The Reaches by David Drake Page A

knows how good a thing he's got there."
    "We're talking about planets like Jewelhouse, Heartbreak, Desire," Mostert said loudly as he tried to get the discussion back on the track he desired. "Planets with valuable products of their own and the remains of extensive pre-Collapse colonies being discovered every day. There weren't microchip factories there, no, but those aren't the only ancient artifacts that can bring huge profits."
    "The mirror worlds, all their settlements have forts and real soldiers," Captain Choransky said with the air of a man trying to explain why humans can't breathe water. "If we sashayed up to Umber, say, they'd just laugh at us."
    "If they didn't blow our asses away," Bivens added, shaking his head in sad amazement. "That's what they'd do, you know."
    Mostert grimaced. "We all know the orders President Pleyal has sent to his colonies," he said in brusque admission. "That won't last—it can't last. The colonies can't depend on Rabbits for labor. They need Molts to expand their operations, and they want to buy them from us. But—"
    "They want to buy if there's a gun to their head," interjected Roon, who'd commanded the Preakness.  
    "But that means we don't go where they've got guns of their own," Bivens said.
    "They want to do most anything with guns to their heads," Roon added with a giggle.
    Mostert's face was naturally ruddy, so the best clue to his mental state was the way he suddenly flung his glass to the side with a fierce motion. The vessel clinked against the wall but didn't break.
    The clot of ships' officers, all of whom had drunk more than was good for them because they were nervous, grunted and looked away.
    Gregg smothered a smile. Alexi Mostert had used better judgment when he bought tumblers for this gathering than when he made up the guest list.
    Piet Ricimer swept the room with his eyes. "The best way to break the monopoly on out-system trade which the Feds and Southerns claim," he said in a clear voice, "will be for Venus to develop our own network of colonies, trading stations—perhaps our own routes across the Mirror or around it in transit space. But that will take time."
    He stepped closer to the dais though not onto it. His back was to Mostert but he held the eyes of everyone else. Gregg watched their host over Ricimer's head. Mostert's expression was perfectly blank, but his fingers were bending the spoon into a tight spiral.
    "For now," Ricimer continued, "we need to gain experience in out-system navigation in order to carry out what I'm convinced is God's plan. But—"
    His smile was as dazzling as the ring on his finger. "—God doesn't forbid us to help ourselves while carrying out His will. The investors in the voyage just completed are wealthier by more than a hundred percent of their investments. Our mistress, Governor Halys"—Ricimer nodded to Duneen—"included. No one who's served with Captain Mostert can doubt that an argosy he commands in person will be even more successful."
    Gregg began to clap. He was only slightly surprised when light applause ran quickly across the room, like fire in cotton lint.
    "For you gentlemen who don't know him," Mostert called from the dais, "this is my relative Captain Ricimer. He'll be commanding one of the vessels in the new endeavor."
    There was another flurry of applause. Gregg raised an eyebrow. Ricimer acknowledged with something between a deep nod and a bow.
    A servant entered the room carrying a round package nearly a meter in diameter. He scanned the crowd, then homed in on Ricimer.
    "One moment, gentlemen," Ricimer said loudly to cut through the buzz of conversation following his speech and Mostert's.
    He took the package and ripped the seal on the thin, light-scattering wrapper. All eyes were on him.
    "Councilor Duneen," Ricimer continued, "we've spoken of the artifacts to be found beyond Pluto. I ask you to take this to Governor Halys, as my personal token of appreciation for her support of the voyage just ended."
    He