ONE
Because they were carrying showroom set-ups and conference supplies, Genchi had arrived well before the South Axis Combine Trade Congress officially opened, and a few days before the beginning of the so-called pre-congress.
Once he knew that he was bound for Meldyne and the congress, he’d sent the news to Freza. Despite he had loosed the Envidaria into an unsuspecting and largely unwilling universe, Freza and Brabham DeNobli had for years been fronting the Seventeen Worlds Initiative, trying to pull Loopers together, and get Combine assistance in the face of the movement of Rostov’s Dust. They were going to be at the congress—had to be—and the news that Jethri’s schedule had suddenly resolved in their favor had been greeted with real enthusiasm.
Jeth, that’s great news all around! We can finally get together in the same room, share info, strategize, get you set up with meeting people, and selling the Envidaria. I’ll set it up. Balrog will be coming in early, too—pre-pre-congress, so we can hit the decks running during the pre-congress, and have all our motions ready to go, once the congress opens.
Speaking on my own behalf, I’m looking forward to seeing you again, soon.
Until soon—
Freza
Jethri had reasons to be looking forward to seeing Freza; reasons that had nothing to do with the Envidaria. Which was why, the instant station feed was available, he was checking the incoming ships file.
This being the pre-pre-congress, Meldyne was still thin of company.
Among those not yet listed as in-system, was Balrog. Which, Jethri told himself, was not only just as well, but perfectly reasonable. Unless Balrog was carrying set-up supplies, too, there was no reason for them to be this early to the event. He’d personally been hoping for an early arrival, so that he and Freza could resolve themselves before business, including the Envidaria, sucked down every available bit of time, and the air supply, too.
Given the addenda to her last three notes, he was pretty sure Freza had intentions toward sharing—real sharing, not a grab-a-hug, or even a bundle. As for himself, hadn’t he been daydreaming of her in his arms off and on since about the time his arms had let her go the first time?
Still, he was worried, a little, knowing Balrog was older even than Gobelyn’s Market, and her schedules had gone from desultory to frenetic as a result of his unleashing the Envidaria at what was definitely short notice to the still-forming Seventeen Worlds Consortium. Also, Balrog had a history of arriving a dozen or so shifts ahead of schedule, and here she wasn’t in at seven ahead. The fact gave rise to unwelcome thoughts, particularly with Brabham himself looking more than a little frail at their last meeting. It came to him that there might be more than one reason why he’d been hearing more from Freza than from Brabham, and that it was Freza’s name he was seeing attached to the detail-stuff that would eventually be in the as-yet unfleshed SeventeenW Coordination Office.
The duties of that office had been agreed on in ship meetings across the Dust Zone but the staffing, the paying for, the…details! All needed to come together for what the ship-chat had as Sactizzy—which was an attempt to make the mouthful of “South Axis Combine Trade Congress” into something more manageable in conversation.
He felt Genchi make an adjustment as they approached their assigned docking. Bry Sen was PIC on this, with Captain sea’Kera sitting second. It was Bry Sen’s opinion, as teacher and Class One Jump, that Jethri could easily earn a second class piloting license, but he had excused Jethri from the bridge for docking. Not only was there no need to impress Sactizzy with his prowess as a trader and a pilot—a combination that was fairly common among Loopers and Terran small-ship handlers—but it was assumed that Trader ven’Deelin would have “trade business” to deal with.
Which, in fact, he did.
Congress information was already hitting his queue—trade room hours, agenda for delegates, official conference social events, an ack for the reception room they’d rented for the duration including the hour they might take occupancy—and more piling in.
Right, Jethri thought.
The ship stopped moving. Jethri looked up from his screen.
“We’re in,” Bry Sen announced on the all-ship.
Less than a minute later, there was a ping directly to his comm.
“Breakfast is set up in the galley, Trader,” said Kal Bin, Genchi’s cook and back-up engineer. “Will you be wishing to tour the docks?”
Jethri grinned. The crew knew him. He stood, making sure of his pockets and placements—comm, gun, back-up, Terran coins, his “lucky” fractin. He’d wear the ring he had been given by Master pin’Aker. It was remarkable, but not recognizably anything to do with trade. His father’s commissioners ring…that he would leave here on the ship until he had to stand formal. For right now, he wanted not to be formal, to be neither Jethri ven’Deelin, nor Jethri Gobelyn, but just anonymous crew, touring the port before the big doin’s began.
“Thank you,” he said into the speaker. “A quick breakfast for me, and a port-ramble. Hold any messages until I return.”
It being a ramble and nothing official, Jethri stepped off Genchi wearing a crew jacket and a cap. The cap served double—keeping his head warm on the cool docks, and hiding his obviously Liaden—or, at least, obviously not Looper—hair. As a concession to the venue and his eventual place in the conference, he had his South Axis Combine Trade Congress official ID hung round his neck, hidden inside the collar of his jacket. The Genchi crew card hung on its own lanyard, outside the jacket.
He took a deep breath of cold air and set out, flashing a casual salute to the customs agent sitting beside a portable scanning rig nearly at the end of Genchi’s ramp. The agent nodded as he approached and held up the crew card for her to see. He didn’t set off any alarms, and she’d seen he was first off a ship just in. First off could be anybody, really, and it wasn’t her job to know who or what, just that he wasn’t carrying anything against regs, and he had his tags on.
“Calm shift?” he asked and she laughed, shaking her head.
“It’ll get busier, real soon,” she said. “Make sure you plan for crowds, if you’re out more’n a couple hours.”
“Shouldn’t be that long,” Jethri told her. “Just a walkabout.”
“Enjoy it,” she told him, and he walked on, smiling, and warmed. It was good, sometimes, to be just crew.
He glanced about, getting his bearings, seeing that aside the agent and himself the docks were quiet.
The starboard slot next to Genchi was empty, but the docking to portside was occupied by DelYWare Deposes, the screen showing a departure in three hours, dock bustling with crew moving last minute cargo bins into position, which explained the agent’s position. Nobody paid him any mind, nor should they.
After Elthoria’s departure from Frenol, Jethri had made a modest study of the way he was received when he wore crew jacket and working boots, compared to how he was received wearing trade clothes, stylish boots, and a cloak. He had suspected that regular crew didn’t get half the scrutiny offered even a junior trader. If he dressed as crew, but left his ring on, that might change the equation, but many Terran spacers wore rings; they weren’t the status markers they were on slim Liaden hands.
Right now, wearing what had been his best boots when he’d been Market’s crew, he might catch eyes for reasons other than trade, or his business connections. Jethri-the-spacer might be someone up for a quick bedding, or a game of skill or chance; someone looking for a job, or who knew where a job might be found. Who knew, but that a Terran-looking spacer off Genchi might not be willing to front a drink or two for the local scuttlebutt, and maybe breakfast too?
Ahead of him, next dock up from the empty, was Elsvair. As he approached, a pair dressed in somber black and greys slipped down the ramp. Dressed simply, even to their shoes, little more than heavy-weight ship mocs… Maybe people like him, people needing some quiet time away from the ship before crowds became the rule everywhere? Else spacers who kept their own schedule wherever they were: he was afraid that given his own ship in truth he might go that way—why put a body though all the trouble of relearning time at each port?
Past Elsvair’s mooring, he turned to look back. There was no one behind him, nobody out on Genchi’s dock. Just ahead, the pair from Elsvair had stopped to consult each other. Something about them drew his attention, some vague recognition despite their ship’s name was unfamiliar to him. At this distance, they might be any of a thousand people he’d seen in a port bar or trade hall.
As he considered, the pair reached an end of their consultation, and moved on. He was aware of a faint tingle from his pocket, a sensation he had felt often as a child, less so as he grew older. His fractin—a real fractin, not one those produced in quantity, and much more recently—his fractin was…interested.
Maybe, he thought, one of Elsvair’s crew also carried a lucky fractin.
There were eight more moorings between him and the gateway, some with ships attached and several without. They were out on the outer rim where Genchi’s three pods of set-up and showroom specials would be unlocked and moved by tug to the conference access dock.
Two docks in from the gate the sign bore a legend in dark green: ARRIVAL DUE: BALROG.
So close! So near! Jethri didn’t even try to contain his grin. Freza…and Brabham, too—arriving soon. He felt suddenly energized, and passed through the gate with a positive spring in his step, his fractin pleasantly warm in his pocket.
The first thing he noticed when he rolled out of the lift on the second level was the aroma of baked goods. He should, he told himself virtuously, remember to bring back a treat for the crew, and he followed his nose down a slightly lower-overhead side-hall off the main ramp leading to the conference halls.
As he paced deliberately toward his goal, he caught a reflection in a shop window. The pair from Elsvair was close behind him, and he thought for a moment that they, too, had been seduced by the scent of hot dough—but no. They’d stopped, and were staring into the window of an outfitting shop. He turned his head slightly to get a better look. They were much alike, perhaps young, though spacer ages were hard even for spacers to parse. His cousin Dyk might pronounce them comely, even—high praise—interesting.
His fractin had warmed again, but he did not reach into his pocket. Instead, he inhaled that delightful scent and followed his nose again, down the hallway, toward a bright yellow sign that read LONG DOCK BAKERY.
He reached the door and stepped back to allow a laughing trio in red mechanics overalls to exit. The shortest one grinned at him and gave her head a toss.
“Best brumberry muffins in known space!” she told him.
“I’ll be sure to try them,” he said, matching the grin.
The tallest laughed.
“That’ll be tomorrow, spacer, ’less we beat you here again!”
The middle one added, “You only brought one pair of hands—bad mistake!”
“Maybe not,” said the short one. “Could be it isn’t his payday.”
The others conceded this point with another burst of laughter, and then they were away down the hall, passing Elsvair’s crew without giving them a glance. Jethri paused another minute, watching them go, pleased by the contact, and wondering, just there beneath the pleasure, if they would have treated him with the same casual good cheer, if he had been in his trading clothes, rings and fashion forward.
He moved his shoulders under Genchi’s jacket and slipped into the bakery, eager to see—and taste!—the delights within.
“Good shift to you!” said the man behind the counter. “Anything you’re wanting direct to go?”
“Intend to buy for my shipmates, soon’s I find what’s here,” Jethri answered, and grinned. “An’ after I fortify myself.”
The man laughed. “Gotta fortify, an’ that’s a plain fact. Wouldn’t do to collapse under the weight of ship treats before ever you got back.” He swept out a hand. “Go ’head, have a look about. I’ll just be getting these empties into the back, and bringing out some more.”
“Brumberry muffins?” Jethri asked, having developed a lively curiosity about that particular treat.
The counterman looked regretful.
“No, them three cleaned me out. Always do, their payday. You go ’head and see if you can find something to console yourself with. I’ll be right back.”
He pulled three empty trays from the case and vanished through a door, leaving Jethri alone with the delicious odors, enticing sights.
There were three counters of fresh bake bread, trays of binets, handcakes, coldcross buns, grumbletoes, pearl slices, cookies, fruit toast; more trays of savories—the cheese buns and spice popups particularly caught Jethri’s eye, as did the curiosity of four trays of recognizable chernubia, soft and tempting.
He pointed them out to the counterman.
“We always offer some Liaden sweeties. The baker, she likes to keep her hand in, and sometimes an’ another we’ll get in some Liaden spacers. This is more than we usually put out, but there’s word this conference is going to draw a good number of Liaden ships.”
“Really?” Jethri said, trying to decide between binet and grumbletoes for his fortification. “Word say why?”
“Couple things—this Envidaria you’ll have heard about? S’got everybody in a swivet far’s I hear it, despite it was put together by a famous commissioner. Dead now, poor soul, but it’s his son’s going to argue for it. That’s for one thing. T’other is there’s a trader said to be coming in who’s Terran—”
He held up a hand. “Terran, mind, but trades Liaden, as Liaden, which I’m told is quite the trick, aside upsetting some Terrans and some Liadens so much it’s practically a bond between ’em.”
Jethri laughed. He couldn’t help it, and the counterman nodded.
“That was the baker’s take, too. ‘Anything that makes peace,’ that’s what she said. ‘Even a common enemy.’”
“Something to that,” Jethri said, and pointed into the case. “I’ll have a grumbletoe and a cup of ’toot to eat here,” he said. “Now, let me just pick out some specials for my mates.”
“That’ll be a box, then?” the man asked, reaching behind the counter.
“At least,” Jethri said.
In the end, it was two boxes, a careful mix of Liaden and Terran delicacies.
“My mates’re always after new tastes,” he told the counterman as he paid for the treats.
“Good on ’em, then. You be sure to let me know how those chernubias go, next time you’re back. The baker likes to hear about her art—all her art, now, but those in particular.”
“I will,” Jethri promised.
Replete and glowing, he picked up the sack his boxes had been packed into and exited the bakery.
He’d formed a plan while he’d enjoyed his sweet and ’toot. Once Balrog was in, he’d bring Freza here. He wanted to watch her face when she saw all the treats, and the bread, and—yes, he promised himself; no matter how tight time was, he would bring Freza to the Long Dock Bakery.
As for the present, it was time to head back to Genchi. He hadn’t done as much exploring as he had hoped to do, but he couldn’t regret his time at the bakery, either. He stopped at the kiosk at the top of the side hall and consulted the map.
Right. He could cut across this level’s plaza area to a lift that would take him down to Genchi’s docking section. That way, he’d be able to take in some of the sights, even if he had to hurry.
He entered the wide avenue to the plaza at a brisk walk, taking note of the increased traffic. Many of the people he passed now were wearing station colors, or shop-clothes. It must, he thought, be station day-shift, and people starting to work.
The crowd wasn’t so plentiful that he couldn’t keep to a brisk walk, and he was able to chart a course close enough to the shops to window-shop. It was an interesting mix, this close to the far docks: every third storefront was a restaurant, about half sit-down-with-your-party-and-take-some-time, and half quick-bites: noodle shops, bun-burger stalls, kiosks offering ices, handcakes, cookies, ’toot, and tea.
The shops offered clothes—station clothes, ship clothes, shivary clothes—jewelry, supposed ship supplies, which any spacer who bought ship supplies from a retail store in a shopping district—
A recently familiar figure exited just such a supplier’s shop ahead of him, cutting their push past him so close their elbows touched.
Jethri felt a sharp thrill, turned, saw the Elsvair crewman striding away at a good pace, and here came the second of the pair, exiting the shop displaying shivary clothes in its window, also moving with a will, as if there were things to do and people to meet.
Jethri turned…and followed them, his fractin vibrating with such urgency that he knew they had to be carrying a piece of Old Tech that any Scout would confiscate on sight—and the owners, too, if it could be shown that they were somehow using it.
It occurred to him that his Uncle Yuri might like to know about such a potent piece of Old Tech, and—
Ahead of him, the foremost of the pair from Elsvair swept into a jewelry store, while the other strode on, seemingly oblivious.
Jethri came level with the jewelry store’s window and looked into the shop where a slim, dark-clad back was presented to him, as the Elsvair crew leaned over the display cases. Jethri caught a reflection—only the side of the face, and realized that they were using the cases to watch behind them, even as they went deeper into the store, where the more expensive items would be kept.
Suddenly aware of his own visibility, Jethri reached into his bag, plucking a sweet at random from the top box and bringing it to his mouth—becoming, so he hoped, a spacer at leave, enjoying his treat and the pretties on display in the window.
Inside the shop, well away from his dark-clad quarry, at the counter furthest from the door, a small top-counter display moved—and moved again, suddenly sliding down the angled glass front, to the floor, the small bright items that had depended from it scattering.
There was confusion in the shop as the counterwoman, who had gone deeper into the store with her customer, raced to the front. The dark-clad figure moved, with great deliberation and displaying not the least confusion, toward the door and out, slipping something that sparkled in the depths of the dark jacket.
They turned back toward the plaza, and Jethri followed. It was more difficult now that the work-day crowd was out in full force. His fractin was warm in his pocket…alert. He knew that it sensed his interest in the piece of Old Tech Elsvair’s crew carried. He’d had this feeling before, with the weather machine back on Irikwae, and then when the fractin had been stolen, he’d felt its presence, knew it for his. No question it was attuned to him, and he to it.
There, there went his target, down another port alley, this one leading, according to the signage, to the cross vent system.
But as he turned down the same alley in some hurry, here came the crewman or his double, pulling his tunic straight—his pale blue tunic! Which matched his pale blue shoes. He now carried a shopping bag from one of the shops they had recently passed. No one would confuse this person with the dark-clad, brusque person from the jewelry store.
Jethri, however was not fooled, nor was the fractin, warmer as they closed on the prey—yes, prey, since he had determined that he needed to talk with this person, to—
The blue-clad figure walked past him with no sign of recognition, and went on to the plaza, Jethri following.
And there, coming down the row of shops, was the crewman’s companion, also wearing pale blue—cap and shoes, the jacket carelessly slung over one shoulder, as if the exercise of a walk on port required thermal adjustment.
They nodded each to the other, the bag exchanged for the jacket as they laughed together, and walked on past Jethri and down to the next intersection, where they clasped hands, and parted.
Jethri wondered if he should be following the package or the person, but there, the fractin was clearly interested in the one who now had charge of the jacket, moving among the crowd without a care in the universe, glancing into the shop windows and coming at last into the spacious plaza. Jethri barely spared a glance at the multileveled shops and walkways, scarcely noticed the trees with their arching flexible branches with pale flowers showing dainty among dark green leaves.
The course they followed was a wandering one. They were slowly, Jethri realized, closing back on their earlier walk and heading for the docks. In that case…he brought to mind the station map he had studied aboard ship. Yes. He could outflank the merry wanderer and meet one—or, as he suspected, both—on Elsvair’s very dock.
Jethri moved to a stairlift, rushing now, where he could not be seen, turning the corner and…
“Kohno?”
The one in front of him was the second of the Elsvair pair, blocking his access to the lift in part with the package he still carried.
Jethri bowed an acknowledgment, ignored the word he did not know, and moved to go around.
“No,” came the quiet voice. “I am interested to know why you follow my sister so long. One is permitted to be concerned for one’s sister in a strange port.”
“We are from the same dockside,” Jethri said, careful of his tone, “and I’m returning to my ship.”
“Yes, I see this. In fact it appears you intended to intercept my sister, Kohno. Perhaps in a single quiet place to…do what?”
Jethri felt the warm fractin in his pocket, thrum against his skin. The second crewman—crew woman, he corrected himself—the one who had taken charge of the bag and the Old Tech item—she was closing with them.
“I believe I might have some business with your sister,” Jethri managed, feeling slightly off balance. That he remedied, knowing the one he faced saw the move and understood it. “I believe that she—”
“What do you believe of me? How would you even see me to think you might believe something of me…of business? Do you expect me to be for sale?”
Jethri didn’t take his eyes off the man in front of him, set his feet carefully so that he might glance at her with neutral eyes, while maintaining a defensible front to the other one, should such be required.
She closed with him—he could feel the vibration in his pocket.
He chanced a quarter turn in her direction, alert in ways his arms master would be proud to see, and tried not to stare into that sharp face, compelling eyes so brown they were nearly black. They widened, those eyes, as if she saw something unexpected in his face. As if, in fact, she recognized him.
He managed a Terran shrug.
“You brushed by me earlier, and it struck me then that you might be carrying an object that would be better sold quickly, than impounded by a Scout—an object of some peculiar manufacture, or perhaps of some peculiar purpose.”
“Odd, odd that our kohno would be so interested in a passing Nomahda, I think, and then I say it is odder, since I have seen your face recently. It takes comparing memories to find it, for I have not seen you close in person. But there, with that hat you look so ordinary, and instead, you are not ordinary at all.”
She turned toward her brother, allowing Jethri to give over looking at her eyes, and catch the shape of her face, the determined chin, the firm, decisive mouth; and see that the clothes had hidden a leanness that was perhaps informed by a diet not over rich in extras.
“Vally, do you see who has taken an interest in me? Under the cap he wears like a mask, it is the magiestro of the Dust. We should welcome him, should we not? One does not come face to face with such power very often.”
There was a note of mockery in the voice, and a note of—perhaps apprehension.
Vally rounded to stand beside his sister, and perhaps there was enough of a similarity in their faces to call them kin, though Jethri thought not brother and sister. They were of a height, Vally’s eyes more grey than brown, his hair lighter than hers, who had brows that mirrored her dark eyes.
“It may be so,” he said, “that this person is magiestro, the komercisto who will save the small ships. His face looks like a familiar spacer face, and he stands like a spacer. Does he seek you for his pleasure like some ordinary rude man?”
Jethri’d never had his motives questioned in this particular way, though his male kin on Gobelyn’s Market, Paitor, Dyk, and particularly Grig, had warned him of scams and traps that were set for the unwary and the naive on strange ports.
For all that their faces had his attention, so did the fractin in his pocket. He was certain that there were multiple devices involved. They had moved away from the head of the lift as they spoke, and people were going past them in a steady stream.
He felt another sensation entirely; the watch on his wrist shook, reminding him that it was time to return to Genchi, and yet—there was a trade to be closed, here. He knew it.
“I am Jethri Gobelyn,” he admitted, using the half bow, half nod he’d become easy using with non-Liadens as a reason to move himself another quarter step back from them for safety’s sake.
“My interest is as I say. I saw you on the docks and noted when you went by that you may be carrying what Scouts call contraband, though I don’t know how this port deals with such.”
They had also moved, subtly; not a threat, but not a weak or giving stance, either.
“Huh!” The woman’s frown flickered into a short grin, and she rounded on her supposed brother.
“On the docks, he said. That means he knows where we are bunking, Vally. Look at his face, does it not remind you of someone, someone with credits enough to get by a day without risking a fleez? Maybe he can buy us a meal and we can talk to him in some quiet place. Perhaps he has seen others of our heptad, lost without us on this giant place.”
Vally grimaced, appearing taken aback.
“La, Malu, we only have suppositions of this man, do not trade our security…”
She wrinkled her nose at him, making a fuffing noise through thin lips at the same time she turned her head to take another hard look at Jethri.
“We must deal with him in some fashion, Vally—he had concerns and he has an address we cannot easily deny. Likely he is a man with resources.”
She switched then to a language Jethri did not know…finishing with something like “Fisco kya Onklo, vero? Miyage revoj!”
Vally frowned, and she turned back to Jethri smiling with piercing sweetness.
“I told him you have a trustworthy face, Jethri Gobelyn. Buy us breakfast, and maybe we will discuss this Scout thing you mention.”
Jethri nodded. Malu turned and marched off, apparently in search of breakfast.
The pair across from him actually smiled when they realized what the problem was once they found a place to eat—none of them wished to sit with their back to the door and none of them wanted to be in the first available booth, closest to the door.
So they waited an extra few minutes, but not too long. Jethri tugged his dockside blue-topped lead trader ID from beneath his jacket “accidentally” as he searched his pockets for something he didn’t need. Poof. The delay they’d experienced vanished and a clean but unserved booth well to the back was suddenly noticed by the roving eye of the staff-leader, who ushered them to it with a genteel, “Please, follow me, Trader, gentles…”
Jethri took coffee and ’mite with his order. Vally, after a thoughtful look, added the same to his already extensive order. Malu went with tea as her drink, and ordered more carefully than Vally, whether because she was less hungry or less willing to be beholden, Jethri didn’t know. His companions were not willing to share their food with talk, and ate with quiet efficiency. Meals finished, then it was time to talk. He insisted on buying another round of beverages to keep the table active, and leaned back in his chair, waiting.
“So,” Malu said, “you think we carry contraband? That is hardly a polite thing to say to a neighbor at dock. And why you should think so is to be wondered at. I carry nothing revealing, not even jewelry!”
Likely, she did have jewelry, Jethri thought, or Vally did. But his concerns were elsewhere.
He finished a sip of ’mite, and held up his hand, forestalling any more denials.
“I have experience of Old Tech, gentles. I have handled some—these hands—” he showed them, palms up. “I have had to deal with Scouts who took portions of cargoes I had purchased in sealed bid lots. I have had to deal with Scouts who were honest and some who were not so honest. This place, at this time, will soon be crowded with traders and dealers of all kinds. Curiosities will doubtless change hands. Things like fractins—”
Brother and sister both laughed loudly; Jethri saw that there was that about Malu’s face that wanted to fascinate him. Her eyes were sharp and trained and she seemed to lean a little toward him from her safe distance when she saw him measure her face as compared to her brother’s.
Her smile at least felt genuine, if her brother’s less so. Perhaps it was merely brotherly care he saw there, or perhaps he saw enough difference in the faces that he thought them maybe cousins rather than siblings.
“Fractins are contraband? What would be dangerous of them, or valuable? Which game do you like to play with them, Trader? Do you use them as counters, so you may keep your cash to wallet until you need to pay? Do you build walls, making them stand as tall as they might? Or lines, and then knock them down? Some old places are so full of fractins that they are shoveled into ’crete as filler, and the pretty ones are used as jewelry by children. How could you know if we carried dozens? Why would you care?”
Jethri held up his hand, nodding.
“I’m from Looper stock, lady, and I’ve seen piles of fractins sorted on a deck, and played in a pile. If you’re ship born you know that many fractins you come across are fake. Why they were made, I have no understanding. Those that aren’t fake? Most of them are duds that had long ago lost whatever powers they had. The same with…old, well let us say odd tech. Most of it doesn’t do anything now, if it ever did.”
He sipped his ’mite, pleased with the mouth feel of it—so many non-Loopers tried to stretch it to tea, or strain it to smooth. This had enough body from the yeast to remind of his home ship’s cooking.
He looked at them, offering each a glance that watched their pupils as he said again. “I recognize Old Tech. I have been able to recognize live fractins, in a muddle of deaders and fakes.”
He sighed, waved his hands in a spacer’s sign for some good, some bad.
A trader’s pause; he let them fill it.
“This is improbable,” Vally said. “We have heard rumors of such a skill, but only some very few might have it, only some with a reason…”
Jethri shrugged, sipped again.
“In the meanwhile,” he finally said, “can you tell me that you are not interested in relieving yourself of the burden of such a thing before proctors track you down for the confusions you have caused?”
They tensed, two pair of dark eyes on his face.
“We should not talk to you of this,” Malu’s voice was barely above a mutter. “I have bad luck, you see, bad, bad luck. I am awkward. Things fall near me, they break, they…”
They were stalling. Jethri pushed his mug aside.
“Yes, things fall,” he agreed. And stood.
They continued to stare at him, but neither made a move to bring him down to his chair again.
“My card, gentles.”
He handed one to Malu, a second to Vally.
“These are updated to this port. I will be extremely busy sooner than later; once our pods are offloaded, and become busier during the pre-congress, and job fair. Once the congress is brought to order, I will not have time for side-trades. It will be easier for me to find time to speak to you today or this evening than it will be tomorrow, or tomorrow evening, and easier by far tomorrow than the next ten days. As I have missions, I also have budgets, and in the ordinary way of things as my missions go forth I expect so will my budgets and time to deal with…oddities and old things.”
Still they stared, cards in hand. Still they made no other move.
Jethri nodded gently.
“Good shift to you. It was pleasant to share a meal.”
He was aware of them behind him during his return trip to Genchi, a meandering return to a walkabout that had expanded in time and scope. He reached dockside, finding it busier than it had been. A service jitney bearing the Meldyne Station logo and “Courier” raced past him as he cleared the gate. Another jitney was making a looping turn out of Genchi’s dock, and another, just entering the dock three places past.
There was nothing and no one on Elsvair’s dock, the end-of-ramp sign stating ship name, and homeport; the captain’s name, length of stay, and departure all shrouded in mystery.
At the empty docking between Elsvair and Genchi, a tech was working on the sign. Jethri gave her a nod, which she returned distractedly, as she closed the hatch, and hit a button. A test pattern glowed bright. She grinned, saluted, and stuffed the rag into her back pocket.
“’Bout damn time,” she muttered, apparently not to Jethri, though he chose to believe elsewise.
“Equipment failure?” he asked, feeling…something…in the air. A shiver, almost like a live fractin, only…bigger, more…dispersed; a cloud as opposed to a pinpoint.
“Equipment’s lazy, you ask me. Shoulda been an easy button-push, but all the comm feeds on this dock were scrambled up overnight. Thing here hasn’t been right since the overload back when Elsvair docked, three shifts ago. This here shoulda been done an hour ago, y’know?”
He didn’t know, but he nodded and said, “’Preciate you keeping things working right. I’m right here, on—”
He stopped, staring at the sign, which now read: “BALROG DOCKING TODAY.”
He felt the smile hit his face, broad and Looper, and that was okay; he was a Looper right at this very minute. A pleased and excited Looper, at that.
“Here?” he asked. “I saw their sign downline, earlier.”
“Sure. There’re signs all over the place for ships due in—big, long list of ships due in. Lot of ’em are fill-spaced ’cause Admin wanted to be sure wasn’t nobody left out. Now, ships is popping in, and who knows? Could be someone paid extra not to sit next to Elsvair, or felt like it would be buddy-do-good to sit next to the only actual Liaden ship on this level. Liaden ships gotta reputation for some of the best wine and vittles there is—who wouldn’t want to see if they couldn’t wrangle an invite? Anyhow, might be that this Balrog is left-ported and ought to sit this end up for gravity. Hard to tell about Loopers, but you might know that, Trader.”
He didn’t miss the nod at his chest, and Jethri glanced down, saw his trader tags still sitting outside his jacket, so he smiled, nodding.
“When can we expect these neighbors?”
A shrug, a glance at the carried comm.
“My orders to fix it came just ’bout an hour, so I’d guess this shift or next.”
The fractin in his pocket warmed, and Jethri sighed to himself. If he understood how these things worked, Malu, Vally and whatever Old Tech they carried were close by. He turned his head.
They were close, standing to one side of the dock, heads angled to read the sign.
“So now, Malu, the crowds will be everywhere, the port will fill up!” Jethri heard Vally, who nodded agreeably at him, but the next words he spoke were low, and in their private language.
Whatever he had said, Malu either accepted or discarded it with a shrug of her shoulders.
“We have your card, Kohno,” she said to him. “Consider that we consider.”