What in the Gorram Hell is a HWN?

Valentine Quick had mixed feelings as he stepped out of the doorway of the Single Shot. The small spaceship earned most of its money (from what Val gathered) by doing passenger only runs just like the one Val had needed to get from Paquin to Persephone. If asked, he wouldn't have been able to say how long it had been since he last been in space. The last times had been with his father when he was just a boy and those memories were fuzzy, like a vision caught out of the corner of his eye. And on a trip to dispose of the last portion of his father left in his life, Val didn't want those memories upsetting the apple cart and making what he had to do harder. He just wanted to sell the ship (he refused to think of it as Delilah, because he was already tied to one thing named Delilah) and be done with it all. So, other than conversations with the Captain and the rest of the passengers over dinner (handled like any other client transaction - polite and professional), Val spent most of his time in his cabin reading and keeping to himself.

Harrison Berger's office was in what seemed to be the old town section. Val had done some research on the Cortex and he knew that the city was somewhat stratified, with a high end polished, modern section. This section that the taxi traveled through was brick and mortar older buildings, still in good shape but clearly not filled with Persephone's upper crust. After tipping the taxi driver, Val stepped out of the taxi and read the office listings for the building he was in. Bail bondsmen, bounty hunters, penny stock brokers, translators...in other words, small time bureaucrats much like the lawyer that his father would've chosen.

The door to number 4578 had the title “Rimward Personnel Retrieval.” It was a clean office with a small waiting room. A dangerous looking bald man with a trickle of blood coming from his temple was sitting on a couch in manacles. A pretty red headed secretary addressed Val as he came in and inquired for Hamilton Berger.

“Sorry, he’s in 4578a, down the corridor.”

That office door had several metal name plates attached to it. The top one said “Hamilton Berger, Esq.” Beneath that, each on it’s own plaque.

Solicitor Notary Public Realtor Private Detective Licensed Lobbyist Registered Private Accountant Licensed Importer/exporter Registered Horse Breeder Member of the Federated Press Corps

Val couldn't decide if the list of titles was impressive or foolish. Perhaps a little of both. Val sharply rapped on the office door and then called through the door, "Mr. Berger, it's Valentine Quick. May I come in so that we might get this business settled?"

A gruff voice called back. “One moment.” There was some noises in the background, sounded like maybe some hasty cleaning. The door creaked open. There stood a large man, probably 6’6” and 250lbs. He wore a vest and his sleeves were unbuttoned hanging loosely from his hairy arms.

“Mr. Quick. Good to meet you. Sorry it is under these unfortunate circumstances.”

He bade Val enter and pointed to a rather nice leather bound chair across from a cluttered desk. "Sorry about the mess, my secretary is on maternity leave, can’t find a thing,” he lied.

Val just nodded. He wouldn't have been surprised to find that Mr. Berger's secretary had been on maternity leave for five years, but that was neither here or nor there. He didn't need to live in this office - just conduct the business, get the sale done, and be on his way back home. Val took the seat that Berger had pointed to and sat down. Regardless of the mess, the chair at least was comfortable.

"Well, hopefully, we can get this situation dealt with efficiently. I'm not looking to make a large profit off the sale of the ship, so hopefully that will speed things up." He honestly didn't care if they made a profit at all, but that gave him some room to give.

Berger a took the seat opposite him,and dug around in a small stack of paper. Eventually he withdrew a brown folder held shut with some elastic. Some documents both official and hand writing emerged. He pushed one fairly clean looking sheet over to Val.

"Sign and finger print this one, taking possession of your father’s effects. Once you’ve imprinted them, it will let you scroll to the following pages. I assure you this is the standard form.” Indeed written in clear English and Chinese across the top with the AUP seals were the words standard probate and inheritance forms. “Now, as to selling the ship. There is a bit of a snag.” He paused waiting for Val to finish signing so he’d have his full attention.

Val signed the document, pressing his finger for the print where instructed. He was part way through scanning the document when he heard Berger's last statement and his head slowly came up from where he had been staring at the words. "A snag? What kind of snag are we referring to, Mr. Berger?" His eyes narrowed, focusing in on the lawyer's face.

“Well.” Berger hesitated for a moment. Val recognized the look of someone used to giving bad news and sometimes getting blamed for it. “Nothing too bad. It has a Hazardous Waste Notice on it, and that has scared away most of the likely paying customers. Ships like this, built almost a century ago, well, they haven’t held up so well, and that is that. Now, if you could get the HWN removed, well then you could find a buyer no problem.”

A Hazardous Waste Notice? "This notice....is it because of the condition the ship is in or because of something the ship carried or is carrying? And what is involved in getting the HWN removed?"

“Well... it appears the ship has a fairly substantial residue of...Anhydrous Tetrahydrazine.. a by-product of the old engine design, it’s caustic, flammable, and poisonous to breath. About twenty five years ago there was a class action suit against Trans-Universal, the builder. Most people accepted a buy-out that included scrapping. Your father took the cash and used some of it for a neutralizing coating that would allow him to continue flying the ship. So, with the HWN, no insurance company will cover it, with no insurance no bank will lend anyone money to purchase said ship. Really it isn't worth much. Probably best to sell it for scrap...”

Val found himself, against all logic, somewhat torn by that idea. Which was strange, because he been about to suggest it to Mr. Berger himself. Warring emotions briefly grabbed hold of him until he pushed them back down. He sat on the edge of his chair, giving the lawyer his full attention. "Is scrapping the ship something your..." a subtle pause gave the word more officialness that it perhaps deserved, "office could handle for me? You would, of course, take a percentage of whatever money was made." If any, Val thought ruefully.

Berger gave a sort of polite laugh, then looked seriously into Val’s eyes. “Well. Here is the thing. With a HWN on your ship no scrapper will touch it without some kind of lien or collateral. If they crack open the hull, and the residue is worse than they thought, they’d be on the hook for it. So, do you have any property or assets we could hedge against this?” He looked apologetic, but was conveying that this problem was not simply going away.

How like his father, to turn what should have been a gift into a burden. Even from the grave, Lazarus Quick worked to make his son's life more difficult. "No, I don't have any property or assets. I rent my apartment and any savings has gone to family matters." Val paused, thinking through his options for a minute. "And I assume I can't just leave the ship where it is. Docking fees and such."

“You can’t just dump toxic waste on a Core planet and run. No in fact, since they've had it inspected, they will need to a certificate of disposal or you might find yourself bound by law.” He looked a little sheepish. “I probably should have mentioned that earlier. This is pretty serious. The good news, is that it did pass flight inspection. Not quite sure how that happened, maybe your dad knew someone in the Inspectors Office.” He brought a couple more papers out. “Now, we could file the paper work for a bankruptcy, and then your payments for the disposal would be staggered, or you could serve a period of indenture... maybe your current employer would be amenable to that? Or if you could get a loan for this much..” He slid a slip of paper with a number far to large to be accurate. “Then I have a contact who’d be willing to accept the risk.”

Val's eyes widened slightly as he saw the number. He quickly ran through the numbers in his head - Val was good at quick sums and divisions. Lots of practice, after all. Staggered in payments he could "afford", he would be paying for the rest of his life. The period of indenture was not an option. The ownership of the Golden Dragon didn't believe in owing anything to anyone, especially not the people they already owned. Berger's second statement floated back into his head. Passed flight inspection. "How much, do you would think it would take to buy off this HWN thing. It certainly would be less than that insanity you just passed over to me."

Val had the beginnings of an insane idea. It might get him out of this, if he could make it right with the casino, buy some extra time. But it all depended on the amount of credits about to come out of Mr. Berger's mouth.

“Unfortunately, the paperwork has reached the central computers. If your dad had contacted me before this got processed, I might have been able to slow it down, maybe even stop it. But once, it is in, it is difficult to remove.” He looked a bit askance, then followed up.

“Now, there is one other way... The Alliance is so officious and there is a bit of a thing going wrong now about corruption, but not everywhere in the Verse is so... concerned about all the details. I reckon you could have the ship taken out of the Alliance, have it scrapped at an Alliance recognized yard, say maybe on Beylix, lot cheaper there, then here. They write you up a certificate. The likelihood of a challenge is slim.” He smiled at his own ingenuity.

Outside the Alliance. Val perhaps should have thought of that himself, but his trip here had been his first in space in over a decade. Perhaps, he thought to himself, he could be forgiven for not thinking about alternatives outside the immediate area. Beylix. He knew nothing about the place and he certainly couldn't fly the ship there himself. He ran his hand through his black locks briefly before exhaling deeply. He might still be able to put this right.

"Mr. Berger, do you have any idea how much it might cost to hire any personnel to fly this ship to Beylix?" Val didn't have much money and he hated to lose what was left to scrap the ship, but better losing it to that than losing the money to bankruptcy proceedings.

“The pilot, goes by McAlister, asked me to have you speak with her before you settled on any new crew or other plans. I believe most of the rest of the crew disappeared when they didn't get their pay checks. Still, I think you can find her on the ship.” He then handed Val a slip with the berth number.

Something about that name struck a brief chord, and then vanished. He mentally shrugged. He was just surprised that the pilot had stuck around. It had been some time since his father's death. Hadn't she needed to take on other jobs? Maybe there was something (many things) he didn't understand about how space-faring jobs worked. Val took the slip from Mr. Berger and then put his hand out to shake Mr. Berger's. "I do wish you had said something about the HWN before I had signed the documents, but I'm not one to shoot the messenger. I find myself wearing the messenger's shoes more often than not at my current place of employment."

Tomorrow, after he settled in, he'd go see this McAlister person and hope against all hopes that she'd be willing to fly him to Beylix for less than what he had remaining in his account. He had to get lucky at some point, right?

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