Paper or Plastic

by Mackey Chandler

  "That's how it's used now. But that's the root, the original usage."

  "Well what shall we do then? Without being accepted into local credit net, I can't buy us dinner. In fact the hotel owner may come by in a day or two and ask when we are going to have local credit. We'd have to leave if he demanded it. I have a little Trishan cash, the better sort because I work for the government, but not enough to keep us for more than a few days. And nobody is obligated to take foreign cash. If they do they have to find somebody else who will take it, or exchange it for local credit through the same banker we saw. It's a problem I never had before, traveling for my job."

  "Is there local cash money of any kind?"

  "Not much, they don't have the population to generate much. And the number of government employees compared to the other workers is much smaller. I'm sure there is a little company scrip issued, but we'd have to be very careful of any restrictions on it. They might just use what little Trishan cash trickles in. In the computer guide did say Trishan currency may occasionally be accepted by locals, but urged visitors to use local credit. I never tried to use it before, because I never had trouble before getting on the local credit net."

  "I just always carry a little cash, in case something happens to take down the net. I do that at home too, because I'm lucky enough to work for the University and ask for twenty Pid cash every pay period. Nobody will give me a hard time about that much. If I didn't it would be pretty hard to accumulate a wad of it. About the only way, would be to sell personal or hobby things to government employees and ask cash instead of credit transfer. It is true, you can drive a little better deal for scrip than transfer. Most people ask another five percent off for cash.

  "Martee, I may be wrong, but I bet you will find it easier than you think to spend Trishan money. Who do you think prints the local guide for Liñool? And who do you think benefits from having visitors spend all their money through the bank? I'd be seriously surprised if there isn't something local equivalent to a black-market and maybe even an expedient local currency. We had this problem when all our Earth money was actual coined metal. The lack of money in circulation held back economic growth badly. I bet if we could find out the truth, they use shortage of cash in pioneer worlds to stifle development."

  "That could easily be, Roger. The historian in me wants to investigate it."

  "Do they have a local farmers market or equivalent?" Roger asked on the way back. "We can set up and sell our things there, just as well as renting a building."

  "Sure, last time I was here I went to it. They are on a six-day Trishan week and the market is every three days." She consulted her computer. "The market day is only tomorrow though. I can fast that long if you can," she offered bravely, still not sure her funds would be good.

  "Martee," Roger laughed. "I could find us game in the woods if I had to. There must be man-world type animals loose in the woods, even if it is just escaped live stock. Or we could go to another world for a day or two if we needed, couldn't we?"

  "Yes. However we might not be any better received there and it is too risky to keep popping in and out of Earth."

  "No matter. Do you remember the survival kit I put in the ship in Seattle?"

  "Yes?" Martee responded uncertainly.

  "Head out to the ship and I think you'll be well pleased with what I can make you for dinner."

  * * *

  Martee sat back full and happy. They'd had to work for their dinner. The survival kit was buried below the door track, well to the back of the ship. Roger had basically burrowed to it, through all the cartons and bags of goods. The only place to put the goods they didn't bring back to the room, was to pile them in the space they'd left open in front of the ship, against the instrument panel and on top of the seats.

  A condition Roger wanted to correct tomorrow, because they couldn't jump in the ship and leave on short notice, with all the boxes piled in the front section. As many as would fit had been loaded on the rental cart and brought back to their hotel room. Roger knew the neighborhood was fairly safe, but was still unwilling to stop and cook, until all the trade goods were safely inside, piled in the corner of their room.

  The room's dressing bench held a camping stove and the remnants of supper. They'd have to wash their plates later in the bathroom. A hammock-style mosquito net was carefully taped over the open center window, to let the cool evening breeze in the room. They'd eaten freeze-fried chicken teriyaki with rice and apple dumplings with coffee. Breakfast was dug out ready for the morning, scrambled eggs with bacon bits and sourdough working for morning biscuits. Martee assured him it was undoubtedly better than they would have gotten at a local cafeteria anyway.

  Roger had been delighted to find the self inflating air mattresses in the kit. He'd forgotten they were there and they were both open and spread on the beds. Martee had her big Earth computer open and had some Gershwin quietly playing on it.

  "Martee, I'd like to set up the pavilion with the sides rolled up and just the roof overhead and the mosquito netting down on the sides. It will make a long day in the sun easier and limit how many can press inside to do business with us. I want to have an atmosphere of exclusivity from the start. Do any of the other vendors have tents at this market?"

  "Not tents, but there are trees and some of them who come every market day have little sheds, that shade the customer as well as them."

  "Is there a fee to set up?"

  "I have no idea."

  "We'll work it out, don't worry."

  * * *

  The knock on the door was loud and assertive. Roger fumbled for the light, but found Martee's hand on it in the dark and she got it on before he could.

  There was another more insistent knock, before they could respond. Martee called out she was coming and slipped on a robe. Roger pulled on his pants, tucking his pistol in the waist at the back.

  When she opened the door Roger had his hand back on his grips ready to draw. He could see the door across the hall was open, with a man angry at being awakened peering out. When he saw from Martee and Roger's expression that they were also upset at their visitor, he slammed the door without saying anything.

  The young man waiting had a scowl and was dressed much like Fist had been at the airport. Roger noticed he had a stainless band around his right wrist.

  "You want to invite me in to talk business?" he demanded. "I don't think you want me shouting our business up and down the hall for everyone to hear."

  "No, you've already woken up our neighbor across the hall. If you want to do business with us, we'll be at the farmer's market tomorrow. It's too late for you to be beating on our door, go away and don't do it again." Roger warned him past Martee.

  "I'm not asking," the young man insisted. "You are going to hear me out here or inside. I can't go back to my boss and tell him I didn't deliver his message."

  Somebody down the hall opened a door and yelled one of the few Trishan obscenities Roger knew.

  "Let him in Martee, before he has us kicked out of here from the complaints." Roger wanted to know now who this boss was anyway.

  The kid brushed past Martee, careless of bumping her and looked around the room. He visibly paused regarding the pile of boxes in the corner and stared at the netting over the window with a puzzled expression. He was obvious in inspecting the beds, looking from one to the other and noting they both had the cover pulled down and were used. He looked like he was expecting to sit down, but there was no place to do so, with the dressing bench covered with cooking things.

  Martee closed the door and turned with her slim pistol in her hand, but he had his back to her unafraid and was scowling at Roger.

  "I'll be fast. Basically the message is, you don't bring this fancy sneal in from off planet and work it here without talking to my boss and hearing what his cut will be. There will be a small fine also for not contacting him and making him send me around to tell you how things work. I don't know what all that crap is piled in the corner, but if you have anythi
ng that is contraband to sell you better pritchen sure clear it with him, what his cut is before you try selling it in his territory, or you'll get hurt. In the morning after breakfast I'll be back and take you to meet one of the accountants for the big man's business and you can square everything with him for what you pay to do business on Liñool."

  "Martee, what is a sneal?"

  "That is a vulgar word for a woman's private parts," Martee said, hand and pistol in her robe pocket now.

  Roger could feel the flush of anger creeping up his neck and spoke English to Martee.

  "I don't trust my skill to make myself understood. Tell this punk in clear Trishan, that we aren't here to engage in prostitution and that we won't be having any business dealing with him or his master and that if he uses that word again in your presence I will hurt him, bad enough for it to stick in his memory never to do it again."

  While Martee was still translating the boy's face clouded over and he turned back to Roger, whipping a knife from behind his back.

  "You the one to hurt!" he promised, advancing on Roger. He slashed at his middle with the blade.

  Roger sucked his gut in and leaned over to let the wild slash past. Rog swung his open right hand flat, rather than draw – he wanted to talk with this kid – and slapped him full across the face with a crack like a gunshot.

  The kid staggered back, stunned but still gripping the knife and Roger gave a follow-up heel strike to the knee. There was a crunch and he went down in a sprawl against the wall. He tried to lever himself up but Roger's foot planted itself in his belly and the air whooshed out of him like a busted bag. He still had the knife however and Roger had his pistol in his hand now. He stroked down with it and broke the collarbone on the side with the knife and it rattled on the floor finally.

  The kid looked up, more in surprise than pain and Roger smashed him across the cheek, caving it in and busting his upper jaw. That finally knocked him unconscious. Crap – so much for questioning him. He should have pulled that last stroke.

  "Where is the local hospital, Martee?"

  "Are you hurt?" she asked, shaken.

  "No, but he is. In fact he might die from just the shock, if we don't get him some help. Besides I want the word to get around about what happened to him and getting him treated will make sure it's public. If we knew where his boss was and dropped him off at their door they might just disappear him to avoid the embarrassment."

  Martee opened her small computer and consulted it.

  "The main clinic is only about a kilometer away. Do you want me to bring the cart around and we'll take him? They have an ambulance service if you want."

  "And if we call we may owe for the ambulance? Nah, lets haul his butt in on the cheap. Roger pulled his shirt on and his shoes. Martee seeing him quickly threw some clothes on too. He had finally gotten past his shyness with her and ignored her being down to her underwear. Rog dumped one of the sheets on the floor and none too gently rolled the thug onto it. He reached through the man's legs and grabbed a corner. Holding opposite corners together he dragged him out the door. The sheet slid easy enough on the tile floor. Martee scrambled behind to lock up.

  Roger looked up and the man across the hall was staring around the door again, goggle-eyed and with his mouth hanging open at the spectacle.

  "I'm sorry we woke you up," he apologized. "We didn't invite this trash and he wouldn't leave quietly. Now we have to take him to the hospital. I'm pretty sure he won't be back to disturb us again, neighbor."

  The man just nodded agreement and quietly pushed the door shut.

  At the hospital Roger left the bloody sheet on the cart and dragged the man in by the ankle. The one opposite the side with the broken knee. It was harder, but he wanted to project a certain attitude.

  The entry was lit, but inside there was no receptionist and it was dim. The doctor on duty, it turned out, was sleeping on a cot in what passed for the waiting room. They'd heard the loud buzzer that woke him up, when they opened the door. He turned the lights up and seemed to come fully awake with little trouble.

  He looked troubled at the indifferent way Roger was dragging the fellow in like a side of beef. That's exactly what he'd wanted. It amazed Roger that even as small as the town was, there wasn't enough traffic in the emergency room at night to keep this fellow awake and busy.

  "Sorry to bother you," he told the man, looking around. "Don't you have any help here?"

  "I have several residents on call, but I'll try not to wake them up if I can handle it. What do you have here? Did this young fellow do something stupid drunk? That's usually what we have this time of night."

  "No, he doesn't smell drunk, didn't act it either."

  The doctor was dressed in a white lab coat, that would have looked right at home in an Earth hospital. That was what made it so surreal here. Instead of being totally alien some things were so much like home, that when the next was bizarre it was all the more jarring. The gurney the doctor rolled over was just as Earthlike as his coat.

  "You really shouldn't have moved him so casually," the doctor complained. "He might have had spinal injuries and you could have made them much harder to treat."

  He ran the gurney all the way down which put the top perhaps a half meter from the floor. That seemed lower than Roger expected. "Are you up to helping me lift him onto the cart?" the doctor asked.

  "Sure, I loaded him on our truck myself and that was a lot higher." Roger squatted and grabbed the man's ankles, thinking an Earth hospital would have never allowed him to touch a patient, much less casually ask for him to help load one onto a gurney. The lawsuits would have been so complex, they'd never see the end of them. The doctor held the man's wrists together in front of him and slid an arm under his neck, hand flat on his back.

  "Up we go," he said and seemed a lot stronger than he looked, to take the heavy end and loft him on the cart without visible strain. He immediately went to work on him.

  "This fellow woke us up not a twentieth of a day ago, along with half the adjoining rooms in the hotel. We told him to go away, but he insisted on pushing his way in and accused us of being on-planet to have my business partner Martee engage in prostitution and demanded a cut for some unnamed boss. It was very offensive and when we indicated that was not our intent and told him to leave, he pulled out a knife and tried to slash away at me. Martee, do you have the young man's knife?"

  Martee fished in her purse and produced a slim blade that looked like a short boning knife. She offered it to the doctor, but he waved it away with a gesture.

  "Keep it. If the police want it you can give it to them."

  "Are you obligated to call the police and report it?" Roger asked.

  "I don't know that I'm obligated," he told Roger, looking up from examining the patient already, "but that is our custom and I'd think you'd want me to, for fear this man would be back again and have a second try at you. The bracelet should tell you that he's been convicted of violence already and I can't guarantee he'll be exiled for this new offence, since apparently he didn't hurt either of you." He looked at both of them, with that new thought: "He didn't wound either of you?"

  "Doctor, I've been around some rough places. It would take a pritchen lot more than this pathetic bag of shit to hurt me. I'm just sorry I didn't find out who the boss was he kept saying sent him, before I hurt him. If they send another I'll hurt him a lot slower and more carefully and he'll sing like a bird for me about who his master is, before I bring him to you to patch up."

  The doctor just shuddered, undoubtedly quite capable of visualizing what Rog meant, given his handiwork in front of him.

  "I see the traumas to his face. What other injuries are you aware of?"

  "Doctor, when he swiped at me with the knife I open-hand slapped him on the left there to disorient him," he illustrated with his hand. The doctor raised his eyebrow surprised. The whole side of his face was puffy, the corner of the eye swelling closed already. Most people didn't understand what an effective blow that
could be, compared to a fist.

  "He didn't go down, so I know I didn't break his neck. I kicked his right knee with the edge of my foot to drop him, so he has internal fractures of that joint. I don't know what your medicine is like on this world. If you can't regrow him one, you'll likely have to implant an artificial knee, but I can assure you that one will never heal right by itself."

  "Interesting," the doctor said, looking up at him again. "I could hear your accent and knew you were from off world. What you say implies one of the non-Trishan worlds, but one with fairly advanced med-tech."

  "Yeah, we had space travel on our own, but not interstellar until you guys came. But we had the idea and were working on it ourselves. Who knows if we'd have ever solved it the same, or even some other way?"

  "What else do you know about the patient?"

  "Well, I kicked him in the stomach pretty hard. He might have some internal bleeding. There is a slight possibility he might have damage to – uh Martee, how do you say 'spleen'?"

  She consulted her computer and supplied the word.

  "Then, since the little son of a bitch still had the knife in his hand, I busted his collarbone and he finally got the message to drop it." Roger didn't need any help to translate the curse and it translated straight across surprisingly well.

  "Hmm, yes, I see the mark," he said cutting the shirt open. "And the other side of the face? Did you use the same weapon on it you used on the shoulder? Neither of those contusions was made with a hand or foot, not even shod. Did you grab something to use as a club?"

  "I'd drawn this weapon by then," Roger admitted. He pulled his 10mm and showed it sideways to the doctor, then tucked it back away immediately so it wouldn't be taken as a threat. "It isn't all that heavy, but it beats the hell out of screwing up the edge of your hand breaking bones. But by then I really didn't need it."

  "If you could forget to mention it to the police I'd surely be in your debt. I don't like to let people know I am carrying. If the worst case happens and this dog's boss sends another fellow around, I'd like it to be a surprise." Roger was impressed that the doctor showed no fear of him or Martee, knowing he was alone with the fellow that had hurt his patient.