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NINE

Jethri left the table for his second presentation with real relief. He liked people, he liked to talk to people, to listen to people, and to try to find accommodation between different viewpoints.

More than that, he was a trader; he’d been taught—by the best!—how to negotiate, how to subtly influence a viewpoint, how to—oh, so delicately—suggest that perhaps now was not the time to push this particular deal forward.

So, it was more than simply irritating when someone presented an overdone sales pitch, pretending it was a question worthy of his time. He’d wanted to shake the man and give him a quick lesson in how to engage with the customer—which included not irritating him.

He sighed, and shook his head as he walked. A glance at Bry Sen suggested that his pilot-escort was paying close attention to comm traffic, and Jethri left him to it, his thoughts turning again to the last session at the table.

For the most part, it had been good, he told himself. Just—he hadn’t expected anybody to show up with a supposed invoice that Gobelyn’s Market had never paid, from before Arin had married into the ship, expecting Jethri to make good on it right now.

And then there had been Desty Gold, who had waited patiently in line for a chance to lean in and tell Jethri in a growl that carried to the end of the line that he was a traitor to his ship and to Loopers everywhere, spying for Liadens and trafficking with pod-breakers and pirates.

“Combine’s gonna revoke that key you been flaunting around, that Paitor was so daft to give you! You either trade Liaden or you trade Terran, Jethri. There ain’t no both!”

He’d picked up a handout from the pile—the one that broke out the main points of the Envidaria—glared at it and threw it back down on the table in plain disgust.

“Making a stake by talking people into what’s least good for ’em,” he snarled. “It’s Arin all over again, ain’t it?”

And with that he stalked off, leaving Jethri shaken and shaking, whereupon Bry Sen had stepped forward and announced that the trader was required at his next presentation, very soon, and Chiv arrived from somewhere to stand behind the table.

“I got this, Cousin,” he said, for Jethri’s ears alone. “Take the long way ’round to the next one. Good thing to stretch your legs.”

And it had been a good thing, to stretch his legs, and let his temper settle before he arrived to deliver his second presentation.

Which went well; the question and answer period was every bit as lively as the first had been.

He came out of that somewhat…unwilling to return to the table, and it was with some relief that he learned from Bry Sen that they had been given a special mission from Brabham.

“Representatives from New Carpathia?” he asked.

“Indeed. A personal meeting is required with someone of a sufficient melant’i. Brabham might do, or Freza, but Chiv will not. Brabham then offered yourself, and you were judged fitting.”

“Always a relief to be found fitting,” he said, “but I’d like to have more precision on that melant’i.”

“Ah. Brabham was explicit. Your melant’i in this is as a child of Gobelyn’s Market. The person you will be meeting is Chief Secretary Waznik. It is a matter of some paperwork that must be handled. It is, so Brabham allowed me to know, a technicality only.”

Bry Sen slanted a look up at Jethri’s face.

“Understand, this does not relieve Balrog of its necessity to likewise meet with Secretary Waznik.”

“I’m the stall, am I?” Jethri smiled, briefly amused. “I can do that. Maybe I can even pry Balrog’s paperwork out of Secretary Waznik. Might be worth a try.”

“Indeed,” Bry Sen murmured. “Perhaps Brabham is hoping you will do just that.”


The parlors set aside for the world displays was through the Grand Arcade, a large, mostly empty space with a domed ceiling glowing yellow. Jethri sighed. He’d grown up shipside; he was used to close quarters and constant noise, but it was good, right now, not to have people jostling him, or the disorderly sound of people trying to out-talk each other in his ears.

New Carpathia’s parlor was directly off the Arcade. The door was open and there appeared to be no guardian on duty. Jethri strode in, Bry Sen just behind, and approached the table where there were several almost casually dressed people seated with a screen they had access to, and another in the act of joining them—taking off her glittering over-jacket with the air of somebody who was relaxing from a stint on the trade floor.

She glanced up as they approached, sighed, and stepped around the table toward them.

“Oh, Traders, the main display is across the arcade. This is the administrative—”

She broke off, apparently realizing that Bry Sen was not dressed in trading clothes and that Jethri— Her eyebrow slid up as she considered Jethri and she took another step toward them.

“May I help you?”

“Yes, I hope so, or that I might help you. I’m Jethri Gobelyn ven’Deelin, formerly of Gobelyn’s Market. I was told that there was paperwork that needed to be completed.”

She blinked, then patched on a smile.

“Oh, oh! You? You’re as young as you looked in your release, aren’t you? Just—please, would you like a seat? I’m Chief Secretary Waznik. Redbird Waznik, that is. We weren’t sure you’d be by today, but thank you so much for coming. May I offer refreshment—fizzwater, beer, juices? For both, I mean.”

“Allow me to introduce Bry Sen yo’Endoth, Genchi’s pilot.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Pilot yo’Endoth.” Secretary Waznik turned and beckoned two women from those at the table, who were introduced as her aides, Joslynn and Jordina, also Wazniks.

“Cousins,” she said, smiling. “Cousins, not sisters. But we’re all administrators, and I’m sure you know that talents run in families, right?”

She paused, as if she had lost her place and was hastily reviewing a script.

“This is so good of you to come, Trader. We don’t get off-world often, especially not this far from home not even to see cousins, and we’re really interested in—but here, Joslynn, why don’t you get the packet? We can talk about it first and then have Rinkin come over from the display to do the documentation. Fleeva will be so pleased!”

“Cousins?” Jethri’d heard that go by, along with the word “packet” both of which sounded like the crew here knew a lot more than he did about something. Or maybe a lot of things.

“Cousins!” Secretary Waznik said brightly. “Yes, cousins. Because of the agreement that the crew and first one hundred Loop ships to join our registry on-world would be registered as cousins and citizens of New Carpathia. Gobelyn’s Market is Number Eighty-Two on the list! We lost track of a few ships during the troubles decades ago, but when we saw your Envidaria release we found the news that you’re off Gobelyn’s Market and we knew Balrog would be here, which is so very exciting for us, you know.”

As seemed to happen so often, Jethri’s mouth went to work before his brain and he interrupted her happy narrative with a puzzled murmur.

“I’ve read most of Gobelyn’s Market’s log, ma’am. I’m sure New Carpathia wasn’t on the visit list up to four years ago.”

“Is it not strange, then, that Gobelyn’s Market is registered on New Carpathia?”

Well, that was certainly true, Jethri admitted. He’d never thought overmuch about the Market’s registry. Most of the Looper ships he knew were registered on ports they didn’t fly to—and look at himself, registered as a member of Waymart’s population to make sure that Iza’s changeable mood couldn’t leave him without an official home base at all. He supposed he might claim Liad, through his adoptive mother, Norn ven’Deelin, but he also supposed that might be—awkward.

He bowed slightly to Secretary Waznik.

“In fact ma’am, I’d never considered it, not being in ship admin. I’m pretty sure the Market wasn’t built on New Carpathia, and I can’t swear that the log was always as straight as it ought to have been, though Gobelyns try to keep the keel clean.”

She smiled at that, though he hadn’t been joking. Then Joslynn appeared with the packet, which was of a size that it might hold a raft of ship or pilot’s hardcopy wall certificates in a fold-over case.

Secretary Waznik took the case and opened it, turning it around to show Jethri a large and ornately printed item—so ornate, in fact, that he couldn’t quite make out the words before Secretary Waznik closed the case and handed it back to her aide.

“So, that is what we have for you, Trader: certification that you are a First Century citizen of New Carpathia—century means hundred for us, you know. The first one hundred registered ships earned that by supporting us in our trouble. Your ship keeps us, which we appreciate, since there are several other registration worlds these days! The packet also includes a list of our legalities—things like age of majority, marriage, birth, and death reporting.

“Also, for people who wish to see which cousins they might be—New Carpathia was settled by pre-Loopers and Loopers in the early days. There was a lot of mixing happened the first Standard century or two.”

Jethri found nothing to say, which was just as well, because Secretary Waznik was sweeping on.

“Do you recall, Trader, if there was a listing in your logs for Simone, or even Dark Simone?”

Recollection was instant.

“Of course! Yes, Dark Simone. There were three visits in short order, all food runs with the cabins stuffed with extra people one way and extra food coming back.”

The Chief Secretary nodded.

That is why you’re on the cousins list. That was the time of troubles for us, when the storms were unexpected on Simone and the food scarce. That was when the stationers got overrun by insects and the station evacuated and then rebuilt.

“Loopers kept us and helped bring things around when Simone became uninhabitable. The planet we have now was called Dark Simone, for being so dark blue when Simone had been so bright. We changed the name of the system and our world to New Carpathia to put aside the old expectations, to heal the old wounds, and to remind us to look into the future, not the past.”

She smiled.

“There, in short, is how we became a data and registration center: we needed some way of earning our food.”

“And now,” she said conspiratorially, “we are pleased to offer you and your Envidaria our expertise. It appears to our data experts that some worlds will lose their crops, others their shippers, others will simply be isolated for some years…and we can consult for them. And you, as a Century Citizen of New Carpathia, and your family’s ship—why should you not have a place to go should you need it? Since we have a planet with multiple large landing fields and support systems there’s no need to be concerned there will be a lack of room for you if needed.”

“And if I happen to be trading on another ship? As I am.” That was a little sharper than he had intended, but Secretary Waznik was undaunted.

“If you are a principal in the operation—lead trader or master trader, then of course you and your ship would be welcome.”

“Must I renounce other arrangements? Can I be a citizen of New Carpathia and still act under the laws of, say, Waymart?”

She laughed.

“So many people have gone to Waymart lately, but surely you can see we have advantages over them, and we trust they will serve us well. One of our advantages is that we are assured by physicists and astronomers that our already low-Dust location is unlikely to encounter any such problems.”

She gestured toward the wall, and an ornate hanging that Jethri realized was a representation of the various locations of the registration worlds in relation to the current movement of the Dust.

“You’re somewhat outside the normal trading zones,” he said, after he had deciphered this.

“Yes, but that keeps us on our toes to do better. This is why we permit multiple citizenships, and our laws are often seen to be less onerous even than Waymart.”

“And must I sign an acceptance now?”

She laughed and motioned. Joslynn moved forward and placed the bulky folder in his hands before stepping back.

Secretary Waznik smiled.

“You have the papers in your hands, Trader—you are a citizen now. We would appreciate if you would allow us to make a video showing you receiving your papers only sixty-six Standards late. It will be good for the universe to see that New Carpathia honors its promises.”

Jethri looked at the folder in his hands, turned, and found Bry Sen ready to receive it. He was, he thought, as he turned back to the Chief Secretary and her aides, beginning to understand why Brabham had wanted nothing to do with this.

“You said that Balrog shares this honor with Gobelyn’s Market?”

“Oh, yes! Balrog is Number Seven on the list. We’ve tried to contact them, but they are very busy and so far haven’t been able to send someone to us.”

Jethri nodded. “They are busy, but my ship is docked very near to Balrog. I’d be happy to take their papers to them.”

A sad shake of the head.

“An interesting offer, Trader, but each ship must send a personal representative to receive the paperwork. Your packet includes forms for Gobelyn’s Market’s current crew and Loop, and past crew off to other ships, like you—they can fill them out at will!—but your receipt means that our part of the original arrangements is done. Your video will be a proof that the ship knows they have been notified, and will make wonderful watching for the broadcast bands back home, where they’ll see how we’re coming back to being worthwhile trading partners!”

It took Jethri a few moments to process “back home” to mean New Carpathia, but once he did it was as if a well of understanding was uncovered—all of this was not so much about the crews of the “century ships” or the good of the Loopers or the Envidaria, as it was about influencing the politics or polities of that planet. That it might prove useful to others was a side effect of the offer for these people, not the goal.

It felt for a moment like he had the silver mesh enclosing his head again, as if the smart-beads were analyzing this situation, and would in just a moment produce some knowledge or insight. It was there, just under the surface of his memory. All he needed was the right key.

He felt his fractin warming in his pocket—and there! Yes. Yes. These people were grasping the potential disaster, even helping delay action, so that they might gain influence by changing the patterns of knowledge transfer to go through them. They wanted to be paid well—and often!—for information that ought to be free.

He could feel the database building itself in the back of his head. He needed more information, he thought, as much as he could gather, so that they could be properly documented and dealt with. He—

“Trader, I believe it is time for you to take your supplement.”

The database folded in mid-build. Jethri blinked himself back into the parlor, and looked down at Bry Sen, who was offering a small container. He took it with a slight bow.

“My thanks,” he murmured, and opened the small bottle, while Bry Sen turned to Secretary Waznik and her aides, drawing their eyes to him.

“The trader is on, to him, a backward schedule; this would normally be the middle of his sleep shift. We on his staff must from time to time remind him to relax between events else he will begin to fall asleep, no matter how stimulating the company.”

Jethri closed the bottle and slipped it into his pocket, producing a deep and theatrical bow of no known provenance.

“My apologies, my apologies, my apologies, Chief Secretary Waznik. I was dreaming of the assistance you offer us—and, yes, it’s exactly as Bry Sen says; I am a sorry case, with more meetings before me before this day is over. I’ll take my leave now, bearing this honor, and please whatever other materials you have there—so that I may share them with my family and others! If there is more, please send them to Genchi, I will be happy to receive them.”

“But the documentary—” cried Secretary Waznik.

“As time permits. I will make every effort to return for the vid, and to plan with you. I thank you so much for making New Carpathia known to me. You will not be forgotten, I guarantee!”

A bag full of materials was thrust at him by Joslynn; it was intercepted by Bry Sen, and so they departed, the pilot over-burdened and Jethri only carrying himself.

Around the curve of the arcade, Jethri stopped at a table loaded with free drinks, and said, “Tarry a moment, Pilot. I’ll draw some fizzwater.”

“Trader.”

Bry Sen settled his load on a nearby chair, and drew a fizzwater for himself. Jethri found one of the board-rest exercises Scout ter’Astin had taught him, and after a moment stood refreshed, mind clear.

“My thanks,” he said after a brief comradely bow, “I can see now that pilot’s training may need to be expanded, if this is a result I can depend on!”

“Trader. I am concerned. You were concentrating so hard that…”

“Oh yes. I was concentrating very hard. When a difficult trading path is opened one must find a way forward, which is what I believe I have done.”

He turned to pick the folder up from the chair, while Bry Sen claimed the bag.

“Let us back to the table, if you will be so kind,” Jethri said, feeling almost light-hearted. “And please tell me as we travel, Pilot with diplomatic training, what did you think of the honor I have been offered?”

Bry Sen rocked his head slightly from side to side, eyes narrowed—real Looper body language there, Jethri noted. The pilot had been studying.

“To begin,” Bry Sen murmured, “it concerns me that these packets and presentations are the means to bring people forward so that a video may be made which will be introduced into the political situation on New Carpathia.

“You, Brabham, distant Loopers in general, become celebrities by default, heroes, if you will. Your melant’i is of course your own, but it seems there’s an effort to tie your melant’i and the Envidaria effort to whatever faction has brought the citizenship effort here. As we cannot know the details of the political situation on New Carpathia, this is—worrisome.”

He paused and struck a pose.

“Each ship must send a personal representative to receive the paperwork,” he announced in breathlessly accurate mimicry of Chief Secretary Waznik.

Jethri grinned, waiting. Bry Sen’s expression turned thoughtful as he began to walk again.

“Do you know, Trader? I believe that this situation is worthy of close study. You might even, with honor, solicit advice before returning for a formal ceremony. Indeed, I—a humble pilot—question whether there is any necessity for a formal ceremony. Did Secretary Waznik not say—” He paused, for effect, Jethri thought, and not because of any failure of memory. “Did she not say your receipt means that our part of the original arrangements is done? That phrase might give a qe’andra or, I expect, a trader versed in the complexities of contracts, a moment’s pause.”

“I caught that,” Jethri said. “I was told that the thing’s done, and that I can pass on papers of citizenship to my choice of Gobelyn’s Market crew, past, present, or off-side. The phrase you cite seems to finalize the contract. I’m in Balance with New Carpathia, and New Carpathia’s in Balance with Gobelyn’s Market through me, their personal representative.”

He exchanged a solemn look with Bry Sen.

“It couldn’t be much clearer, could it? Though I’ll take your advice, Pilot, if you think I ought to consult a law-jaw.”

“No, no, I think we have together reasoned through this knot to a Balanced conclusion, supportable to a…law-jaw—I thank you, Trader!—should that be made necessary.”

“Good,” Jethri said, and sighed. “It’s a good thing that they didn’t have the video equipment set up.”

Even as he said it, he felt his stomach clench. He looked to Bry Sen, and grimaced.

“Indeed,” the pilot said softly, all trace of mischief vanished. “We have their word on that, do we not?”


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