Martee look startled at the idea. "But you are an offworld company - why should locals trust you? The local companies have been here forever and rarely go out of business. You might fail and not be here next year."
"I'll think on it. Either we can tie the face value to some commodity, like a metal or food, or I can make it an interest bearing instrument that will be worth more if you hold it to redeem it. A sort of bond. Nothing like appealing to human greed," Roger assured her. "And I expect us to own property and have a presence here that nobody will mistake as temporary in short order."
* * *
The lady who came in was elegant. That took a lot of effort in Trishan clothing. She had white trousers and a white shirt, but layered a black tunic over them, with the sleeves rolled back to let the white sleeves hang out. The tunic was collarless and the shirt stuck-up and showed behind the plunging V in the front.
Most of it was presence instead of show. She carried herself regally and stood back from everything with a visible detachment. A cart and driver paced her, as she slowly walked along and inspected the offerings. A boy rode on the lowered tailgate of her cart, legs dangling, steadying a pile of purchases.
The few who had come in the pavilion had been awkward. Martee greeted all of them equally, even the gawky teenage girls and the bent over grandmother who used a cane and inspected them closer than the goods.
A few had leaned over the goods on the table between the four chairs, not daring to handle them. Their expressions said their posted prices were well beyond what most could pay. None of them had dared take a seat, but this lady carefully folded into one without any self-consciousness.
Roger had stood as soon as she entered. "Thank you for stopping," Roger said with a little bow when she sat. "I'm Roger and my partner Martee and we have been set up from before dawn. I was about to make us some Earth tea and break our fast from the night. Could I get you a cup and some tidbits while Martee shows you our wares?"
"Yes. You don't speak our language very well. Where are you from?"
"I am from Earth," he said using the Trishan navigational designation, "but my partner is Trishan. If you are more comfortable speaking with her I won't be offended. I know I have a long way to go to be fluent and I still have a very limited vocabulary."
"Earth trade is on the proscribed list. Have they changed that since we got an update? I'd be surprised."
"No, but we have our own interstellar capability now, so we're not dependant on Trishan transport to go where we're welcome. That you are a freeport is appreciated. Why would that surprise you, may I ask?"
"Because the Trishans are a stiff necked bunch, used to having their own way and they aren't terribly good at changing their minds even when it is obvious their original decision was ill-conceived."
"You are very plainly spoken. That's a quality my partners and I value. Excuse me and I'll get our tea. May Martee show you a few of our things?"
"Certainly and you may call me Nadya Yor."
* * *
Roger made a green tea, set a big frying pan on the stove with freeze-dried scrambled eggs and bacon bits. The sourdough biscuits had gone into an insulated bag just before the lady arrived. He put eggs and a biscuit on a plate, with a lump of the butter on the side and went over to Ri. "Here's some breakfast and I'll bring you tea in a bit. Just let me have one of your small jars now and we'll settle up before we head home."
"First one you've covered already," Ri said graciously.
Roger opened it and tested a bit on a spoon before serving it to a guest. The flavor was intense for a light colored honey. It tasted like citrus, lime more than oranges and some kind of berry in the background. It was perfect for tea.
When he brought the tray in Martee cleared away the trade goods and he set it up on a stand by the customers’ chair. Roger noticed since the lady had arrived, people who observed her inside elected not to come in.
"I couldn't eat that much," she objected. "Would you put about half back and I'd be pleased with that."
When he brought it back she commented on the tea, "I'd be pleased to buy some of this from you too."
"We didn't bring any for trade goods, but please, let us make a gift of our box to you. We have a stronger drink we usually have at breakfast anyway, but it's a bit more trouble to make without a real kitchen."
"You're kind. I'm going to buy one of the faceted stones like your partner is wearing. How much are you asking for the cloth square with the colorful design?"
That meant she was paying five hundred Pid, because that was the least they'd decided to charge for the diamonds. They'd been careful to bring an assortment with no two alike. So Roger decided not to offer any discount for the scarf, with this sort of client.
"We were asking three hundred Pid for the silk scarves. You might find it interesting. They are made from the cocoons of an insect, which forms its shelter to morph in one long fragile thread. Those are unwound and woven to create the silk cloth. The colors are put on one at a time, with wax protecting the areas that are not being dyed between applications."
"And how many did you bring to trade?"
"We have about three hundred."
"No, I'm sorry. I'd give three hundred Pid or more if it was a unique object. But when there are twenty or thirty women around town that own one, it would diminish its value to me and that many can well afford one.
"Perhaps Martee wasn't clear, none of them are duplicates. Each one is a unique design to this world. If you like the concept she can show you a selection and you can pick the colors that please you and will go with the wardrobe you already have. We might even have something in black and white that would go with your present striking outfit. Most of them are only produced in a few hundred copies on Earth and then retired. That's for a market of five billion people."
"You have that many people on one planet?" she asked shocked.
"Yes and it creates some problems. But it gives us some strengths too."
In the end she had two scarves she couldn't seem to choose between.
"If I might be so bold. I hate to make you pick one. If you'd like both, let us offer you the second at half price."
"Done," she said laughing. "You're good at this. Do you have a terminal?" she asked, ready to pay.
"I'm sorry, but we were treated rather rudely by the head of the interstellar exchange bank and walked out. We don't have access to local credit. I'm not sure how we will work around that, but I'd be happy to take your personal note and defer collecting until later. I can tell you are a person of substance and wouldn't worry about it."
"I'd worry about it. You have to have some way of taking the proceeds of your sales when you leave. I don't intend to take your goods knowing you may go home empty-handed. Now, in my case, I have access to enough Trishan cash to pay you next market day, if that's acceptable?"
"It certainly is." Rog glanced up and could see Ri through the screening. She looked ready to faint away, at the mention of that much cash.
"I could offer you local credit net access myself. I'm the head of the Third Bank of Liñool, but that still doesn't solve what you are going to do when you leave. My customers are all farmers and merchants, so local credit is fine for them. Having a credit balance here won't do a traveling fellow like you any good at home and even the people who can afford your items are going to have a hard time finding that much unconverted Trishan cash to pay you. Your items are so expensive the bank may even balk at converting that much offworld exchange, even if you do open an account. That much cash bled off the world could hurt our economy."
"My Lady," Roger smiled. "Our intent is to have a long term presence here and do other sorts of business in several of the smaller cities too. We'd be pleased to take local credit and worry much further down the road about shifting funds to Earth, or any other world. I don't intend to create a balance of payments crisis. Why don't you make your purchases our first deposit?"
"I'll do that. Balance of payments? That's an interesting
usage. Not a term we usually hear or need. Why don't you come around tomorrow and we'll set the software you need…"
A coarse voice from behind interrupted her, "Everybody in here, file out into the police van and take a seat. You're all going downtown and answer some questions. You too fattie. Jarn! Get the fat lady there sharing the stall."
Their customer started to get up and Roger held his hand up palm flat to her, "Please, let me speak to him first."
"We'd be happy to come down and make a statement, Officer, but we need to pack up our trade goods and drop them off at our room. If this is about the fellow we assisted to the hospital last night, neither our customer, nor the lady here who is sharing her space with us have any knowledge of the matter."
"I didn't ask your opinion. Keep your mouth shut unless I ask you. Your cheap crap is not my worry. I doubt anybody will bother it. Get a move on before we move you. You too," he declared and rapped the frame of the high-backed chair in front of him sharply with his night stick.
"If you swing that club anywhere near my customer again, I'll ram it so far up your rear end, they'll be a twentieth day surgically removing it." Rog said.
The rage on the cop's face was right at its maximum and he'd drawn the club way back, when Nadya stood up and turned around.
"Well? If you're going to smack me over the head with that thing you best get on with it."
She was still holding her cup and didn't look like she expected to be clubbed down; instead she took a casual sip.
The policeman just cringed, bringing the truncheon down self consciously like he wished he could make it disappear.
"I see you have Milten with you. He's supervising you going back to the station, which is where you are headed unless you get called on an emergency. That is a permanent arrangement, not just temporary. Give him your truncheon and inform him of the change."
"I don't want to see you with a truncheon or any makeshift substitute. Apparently you don't have the self-control needed to be responsible for what you'd do with it. If I find you can't deal with the new arrangement, then we'll suddenly have the manpower we've been short to construct some nice footpaths in the parks. I imagine that would keep you busy and out of trouble for years. Do we understand each other?"
"Yes Madam Commander. My apologies, I didn't know you were here."
"Obviously," she agreed and turned away in dismissal.
"Is there a warm up left in that pot?" she wondered.
* * *
"So why did the policeman call you Commander?" Roger asked when the tea was gone. "You said you head up the Third Bank."
"People who can lead tend to do several jobs, especially on a colony world with a limited supply of talent. Surely it's the same on your world, even if the system is different."
"Yes, I see what you mean. An executive on Earth tends to have seats on the boards of several companies. Even after they supposedly retire, they keep pestering them to be advisors in some capacity. Sometimes having the right fellow at the top is all that keeps up public confidence in a company."
"The same here. So although I am head of the Third Bank, I also am director of the Public Propriety Association and on the council that oversees agricultural development among others. We'll have to talk. I'm curious how things are done on your world.
"That would be our pleasure. Speaking of talking, when should I go down and be interviewed by the officers? We had a fellow come banging on our door late last night at our hotel and I'm afraid I had to hurt him rather badly, because he attacked me with a knife. I'm sure the doctor at the hospital reported it and that's what they are concerned about."
"The hospital? You don't seem injured. Did he harm you?"
"No, we took him there after I subdued him. It seemed the proper thing to get him treatment."
"What a terrible thing the first day on our world. Was he trying to rob you?" she asked, with a gesture at their trade goods.
"Oh no, he seemed to think I had brought Martee in to engage in prostitution. Perhaps they would think so, because we dress so different. And he offended me, so I was a bit rougher with him than I should have been. He insisted he worked for a fellow who considers this world his exclusive territory for those sorts of dealings and we'd have to pay him a cut to work here."
"Idiots! How offensive. Your woman is obviously a much more refined lady than that. No wonder you were angered. I'll demand a report and let you know if any such interview is even necessary. I doubt it is."
"Well, technically she isn't my woman. That stone on her finger is a token of betrothal, to a third business partner we left behind on Earth. We have some business in common and some dealings that are each our own and his are at a complex stage right now, where he just couldn't get away. I expect in a couple months he'll be along."
"And what sort of business does a man find important enough to tend and let his promised run off to another world?"
"Well, he has the exclusive license to produce starships on our world and he really does need to make sure that is secure before taking any time away."
"I see," she said, obviously impressed. "If you are not contracted to Martee, would it be proper to ask you to dinner tomorrow, for the pleasure of your company?
"Sure, Nadya. I'd enjoy that. Could you find somebody to take Martee on a tour or something, so she isn't stuck alone all evening in a hotel room?"
"I'll have my housekeeper take her to the mountains and see her family on a real working farm. She never sees them enough and it's lovely up there this time of year. But they'll need to stay overnight it's so far. Do you think she'd mind that?" For the first time there was a mischievous grin with the question and Rog was tickled. It had been so long since somebody had flirted with him.
"Heavens no. We're friends, but we're not attached at the hip."
"You have the funniest expressions," she laughed.
Chapter 28
Josh was still safely ensconced in the villa and very tired of feeling trapped there. Today he was hoping to wrap up the final agreement over the star drive. The head of Israel's Defense Ministry and the head of Israel's security apparatus, the Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations, stood at the front gate with Haim. The drive came closest to the house here, about fifty meters and a meter-high wall ran along the edge of the pavement as a curb.
Six steps went up from each side, to a sort of platform in front of the gate. An armored vehicle might climb the curb, but three meters behind it the main wall was not passable by any vehicle. The tiered risers would deflect any blast form a car bomb up, away from the walls of the villa. Their car would pull around to a secure area for drivers, once they were admitted. The fact it wasn't subordinates spoke well for the chance this visit was the wrap-up.
The villa was pleasant and well situated overlooking the ocean. It combined sections of crème color with light coral. There was a wall, recently added, that zig-zagged all the way around, well away from the house like a star fort and the home itself was a local design, built around a spacious central courtyard. The angular shapes and colors were accentuated, because the sun was low and it was near evening.
Minister of Defense Efraim Mofaz looked at it with a soldier's tactical eye. A soldier's soldier, he'd risen to the post his grandfather had once held. His experience said at a glance he could take it. It was very defendable, like most Middle Eastern homes compared to European dwellings, but they had procedures for breaching walled homes with a center courtyard, if need arose. It would be far safer to blow it away, if actually occupying it didn't serve some important purpose.
Barak Menashe looked at it with a different eye. He had a pretty good idea from interviews with workmen, how it was changed inside. Some things like the paving bricks had been done by their internal crew and he suspected there were reasons their view from the hills had often been cut off by parked trucks and sheets of plywood casually parked, on the way to some other use. There had to be some surprises buried beneath that paving.
A young man i
n a black suit with a yarmulke came down to the gate. He still had the light beard of youth, was wearing the new-style glasses that gamers coveted. They allow one to view multiple computer screens projected at the eye, while viewing your surroundings. One could control the software like using a mouse, with just eye movements. He also had an odd glove on that looked as thin and tight as a surgeon's glove but was black. He didn't use a key, or touch anything but, the gate opened for him.
"Welcome, I'm Gil Green," he said in English. "Joshua asked if you could join him in the courtyard," he turned and led them to the front door. The walk was roofed from the wall in and gradually changed to a full closed hall, which made a slight dogleg so there was no straight approach to the door. Once around the bend the door was flanked with naked Claymores. The entire space between the wall and the house was in paving brick, laid without mortar. The door was powered and the hall inside took another jog. The short sections of straight hall by the door afforded no clear field of fire to breech it and an assault around them would be suicide.
There was little to see walking to the courtyard. The rooms were nice but unremarkable, the sort of layout you'd expect of a small resort hotel. There were several young men and women sitting or walking about, but none of them looked like the sort that would be security or military. Efraim would take them more for college students. Several sported the exotic specs like their guide wore, however.
The courtyard was pleasant at this time of day, in shadow with the sun so low in the sky. The heat of the day lingered a bit, but it was comfortable if you were dressed lightly and not doing anything strenuous. A table was set very nicely with linens and real silver and a buffet was being prepared to the side. There were six places set and room for several more unset.
However they were taken past that table, to a gathering of patio furniture around a glass table holding pitchers of ice water and fruit juice. Barak was ignoring the long form under a tarp, that stretched almost the length of the courtyard against the far wall. It had the approximate shape of a Japanese bullet train locomotive – but smaller.
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