Trans Galactic Insurance Read online

  “Maybe he wants to give you an autographed copy of his new book, Ten Fun Things to Do with Cargo-Insurance Paperwork.”

  “Seriously, Bart,” Jake e-mailed. “What does he want? I haven’t spoken to him except in class.”

  “He’s the executive manager for student affairs.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He’s not just a prof. He’s the boss of the students. He runs the school for TGI. And he has a sweet office. He has wooden walls.”

  “He’s the boss?”

  “Of the whole school.”

  “Wooden walls?”

  “All his walls are wood. Real wood. Do you know how much that costs?”

  “Wow,” Jake typed. “One guy on the station would carve wooden spoons for people. They cost a lot. More than silver.”

  “He keeps a low profile, but he’s a pretty powerful guy. Don’t upset him.”

  “Now I’m worried. What did I do?”

  “You don’t do anything except study and get good marks. He probably wants to give you an award or something. Don’t worry.”

  But Jake did.

  * * *

  Jake entered the outer office and nodded to José, Mr. Dashi’s assistant. José was about Jake’s height but extremely thin. Wavy brown hair almost reached his shoulders. José was dressed for work in a generic grey skinsuit, but his bright blue tunic was fitted, and its color matched his eyes. Jake always felt underdressed when he was with José.

  The outer door to the office was nondescript, and Jake looked closely at the titles below the unit number. Professor of Insurance Studies, PhD (finance) was prominent on the first line. The second line was in much smaller letters: Director of Student Affairs. Vice-Regional Director, Trans Galactic Insurance. The emperor’s scrotum! A regional director ran a station or group of stations. Mr. Dashi was possibly the senior TGI representative on station. Jake had clearly underestimated his importance.

  José was typing on his screen and looked up. “He’s expecting you, Jake. Go right in,” he said. “Oh, wait—I’ve got something for you.” He typed some more. “There you go; another video came in from your mother. I sent it on. Just send me the reply, and I’ll send it on from the station account.”

  “Thanks, José. Why does he want to see me? What did I do wrong?”

  “Wrong? Nothing that I know of. He just told me that you were coming in and to send you in right away.”

  “Is he angry?” Jake asked. “Am I in trouble?”

  “I don’t think so, and I can usually tell.”

  “How do you tell? He always looks happy.”

  “His smile,” José said. “He had his serious smile on this morning, not his angry or worried smile.”

  “Is he mad at me for not paying attention in his class? Am I going to fail?”

  “Nobody pays attention in his classes. You ask questions, so you are his favorite student. He’ll give you two hundred percent on an exam if he can.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. You’ll be fine, Jake. Maybe he’s angry that you are using the station account to reply to your mom’s videos.”

  “Is he?”

  José just shook his head and tapped something on his keyboard. “He says to come in now.” José pointed to the office door. “Go.”

  * * *

  Jake walked up and knocked on the door. He heard a muffled invitation and opened the door.

  The door was unusual. Rather than the typical metal sliding door, this door was faced with actual wood on the inside. Jake stopped and ran his hand up and down the wood. He had never touched a piece of wood larger than a spoon until he came to the school.

  Mr. Dashi’s office had the standard metal floor and ceiling, and exposed pipes, but the walls were faced with wood veneer. And he had a wooden desk. A big one, with two fabric-covered chairs facing it. Mr. Dashi gestured Jake in and pointed to a chair.

  “Mr. Stewart. Thank you for coming,” he said. “This won’t take very long.”

  “Sir. Can you tell me what this is about? Is it my scholarship?” asked Jake. He needed that scholarship.

  “No, Mr. Stewart. You class average continues to be in the ninetieth percentile range, well above the eightieth percentile that you need.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I do note, however, that there are quite a few similarities between your papers and Mr. Sanchez’s papers.”

  “Um, sir, we study together and share notes. It’s allowed, sir. The student guide says it’s permitted.”

  “It does, Mr. Stewart?”

  “Uh, yes, sir. Page forty-seven.”

  “Page forty-seven? Are you sure?” Mr. Dashi smiled.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you read the entire student guide, Mr. Stewart?”

  “Yes, sir. Twice.”

  “Twice?”

  “I didn’t know what to expect, sir. I wanted to be prepared for school. I read all the documents you sent me after my scholarship was confirmed.”

  “Yes, I expect you did.”

  “And it’s only plagiarism if Bart’s, uh, Mr. Sanchez’s papers are ‘substantially similar in multiple respects,’ sir. I think you’ll find that his papers often take a viewpoint that is contrary to mine.”

  “Yes, I have noticed that as well. Do you write his papers for him, too?”

  “Um, sir, we exchange papers and discuss them before submitting them, but the final work is always our own. The student guide says on page two hundred fifty-two—”

  “Never mind, Mr. Stewart. I’m sure that you are precisely within the requirements of the student guide, as described on whatever page you state.”

  “Sir.”

  “Just remember this,” Mr. Dashi said. “Even though Mr. Sanchez’s family is prominent in an allied corporation, helping him study is one thing, but helping him cheat on qualification tests is something totally different.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m not too worried about a few papers, but we will watch Mr. Sanchez’s tests closely.”

  “Yes, sir. I understand. I think Bar—Mr. Sanchez—will do fine on the qualification exams. He knows how important they are to him. He should pass. He has good notes, and he understands how important this is to his family.”

  “You mean he’s lazy but not stupid. And afraid enough of his father to study hard when he needs to.”

  “Uh…”

  “Never mind, Mr. Stewart. I think we understand each other. Let’s talk about your future. You are doing well here, and if you keep your marks up, your scholarship will stay in place.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “No thanks required, Mr. Stewart. You have earned it. You and your late father. That was a wonderful piece of work he did, incidentally. TGI owes your family and you.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “That was a few years back. Ten years since the wreck?”

  “Eleven years, sir. I was twelve.”

  “Yes, you just turned twenty-three. Several years older than most of our students here. Why didn’t you take the scholarship up when you turned eighteen?”

  “Sir, it took me a while to work through the paperwork and save enough money for the tickets, sir.”

  “Yes, we didn’t consider that the students might come from a Belt station. You are the first Belter at the school in…ever, possibly. I certainly don’t know of any others,” Mr. Dash said. “I’m from the surface, of course; you are the first Belter I have really met. I’m trying to encourage students from the Belt, and from other corporations, to come here to the school. With our resource situation, our people will become our best assets. People like you. We need to expand our reach.”

  Mr. Dashi smiled again. “But you didn’t come here to hear a speech from the orbital development council.” He paused. “There is, however, one financial matter.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jake took a deep breath. “Sir, it’s not José’s fault. I asked him to do it. He didn’t know it wasn’t allowed.”

  “José? What isn’t allowed?” Mr. Dashi looked puzzled.

  “It’s just, sir, that my mom doesn’t have a system comm account; we can’t afford one. One of my uncle’s friends uploaded it to the station net when he arrived, and I guess José monitors the general account, so he saw it and sent it on to me. And I didn’t have a system comm account, so I just recorded an answer back and sent it to José, and he sent it back to them, somehow. I guess he uses the school comm account, but I’m sure he just figured it would be OK. I can’t afford the charges, so he just kept doing it.”

  Mr. Dashi leaned forward for a moment.

  “José sends messages for you on the station comm account?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s not his fault.”

  “Mr. Stewart, José has been with me for four years. He oversees about ten million credits a month in expenses for me to authorize. If he wants to send some messages on the station account, that’s fine with me. That is not what we are here to discuss.”

  Mr. Dashi learned back in his chair and steepled his hands in front of him. “Mr. Stewart, do you know how you go about becoming a merchant officer in the TGI fleet?”

  “I go to the academy for two years, sir. First year of general studies I pass my exams, then second year is a department-specific study and office-work term. Graduate with good marks, apply for a place as a cadet on a ship in the appropriate department, and after a year of working I get a class-three license.”

  “That’s almost correct. You are almost finished with the first year, and I expect you’ll pass your exams with no problems. Have you given some thought as to the department you want to go to for your work term?”

  “I’m trying for deck, sir. I’d like to drive a ship.”

  “Not engineering? You have the marks
for it.”

  “No, sir,” Jake said.

  “I see. Well, here’s the question. How are you going to pay for your place?”

  “Sir? I have a scholarship.”

  “Yes. You see, here’s the thing.” Mr. Dashi unclasped his hands and leaned forward. “Do you know how we allocate spots in the different departments?”

  “Uh, no, sir. I expected there would be more information on that at the end of first year.”

  “We sell them.”

  “What?”

  “We sell them,” Mr. Dashi repeated. He explained to Jake that the all the students were sponsored by a corporation; in fact, Jake was the first noncorporate student in memory. Other corporations shared in paying the school’s expenses and in return were allocated places in the classes. Jake wasn’t sponsored by a corporation, so there was no place allocated for him. Once Jake choose his department, he would have to pay for his place.

  Jake blinked. “I don’t understand, sir.”

  “I need you to tell me which department you are going to be in next year, and how you are going to pay for your place,” Mr. Dashi said.

  “Sir, I…Sir, how much does a place cost?”

  “Depends on the department,” Mr. Dashi said. “Deck is fifty thousand credits; engineering or medical is forty thousand. Cargo is thirty thousand. Steward is twenty thousand. There are other prices for other departments.”

  “Sir, how much is the cheapest one?”

  “Administration is ten thousand.” Mr. Dashi leaned forward. “Do you have ten thousand credits, Mr. Stewart?”

  “No, sir.”

  “What about your family?”

  “Sir, I come from a Belter family. There’s just me and my mom and younger sister. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a thousand credits in the same place, ever, never mind ten thousand.”

  “But you are a success story for your station,” Mr. Dashi said. “Surely they would want to support you with a loan. Once you get a place at TGI, you should have no problem paying back the loan. Ships’ officers are well paid.”

  “Sir, we don’t have much in the way of actual cash out there. We mine fuel and oxygen from the asteroids and trade it with the other Belt miners for rare metals. We trade that to the free traders for our supplies. The only reason they come out is because we give them a free fuel tank when they arrive, and a discounted price on the metals. They trade us food, rations, and manufactured stuff, and then they come back the next year. There is no real money involved.”

  “But how do you pay your workers?”

  “Everybody who works gets credit with the station, and after we deduct for air, food, space, power and water, we get a piece of each incoming shipment’s profit. It’s not much. I had to sign onto a free trader for a working passage to get here.”

  “Yes, I noticed that. You came in on a free trader, not a liner.”

  “Couldn’t afford a liner, sir. And none goes out that far, anyways.” Jake shrugged.

  “I see. That’s unfortunate. I don’t know what to say to you, Mr. Stewart. You don’t need to pay the full amount right away, but you do have to pay a deposit before you can be admitted into the second-year program. I can delay matters somewhat; you choose the department you want to go into, and we admit you. But you need to pay the deposit before the semester starts and pay the rest before the end of your stay here.”

  “I thought my scholarship covered all this.”

  “It covers your accommodation at the station, food, water, etcetera. Living expenses. And it pays tuition for the whole program, so you don’t pay for the teaching, but you do have to buy your place.”

  “Sir, I don’t know…it doesn’t seem fair,” Jake said.

  “It’s not fair, Mr. Stewart. But I can’t change this.”

  “I don’t know what to do, sir.”

  “Well, contact your family and friends,” Mr. Dashi said. “Perhaps they can help. Perhaps your friend Mr. Sanchez can help.”

  “He’s on an allowance from his family, sir. They pay him every week, but it’s not a huge amount.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Stewart. There is nothing I can do. Take some time and let me know your decision.”

  “What happens if I can’t raise the money, sir?”

  “Well, we’d have to remove you from the classes, Mr. Stewart. You’d have to leave the school and the station.”

  CHAPTER 3

  “I’m doomed,” Jake moaned. He put down a fork and held his head in his hands.

  “You are not. We have options. We just need to find you some money.” Bart dug his fork into a steaming blue pile in front of him. They were sitting at a table in the caf for the evening meal.

  “I don’t have any money. How am I going to pay for this?”

  “We’ll figure out a way. Don’t worry. What is this?” Bart displayed a forkful of a blueish substance.

  “It’s seaweed.”

  “You sure?”

  “Tonight’s tray is a number six green-blue-yellow,” Jake said. “It’s the ‘blue’ in the mix.”

  “You eat this stuff? Every day?”

  “It’s free with my scholarship, Bart.”

  “Even so. Yuck.”

  “I might as well drop out now. I’ll never pay this. I owe ten thousand credits.”

  “Why don’t you buy one of the hot meals rather than the trays?” Bart asked.

  “Because the hot meals are one credit each. The trays are free for anybody with a station pass, which the school gives me, and each tray has a full half-day of calories and vitamins. Besides, I’m used to eating this. Don’t change the subject.”

  “You don’t owe anybody any money,” Bart said. “Yet.” Bart twirled the seaweed from side to side, watching as it slid off his fork.

  “Yet?” Jake asked.

  “Yes, my confused young Belter friend. Yet. You don’t owe anything yet. You are free and clear right now.”

  “But buying the place…”

  “Doesn’t happen till the end of second year. That’s when you owe the money. Look, Jake. You know engineering and math and navigation and laws and all that stuff, but I know business.”

  Bart dropped the seaweed with a thump and pushed the tray to one side.

  “Pay attention,” he said. “I double-checked with the office. You have to say which place you want and put down a deposit before you start second year. Then you have a year to pay the balance. The full balance isn’t due until the end of second year, before you start your cruise. But you only need ten percent of the money to start second year, and you don’t need that money right now. You just have to say what you want to do, and you have until the start of the second-year classes to come up with the money.”

  “I don’t understand,” Jake said.

  “You don’t owe anybody anything right now. You do have to tell Mr. Dashi what place you are studying for second year, but you don’t have to pay him anything until the first day of second-year class. You’ve got—what—three months for that? And you only need a ten percent deposit. And then you have a whole year to come up with the other ninety percent.”

  “But even if I get the deposit, I’ll owe the other ninety.”

  “No, you don’t owe it. True, if you don’t pay it, you won’t get a commission, but that’s it. They can’t come after you for the rest of the money. They just sell the commission to somebody else. They keep your deposit.”

  “But what about the second year of training at the school? I owe money for that.”

  “Nope. Your scholarship covers that.”

  A tall, dusky girl waved at Bart and flashed him a smile.

  “Hey, Fatima. What’s up?” Bart smiled, but she kept walking. He turned to watch her walk away. She wiggled a bit.

  “Bart?” asked Jake.

  “Yes?” Bart asked, turning back.

  “The bottom line?”

  “You need to pick a specialty now. You owe ten percent of the cost in three months. At the end of second year, you need to pay the full amount. And I have a plan for how you will get that money—and, of course, a small honorarium for your uncle Bart.”

  “You do.” Jake chewed the last of his meal, and put his fork down to stare at Bart.

  “Yes, a foolproof strategy.”

  “What is it?”

  “Cheat,” Bart said.

  “What? I can’t cheat. I’ll get kicked out. How will that get me money?” Jake pointed at the nearly untouched tray of food. “Are you going to eat that?”