Read Troy Rising 1 - Live Free or Die for Free Online

you
     part of TradeCrew?”
    “Uh, no,” Dan said. “But I'd like to get a What's Your Score? T-Shirt.”
    “Twenty-five bucks,” Tyler said, handing over a large. “And thank you again.”
    “Must be a bit of a come-down doing small cons,” Dan said, forking over the money. “I hope
     I didn't...”
    “Just love the people,” Tyler said, neutrally. “Anything else?”
    “No,” Dan said. “Thanks.”
    ***
    Special Agent Daniel Nolan Poore got in the van and was swept head to foot before he
     opened his mouth.
    “He's meeting with the Glatun. Didn't get into when. Says he's just doing a sketch of the
     crew and the captain.”
    “Why do they want a sketch?” the Senior Special Agent asked.
    “Said that Wathaet's a fan,” Dan said, shrugging. “Makes sense.”
    “Write it up,” the SSA said. “Long-hand. I want somebody with a camera, and I shouldn't
     have to point this out but a
    
    
     chemical
    
    
     camera, getting shots. I don't want the Horvath or the Glatun to realize they're under
     surveillance.”

CHAPTER TWO
    As he drove back to Boston on Monday, Tyler had to admit that he'd much rather work for
     Chuck on Day Shift. When he'd gone to the general manager and asked if he could scrounge
     through the rejects that were being returned Chuck had just waved. Among other things,
     Chuck was a fan and while that didn't get Tyler many points it allowed them to communicate
     better.
    People generally didn't buy something in grocery stores that was dinged, scratched or
     otherwise marred. They'd eat stuff that had so little nutrition that they might as well
     eat the box but woe-betide if the box was crushed. So anything that wasn't visually
     perfect got sent back to the vendors and either got credited or sold through outlets.
     There were rules against giving it to most food banks for that matter. Most of it was just
     thrown away.
    Most of the damage occurred over the weekend so Tyler had had plenty of stuff to pick
     through and he'd gotten just about one of everything. The likelihood of any of it being
     compatible to the Glatun, much less valuable, was small. But long shots occasionally hit
     and it was this or cut trees.
    Tyler really wanted to wangle a ride on the ship. There was no way that was going to fly
     but it was a childhood dream.
    He hadn't just come up with
    
    
     TradeHard
    
    
     on the spur of the moment, he'd wanted to
    
    
     be
    
    
     Wathaet from the time he was a kid. His grandfather was in his sixties before they ever
     met but he remembered the old man's stories like they were yesterday. Granda had been a
     crewman, eventually rising to captain, on tramp steamers that plied the South Seas trade
     back when they were still converting from sail to steam. His stories of trading for copra,
     fights with gangs in pre-Communist Shanghai and, as they both got older, beautiful island
     maidens, were some of the highlights of Tyler's childhood. That and books, mostly SF books
     once he found them. Combine Norton and Heinlein and Poul with Granda and you got
    
    
     TradeHard
    
    
     , what Tyler
    
    
     really
    
    
     wanted to do when he grew up.
    He'd considered going into the merchant marine rather than college but it simply wasn't
     the same as when Granda was a crewman. American crewmen, especially, ran under so many
     rules, unions and regulations that it wasn't much different from being part of any other
     corporation. The soul was gone from it.
    Space, though, had to be different. There was just too much variety available. Sure, there
     were problems. But they'd be bigger... grander.
    ***
    “So for two fifteen minute speeches you managed to make our gate fees,” Drath said,
     sourly. The ship's purser blew out a line of spittle and recovered it. “And that only by
     smuggling out that guy's stash of gold coins. How the hell did he hang onto those, by the
     way?”
    “Look up 'survivalist,'” Wathaet said. “It's a really bizarre