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THIRTEEN

“Lookin’ good, Jeth.” Freza grinned as he entered the Event Hall’s reception room, Bry Sen beside him.

Freza came forward, flanked by Chiv and a skinny Looper Jethri couldn’t quite place but was sure he’d seen somewhere before.

“Dressed for success,” he said, with a grin, nodding to Freza. For the Big Reception, he had decided on evening clothes, such as a Liaden gentleman might wear to the theater, or to dine with a group of friends and allies. It was plainly not business-wear, being somewhat frivolous in the matters of lace and embroidery. The pants were tighter than might be considered modest in Looper terms, and unsuitable for any exercise more taxing than taking a turn at dancing down the room. By rights, he ought to have been wearing soft shoes, but he’d compromised, there, with low-heeled black ankle boots.

Bry Sen was dressed in similar splendor, which would, Jethri thought, make it easy to find them both in the crowded hall he could glimpse through the half-opened door.

Freza was wearing new, he thought—a high-necked, form-fitting black shirt under a knee-length deep blue vest shot with silver threads. Her pants were snug, though not so tight as his, and her boots were deep blue with short red heels, close enough both to be in Balrog’s own colors. It was an elegant echo of Looper port-clothes. Her cropped red hair blazed above the dark colors, the blue ear cuff gleaming like it had been buffed. The spiral tattoo was in less evidence, covered, he thought, by a layer of make up.

“Looking fine yourself,” he said, and bowed full Liaden pleasure at beholding a valued and valuable associate, making the lace work for him.

He straightened into Freza’s smile. She raised a hand and waggled her fingers near her cheek, as if fanning herself. “Careful with that. This is s’posed to be a no-weapons room.”

He grinned. “I’ll be careful, promise.”

She turned her head to the right and left, glancing at each escort over her shoulder.

“Here’s Cousin Chiv,” she said, like he didn’t know Chiv’s face better than his own by now. “And Cousin Klay. Last time you two saw each other—it musta been Port Chavvy.”

“I think it was,” Jethri said, looking at the man with renewed interest and sudden recall. Cleaned up for display he was older than Jethri’d thought on Port Chavvy, and nearly pretty, with gold-green eyes, and the planes of his face set with good-humored determination.

“Cousin Klay, it’s good to see you again. In all that mess at Port Chavvy, I never got a chance to say a proper thanks for your help.”

Klay grinned. “Always happy to help a cousin. Glad to see you standing upright.” He jerked his head toward the reception room. “My seniors Tranh and Rusko are inside already. They’d be glad of a sight of you, too.”

“Let’s not keep them waiting,” Jethri said, and stepped forward to offer Freza his arm.

She hesitated a moment, head bent as if she was inspecting the embroidery on his sleeve, then slipped her arm through his, hand resting on his wrist.

Raising her head, she looked across him and nodded at Bry Sen.

“I know you’ll forgive me for having a preference, Cap’n Bry Sen. But, I’d be behind in truth and politeness if I didn’t let you know that you’re looking real fine.”

Bry Sen produced a very pretty bow of no mode Jethri had been taught, and straightened with a wide, Terran smile.

“In fact, we are all beautiful,” he proclaimed. “The room is ours to rule.”

“That’s the ticket,” Freza said. She grinned, nodded at the cousins, and looked up at Jethri. “Let’s go conquer.”


Tranh and Rusko were dressed in portside clothes, not new, but sober and respectable. Rusko took advantage of his flawless eyebrows, pale skin, and light hair to show off a couple slender silver rod-earrings tipped with tiny deep blue crystals—Jethri guessed at a vanadium component to get that!—while Tranh went with simpler studs of a red laserite, setting off his darker skin without emphasizing his skinny height.

Klay did the intros, while Freza stepped back with Chiv and Bry Sen.

“Now you’re looking well set up,” Rusko said jovially. “Last time I saw you, there was a head wound involved. Worried me that you might not’ve got over that.”

Jethri nodded, touched the barely visible spot a fragment of bullet or metal had left behind.

“I was just telling Klay I’d’ve likely lost my head, hadn’t been for Dulcimer’s help. Good you could make it. Freza’d been telling me you were looking for a new route—anything come up, yet?”

Tranh shook his head. “Got here late for the fair, which was me not thinkin’ how this could help us. Then got some time took up for us by a former crewmate and an associate of the previous captain.”

“I heard you was takin’ it to Admin with a law-jaw,” Jethri said.

“Did that, and I gotta tell you we’d still be tied up in red tape and paying a fine or three if it’d just been us, no matter Rusko being able to talk the paint off a hull—”

The two exchanged an affectionate grin, and Rusko took up the story.

“The law-jaw cut through the tape, showed a pattern of mischief and bad intent, and for a minute there I thought she was going to get the fine turned back on the accusers, with an upgrade!”

“They did have to pay the costs of the paperwork and the proctor’s time,” Tranh said.

“That’s so. And the woman who earned her fee—wouldn’t take one,” Rusko added, and shook his head. “I don’t feel right about that. Must be somethin’ we can do to put us square.”

“Might be something’ll turn up,” Jethri said, admiring the impulse toward Balance. “You been to the job fair at all?”

“Today.” Tranh nodded. “Picked up some info, made a few contacts, but nothing firm—we’ll keep at it. Dulcimer’s an older style; we thought there’d be room for her to work edge o’Dust.”

Jethri leaned forward. “You got experience?”

There was a brief silence. It was Rusko who answered.

“The previous captain and trader worked grey—no secrets there. Now they’re previous, Captain Tranh and me’re lookin’ to do better. No secret there, too. Dulcimer’s played with the Dust’s skirts, back before it was big news. Ducked in an’ out more’n once. We know it can be done. We got the way of doin’ it, and we’re willing.”

“But no more grey markets,” Tranh said. “I promised the crew.” He took a swallow of his beer.

“I promised me.”

“Hey, Jeth,” Freza’s voice was in his ear. He turned with a smile.

“I’m gonna go circulate, if you’re okay here with our cousins?”

“I’m fine,” Jethri told her. “You’re taking—”

“I got Chiv right here—swear to the man you won’t leave me, cousin.”

“She’s not gonna get away from me, Cousin Jethri, and nobody she don’t want is gonna get close. You can trust me.”

“That I do,” Jethri said honestly.

He turned back to the pair off Dulcimer.

“The Envidaria’s gonna be adjusting some routes, making new ones. We’ll be needing able ships, Dust-wise pilots. Can’t pull a route outta my pocket just yet, but if you’re innerested, you’re on the list.”

Another quick glance between the two, dark and pale, tall and solid.

“We’re innerested,” Tranh said.

“Absolutely,” added Rusko.


An hour later, Jethri stood as part of a group surrounding the nucleus of Bory and Brabham. They were talking about supply chains and scarcity accelerations in time-sensitive foodstuffs—courteous enough, between the two of ’em, though Desty Gold had managed to bring some acrimony in by pointing out that the new ’rangements being brought in by the Combine, would have small ships shifting from a Loop made up of multiple worlds and systems, to a Loop that served one big ship.

“How’s that gonna work with the payouts?” Desty asked, which was, Jethri thought, a good question, better’n Desty was usually known for.

Bory made a show of leaning toward Brabham.

“Always watching the payouts, the Golds,” he said, like it was just between them. A couple people in the crowd tittered. Desty’s face colored up, and Brabham shook his head.

“Nothing wrong with keepin’ an eye on the payouts,” he said, looking around at his volunteers—only four tonight, dressed respectful, with Taber from Lantic looking particularly fine with a lacy scarf thrown ’round their neck.

“Payouts’re what keeps the ship. ’Course there’s gotta be payouts, and on time, too. It’s not a bad question Desty’s asking, Bory, and I’m innerested in hearing your answer right along with him.”

Bory swept his hand out, including the whole circle in his answer.

“The payouts will be put down in the contracts right where everybody can see them. Each family ship supplying to a big transport will be writing contract with that ship. Combine’s got a fee schedule all set to present at the opening session, so those interested in payouts will want to be there. When’s going to be particular to each contract, just like how.”

How?” said somebody Jethri couldn’t quite see. “A payout’s a payout.”

“No, now that’s where you’re not seeing the advantages of this new system,” Bory said, chidingly. “Some folks might want their payout to go into some account other than ship ops. Those who decide to settle family planet-side might want the payout split, see, or—”

Jethri couldn’t have said what alerted him—he might’ve just caught the bow out of the corner of his eye.

Whatever it was, he turned just in time to see one of the ushers moving purposefully toward their little knot of arguers, closely followed by three people shorter than most present, and dressed in a style that was not even remotely Looper.

He took a step toward them, and another as he saw the relief on the usher’s face.

“Here he is, now, gentles,” he said in crisp Trade. “Trader ven’Deelin, I am pleased to bring you Trader Izeel jen’Vornin of the Roella Route. Trader jen’Vornin, here is Trader Jethri Gobelyn ven’Deelin.”

The trader was diminutive, even for a Liaden, yet she managed to give the impression of addressing the usher from a height.

“My thanks for your service. Trader ven’Deelin and I are well-met.” Her voice was light, and her Trade bore an accent, though not one he had previously encountered.

“Thank you,” Jethri said in Terran, and added the proper Liaden phrase as near as Trade would let him: “The trader and I will do very well with each other.”

The usher faded, and Trader jen’Vornin folded into a bow—supplicant to expert, as Jethri read it—with the hand motion that indicated one who was cognizant of receiving an extraordinary honor.

That seemed—a little much. Jethri answered with a bow of trader to trader, which was to his mind much more balanced.

“You are gracious,” Trader jen’Vornin murmured, when he had straightened from this salute. Her accent in Liaden was also unfamiliar—it was crisper, the vowels less rounded; the consonants harder.

She moved a hand. “Allow me to bring my associates to your attention, Trader. Here are Qe’andra Elys val’Tildin and Captain Jas Kin ern’Keylir.”

Apparently taking their cue from him, they bowed as to an honored colleague, which Jethri was pleased to allow.

“Gentles,” he murmured.

It came to him that the trader and her associates were dressed, not for a reception but for trade. Qe’andra val’Tildin’s tunic and loose slacks were unexceptionable, as was Captain ern’Keylir’s jacket and rings. Trader jen’Vornin’s jacket was clearly meant for the markets, though it was of a style that had either gone out of date before Jethri Gobelyn became aware of Liaden fashion—or was considered the first stare in a location far distant from the homeworld.

“Gentles, please tell me how may I serve you,” he said, suddenly aware that his silence had perhaps stretched long. “May I call for refreshments? Perform introductions?”

“Yours was the introduction I most desired,” Trader jen’Vornin said. “I fear I am precipitate, Trader. My excuse is that we are in need of just such assistance as the Envidaria you have published would offer us. In short, I am here to join your effort, hoping thereby to rescue the route and our clans.”

“I fear I must display my ignorance, Trader. Where, precisely, is the Roella Route?”

“A question not unheard when we speak to mainline traders.” She allowed herself a small smile, followed with a graceful sweep of arm, an extension of a spacer’s beyond the beyond exaggeration. “We are the main tradeway for the small cluster with Roella at its core and an arm of Dust has come twixt the rest of the arm.”

“This is why we are come,” Captain ern’Keylir murmured. “But, indeed, Trader, to importune you in the midst of a gaiety—Even we edge-runners are not so rag-mannered.”

“Indeed, indeed,” said the trader, moving her hand soothingly. “We are only just in, Trader ven’Deelin, and behind our own schedule. I had hoped to find you at the pre-conference, but the navigation—well! In anywise, dare I hope for a meeting with you? I would lay out our situation, which you will not, I think, find unique, and I would ask for introductions to those who may help us. jen’Vornin would be in—”

“Well, Trader Jethri,” a big voice boomed in his ear. “Who are our guests?”

Bory loomed at Jethri’s shoulder and performed a bow that might, if the Liaden party squinted, have been recognizable as host to guest. Which was, Jethri thought, riding close to an actual untruth.

He turned his head to stare at the bigger man. From the side of his eye, he spied Bry Sen and Brabham, arm in arm and moving in their direction.

“Trader Jethri,” Bory said, at somewhat less volume, “an introduction, please?”

Jethri turned back to Trader jen’Vornin.

“Trader, this my colleague desires to be made known to you. He is not…fluent in Liaden. Might you allow Terran? Or Trade?”

He caught the trader’s smile before she inclined her head.

“It must be Trade, sir, for my abilities in Terran are a match for your colleague’s, in Liaden.”

Jethri inclined slightly, and moved his hand.

“Trader jen’Vornin, allow me to bring to your attention the Executive Director of the Commisserat, Boors Borygard. He facilitates the operation of the Commission’s day-to-day and long-range goals.

“Bory, here are Trader Izeel jen’Vornin, Qe’andra Elys val’Tildin, and Captain Jas Kin ern’Keylir of the Roella Route.”

“Sir,” the trader murmured, and the three of them bowed acknowledgment of the introduction.

“Pleased to meet you all. What brings you to—”

Brabham and Bry Sen had arrived; Jethri turned smoothly, bringing them forward with a sweep of the hand.

“It is also my pleasure to introduce Commissioner and Pilot Brabham DeNobli, and Captain Bry Sen yo’Endoth. Sirs, here is the delegation from the Roella Route—Trader Izeel jen’Vornin, Qe’andra Elys val’Tildin, Captain Jas Kin ern’Keylir.”

Bry Sen’s bow was everything that was courteous and smooth. Brabham produced a slight incline and a murmured, “Welcome, all.”

“Commissioner Brabham has decades of piloting experience, and is of course very knowledgeable; he is a key member of the Envidaria work group. He will be able to guide you to other knowledgeable people.

“Brabham,” he continued without pausing to give Bory a space to jump into. “The Roella Delegation is here because their routes are already experiencing disruption from the movement of the Dust. They’ve come to join the Envidaria.”

“You’re exactly the folks we’ve been looking for,” Brabham said. “You’re already dealing with the problem—we got a lot to talk about, information to share. Now, Trader ven’Deelin here, he’s our ambassador, and as such, he’s your first point of contact.”

“Indeed,” murmured Trader jen’Vornin, “we had understood this, and came a-purpose to find him. We very much wish to share information. There are systems at risk, as we stand here together and—” She flung a hand up, and inclined slightly.

“There, my concern erodes my manners. Please, as Captain ern’Keylir has said, it is not our intention to disrupt anyone at their pleasure. If the trader will give us a time when we may all meet together, we shall excuse ourselves.”

“You’ve come a little late for the exploratory meetings,” Bory began. Jethri took one step forward and bowed slightly, his lead shoulder leaning toward the trader and his trailing nearly a blockade against the larger man.

“From my side, I’m willing to meet now,” Jethri said, making a show of looking to the right and left. “It seems the gaiety is moving along without any need of my personal oversight. I don’t insist. You’re fresh in and fatigued—”

“We are not fatigued, Trader,” the qe’andra murmured. “A meeting sooner rather than later would be a great kindness.”

“I agree,” Brabham said. “You don’t even need to leave the hall. There’s private meeting nooks right over there—” He nodded to the wall at the left. “Trader ven’Deelin can escort you. I’ll arrange for some refreshments to be sent on in. Jethri, will you be wanting Freza?”

“Yes, sir, if she’s able to assist.” He turned back to the Roella Delegation. “This would be Commissioner Brabham’s special assistant, Freza DeNobli. She’s been running day-to-day ops for us, and organizing our people.”

“A knowledgeable and welcome addition to our group,” Trader jen’Vornin murmured.

“Yes,” Jethri said, turning to Bry Sen. “Would you honor me by escorting Assistant Commissioner DeNobli to us, Captain?” he asked in Liaden.

Bry Sen inclined his head. “It would be my very great pleasure, Trader.”

He bowed to the rest of the group and departed.

Bory’s face was showing a little flush. Jethri ignored him, and turned to Brabham.

“Elder?” he said in Trade. “Will you join us?”

“I’ve got some meetings to attend to myself,” Brabham said. “I’m on-call if you hit a knot. Between you and Freza, though, you’ve got everything I know.”

“Your escort?” Jethri asked, and Brabham turned, motioning Taber from Lantic to him.

“Make your bow to the Roella Delegation, young Taber,” he said, and a bow was produced—not a Liaden bow by any means, but well intentioned and respectful. The trader returned a bow to a willing student, and Brabham put his hand on the younger’s shoulder.

“All right now, my friend,” he said jovially, in Terran, “take me back to Trader Gold and the others. Then, I’ll be wantin’ you to go over to the freshments table and arrange for a tray to be sent to Trader Jethri’s group.”

They went a few steps, before Brabham turned and spoke again, “Comin’, Bory?”

The flush was distinct now, and Jethri could see the big man struggle for a second before he gave a stiff, unnuanced bow in the general direction of the Roella Delegation and turned to join Brabham.

Jethri swept a hand out toward the far wall. “Gentles?” he said, back in Liaden. “Shall we?”


Freza arrived on Bry Sen’s arm, and shortly after, refreshments and general-use tablets, delivered by Taber and another of Brabham’s volunteers, who kept her eyes modestly lowered.

Freza was introduced, the tea sampled, and the discussions began. In large part, the story told by the Roella Delegation was familiar, and left Jethri thinking unworthy thoughts about large organizations.

“The Trade Guild declares the Dust a piloting problem. The Pilot’s Guild accepts this responsibility and has been gathering data. The Scouts have taken an interest because—”

Trader jen’Vornin paused.

“I have,” Jethri murmured, “personal acquaintance of Scouts, Trader.”

“Then you understand! One does not wish to denigrate their efforts, but it is almost a game to them.”

“Not a game, Trader,” Captain ern’Keylir objected. “Not—quite—a game. It is only that Scout ships may go wherever they please, or so it seems, unimpeded by those difficulties that beset tradeships. The Dust is therefore a curiosity to them, without, perhaps the urgency…”

“Yes, yes,” the trader interrupted. “But the case is urgent to trade! That is the core.” She turned to Jethri and Freza. “You understand this.”

“We understand,” Freza said. “We’ve been struggling with data sharing, and hoped that the Scouts might be willing to help.”

“I’ve written to my contact, Scout ter’Astin,” Jethri added. “My mother gives me to know that he is—somewhat less playful in these matters. I found him very sensible during the mission he and I recently undertook. I asked for an introduction to the particular Scout overseeing the collection and analysis of data pertaining to the Dust, as if there must be one. I am hopeful of a quick answer.”

“Hah.” Trader jen’Vornin gave a half-smile. “It is true that we all want more data. The unfortunate truth is that we must all work with what is in-hand.” She glanced to Captain ern’Keylir, who inclined his head.

“We have the data that we have ourselves collected, which we will share for the group good.”

“The more we know, the more we can know,” Freza said, which was one of Brabham’s sayings. Trader jen’Vornin inclined her head.

“I think it would be useful,” Jethri said, “for Captains ern’Keylir and yo’Endoth to meet together over the piloting data. Freza, can you put Qe’andra val’Tildin in touch with the Envidaria’s law-jaw?”

“Already sent her a message,” Freza said, tapping the tablet on the table before her. She looked at the qe’andra. “Realistically, that’ll happen tomorrow, not tonight.”

“I am astonished and gratified that it may happen so quickly,” the qe’andra assured her.

Jethri looked to Trader jen’Vornin. “You and I, Trader, should go over routes, supply lines, ships, and other such matters familiar to both of us.”

“I stand at your convenience, Trader.”

Jethri tapped up the tablet, accessed his calendar. The next day was more than full, but there must be an hour somewhere—

“Here,” he said, looking to Freza. “Can Chiv and Klay cover the table in the hour between my talk with the Junior Piloting Committee and before the presentation to the League of Independent Ports Steering Committee—that’s at the SeventeenW suite, and not Genchi’s, right?”

“I think—” She glanced down at the tablet, fingers tapping. “I can make that work,” she said. “Might have Tranh or Rusko standing by, too—”

“Wait.” Jethri held up a hand and turned to the pilots. “Captain Tranh Smith of Dulcimer has practical experience navigating the Dust. Would his expertise be useful to your meeting?”

“Yes,” Captain ern’Keylir said definitively.

“Yes,” Bry Sen confirmed. “More data in-hand can only aid all.”

“Right, then.”

“I’ll let him know to stand by for Bry Sen’s call,” Freza said, fingers busy again on the tablet.

Jethri turned back to Trader jen’Vornin, automatically pulling his own Liaden-language business card and one of the triple lingo suite cards.

“Tomorrow, meet me at this suite at—Freza will give you the time. I will leave word that you should be admitted and that we will be utilizing the conference area privately. It will be a quick meeting, but an hour’s work between determined traders—”

Trader jen’Vornin laughed.

“What can we not accomplish!” she said. “It is good, Trader.”

She stood, and the rest of the room as well. Bows were exchanged, and Bry Sen opened the door to allow the Roella Delegation to leave.


“The Roella Route,” Bry Sen exclaimed. “The very jen’Vornin—and she seeks out Jethri Gobelyn ven’Deelin!”

Jethri eyed him. “That’s something special, is it?”

“Special!” Bry Sen flung his hands out, palm up.

“The Roella Route—understand, they are outworld—”

“Pirates?” Freza asked sharply.

“Never say so! Merely, they do not look to Liad for—anything. That they speak the language can be thought an accident by this time in their career. They are respectable,” he insisted to Freza’s continuing glare. “They are even honorable, though the Council of Clans chooses to think otherwise. They can occasionally be found at stations where Midys might rarely stop. They are traders, but more—they are a Council among themselves. Those who left Liad to settle thus far out—those names are in the Book of Clans. Indeed, jen’Vornin is old in honor on Liad. Neither ern’Keylir nor val’Tildin are names known to me. From which we learn that the Departees have continued to expand, and to make their own way in their own way.”

“And they came to Terrans for help,” Freza said, and suddenly grinned. “No. They came to Jethri for help.”

“Exactly,” said Bry Sen, collapsing at last into a chair. “Your name will be a legend, Trader ven’Deelin.”

Jethri snorted. “She came to the Envidaria,” he said. “And only after the Guild failed them.” He frowned. “That’s the Trader’s Guild? The Liaden Trader’s Guild?”

“Pilots guild and the trade guild,” Bry Sen said. “Those outlying stations of which I spoke—there are guild offices available, on a rotating schedule. You will understand that the concerns of those who use such offices are not, perhaps, the top guild priorities.”

“Sounds like she’s closer to Loopers than Liaden big ships,” Freza said.

Bry Sen sighed. “Yes. Precisely.”

Freza looked down at her tablet.

“Got an ack from Tranh, Bry Sen. Sent the info to your pilot account.”

“Thank you. I will contact him when we get back to Genchi. Speaking of which, Trader, are you for home, or more reception?”

“I did what I came to do at the reception, and a bit more,” Jethri said. “Frez?”

She tapped the tablet off.

“By this time, Brabham will have done everything we wanted. If I go back now, I might trip over something I shouldn’t.”

“Back to Genchi, then,” Jethri said, standing, and sweeping a bow in her direction. “May I escort you, beautiful lady?”

Freza laughed, and came to her feet.

“Sure can.”

Bry Sen had opened the door and stepped outside. Jethri offered his arm, and Freza took it, her fingers cool against his wrist.

“To Balrog, or Genchi?” he asked.

“Good question,” she answered, and sent a searching look into his face.

“Freza—”

She patted his hand. “I’m thinking Genchi,” she said, “since you asked.”

Genchi, it is, then,” Jethri said, with a calm he didn’t completely feel, and turned them toward the door.


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