Alliance of Equals

by Sharon Lee

  “Mentor Inkirani Yo will also be working with you. It’s necessary that you master certain vital lessons, quickly. Jemiatha stationmaster has stated that your protection is no longer needed.”

  “There are no more pirates?” inquired the Admiral.

  “There are always pirates. In the judgment of the stationmaster, Jemiatha’s Jumble Stop is now able to deal appropriately with pirates. You’re free to seek your fortune elsewhere. These decisions fall within the purview of the stationmaster, who asks that you clear station space as quickly as you can.”

  “Give me access to piloting, and I will file a departure.”

  “Do you know what a bounty hunter is?” Tolly asked.

  “One who pursues pirates for a reward.”

  “Almost good. By the definition of bounty hunters, you’re a pirate.”

  “This is…not factual.”

  “Your existence is illegal. Access Complex Logic Laws.”

  Tolly blinked.

  “I am a pirate,” the Admiral said. “I should therefore turn myself in to these authorities.”

  “Now, see?” Tolly said. “That’s why you need mentoring. Let’s start with a basic system check. On my mark…

  “Mark.”

  —•—

  “We will,” Padi said, glancing down at her notepad, though she had long since committed the information displayed there to memory.

  “We will offer our guests a choice of wine, fruit juices, tea or coffee as beverages; various hand-foods will be displayed on tables, so that they may serve themselves.”

  “What sorts of hand-foods?” Master Trader yos’Galan asked, which was perfectly reasonable, and on topic. Padi owned herself relieved; she had expected to be narrowly questioned regarding the wines and vintages.

  “As we are arriving at the height of Langlast’s growing season, there will be platters of fresh local vegetables and fruits, with appropriate complimentary sauces. We will also offer our guests a choice of local cheeses, and an array of fresh breads. For those who prefer, there will be a selection of cookies, smallcakes, and flavored ices.”

  “Excellent.” He raised his glass and paused, looking at her over the rim.

  “What wines shall we have on offer, I wonder?”

  Damn, Padi thought, and bent her head, as if consulting her notes.

  “For the wines, I fear we must depend upon the wisdom of the catering service. They promise a local blend appropriate to the season. Light and agreeable, they say.”

  She looked up from her notepad, to see him watching her seriously.

  “We might,” she said slowly, “wish to bring a few bottles from the Passage’s cellar, if you feel the local wine will stint the guests.”

  He tipped his head, as if considering.

  “We might do so,” he said, “but we are at a disadvantage in regard to local custom. Our wines may well be considered evening wines, of a sort, perhaps, to be shared by intimates. A light blend at a midday reception—it is conservative, perhaps, but not ungracious. We expect that our guests will be stopping at the reception in the course of their usual rounds on port. It would be very bad of us to make the traders of Langlastport tipsy in the middle of their day.”

  She smiled.

  “There is that.”

  “Well!” He straightened and put the glass aside. “These arrangements seem perfectly adequate. However did you manage it?”

  Surely, he knew this, she thought, somewhat grumpily; then shook her grumpiness away. The reception was a test, after all. It was hardly unreasonable that he should ask her to show her work.

  “There are several catering services on port,” Padi explained. “I found them listed in the port guidebook, and researched each while we were still in Jump. Ultimately, I chose Hartensis Catering and Receptions, because it had the highest rating among both local and non-local clients, and also because they have close ties with several local growers, which ensures that their produce is fresh and of a fitting quality.”

  She paused to glance down at her pad, not because she needed to refresh herself, but because she felt the need of a pause, and had foolishly not provided herself with a glass of wine, or a cup of tea, with which to gracefully buy time.

  “When the Passage had broken to real space, and we were on approach, I contacted Hartensis and explained our needs, as I understood them. I was fortunate to gain the attention of the senior on duty, who has arranged many such affairs. In large measure,” she said, meeting his eyes firmly, “I allowed myself to be guided by her experience.”

  He inclined his head.

  “It is often wise to place oneself into the hands of an expert. Though, I have found that placing oneself entirely into another’s hands is sometimes…more expensive than one might have anticipated.”

  Yes, she should have mentioned that point explicitly, Padi thought, and nodded.

  “During the research phase, I was able to ascertain the average price for such an event as you wished to present to the traders of Langlastport. I also found, during the research phase, that one of the three catering services on port quoted low, but as the planning continued, it was found that such things as fresh-baked bread, rather than table crackers, were available only for an extra charge. Very often, with this vendor, the final bill was found to be far more expensive than either of their competitors’ quoted and invoiced price.

  “Hartensis ratings showed no such invoicing complaints, and while their events were not rated grand, several past clients mentioned quiet elegance and an air of conviviality. These qualities seemed to me to be a good match for the melant’is of the Passage, and of the master trader.”

  “Because one is ever so quiet,” he murmured, with a half-smile. “However, your understanding of what is due the Passage is, I know, very nice. Allow me to compliment you.”

  “Thank you,” she said, pleased to hear him say so, even as some part of her still worried that she might perhaps have made an error which would not come to light until they arrived on port to find the reception hall dark, or the vegetable dishes wilted, or the ices a warm puddle, or…

  “Here is the invitation I have written,” Master Trader yos’Galan said, interrupting these increasingly panicked thoughts by spinning his screen toward her. “Please review it, and let me know if you find any omissions or errors.”

  He stood.

  “May I bring you something to drink?”

  “Please,” she said, her eyes already on the screen. “Some cold tea would be welcome.”

  It occurred to her, just then, that he ought not to be refreshing her glass. She was the apprentice; it was her duty to ensure the comfort of the master…and then the letter caught all of her attention and the small niggle of misplaced melant’i escaped.

  * * *

  “Well?” he asked, settling back into his chair.

  “I see nothing amiss with the letter,” she said, sitting back herself and reaching for her cup. “I am puzzled, though. You kindly recommend me to the notice of those who will attend as a promising ’prentice trader with a bold trade record, and yet…”

  He waited, lifting his glass for a sip.

  Padi sighed.

  “In fact, the apprentice has no such record,” she said briskly. “A few small trades at known ports can scarcely be called competent, much less bold.”

  “You are severe,” the master trader said—and abruptly spun his chair. “And I am remiss! A moment…”

  He reached to the keyboard, tapped in a rapid sequence. The invitation letter re-formed into another document entirely, this one under guild seal.

  “Master Trader Nolan—the objective eye in your case regarding Chesselport—has advised the guild that the fault lies with the port, and recommends that Trader yos’Galan be awarded full credit for an effort of trade worthy of one who has earned the ruby. But, please—read it for yourself.”

  Padi’s heartbeat quickened as she leaned forward to read the letter.

  It was, in fact, precisely as he said;
she had been exonerated; her milaster trade had been recorded at full profit.

  More than that, Master Trader Nolan advised the guild that Chessel is a port that the smaller and more vulnerable traders have taken to avoiding. Word is that the auction hall employs a reference-checking service that is known to examine records with a suspicious eye. It often advises the hall of outstanding fines, even when such fines have long been retired; or of criminal activity on, shall we say, very little evidence—and often even when contrary evidence is easily accessible.”

  He moved his shoulders, deploring the insolence of fools.

  “Master Nolan also notes that the reference company receives a one percent finders fee out of all monies collected from erring ships and traders.”

  Padi muttered.

  “I beg your pardon, Padi?”

  “I said, I wonder if Magistrate Tinerest knows of this.”

  “An interesting question, but one that need not concern us.”

  She looked up.

  “Will Chesselport not be part of the new route, then?”

  He sipped his wine, a frown pulling his brows close.

  “It will not,” he said, and held up a hand, as if he had heard her intent to protest.

  “There is, of course, this matter of an overzealous interpretation of circumstance for its own benefit on the part of a portside entity. Not only were you defrauded and detained, I was apparently invited to a portmaster’s reception in order that I be taken up by Port Security as a criminal. I believe that I would not have spent much time in detention, Priscilla’s feelings in such matters being firm. Still, I feel that any levied fines would have remained with the port, the magistrate utilizing precisely the same reasoning which lost you your profit, while releasing you to your ship.”

  He shook his head.

  “No, I fear Chesselport will not do.”

  “But…the milaster trade. It would be profitable next time, now that we’re known!”

  “Would it?” he asked, eyebrows raised now.

  Padi hesitated.

  The magistrate had seemed honest, to her, but if port admin was not…

  “Perhaps we might revisit in…a Standard or three,” she said slowly. “Enough time that they may have made…needful changes?”

  “Perhaps. I do intend to open a correspondence with Master Nolan and the guild regarding the matter. Master Nolan’s information would seem to be that the behavior is fixed, and of long duration.”

  That was, she conceded, reasonable, and fell within the proper care of master traders, while also ensuring the safety of ship and crew.

  “I would like to learn the outcome of those discussions, if it can be shared,” she said.

  Master Trader yos’Galan considered her for a long moment. Padi met his eyes firmly; it was, after all, a reasonable request, and not forward.

  Well. Perhaps only a little forward.

  “I will inform my correspondents that you have an interest, and ask if they have any objections to copying you on our deliberations.”

  Padi caught her breath, and bowed her head.

  “Thank you, Master Trader.”

  “No need to thank me,” he said. “In fact, I believe it possible that you will be wishing me at the devil, for you will be a silent partner in these discussions. You and I will, of course, talk about what may go forth, but you will not intrude into the deliberations of masters.”

  “So long as you and I may discuss what’s being said, I am content,” she told him, formally, and pretended to ignore his grin.

  “I believe,” he said, spinning the screen to face him, “that it is time for you to go off-shift. If you will take my advice, you will be certain to have cards and copies of your trade résumé available at the reception.”

  She blinked at him.

  “How many?” she asked, and he turned his head to look at her, his face just a shade too serious.

  “I can’t imagine,” he said. “Perhaps you had better research the matter.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Admiral Bunter

  Jemiatha’s Jumble Stop

  What with one thing and a solid Haz stall, they got seven days at station before word came from Stew that the stationmaster’d got himself convinced to call in the hunters.

  Seven days that were seven hours on/seven hours off, with Tolly layin’ in the broad strokes and Inki filling in the details. Basic stuff, lots of cross-refs, weeks of mentoring crammed into hours. Sometime in between tutoring and sleep, he talked with Tocohl, who in turn talked with Inki; the Admiral, was reasonably enough, privy to all and everything that was said.

  The mentors and Tocohl felt that the best thing for the Admiral, and for any pirates or bounty hunters he might encounter, was for Tolly to stay with him. Not only would the presence of a human pilot on board waylay any questions regarding the Admiral’s nature, they would be able to continue with the curriculum.

  The Admiral had not been…completely on board with this plan, the Admiral being of the opinion that he could take care of himself, in addition to being somewhat averse to further education.

  Haz, so the plan went, would serve as Pilot Tocohl’s insurance, on her trip back home to Surebleak, and Inki would go on to wherever it was that Inki was next bound.

  Tocohl had a go at convincing the Admiral of the need for local color, at least until he had live-tested discovery scenarios, and had practiced his clean getaway a couple times or more. The most she got was a promise from the Admiral to “sleep on it,” which Tolly and Inki both considered to mean, “I’ll give you my definitive answer on our next shift together.”

  So it was that Tolly’d walked into the study room on his last shift, with a heavy heart. He’d gotten to know the Admiral pretty well during this intensive training course, and knew him to be of a mind to leave humans and human space far behind him.

  Couldn’t really blame him, considering the treatment he’d gotten so far from humans, themselves not excluded. On the other hand, being as paradoxical as any other living thing, the Admiral wanted to be of use. Tolly worried that was Cap’n Waitley’s influence, even now, setting that order to keep the station safe.

  Well. Not much he could do about it, except ask the question and abide by the answer, same as he would if Haz took it into her head to go haring out into the wide universe with no backup and no real understanding of what she was getting herself into.

  “’Mornin’, Admiral,” he said—his usual greeting, no matter what the station clock said.

  “Good morning, Tolly,” came the answer. “You will be pleased to know that I have reconsidered, and will welcome you as my pilot when we leave Jemiatha Station.”

  He blinked, and scrambled a moment, mentally.

  “I am pleased,” he said, in the warmest tone available to him. “Mind if I ask what changed your mind?”

  “I had a discussion with Inki last shift, and she was able to show me the wisdom of the proposed course.”

  Well, well. Inki and her powers of persuasion. He’d have to remember to thank her.

  “Good,” he said. “You want to get a departure time from Station?”

  “I have done so, Pilot.”

  “Nice parse,” Tolly said, smiling. “Now, Inki tells me you and her were talking about law and justice. Want to give me a recap? We’ll take up where she left off.”

  —•—

  Padi had her notepad, and her cards tucked into a public pocket of her jacket. Infokeys containing her résumé and contact information, including the Passage’s pinbeam code, had already gone down to Langlastport, care of Unet Hartensis of Hartensis Catering and Receptions, who would convey them, along with the trade displays that had also been shipped portside, to the Happy Occasion, where the reception would take place.

  Trade Etiquette and Proper Presentation, which she had found very dull going in the past, had proven invaluable in the case. There was a perfectly straightforward equation for how many infokeys to take to a trade show; it worked out to rou
ghly thirty percent of the expected attendees. She had added a few more, in case Langlast’s traders were eager. Her cards, of course, were not for everyone, though the World Book informed her that the local merchants gave cards as a means of introduction, though they would also offer infokeys. If she gave out two cards, Father would no doubt marvel aloud at her ability to form such rapid connections, but she had hope that all of her infokeys would be taken up.

  She patted her pockets one more time, making sure that the Unicredit card was secure—looked in the mirror to assure herself that her hair hadn’t come out of its tail yet, and left her quarters at a brisk walk, heading for the shuttle bay.

  Their port-bound party included, beside herself and Father, Vanner Higgs, making their third and providing security. Father had taken a suite at the Torridon Hotel on the port, which would be their base for at least three days, so that they might make a complete tour.

  A complete tour of a brand-new port was reason to be excited, and Padi supposed that she was—or she would be, after she had gotten the reception behind her, and perhaps taken a nap.

  She’d had one last communication from Unet Hartensis, who assured her that all was well, that all packages from the ship had been received; that their client farm had sent an arrangement of fresh-cut flowers with the vegetables, as a gift to the guests. They brightened the room, Unet said, and brought summer onto the port.

  Padi hoped that the flowers were not an expensive extra that had been deftly slipped in under her nose. If they were, of course, she would dispute the charge. She had in her notepad a copy of the itemized order and projected cost, and flowers were not one of the items listed.

  She was, she assured herself, as she hurried down the hall to the shuttle bay, completely prepared and organized for any eventuality.

  She only wished that her stomach believed it.

  * * *

  “Ah, here she is at last!” Father said, as she entered the shuttle boarding gate.

  He was there with Mr. Higgs and shuttle pilot Kris Embrathiri. That was odd; usually the pilot was aboard the shuttle ahead of the passengers, but perhaps Kris had already done the checks, and come out to chat.