Trannies in Space

"Aye, sir."

"Miss Lulu, scrub the databanks. If we get inspected by a Capital patrol I don't want them knowing we were on Jansen's. It's best not to bring attention to a good thing." Ensuring that that tiny world and its hunger for cargo remained under the radar was paramount to its safety and to their pocketbooks. It would keep the Capital Navy from invading it and raping every woman on the surface.

"We need some accounting done, sir." Lulu stood up, and accepted the leash from her mistress when it was offered. "The profits from the last four transactions have not been totaled or added to the ship's log."

"I'm on it." Dekker said. He filled in where needed, and wasn't above working alongside his crew. "Let's all have a good day. See you both at lunch."

*****

He hated math, but one couldn't operate a freighter without it. It was a pilot's lifeblood. And after more than twenty years of running freight and trading figures had become second nature to him. But didn't have to like it.

So far, the Barnabas had accrued nearly 350 Capital credits, nearly 1000 silver coins, and anywhere from a half dozen or more currencies from other worlds, system wide governments, and fleets, whose value was practically negligible. All of it had to be exchanged for credits if he ever wanted to start making runs in the system of the Capital Worlds. A few Capital ports and ships accepted silver, but not many. They were bulky and old fashioned. One could store ten thousand Capital credits in the space it took to hold only five hundred silver. Dekker ran some more figures: the last exchange had charged them 5.9% to do their work. Offering them Lulu for an evening usually brought it down some, but he didn't like doing that. The fuckbot was a crew member, a sentient being under his protection, and she could be damaged. And Dekker was no longer sure if he had the money to rebuild her, should she be lost. The thought troubled him.

"How are we doing?" Arela asked him, popping her head into his office.