. But I'm not the one to know how you'll go about it. You said you'd no money . . . ."

    "The ship in orbit now— Dutiful Passage? Is she a trader?"

    He nodded, blinking in confusion.

    "Good." She took a deep breath and forced her aching head to work. "Master Farley, you owe me no favors, I know. But I want to apply for work on Dutiful Passage. Will you help me?"

    "It's not me you need to speak to about that, lass. It'll be Mr. Saunderson, who's the agent." He puffed his chest out a little. "Dutiful Passage stops here every three years, regular."

    A ship that listed Jankalim among its regular ports of call? And a Liaden ship, too. Priscilla paused, trying to picture conditions less appealing than Daxflan's. Imagination failed her, and she smiled tightly at the port master.

    "How do I get in touch with Mr. Saunderson?"

    "His office is just in the city," Liam said from behind her. "Anyone can tell you the way."

    "That's so," Master Farley agreed slowly. Then he squared his shoulders and stiffened his mustache. "You can use the comm to call him from here, if you like to."

    Her smile was genuine this time, if no less painful. "Thank you so much."

    "That's all right, lass.