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TWO

He’d been away too long.

Unlike Elsvair, Genchi’s captain had sent all pertinent news to the public screen at the end of their dock.


GENCHI CHONSELTA LIAD

PAR SYN SEA’KERA CAPTAIN PILOT

BRY SEN YO’ENDOTH FIRST MATE PILOT

JETHRI GOBELYN VEN’DEELIN SENIOR TRADER

DOCKING LENGTH OF CONGRESS


Nodding his satisfaction, Jethri proceeded to the main hatch, where he took receipt of his error.

The screen in the tiny vestibule just beyond the main hatch, that served as foyer, lobby, and waiting room on those occasions when there were more than five visitors—that screen displayed, under Welcome Notes for the Trader a scrolling list of eighteen names. By the time he had read those eighteen, two more had been added to the list and Jethri was feeling a little weak in the knees.

Some of the names, he knew—Looper ships from past shivaries; from his father’s port gathers, and Paitor’s. The others were vaguely familiar from trade boards, except those that weren’t familiar at all.

The scroll had started again, another name having been added to the top, when a slight rustle alerted him to the approach of a large floral display attached to Bry Sen yo’Endoth.

“Pilot,” he said, warily.

“Trader.” The reply was gentle, and told him nothing.

“What is this?”

“Flowers, Trader. The newest of the dozen delivered so far. Indeed, I am pleased you have returned to us so timely. I hope you will be able to give me guidance of the placement of these same dozen arrangements.” He paused, and peered around a particularly large yellow bloom.

“Unless it was the welcome board? I had thought it best, Trader, that you knew the comms had been busy for you, since approximately the moment you left us.”

“I thank you,” Jethri said, “but I was inquiring into the reason for the flowers—a dozen, you say?”

“So far. The first arrived soon after the first comm call, directed to you personally, another arriving before the first was properly received. We placed those in the crew lounge. We scarcely had enough time to congratulate ourselves on a clever recover when three more displays arrived, those for Genchi, and joined the others in the lounge. Two additional displays arrived for you, and one directed to Trader pen’Akla. There was no more room in the lounge by this point, but we moved the flowers intended for Genchi into the piloting chamber, reasoning that this was both respectful and practical, as the pilots will not be required for some time.”

Jethri said nothing. Bry Sen swayed a slight bow. The flower display rustled.

“We of course have all the names so that proper acknowledgments may be sent, however, we have advance warning of at least four more displays bound for us.”

“Put them in the passenger cabins,” Jethri said.

Bry Sen looked regretful.

“Alas, Trader, the first is nearly full with gift baskets, and boxes, and the second—”

“Why is this happening?” Jethri interrupted. A stateroom nearly full with gift baskets? He’d received no more than six port welcome baskets in all the time he had traded from Elthoria.

Bry Sen bowed.

“We are both an opportunity and a curiosity. You are a ship-born Looper who holds a ten-year Terran Combine trade key and a Liaden-trained trader. Who would not wish to meet such a marvel, especially here at the great congress of Terran traders? More, you have liberated a trade document that is likely to change how business is done among the very traders who form this congress.”

“I—” Jethri began. Bry Sen raised his hand.

“And then there is Genchi, no larger than a modern Loop ship, and a joint venture between the Rabbit and the Star with Three Rings—both of whom trade at Terran and hybrid ports. And the trader they pick to represent their venture, to one of the premier Terran trade conferences, is—”

“The trader with two heads,” Jethri interrupted.

Bry Sen frowned.

“If a comrade may say so, your melant’i in this is key. Those who curry favor with traders, who seek alliance with the new and exciting—they have goals that may stretch for generations. You stand to benefit, in your melant’i as Genchi’s representative trader, in your melant’i as a Loop-wise trader, in your melant’i as the liberator of the Envidaria. Not only this, you stand to bring benefit to Ixin and to Midys, and to trade as a whole. Did you think the master traders sent you here at whim?”

Jethri laughed, and threw up his hand, fingers forming I yield.

“Of the few things I do know,” he said, “is that I am not sent here at whim.”

Bry Sen gave him a Terran smile, sympathetic and warm.

“They are masters of trade, Trader.”

“Indeed they are, and I honor them both. Now, though, my friend—these flowers and other things—”

A low musical tone sounded, and Bry Sen touched his ear set.

“The captain reports more flowers at the door, Trader, and a few boxes of wine and specialty cheeses, all called Welcome Bounty…”

Jethri closed his eyes, reached into his pocket and felt the soothing smooth surfaces and gentle warmth of his lucky fractin, considering—feeling questions come together with potential answers as he meditated on the relic.

He opened his eyes, glanced down at the ring born of Master pin’Aker’s genius. The four amethysts made a statement that was hard to argue with on the hand of a ship’s senior trader, even if it hadn’t been backed up by the ten-year key around his neck—six years left on that key, and the details of every single one of his trades saved to it. He was not an oddity, he was an experienced trader—two cultures that agreed on very little, agreed on this.

He lifted his eyes to Bry Sen, waiting patiently behind the flowers, and looked to the message board—forty-five names now. He watched them scroll, seeing this name and another that he recalled from a group docking; another he had seen once, at a distant shivary

He looked back to Bry Sen.

“We are not on a Liaden port, or at a Liaden event,” he said slowly, working it out even as he spoke. He used his chin to point at the board. “I see two Liaden names among those; the rest are Terran, and most of them are Loopers. Our dock is our own. We will share the joy we have received with everyone who passes by. The flowers may reside there in perfect propriety.”

He stopped, realizing that he was speaking Liaden, even though the custom was Looper…

Bry Sen’s face brightened. “I see. Yes, excellent. We share our joy, and so is joy increased. I will see it done, Trader. And—the gifts?”

“Continue to gather the names and the particulars of each. When our reception room is ready, we will have the wines, cheeses, and other treats taken there. The same principal applies—to share joy as widely as we may.”

“Trader.” Bry Sen swayed, the flowers rustling around him. “It will be done as you say.”

“Good,” Jethri said, and looked again at the screen—sixty now. “I see that I have fallen behind in answering my messages, and there are a number I must read soon, if I am to leave the ship before the congress is history!”


Jethri carried a cup of work tea with him to his quarters, took off his jacket and sat down at the flat surface that was both table and desk. He opened the screen and accessed his messages, which were arranged in order of receipt.

At the top of the list was a letter from Tan Sim. Jethri smiled and opened it.


My dearest of Jeth Rees, receive, I pray, my salutations and admiration.

Recall that I was trained on Wynhael, a tradeship of some note, if troubled in its melant’i. Recall also that I was raised as a child of a house both High and high in the instep.

In brief, I considered myself the equal of Barskalee.

I confess to you now, sweet youth, that I was wrong.

Wynhael is a tradeship; Barskalee is a great ship. Not merely a master trader’s vessel, but a diplomatic mission, driven by a desire to refine trade and relations between traders into a state of purity that I, in my ignorance, can scarcely grasp.

To say that I have much to learn is laughable. I feel as if I have everything to learn, save the language.

I recently had reason to recall the occasion of our meeting—I, angry and in my cups, chancing across a lad practicing his bows in a back hallway. A Terran lad, that was, and I say to you now, my Jethri, that you are an amazement. To master the intricacies of trade, the operations of mighty Elthoria, the language, and the bows? You are beyond me, on my honor.

You will by now be all blushes, I know, so I will end my praises here, though I beg that you will believe them sincere.

The rest of my news is quickly told. Master pin’Aker is busy on your behalf. You must not lose faith—he bade me assure you of this, when I wrote, so there is that duty done.

I am kept busy learning my duties as associate trader, and also by relieving the master of those things I am competent to attend to on his behalf, so that he may do his work on your behalf. Despite this, I have found time to scout the trade lists for those items you and I discussed, and I hope to have more concrete news for you very soon.

You must write to me—see how I recall you to your duty!—and tell me how you have gotten on thus far with Genchi. I fear she must still be in some disarray from her recent hasty upgrades, and Captain sea’Kera is never one to be easy with change. Still I know that you will carry all before you, as always and ever.

I have been instructed to forward fond good wishes from Samay, and to those I add my own.

Until soon, my Jethri.

From: Tan Sim pen’Akla, Barskalee

sent via pinbeam


Jethri sipped his tea and read the letter a second time. Tan Sim was settling into his new role. More, he was feeling valued and safe. That was good, and he felt warmly toward Master pin’Aker for stepping up and making right what had been beyond Jethri to fix.

He moved the letter to his action file, so that he would remember to answer it, and went back to his message list.

The welcome messages from the Looper ships were automated, sent whenever a ship from a particular list docked. He scanned and filed them—there was no need to answer.

The message from the trade center was of a different order, being sent specifically to him, as lead trader.

Apparently Genchi was not alone in being inundated with flowers, foodstuffs, and other gifts. The reception hall had been accepting more of the same. Each logged arrival carried an asterisk, indicating that a receiving fee had been added to the reception room’s bill.

“Cost of doing bidness, Jeth,” he said aloud, in plain Looper Terran.

He sent an ack to the facility and moved on, scrolling quickly—and abruptly stopped.

There were five messages from Balrog, sent one right after the other, forming a solid block in his message list.

He smiled, and felt some deeper stirring as well, as if he was coming home. He opened the first, and it was Freza’s voice, matter-of-factly reporting:


We’re in and got traffic’s attention, they’re being right nice to us, which is fine. Sending messages multibounce so I’m not bothering with ’crypts. Don’t forget we’re kind of ambassadors here, and so are you.

Balrog’s got a slot number now; looks like we can finagle it to be right next to you if Brabham says pretty words to somebody, which I know he will, but like I say, they’re being nice, though they seem to be taking their time, when there’s dozens of ships incoming…Looks like customs is going through some algorithm; doing random checks. Got folks complaining to us, like we got any influence here. Anyhow, we’ve got a lot to talk about and a lot to do. I hope we can fit in some quiet times too, even if Brabham thinks we’ll need to run to Terra itself to get any peace out of all this.

My direct comm code is set—we’re using the Seventeen Worlds account, and you can too, I’ll send you the codes. I got a bunch of business stuff to send after this, but I want you to know I’m thinking I owe you some touches, after you had to get out so quick from Port Chavvy, an’ after I already’d put you off the time before. Hope you got some for me, too. ’member, we got help here, and we got plans. You don’t have to think you’re doing this all alone, ’cause you’re not.

Brabham’s standing here behind me with all kinds of official business so I’ll just say you’ll like what I plan.

Freza


Jethri smiled, his face heating a little as he considered what Freza’s plans might entail, remembering his earlier gentle plan to bring her to the bakery—gods, the bakery felt like a week of hard trading in the past! And the thought of Freza offering touches, a bare neck, and her lips—yes, that was energizing, but it wasn’t moving his message queue, so he hit reply and offered:


I have your first note; remember Genchi’s got a suite on port and I have a good size spot right here for over-nighting if the suite doesn’t. Soon. Jeth


He considered Freza again, and Balrog, thinking she’d probably be operating everything out of the ship’s small control room and that the multibounce was true, so really, no need to get explicit about plans with so many eyes possible, anyway. He let the message go and opened the next from Balrog.

It was from Brabham: straightforward and not a little upsetting.


Jethri, I am prepared to back you as far as I can, but my energy levels are low these last hundred shifts and not looking to get much higher. If necessary, I will make a motion at general session to seat someone in my place; you’ll recognize them if it comes to that. I’ve got some message I got in ’crypt that I’ll hand carry for you; this will be a busy session and likely nights aren’t going to be big on sleep or fun. Usual rules apply, boy, all the usual rules!


The last sentence, with the emphasis, gave Jethri more pause. Not only was Brabham sounding as if he felt on the down-spin, but also like he thought Sactizzy was going to be…dangerous.

Well, yeah, he had to admit he’d carried weapons when he went for his walkabout, with an extra and a back-up extra, and that he’d been careful even when following Malu and Vally. He hadn’t known about the deck’s comm problems—and that was a failing of vigilance which would have gotten him a sigh from Pen Rel, and a gently sarcastic remark about children growing out of thoughtlessness, if they could be persuaded to survive long enough. He surely should have been alert to the fact that he wasn’t connected to his ship; that he’d been without any kind of back-up on a strange dock. And now here was Brabham, stressing the usual rules.

He remembered Arin, Paitor, and Grig trying to explain to the ship’s youngers exactly what the usual rules were, trying to give them an edge for dealing with situations where strangers were involved. And there, more to the point, were defining moments of his life, things that happened because he might not have been as up on following the usual rules as he ought to be.

First off had been Jethri’s encounter with Sirge Milton, a Terran grifter whose fast-talking scheme had, however inadvertently, brought Jethri into contact with his Liaden adoptive ship and family. Milton’s desperation at being cornered resulted in his suicide, and in the long run, in Jethri being on Genchi.

But there, the usual rules, arrived at among the three elders and imparted before docking on a port whose name Jethri’d forgotten—were not exactly clear, after all, but depended on circumstance. They’d spun down to something like this: always know your life is more important than your money. Always carry an extra weapon. Don’t ever trust somebody just because they seem to belong to a particular faction or family. Always mind who’s at your back and which way is out. Always know which ship you can run to if you can’t get to yours. Always…

And that right there was the problem. Always didn’t work if you had to apply all the rules at once. Dyk had prolly summed that training up best: “Just be careful, kids, that’s all. Be careful. And if you can’t be careful for you, be careful for your ship.”

Jethri sighed. He had a drink named after him on one space station, celebrating an instance of having not been careful. And then there was the fiasco on Port Chavvy, for which he still had great regrets that blood had been spilled. He’d nearly killed a man outright and he could have avoided being in that spot, he could have been careful…

Brabham though…Jethri saved the message. The next three messages were from Brabham, these more official, naming names he needed to know, pointing out sessions he ought to be at, and sessions he ought not to be at, too.

He saved them all and moved down the queue. Not much of substance; just first contacts—in a few cases, reminder contacts—the opening moves in the game of networking. All could be answered quickly, with an apt phrase, and, thanks to his protocol master, and to Master ven’Deelin, he had an abundance of apt phrases to hand.

Within the next bunch of messages were two more from Freza, giving more of the same—background on sessions, background on who was compiling reports unfavorable to the Envidaria.

That group was surprisingly large—and growing larger. In addition to old Loopers who ought to know something by now, Freza named TerraTrade councilors and Combine commissioners who warned of the dangers the Envidaria brought to Loopers…

Jethri took a deep breath, and despite he didn’t care to include fools in his contacts lists, he saved the names, and Freza’s information, in a folder all their own.

Next were invitations from three traders he didn’t know, desiring him to join them at a dinner-reception to be held in his honor on the evening before Sactizzy officially opened. It was instinct to accept; meeting people and extending one’s net of acquaintance was precisely what trade was about—and he caught himself with his finger on the send button. He considered the invites—three different names, three different addresses, almost identical phrasing. None of the names appeared on the list provided by Freza, which proved neither friend nor foe. And the usual rules would have him forget that trade was contacts.

No, he corrected himself, the usual rules would have him acknowledge that Elthoria was considerably more in the way of backup than Genchi was and to act with proper prudence.

He sighed, did a relaxing pilot’s exercise Scout ter’Astin had taught him, closed his eyes and said out loud, “The usual rules apply.”

He let his thoughts drift to Freza for a long moment, opened his eyes, and deleted his first, instinctive reply.

So. Apt phrases. As it happened, he had appropriately apt phrases directly at his fingertips. He applied them to the three unknown traders, doing them the honor of providing to each their own phrase.

The next message was from Elthoria.

Jethri felt his face relax as he opened it.


My son, allow a mother her fond greetings.

As you embark upon the next stage of your career, I write to you with news of home.

Elthoria continues upon her scheduled business, as do we all. I must, however, report that your absence is noted among crew and friends, though all of us honor your commitment to clan and duty, which requires that you continue to widen your scope, and build your influence. Though you are sorely missed, be assured that Elthoria in whole recalls your modesty, gentleness, and determination, and does not begrudge you the challenges of your new estate, nor Genchi’s fortune, in having gained you as senior trader.

For myself—you have given me a wealth of memories, my son, and I belatedly express my gratitude for so handsome a gift.

There. That is quite enough, I think. You are, after all, busy at your new life.

I beg you write a line or two, as duty allows, and in the meanwhile, believe me to be

Your fond mother

From: Norn ven’Deelin, Elthoria

via pinbeam


It hit him in the chest, that letter, and he closed his eyes against a rush of pure homesickness. He’d missed Gobelyn’s Market when he’d first come on to Elthoria, but nothing like this sudden assault of loneliness. Of course, he’d been kept busy from the start—by both design and necessity. And while he’d missed Seeli, Khat, and the rest, the truth was that his mother was on Elthoria, and Captain Iza Gobelyn nothing but a relief to have out of his life.

He opened his eyes, and saved the letter to his permanent file.

Then he moved on to the next in-queue.


The last message had been answered, and Jethri had accepted Bry Sen’s invitation to sit second on the flight deck, as Balrog made her final approach. She came in under her own power, without the aid of tugs. Most Loopers rejected tugs, preferring to “hole the ring our ownselves,” as he’d once overhead his cousin Grig tell it, and Balrog had shaken off the suggestion that she wait hours for an assist when the docking station was clear.

Jethri glanced at his screens, noting that all the berths in their section were accounted for now, and most were filled. None of their berth mates were of the largest—those needed far more room to maneuver and had special maintenance and service loading requirements in any case.

And here at last, Balrog came into view. Jethri sighed as he saw her. She looked her age, showing the dings and lost shine of something used hard, and then used hard some more. The pod mounts were firm, well maintained, and two generations younger than the ship herself.

Jethri had been aboard Balrog, and knew it for a cramped little ship; Genchi loomed large in comparison, and, thanks to her recent upgrades, sprightly. In comparison, Balrog was tired, and approached the dock carefully, with gentle use of jets, and frequent pauses.

A glance at the side screen, brought Jethri the startling news that the pilot in charge was 3C Brabham D600. He blinked. 3C Brabham? Brabham was third class, like he was? That was ridiculous. Brabham was…

Then he recalled Brabham’s note, leaned in and upped the comm on the ship-band, caught the chatter, and leaned back.

“Six hundred?” came the stunned question from a ship at dock. “Are those numbers off, Jac?”

“Numbers are good,” came the answer. “Pilot’s been there and done that.”

Six hundred and not a port jockey?”

And here was the rest of it, coming in from the ships awaiting tugs, or clearance, all watching that careful approach.

“Six hundred. You children watch close, now. This is number six hundred. Ol’ Brabham’s got Balrog, yes he does, and if you’re lucky, children, you’ll be able to tell your children you saw it, ’cause ain’t none of you getting to six hundred dockings.”

Balrog’s progress, already slow, slowed even more, and she seemed to be drifting a bit as she nosed in between Genchi and Elsvair.

“Can we lose half that chat and let the pilot work?” came the sharp suggestion from the traffic controller. Jethri frowned, hearing strain.

Balrog, that maglink’s not matching,” the controller went on, her voice light now. “You got the poles on backwards again?”

That was a joke, but the essential thing was that Balrog was just slightly off-center in the cradle, slightly too far away, slightly…

“We have a sensor reading we’re checking on, Balrog. Even up and we can give you two more minutes here, but there’s a crowd behind, sir.”

“That was gently said,” Bry Sen murmured. “He could have been waved off twice already…but—his six hundredth docking?”

Jethri nodded wordlessly, as Brabham’s voice came through the comm.

“Just a little interference coming off a ship at dock, Traffic. I’m pretty sure we got this pegged now. Give me the six digits on station motion one more time.”

“Coming, to your reference, sir. Forty seconds from my last number.”

The numbers came, Brabham answered, “Hear ya,” and Balrog moved in crisply, orientation precise, lined up proper now, and Traffic was on it.

“Straight on the lead link, damp that vibration, zero out, and you’re in, Balrog. Good show, PIC Brabham.”

“Twelve seconds left?” Brabham queried. “Think o’that. Twelve seconds. Thanks much, Traffic, and that’ll be a surrender. In eight seconds, I’m a tourist. Tell you what, Traffic, come on out to celebrate, on your off-shift. I owe you a dinner.”

“In,” someone said in plain awe. “He’s in.”

Somebody else said, “I got me two hundred ninety docks and they think I’ve pushed it!”

And then the echo, going from ship to ship, as the lag found them. “Brabham on Balrog surrenders at six hundred even.”

“Did I tell you?” Brabham said conversationally across the wide-open band. “My Number One live dock was at an axis congress, so here’s Loop-end for me!”

Jethri sighed, heard an echoing sigh from the pilot’s chair.

He glanced over, and caught a Terran smile and a seated Liaden bow.

“You keep company with those of excellent melant’i, Trader. A ship of distinction, with pilots the same. I would hope to meet that pilot before we undock, if you might arrange it for me.”

Jethri returned the smile and the bow.

“Yes. I will do my utmost. He is a remarkable person, quite aside the six hundred. I believe you would enjoy each other.” He glanced again at the screen; at Balrog, comfortable at dock. “If the ship does not require me, I have—”

Bry Sen waved a hand, fingers shaping the pilot sign for go!

“Your overriding melant’i here is trader. This, the ship understands.”

Jethri rose, checking his hair in the reflection of a dark screen, knowing that Freza would not mind if he did not come in the full force of his trade cloak and boots.

The comm on his belt buzzed. He snatched it free, glancing at the screen—not any of the codes given him by Freza. He feared he knew which code it was.

“ven’Deelin,” he said, crisply.

“This is Vally, Trader. Malu and I wish to speak with you in person, here on Elsvair, as soon as possible. This concerns our earlier most pleasant conversation. The captain has granted us the conference room in a quarter shift in order that we may do business together.”

Of course it would be now, Jethri thought, and was of half a mind to claim a previous engagement—not a complete untruth—but there was Uncle Paitor in the back of his head, a remembered lesson in trade etiquette and how to get what you wanted.

“There’s an old, old saying, used by gamblers, I think, but also by traders, and it comes to keeping your face with folks you’re trading a little pushy with. Pushy ain’t always the best way, but sometimes it’s the only way, and if you got yourself into that spot you got to either put up or shut up. Show the money or the contract, be able to finish what you started, be able to be specific, and willing to shake hands or knock elbows on the deal. You ain’t absolutely certain you want the deal, then don’t push.”

Jethri sighed inwardly.

“I’ll be there,” he said into the comm.


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