“Excuse me?” Rigney said, taken off balance by the interruption.
“My company ships one hundred sixty million metric revenue tonnes of cargo through Phoenix Home Port to Phoenix Station, and to the ships that berth here,” Daquin said. “That’s close to ninety percent of the shipping that runs through Phoenix Home Port to this space station of yours.”
“I did not know that,” Rigney said, not sure where this was leading but not wanting to ask directly.
“I understand my telling you this fact must appear random,” Daquin said. “But I need you to understand that figure because it will offer gravity to what I tell you next.”
“All right,” Rigney said, and glanced over to Egan, who was not returning his glance.
“You know about the Chandler, and my son,” Daquin said.
“Yes,” Rigney said. “I was just about—”
“You were just about to tell me nothing,” Daquin said, interrupting again and silencing Rigney once more. “I’m not a stupid man, Colonel Rigney, nor am I without resources, which include Minister Schmidt here. I’m well aware you currently have no idea what happened to Chandler or any of its crew. Please do me the courtesy of not trying to placate me with your vapidity.”
“Mr. Daquin,” Egan said, interjecting herself into the conversation, which Rigney assumed meant that he was being benched. “Perhaps it’s best if you come right out with whatever it is you came here to say.”
“What I have to say is simple. I control ninety percent of all the cargo that comes up and through Phoenix Station,” Daquin said. “Ninety percent of the food. Ninety percent of essential materials. Ninety percent of everything that makes your space station”—Daquin emphasized these two words—“habitable and the place from which the Colonial Union runs its little empire of planets. If I don’t know within a week the certain fate of the Chandler and its crew, shipping to Phoenix Station stops.”
This was met with silence all around. Then Egan turned to Schmidt. “This is unacceptable.”
“I agree,” Schmidt said. “And I told Jean-Michel that very thing before we came up here.”
“But you still brought him here to make this ultimatum,” Egan said.
“I did,” Schmidt said. “Which should in itself tell you the lack of options I had, as minister of trade and transport, in dealing with this.”
“Perhaps it was not advisable to let one company handle the vast majority of shipping to Phoenix Station,” Egan said.
Schmidt smiled thinly at this. “I would agree, Colonel Egan,” he said. “But if you’re looking to blame the Phoenix government, you’re going to need to look at the Colonial Union contracts first. You’re the ones who have given Ballard-Daquin control of your shipping, not us.”
“We can’t guarantee that we will have any information,” Rigney said, to Daquin. “We’re not being lazy about this, Mr. Daquin. But if a ship or its wreckage”—Rigney regretted the phrasing almost immediately, but there was nothing to be done for it at the moment—“is not found immediately, the task of finding it becomes exponentially more difficult.”
“This is your problem,” Daquin said.
“Yes, it is,” Rigney said. “But if you are going to put us on the hook for this problem, you need to understand its scope. What you are asking may well be impossible in the timeframe you’re asking for.”
“Mr. Daquin,” Egan said. Daquin turned his attention to her. “Allow me to be entirely frank with you.”
“All right,” Daquin said.