SEVEN
He had a single glass of wine with his solitary meal. Both wine and meal were so tasty that Jethri took leave to doubt either was restorative, though the wine was not familiar, and the sauces more liberal than customary.
After, he took himself to his bed, also solitary, fully expecting to lie awake as his brain buzzed with plans and back-up plans, and a running in-depth analysis of the meeting with Bory. Instead, he arranged himself comfortably beneath the blanket, sighed, closed his eyes—
And wakened, absolutely at his usual hour, entirely relaxed, mentally alert, and with the conviction that his sleep had been not only restorative, but productive. He had apparently settled Bory to his satisfaction while he slept. And, despite having several small-group presentations to give today, as well as long hours at the Envidaria’s regular table in the pre-congress exhibit hall, he was calm and mildly optimistic.
He had a quick shower and called up his personal screen while he was getting dressed.
The first action item was…
He blinked at the queued line of messages in astonishment before he recalled last evening’s flood of messages, and his instructions to send those which had come from traders to his action queue.
And here they were.
There was a letter from Elthoria mid-way down the list, and another, from Barskalee, toward the end. The first was from—oh, surely not!
He recalled the name. It would be many years before he forgot the Liaden trader who had propositioned him at his come-out as ven’Deelin’s son, and him nothing more than a curiosity. He couldn’t call to mind one thing that Trader sig’Flava would be writing him about.
He opened the letter.
To Trader Jethri ven’Deelin, I offer well-wishes and support.
May I flatter myself that you recall our first meeting as vividly as I do, and as often? It can only gratify to learn that my first impression of your worth was correct, and that you, indeed, have outstripped my expectations of you.
That you have so quickly achieved the purples, and stand as senior trader on Genchi, affiliated with the Three-Ringed Star, can only bring joy to those several who have followed your career, and wish you every success and honor.
Though there are those several, such as myself, who have no doubt of you, there are others who seek to deny you the rights and rank which you have so clearly earned.
Let me be plain, Trader Jethri: When the discussion of your accomplishments and suitability come before the Guild, mine will be a voice raised in support. It is never wise to challenge the future with unseemly surety, however, as I was so very correct in my first assessment of you, allow me to say—you will prevail, sir. I am beyond confident.
I see that Genchi’s route has yet to be fixed, beyond the South Axis Congress. I therefore append a list of settled destinations for Trebloma Lyktini, across the next three Standards. If Genchi should come to a shared docking, it would be my joy to share a meal, a special vintage, and what else mutual desire might suggest.
Until that pleasant hoped-for reunion, I remain
Parvet sig’Flava, Trader, Trebloma Lyktini
via TerraTrade PassMail
Jethri closed his eyes.
How, he thought, was he to answer that?
Later, he answered himself, and scrolled down the line of messages until he found the one from Elthoria.
To Senior Trader Jethri Gobelyn ven’Deelin, greetings.
You will perhaps have received similar assurances from Master Trader pin’Aker, although he is very busy and as I know to my sorrow somewhat in arrears of his correspondence.
Let me therefore speak as he would, in the sincere belief that it is better to be informed twice, than to reside in ignorance.
Matters move. You may hear rumors. You may receive letters. In fact, you will surely receive letters. You may safely set those aside without reply, for none are expected. You may wish to set them aside without reading, for you have your own business in hand, and will not wish to be distracted by what is, after all, merely process.
Be strong of heart, Trader, as I know your will to be adamantine. Very soon, all turbulence will flow away, leaving clarity in its wake.
I remain,
Norn ven’Deelin, Master at Trade, Elthoria
sent via pinbeam
Jethri sighed. There, he told himself, all questions answered.
He flipped to his day schedule.
The first thing was breakfast, within a generously flexible time frame. Apparently, the medics had decided to let him sleep as long as he cared to. Well, obviously, he had slept exactly that long. He touched the comm, exchanged good mornings with Kel Bin and requested breakfast in his cabin.
It arrived as he was putting on his rings. Kel Bin disposed the dishes—rather a lot of dishes, Jethri thought—with neat efficiency, and stood with tray in hand, regarding Jethri with somewhat sharper interest than he was used to receiving from the cook.
He moved a hand toward the laden table.
“Am I still in need of restoration, Kel Bin?”
“Trader, I have had time to consider Medic Freza’s lessons of last evening, and I have determined to care for you more nearly. I had not concerned myself with your schedule, nor taken into account the extraordinary efforts required of you at this event. Last evening, after you retired, I sat with Pilot Bry Sen. We reviewed the intent of your work here, as well as your daily schedules, so far as they are yet known.
“In fact, you are expending much of yourself in this endeavor—I speak only of your work at the conference, Trader, assuming such adventures as you undertook last evening to be the exception. Your mind must be clear and your body able, even more than would be usual upon the trade floor. There are foods and preparations which will boost your natural resources and mitigate the toll upon your person.”
He bowed, as one who is honored to serve.
“I will see to it, Trader, that the kitchen properly supports your efforts. Please, enjoy your breakfast.”
And with that, he was gone, last night’s tray with him, allowing Jethri no opportunity to respond properly—because I have business to do, Jethri thought. Kel Bin had only said what needed to be said, and got gone. That was part of supporting the trader’s efforts, too.
He poured himself a cup of morning tea, uncovered his plates, and served himself. He sipped, sampled, and went back to his review of the day’s schedule.
He was on the table until mid-morning, when his presentations began. Four in a row, but enough time between each to grab some food off the row, and recuperate. The meetings were in a variety of venues suitable to small groups, so he would be able to stretch his legs by walking between them. That was good.
Breakfast was good, too. He had another sip of tea, another of the dense little muffins, which weren’t quite vegetable muffins, or cheese muffins, but delicious all the same.
He poured some more tea, and moved to his personal news list, pared down as much as he’d dared in the days before arriving at Meldyne. Among the items he followed were recent routings and dockings of particular ships, and news from stations he’d been on, or had dealings with. It was eclectic, even in its abridged-for-the-trade-conference form, and often produced surprises, or items of note.
In the last Standard, for instance, he’d been surprised to learn that Port Chavvy, the station where he had reconnected with Freza and Brabham, and also survived a duel with a man who’d intended to kill him, no matter what—Port Chavvy had almost entirely dodged a cometary encounter.
Today’s news brought him another surprise.
The connection was again Port Chavvy, and the duel that had resulted in him killing a man dead enough, and he was still of two minds about had he done the right thing. Master ven’Deelin would have it so—he’d survived, after all. The duel had been forced on him, and there was very little doubt that he wouldn’t have survived, had he taken the weapons pushed at him.
In the end, it’d been his own particular sort of hull-headedness, the fixed determination that, if he was going to take part in dockside violence, by space, it would be a real, Looper-style brawl, every bit as offensive to his self-declared opponent as Jethri himself.
So, he’d gone to a ship docked nearby—they’d been doing some interior repairs, and had rented the use of the dockside tool rack. Jethri had seen the stinks hammer, recalled his father and Grig sparring. He could still hear his own voice, shouting, “Stink hammers and starbars, seven paces and closing!”—like he’d known what he was doing, like he was the unlettered Terran brute his opponent claimed.
But, there—it was Dulcimer, the ship that had given him the lend of his chosen weapons. He’d never had a chance to thank them for it, after.
And here was Dulcimer, reported docked at Meldyne’s so-called “open ring,” within the last Standard Day.
Must’ve been a last-minute decision, to come to the conference, Jethri thought. The open ring wasn’t close in, and it didn’t have much in the way of comforts. Just access tubes, and transient ships locking on at bow or stern with no expectation of moving cargo. Their commerce would be in people needing access to the station, and being willing to move to another location, if they did pick up cargo, or needed maintenance.
Here was his chance to say thank you, and put at least one thing right out of a cargo-can of wrong.
He reached for the comm.
“Listen, Frez, got something else.”
“Go.”
“You remember Dulcimer, on Port Chavvy?”
There was a pause.
“Yeah, I do,” Freza said, slowly. “Why?”
“Well, they’re just in, over on the transient ring, and—I owe ’em. I would’ve been the one dead, if it hadn’t been for them lending me from the tool box.”
“But what’re they doing here?” Freza interrupted. “Didn’t Dulcimer do pick-up runs at the black edge o’grey? I read their back-routes after you’d left, on account they did a cousin’s part, right enough. Figured they were orbiting one of the Juntavas bosses out the other side of the arm.”
“Might be they were,” Jethri said, “but they’re here. Put a spot in the port notes. Here: ‘Looking for Loop contacts and consultants, especially Dust-knowledgeable. Hiring general spacer with Loop experience and expectations. Cook-caterer looking for immediate fair or congress position for event duration.’
“Sounds like an eager working ship to me,” Jethri continued. “Maybe they’re changing routes.”
“Happens,” Freza admitted. “What do you want to do about them?”
“I owe them,” Jethri said. “I don’t want to send over a buncha flowers and a pretty note. I want to give them the same style and quality of help they gave me.”
A long pause, this time.
“I’ll start it in motion,” Freza said. “Got the note right here. Look, Jeth, I gotta rush to get fed. Quick, tell me how you are.”
“I’m fine,” Jethri said. “More than fine. Looking forward to sharing some more time together. I’ve been working up some ideas.”
She laughed. “I’ll be looking to see those ideas, next time we’re together, Trader.”
“Deal,” said Jethri. “Fly safe, Freza.”
“You, too, Jethri. You, too.”
Breakfast done, and Dulcimer provisionally dealt with, Jethri stood to put on his coat.
He was on the edge of leaving his quarters when he remembered that he hadn’t read Master pin’Aker’s letter. He hesitated, thinking that it was likely only a repeat of what Master ven’Deelin had sent him, crossed in the message streams, and he took a step toward the door.
And stopped.
“Master trader,” he said aloud, in case there was some other careless idiot present.
He went back to the table, brought up the message queue again, and opened the letter from Barskalee.
It was brief, and not at all a repeat of Norn’s info.
Trader Jethri, a word in your ear.
There will be a test.
Be on your mettle.
Rantel pin’Aker, Master at Trade, Barskalee
sent via pinbeam
Jethri met Kel Bin in the hall, bearing a tall covered glass.
“What’s this?” he wondered.
“A fortifying elixir, Trader.” He offered it and Jethri perforce took it. “I see you are wearing an expedition belt for today’s work. Please, drink, and I will bring you day rations of nutritious quick-snacks that will fit in your belt. Carrying liquids is tedious, but I strongly suggest that all dockside team members—especially you, Trader—stay hydrated. Hydration assists clear thinking, and staves off the minor contagions sometimes shared in crowds like these.”
The “elixir” was a thickened fruit drink, perhaps slightly more robust than Jethri usually had to end a breakfast; he closed his eyes for a moment and was tempted to savor it. He began to break out the identifiable flavors when Kel Bin returned with his packets of snacks.
Jethri sighed, handed back the empty glass, and stowed the snacks in his belt.
“Bry Sen will be with you in short order, Trader, to walk with you to the halls. Know that you may call on me if you require a meal or a fortifying drink.
“Also, you will wish to know that Pilot Brabham has traded his recipe for maize buttons for the recipes for my signature chernubia, so I will have samples for you to test tomorrow!”
That, Jethri thought, was downright amazing.
He bowed.
“Thank you for your care,” he said.
Straightening, he heard footsteps, and turned to greet Bry Sen while Kel Bin slipped away.
“Ready for a day of adventure and daring, shipmate?” Bry Sen asked in bright Terran.
“I’m ready,” Jethri said, with feeling, “for a successful day of teaching.”
Bry Sen grinned, Terran wide.
“Well, and what did I just say?”
Jethri’s early shift at the table had been busy, and fulfilling, as he felt like he made solid connections with most of the people who stopped by to talk, and more than half of them had signed up for informational sessions.
His first presentation had likewise gone well, the audience intent, and the question and answer period lively.
He arrived back at the table in a glow of satisfaction, more hopeful of their chances of seeing the Envidaria made official than he had been since the meeting with Bory last evening.
Even the sight of the long line at his table wasn’t enough to dim his spirits. He stepped into his spot, and bowed to those gathered.
“I’m Jethri Gobelyn ven’Deelin, here to answer general questions about the Envidaria and the Dust. We’ve got some sign-up sheets for seminars and informational meetings, which will be more specific than I’ll have time to be. I’m due to give one of those presentations in two hours, so let’s get started.
“Who’s first?”
First was a woman he figured for around Iza’s age, dressed like a Looper, and walking like she was ship-born, and as broad a grin as a Terran could produce on her strong-featured face. He’d never seen her before, to his certain knowledge, and so was that much more surprised when she leaned right over the table, and grabbed his shoulders in a half-hug.
Jethri felt, rather than saw Bry Sen’s step forward, and managed to sign steady on his off-hand, while extricating himself from the woman’s grip.
Her grin faded, and her shoulders drooped.
“Now, Jethri, you sure recognize your cousin Corann!”
“No, ma’am, I don’t,” he said politely. “What ship?”
“What ship?” She laughed, shaking her head at the same time. “Well, there’s the question, ain’t it? Was ustabe Toad ’course, only then Salimander was short crew, and I was young, and general, so there I was traded off, anna good thing, too, right before Toad went down, but that meant I as outta first-kin, and when Salimander got restructured after the cap’n stepped aside, I was traded off to Kitt’s Kondor, and by then I was studied up to be—”
Jethri shook his head, and she stopped, tears welling in her eyes.
“The Wildes weren’t cousins,” he said. “They were business associates of my father’s. And, you’ll excuse me sayin’ it, given the lot you’re trying to sell, but you don’t have the Wilde look. Red hair and white skin, every one of ’em.”
The tears had spilled over. Jethri bit his lip, conscious of eyes on him, and ears, and wishing she would move along before—
Bry Sen stepped round the table to Corann’s side, his face showing something like sympathy, if sympathy could be said to be stern.
“Let’s step aside, now,” he said in brisk Looper. “There’s folks behind who’ve got their bidness to speak.”
Jethri braced himself for anger, but Corann looked down at Bry Sen, and nodded, shoulders slumped. She turned and left the table.
Bry Sen stepped back behind the table, and Jethri saw him touch the ear where the comm-bud rode.
He turned back to his particular business.
“Right,” he said. “Who’s next?”