FIFTEEN
“I can’t believe you did that, right under Bory’s nose!” Freza collapsed into the nearest chair and closed her eyes. “My nerves, Jethri!”
“You’ve got the steadiest nerves of anybody I know,” he told her, continuing across the room to the buffet.
“And seriously, what did he expect me to do? It was a challenge, wasn’t it? You can’t just ignore the challenge, especially one so in the public eye! And he thought it was a way for him to be better than Arin—like he was forgiving Arin for splitting with them! There’s a trade trick that works like that, where a trader makes it seem like they are publicly fixing an error you made, in your favor, and so you’re stuck with what they do.”
Jethri shook his head, recalling Bory’s obsequious introduction, and went on at pace.
“The only way to deal with that kind of challenge is by using the momentum, and the momentum I have is that Arin was right, and now look—Bory’s got to smile and be pleased. I’m glad you’re up to it but I didn’t have time to do anything else and have it be clean! Arin’s ring, and you wearing it—was the best way out!”
The others filed in as Freza peered at the ring, somewhat too large for her, that she still wore.
They’d arrived en masse back at the SeventeenW party suite—him, Freza, Brabham, Taber from Lantic, Chiv, Bry Sen, the entire Roella Delegation, plus Tranh Smith. Jethri’d worried that they might get caught in the general congratulations at the end of the seating of new commissioners, but Brabham had snatched them both away on “official bidness,” got them through a side door, and there was the rest of their party, held firmly in hand by Bry Sen and Chiv.
They’d gone by back halls, hurrying and not talking, until they were safe behind doors.
“Beer?” Jethri asked over his shoulder.
“Wine!” Freza said positively.
“Of a certainty, wine,” said Trader jen’Vornin. “We must toast a coup, if we have understood Captain yo’Endoth correctly.”
Jethri turned and caught Bry Sen’s eye.
“I thought it would be instructive,” he murmured, “for the delegation to see the congress at its business.”
“He kindly translated for us,” said Qe’andra val’Tildin, and bowed in Jethri’s general direction. “A neater turning of villainy back upon the villain I have very seldom witnessed, sir.”
“Villain,” Jethri said, shaking his head. “No villains. Just Terran dirty tricks aimed at me and my father.”
He stared at the bottles on the bar, suddenly not able to tell one from the other.
“Allow me, Trader,” Bry Sen said, appearing next to him. “Recruit yourself. I took the liberty of ordering in food, and will set out the trays as soon as the wine is poured.”
“Taber,” Brabham said, from his chair next to Freza, “you find out from Cap’n Bry Sen what needs done, after the wine, and see to it, right?”
“Right!” said Taber, moving forward with energy.
“A likely youth,” Trader jen’Vornin said in Trade, as Jethri took the seat between her and Freza.
“Eager and then some,” Brabham agreed. “Been a big help to me, these last few days. Thinking about asking Lantic to give us Taber on lend, Frezzie, what d’you think?”
“I think I’m going to need a clerk, just like you did when I was Taber-high,” Freza answered. “If Lantic allows it—”
“I’ll talk to the captain. Thank you.”
That last was to Bry Sen, who had arrived with a tray of drinks. As elder, Brabham was served first, then Trader jen’Vornin, Jethri, and Freza. It was, Jethri thought, holding his glass, a non-standard order. Usually the guests were served first, but, then, it had been a non-standard day—and beside that, the guests were busy.
Chiv was moving more chairs into the parlor. Elys val’Tildin was opening up the original conversational grouping, and Tranh Smith was fitting the extra chairs into the spaces she made.
Captain ern’Keylir and Taber entered, carrying trays to the buffet.
“I don’t see how you could have done anything else, Jeth,” Brabham said, quiet, but keeping to Trade. “Like Ms. val’Tildin said—prettiest reversal I’ve seen in many a year. Problem being, you made a powerful enemy.”
Jethri sighed.
“I’m collecting the whole set, seems,” he said, and paused as the rest of their company found chairs, wine glasses already in hand. Taber was still at the buffet, uncovering the trays, and laying out the plates and cutlery.
“Honor will always find enemies among the honorless,” Trader jen’Vornin said, surprisingly, and suddenly rose, holding her glass high.
“If a guest may make so bold—Well-played, Trader ven’Deelin! It was a pleasure to watch you at work.”
Face heating, Jethri drank with the rest, then got to his feet.
“Commissioner DeNobli,” he said, raising his glass. “You’re going to turn them upside down.”
Freza blushed interestingly. “Only when they need it,” she said to general laughter, and they all drank again.
“That’s fine,” Brabham said, “well-done, all. Now, I got time-in-grade, so what I suggest is that we get something to eat, then get to work. The congress starts tomorrow, early, and there won’t be any downtime for any of us ’til the gavel falls for done. Whatever problems we have should be en route to a solution before that.”
“Agreed,” said Trader jen’Vornin, on her feet again. “May I have the honor of bringing you a plate, Elder?”
Jethri was standing a little back from the buffet, not at all sure he was hungry, but sure he’d better eat something if only to keep the wine out of his head. There were teapots set at ready, but he did know better than to go from wine straight to tea while riding a crest of adrenaline.
“Hey, Jeth,” Freza said in his ear. He turned and smiled.
“Hey,” he answered.
“It was good tactics and a good show, too, but, Jeth—about Arin’s ring. You’ll be letting me give that back to you.”
“You do that,” he said cordially. “After you get done, you give the ring back to me. Before that—you wear it. If you want to, that is. If you’d rather not—”
Freza bit her lip.
“Thing is—I do want to—” She straightened and wrinkled her nose, somehow managing to evoke Bory perfectly. “I do want to borrow it for use during my tenure, Jethri.”
He laughed.
“Good. Then you do that.” He reached out and took her hand.
“Thanks for going along with my play, Frez. I know it was a surprise.”
“Surprises all around,” she said, grinning. “It turned out all right, I think.”
“I think—”
Somewhere, a comm chimed. Bry Sen stepped to the small screen at the far end of the room. Jethri saw his shoulders stiffen.
“Genchi requests permission to forward a message. It is a pinbeam for Trader ven’Deelin from the Trade Guild,” he said.
Jethri blinked.
He’d already gotten his turn-down letter, so this must be—
The test notification.
“That was quick,” he muttered to Freza and crossed the room to put his finger against the screen.
Bry Sen stepped back, ceding Jethri privacy.
The letter was brief. Trader Jethri Gobelyn ven’Deelin was to report for testing at the Traders Administrative Guild Hall on Pommier, between the fifth and sixth hour of Askop Firstday of the next relumma. He was reminded that a failure to be on time for this testing would result in a fail, after which he would be required to wait six Standards to re-test.
He tried to do the day-math, having to retreat from the Terran reckonings of Meldyne Station to the Trade and thence to the High Liaden mode employed by the Guild in this message of import.
He blinked, and read it again, more slowly, checking the date at the top of the screen, frowning at the planet designation code. Finally, he called up the Terran translation, put it side by side with the original Liaden on the screen, but that didn’t improve the math, nor his mood.
“Bry Sen,” he said.
“Trader?”
“I need you to check my numbers. Third class and doing it in my head—I think I bobbled some decimals and multiplied by zero. Can we make this port by the time specified?”
He looked around, realized his guests were an informed audience if there ever was one, and rose to the moment.
“Gentles, a matter of trade and piloting for you to consider, too, as long as you promise a confidential glance.”
He touched a few keys, sending the contents of the small screen to the larger one high on the wall, so that it could be seen by all and stepped back, waving Bry Sen and his conversational partners forward together to look at it, showing merely the location and time, though not the letter entire.
Bry Sen’s face was—perfectly calm, which Jethri had learned was no good sign, but it was Tranh Smith who spoke first.
“Somebody’s math’s off, Trader…but it ain’t yours.”
“Indeed,” Bry Sen said calmly. “We could make that port, in that time frame, Trader, if we left within the next hour.”
“What’s this?” Brabham asked from his chair across the room. “You leaving, Jeth? In an hour?”
“It’s his master trader’s test,” Freza said, and met his eyes. “That’s what it is, right, Jeth?”
He nodded.
Brabham stood. His hand on Taber’s shoulder, he tried not to shuffle as he joined the growing cluster of squint-eyed calculation near the screen.
“Dump pods,” he said. “You need provisions, we can send over from Balrog while you’re on the way. You’ve got to clear it with—”
“I know that world,” Captain ern’Keylir said, abruptly. “I assume that Captain yo’Endoth would indeed dump pods, and take a high acceleration run to Jump short of the usual point. For a pilot of skill—it is possible to make the Jump—from this end. But on the other end? That is crowded space. Even ships that are scheduled and expected are often turned back to a day or even a relumma’s holding orbit for lack of docking, and that’s assuming you weren’t on the wrong side of the traffic control station by not being on an expected-soon list.”
“In fact,” said Trader jen’Vornin, “this is a Liaden dirty trick, Trader, of a particularly pernicious sort. It pretends to be a good-faith offer, but it is nothing of the kind.”
“It’s a set-up,” Freza said in Terran, and Tranh Smith nodded.
“For the trader’s information,” Bry Sen said carefully, “even were we able to arrive on such short notice, this is not properly done. The Guild knows that it will be addressing a trader who is busy at his work. They know that it will take time to rearrange appointments, deliveries, to find another trader, perhaps, to cover the route. An appointment for a master’s test would be reasonably set at least two full relumma in the future.”
“That is so,” Qe’andra val’Tildin said, and inclined her head when Jethri looked to her with surprise. She added, “My area of expertise is trade law.”
Jethri bowed. “Of course it is. Forgive me, qe’andra.”
“I take no offense,” she assured him.
“I assume that a copy of this message has been sent to the master who has sponsored me?” Jethri asked. “I do not see a copy specified. That ought to have happened, right?”
Trader jen’Vornin snorted lightly; the qe’andra looked like she wanted to do the same.
“In the usual way of things, Trader…”
“One—” Trader jen’Vornin spoke with emphasis as she waved her hands in the pilot sign for repeating information—“dirty trick does not preclude another.” She peered upward, and looked back to Jethri.
“If they can also ruin you with your sponsor, why would they not do so?”
“Yes,” he said. “I see.”
He looked around the room, hearing pilots throwing unworkable what-if solutions at the time-and-distance problem on the screen, while traders and lawyer shook their collective heads at the assumptions the guild had made—
Freza stood near, looking at what she could see of the letter and equations, wine glass wrapped in her ringed hand.
“What’re you gonna do, Jeth?”
He smiled, reached for her free hand and gently kissed her knuckles before weaving their fingers together, and turning them to face the room.
“Gentles,” he said, raising his glass and his voice. “Gentles, let us all understand what we have here. We have received another challenge. In effect, the Guild wishes to know if I value a ring above my duties as a trader. It is an interesting question, and at another time, when I am at leisure, perhaps I will answer it for them.
“For now, I am needed here, to serve trade, to preserve it, and expand it. I intend to continue here.”
Beside him, he heard Freza draw a breath. Across the room, Brabham nodded, and Trader jen’Vornin bowed as between equals, hands forming the sign for pathbreaker.
He smiled and inclined his head.
“Apt,” he murmured, and gestured again with his glass.
“I will ask you to refresh yourselves and recruit your strength while I step aside to inform my sponsor of this turn in events. When I return, I will be ready to work.”
Freza dropped his hand, and stepped aside, raising her glass with a flourish.
“All of us—to accepting the challenge!”
The toast was met with acclaim, and when they had all drunk as comrades, Trader jen’Vornin raised her glass.
“To working for the good of trade!”