"Let me run the numbers."

"Let me run the numbers," you say. "Hadar, do you have any other information that would help me get a sense of their value?" You watch him carefully.

Hadar coughs. "Of course my survey data was lost with the Neon Spirit, and I scrambled my boodle chip when they took me prisoner. But here's what I can tell you," he says. "I got a lead from a salvaged long-range probe that had blundered into Katarya system and gotten scooped by the ice rats. I noticed it along with the other junk and ran its survey core. That's what got me sniffing around and found the pilgrim world. It's a crazy-ass system -- a little orange-red K7 star with two asteroid fields and a big gas giant, almost big enough to be another star. The gas giant has a big moon system, but the pilgrims are on a planet close in to the star. It's basically one big ocean with ice caps, a bunch of island chains, and a couple of low swampy continents. Lotta life forms, but nothing to write home about, mostly small, slow, and slimy. Practically empty, the pilgrims are mostly all huddled up on the nicest island they could find. They're a little above subsistence. Fish farming in the lagoons, the usual high-yield crops. They still had an old weather satellite up and talking, and the hulk of the starship was still in high orbit, but I didn't see any air or space travel capability."

"Weapons?" you ask.

"Slugthrowers. If they were pushed they could probably repurpose a few old laser welders," he says. "And they have some kind of antique explosive they use for breaking rocks."

"Any other crewmembers survive?" you ask.

His eyes flick in a certain way. You smile inwardly. You have his "tell," so you'll be able to catch any further deception.

"No," Hadar says, "I was the only one to survive the attack."

Truth cloaking a lie. He wasn't sure? "Did you send down a landing party?" you ask.

The eyes again. Oh Hadar, you think. Did the Imps break your nerve?

He says, "No, just a discreet orbital survey, and some remote sampling and spydots."

"Besides the pilgrims themselves, did you discover anything of interest?" you ask.

His eyes jump. Direct hit.

"It was a decent planet, as far as pilgrim worlds go," he says. "As far as selling, the only thing with market value is the people."

You smile. "So you're telling me that what you found was a pilgrim colony, now up to a couple of thousand. Technologically semi-literate pilgrims who speak and read no common language with their prospective masters. Whose market value is that of raw slaves, fit only for labor or gross amusement of the idle rich or to drain the purse of the Manumission Society. Whose loss attrition, historically speaking, will be over fifty percent before we can get them to market. Much less the cost of capture, the risks, and the fact that we can't keep such an effort secret even if we try, just from the supplies and the number of catcher-men we need."

Hadar stares.

"We'd do better to start a war someplace a trifle more civilized and pick up the pieces. Refugees are a far better bet, old son," you say. You smile, twisting the knife. "But look on the bright side, you're entitled to the survey bounty. The Lords will be delighted to claim a new world out from under the noses of the Imperials, and the bounty will give you a stake as a consignment trader."

"Doe, you wouldn't!" Hadar cries.

"Peace, Captain Alioth," you say. "Let me contact the Survey Office, and we'll settle all this above-board. You'll go your way a free man with money in your pocket."

Hadar frowns. "You can't just give it away!" he says.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Hadar," you say. "I think your luck is still holding." You refer to Hadar's crew roster and note a name that was puzzling you when you checked it earlier today. She's an academic, a xenohistorian. An Imperial citizen, in fact. "Perhaps Ionna Leyahu found something of more than historic interest during your survey? Maybe you can tell me what's really worth a return trip. And we'll do it in style." Your smile warms a touch, then cools. "Otherwise..." you say, tapping the datafiche with Hadar's **** contract. "I can pass along the option to someone with more personal interest in your case." You don't need to mention the names of a few traders who were on the losing side of some of Hadar's strokes of good luck.

Hadar hesitates.

"I have to break in my new pleasure **** Arcadia," you say. Her profile has made you eager to check her out. "When you're ready to tell me how you want me to handle things, give Xabel a ring and tell her to let me know."

You turn to leave.