Price of Ransom Read Online Free

chased him off, had long since become one of the reasons he admired her with the kind of fierce, proud admiration that only the very solitary can develop.
    But this time there was someone else on the bridge, one of the technicians, busy at a console and oblivious to his silent presence, but the tech’s very shuffling and breathing obliterated the mood of communion he felt had grown in those quiet times he shared with the captain on the bridge: she brooding over their troubles, he absorbing the force of her concentration.
    So he turned and slipped out again and padded by back ways and circuitous routes through the darkened corridors to the mess hall. With power shut down to one-third, it had become the central meeting place and general living area for the crew, and it was here that he found his mother.
    She drew a seat in beside her so that he could sit down, and he did, not wishing to offend her. As usual, the table was too crowded for his tastes—he long since having learned to prefer an empty cubicle or the secret interstices that others passed by. There were six people, and all of them talking, loudly and without any order whatsoever. When the captain presided over a discussion, people never spoke loudly or out of turn.
    “But we’ve been drifting on the edge of this system for three days now, on cut power, cut rations—not to mention the casualties still in Medical who as far as I know are on cut drugs and bandages.”
    This was Finch, whose voice, in Gregori’s opinion, always got a little grating when he was agitated.
    “The casualties in Medical are the least of my worries,” countered Yehoshua. Somehow he always remained calm when emotions rose to their highest. “Whatever other problems or reservations we might have about Hawk, he’s the best doctor I’ve seen work. But we have twelve people on this ship—not counting the casualties who couldn’t be moved, of course—who stayed with us after the mutiny, and their loyalty is not ultimately to the captain but to whatever opportunity she represents, and eventually they’re going to get tired of being refugees and want some tangible proof of that opportunity.”
    “And how are they going to get it,” Finch demanded, “when we’re stuck in this system because we don’t have enough power and basic supplies to leave?”
    “Enough to leave,” interposed the Mule fluidly, “but certainly not enough to assay this fabled ‘way’ to the old worlds, where presumably opportunity lies.”
    The Mule’s comment brought silence. Gregori squirmed restlessly in his chair. Past the tables, he could see the opening through which food was served from galley to mess. In the half-darkness of the galley itself he made out Aliasing’s insubstantial form busy at some task. Normally she would have been out here, sitting beside his mother, contributing now and again to the conversation. But lately, ever since the mutiny, she had kept to herself, as if she were avoiding his mother, even Gregori himself. Some other concern seemed to be preoccupying her, and while it hurt him that she now had little more than an absentminded pat for him when he wandered in to the galley to beg a scrap of sweet between meals, he had long-since developed an ability to hide his feelings, even from his mother.
    He sighed, swinging his legs in the gap between the seat of his chair and the floor.
    “I still don’t see that we have any choice but to sell our services,” said Pinto, breaking the silence. He sounded a little defensive, which to Gregori at least lent his statement interest. “We can transport cargo—”
    “Without permits?” asked Yehoshua.
    Pinto dismissed the caveat with a negatory sweep of one hand. “What permits? Central’s authority is gone. I doubt the new government has had time to institute their policies in such detail, and certainly not out this far on the fringe. I’m sure these systems need some quick and reliable transports.”
    “Hold on.” Jenny shook her