SIX
Genchi was queued for departure in eight hours.
The ship was a-buzz with workers finishing upgrades, and cleaning up. Captain sea’Kera had ceded oversight of these final comfort and cosmetic details to the trader, as he readied Genchi for departure.
Samay had been generous with suggestions and permissions, so that Jethri’s efforts mostly consisted of insuring that the workers cleared ship soonest. He had just signed off on his stateroom/office, leaving the contractor to pack up her tools, when Captain sea’Kera’s voice came over the all-ship.
“Trader, your attention, please!” The captain sounded peeved, his Liaden clipped in the mode of Authority.
Jethri frowned, wondering if he’d missed a call. The captain did like prompt attention to such details, so that his board was free of clutter.
“Trader Jethri ven’Deelin, you are required immediately at the deck-lock to personally sign for a delivery!”
Liaden phraseology carried an extra melant’i burden on the “personal” side of things, so Jethri reversed course, arriving at the lock to find a pair of well-groomed Terrans in messenger service livery patiently awaiting his arrival. Each carried a parcel so small that either might have carried both without breathing hard.
The livery bore the name of the service in Terran—Quicksilver—the ID badges showed Terran above the Trade and Liaden transliterations. Jethri nodded, and spoke in Terran.
“I’m Trader Jethri ven’Deelin. I understand you have need of my signature?”
The messengers showed surprise. She attempted a bow while, he nodded and held his parcel—a signing pad with video scan and touch pads—toward Jethri.
“Sir,” she said. “We received a package with an eight-hour delivery limit but we saw your ship listed for departure in eight hours, so we thought we’d best hurry it. I need to confirm. Are you LTG Trader Jethri ven’Deelin?”
“Yes,” he said, feeling his pulse quicken. “That’s me. The only Trader Jethri ven’Deelin on Frenol.”
“Excellent, very good.”
She held up her packet, showing him the intact seal, turning it so that he could see his ornately inscribed on one side, the delivery label on another, before she offered it to him across her palms, ornate side up.
He took it, glancing down to read the name of the sender as Trade Guild, Frenol, the Guild crest bright beside it. His pulse kicked up a notch.
The man stepped forward, holding the screen out.
“Please confirm by voice that you have accepted this package in good condition, sir.”
Jethri did so.
“Thank you. Now, if you will touch the fingertip reader?”
“Delivery accomplished, sir,” he said, after Jethri had done this, too. “And sir, may I say it is a pleasure. We at Quicksilver are pleased to be permitted to serve the messaging needs of a Liaden trader!”
“Sir, should we wait for a reply?” asked his partner.
He glanced down at the packet again, produced a pleased Terran smile and bestowed it upon the messengers.
“Thank you—there’s no reply.”
He realized he was on deck with no cash to hand for a gratuity—though he did have a card. An out of date card, now, but a card with his name.
“May I have your card?” he asked.
This was given with alacrity, and Jethri handed his card over, bowing.
He watched them off the deck, then closed the hatch, and leaned against the wall, staring at the packet in his hand.
It’s here, he thought, and shook himself.
“Verify, Trader,” he said aloud. “Might be documents to sign, after all, and no license at all.”
He went to his office, finding the worker gone. Closing the door, he broke the seal, fingered out the certificate with its dependent ribbons and seal, and placed it on the desk. The license, he considered closely, then, with memories of past guildhalls, and comments referencing ven’Deelin’s Terran to guide him, he bent to his comm, and brought up the trade feed.
* * *
Barskalee was barely out of Frenol’s local traffic control zone, the time delay for a simple telecom negligible.
Master pin’Aker took the call with evident pleasure.
“Trader Jethri! How may I be pleased to serve you?”
Jethri inclined his head.
“By displaying your usual good-humor and allowing me to tell you that my license and certificate are in my hands.”
Master pin’Aker paused—or it could have been the lag, the silence was so short.
“So quickly! I am gratified to hear this news, indeed! Tell me, Trader Jethri—who gave themselves the honor of signing your card?”
Trust a Master Trader, Jethri thought, as he admitted. “The card is unsigned, sir.”
“Ah. An oversight, perhaps. Who sat down with you at the banquet?”
Banquet?
Jethri inclined his head again. “There was no banquet, sir. But, as you know, Genchi is in line for departure. The decision must have been made to bring my license to my hand before departure, even if it meant the banquet be omitted.”
“In some cases of imminent departure, the banquet has come down to tea and cakes, but doubtless you are correct, Trader Jethri. They did not wish you to depart without holding that which you have fairly earned. Who from the Frenol Hall brought the packet to you?”
“It was delivered very timely by Quicksilver Messenger Service, sir,” Jethri said. “They are Terran-side. I will be sure to use them, when next I’m on Frenol.”
“I shall engage them as well, on your recommendation.”
Master pin’Aker was looking—stern.
Jethri took a breath.
“Sir, perhaps you will be pleased to know that I used my card and my account to purchase a break-pack of tea—and sold it to the buyer for Balent’i Chernubianda. Both transactions cleared immediately.”
“Wisely done, Trader. It is always good to be certain of one’s tools and connections. On that topic, I see your name in the Trade Register, updated scarcely an hour ago. LTG Jethri Gobelyn ven’Deelin, properly listed as lead trader on Genchi, and at large. This means that Frenol Hall has not claimed you for its own, and leaves you free to attach yourself to a Hall of your choosing—eventually. There is no need to choose hastily. At large has been good enough for quite a number of us.”
Noise interrupted Jethri’s concentration, and he sought the status board. Pressure tests completed. All seals good. Excellent news.
He glanced back to Master pin’Aker.
“Trader Jethri, I thank you for calling to share your triumph with me. Have you informed your mother?”
“It is my intention to write to her next,” Jethri said. “I saw that Barskalee was still within reach, and thought you would wish to have the news from me, as my sponsor.”
“Beautifully mannered. Yes. I am informed. You have your ring, your license, your certifications, and your ship. Go forth and serve trade, Trader Jethri! After, of course, you write to Norn.”
“I will, sir. Thank you—for all that you have done on my behalf.”
Master pin’Aker smiled.
“But I have not finished, yet, Trader Jethri. Until soon.”
“Until soon, Master,” Jethri said, and the screen went dark.
* * *
His letter written and dispatched, the ship clear of workers, Jethri went for a walk, eventually entering a trade bar on the Liaden side.
He took a table with a good view of Arrivals and Departures, and asked for light wine when the server came to inquire.
“Trader ven’Deelin,” a rich voice murmured from near at hand. “May I intrude?”
The face was as unfamiliar as the voice—but no, Jethri thought, looking again. The face was…very nearly familiar. Brown hair, brown eyes, a general impression of pleased goodwill, even as the face was held properly still. He wore a well-used leather jacket over a sweater and work-a-day pants. A duffel was slung over one shoulder by a strap.
“You have the advantage of me, sir.”
“I had feared as much,” the pilot said wryly. “He cannot resist his little surprises. But at least he gave me this, so that I might prove myself.”
His free hand vanished into a pocket and appeared again, holding a card between thumb and forefinger. He offered it with a slight incline in Jethri’s direction.
Carefully, Jethri received the card, feeling the fineness of the stock, and the embossing on the back.
Rantel pin’Aker, Master at Trade the text ran, in formal Liaden script, Barskalee, Solcintra Liad, followed by a ’beam code. Beneath the same message repeated in Trade.
Jethri flipped the card over to smile at the star with three rings, the sign of Clan Midys. It was precisely Master pin’Aker’s card; twin to the one in his possession.
“Will you sit, Pilot?” he said politely, placing the card in the center of the table. “I’ve called for wine. If you would care for something more, or a meal—?”
“All that is gracious,” the pilot murmured, taking the seat opposite, with his back to the boards. “I will be pleased to share wine with you, Trader.”
* * *
His name was Bry Sen yo’Endoth Clan Midys, yo’Endoth being the secondary Line, as the pilot explained briefly, and himself honored to be a’thodelm.
“For our purpose, Trader, first class Jump will interest you more. Trained on small ships, large, and all those that fall between. My father would not see his heir a pilot, so I am also trained in diplomacy, and ought to have gone to Barskalee as culture officer, but there was one more able ahead of me, which I did not mourn, for that meant I could pursue the stars.”
“You are sent to me as a pilot?”
Bry Sen yo’Endoth once again showed wry.
“The master trader sends me to you, Trader, as one who will ascend to the office now held by Captain sea’Kera, who will be re-assigned soon, as I am allowed to understand. I am also sent because of that training in diplomacy—which I did attend to, somewhat—the master trader having arrived at the belief that you would welcome back-up at the South Axis Congress.”
Jethri raised his eyebrows.
“Did he?”
Bry Sen raised his wine glass, and turned his free hand palm-up.
“I cannot say where master traders find their beliefs, Trader.”
“No, nor can any of us,” Jethri said, soothingly. “An able pilot must be welcomed, and so I welcome you.” He thought briefly of Captain sea’Kera, whose ideas were set, often to Genchi’s dismay. Tan Sim had been able to force some expansion in the captain’s ideas, but a younger, more flexible captain would benefit both ship and trade. That line of thought, Jethri was fairly certain, had at least been part of Master Trader pin’Aker’s reasoning. As for the belief that he would require back-up from someone trained as a culture officer for a tradeship…from one side, it was a piece of high-handed meddling that took the breath.
From the other side, however, it was extremely well-thought. Politics were going to be rife at the congress, if he was to believe Freza’s letters, and he did. The release of the Envidaria had generated high feelings, as had the information that the agent of that release had been Arin Gobelyn’s son, Jethri. Arin had been a trade commissioner, and one who had pushed hard in the direction of change, which made him popular with some, and—just the opposite with others.
“Of this other thing,” Pilot yo’Endoth said softly. “We might—”
Jethri held up a hand.
“Of this other thing—you will appreciate, Pilot, that I have been trained by a master trader, and while I do not know where they find their beliefs, I have learned that it is well to examine the actions that resolve from those beliefs. In the case, I think that Master pin’Aker is correct at root. It is always wise to carry a back-up, though it never leaves the holster.”
The pilot’s face eased into a quiet smile.
“Then we are in Balance, Trader?”
“Almost,” Jethri said, switching languages. “How’s your palaver?”
“I have standard Terran, of course,” Bry Sen said, following him. “My palaver, shipmate, could use some workin’ on, but I’m willing to try for shine.”
Jethri grinned, full Terran, and received a Terran smile and a wink in return.
“Perfect,” he said. “We can work on that shine in transit.”
“Deal,” said the pilot, and put his glass on the table. “The other thing we can work on in transit, Trader, is your piloting. I’ve got my teaching certs, and it never hurts to have two skills on your belt.”
Jethri eyed him. “In case I’m stranded on port and need to make my way as a pilot?”
Bry Sen looked earnest.
“Stranger things have happened, Trader. Stranger things by far.”