Trade Secret

by Sharon Lee

  “Yes, yes. Jethri, I know,” said Master Trader ven’Deelin, surprising him as much with the force of placing her teacup on table as with her words, “elders are slow in moving from one point to the next, and so we are. In this case, it is because we are comfortable and comrades, and can see the possibility of being without each other for some while. And yes, you have a question before us, which, I think, now we can answer.”

  Now, though, the cups were empty. It took but a motion of her hand and Pen Rel rose in his smooth and silent way, and ushered the cart out of their middle and into the hall before sliding back into his seat.

  “The Scout has offered me to understand that he arrives for a discussion which may well require personal attention in support of melant’i, and not only personal attention, but personal attendance. I feel he brings a problem of magnitude. He mentions issues of clan and kin, he offers that Balance may well be owed and that he is not the one to measure it.

  “What may be the issue he does not tell me, only that he has requested most urgently a meeting at the first opportunity. Miandra and Meicha come to my mind, my son, for they have managed to involve him in their little intrigues, and if that is the case, then surely I should not be taking the ship entire off course again so soon.”

  She then looked closely at him, and Jethri felt a chill—

  “Else, of course, the matter may lie in a different sphere, for you, also, have been taken into the Scout’s necessities. Given the connection between the pair of ragamuffins and you—and the Scout—the complexities are many and I dare not be unwilling to deal, for the Scout is a man of extremely meticulous understanding.”

  This was said as much to Pen Rel as to him, Jethri saw, and in fact the hand motion was emphatically aimed at Pen Rel, who let his face relax slightly, and sighed, outwardly.

  “It is so, my friend,” Pen Rel said. “I have found it so for several dozen Standards, you know.”

  There was a silence but for the flick of fingers and the settling of breath, and then the Master Trader sat up and favored both her auditors with a decisive smile.

  “And thus, we are all informed that I shall be part of this decision-making, for surely the Scout is spending valuable time in a matter of Balance; and in this case my duty is clear: if I need to part from Elthoria’s routine I shall do so, and you, my son, shall be prepared to be seen as trader in fact if not trader-by-signature.”

  Her hands moved in a motion Jethri thought meant finished, but as he shifted she waved him to stay put.

  “There are other matters, Pen Rel, which you may be in charge of while clan issues are dealt with here. If Jethri must be thrust forward, he will be, and thus I wish you also to choose for him out of Elthoria’s armory a knife, unless he already has one he favors and you condone, and also a small sidearm or pistol.”

  A pistol? He leaned forward to deny it, yet her hand was already pointing to him, and she was saying, “I insist upon it—it is a matter for Elthoria’s crew to consider and know, that Ixin is present in trader, and prepared as Ixin is always prepared!

  “Thus, you will have such ready to dress Jethri with come his next full shift. I thank you for your time and for escorting my son to me. We shall be in touch shortly, you and I.”

  Pen Rel took his dismissal with a bow, and bowed as well to Jethri. This was a new bow; something added there made Jethri’s stomach tighten. In review, there was a deeper head tuck, and the hands curving to the intimation of a reach for weapons in support. Yes, the hint of supporting Jethri in need, of acknowledging a leader to be followed.

  Jethri stared after the departing minion, knowing that he’d read that right, and that in fact Pen Rel had just placed himself on a different rung. No, he’d placed Jethri on a different rung, higher than he had been by far, with reservations.

  * * *

  “It strikes me, my son, that I hear no rumors among the crew of you, else that you work very hard at aught you do, and that among them you are respectful and quiet.”

  She was leaning back in her seat, and shifted to face him fully; he shifted also to take that proper position without a third present, respectful and alert.

  “Rumors, ma’am?” He wondered if he’d done something worth a rumor, but he was always careful—he’d grown up being last and careful onboard a small ship and such habits were hard to break, indeed.

  She smiled very gently, her hand playing a motion he couldn’t yet read, other than it was soothing, meant perhaps for her as well as to him.

  “Yes, rumors.”

  She paused, as if choosing words very carefully, and repeated that word. “Rumors.”

  Now she fluttered her hands and laughed an honest laugh.

  “In the course of a route, my son, one often hears rumors, or sees evidence, or understands through the way people stand, or how they schedule themselves, or where they eat, or with whom they eat, or in which activities they take part—one sees or becomes aware of attachments, shall we say, of friendships growing and changing. We—that is you and I as Ixin incarnate—must of course be circumspect, as most of the crew is reasonably circumspect, but one does not carry a ship full of adults from planet to planet for years on end and expect them to be without intimacy, to be celibate as a crew.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, being as he so often reminded himself, not silver-tongued. What else was there to say?

  His mother sighed, glanced at her hands which seemed to have said something to her if not to him, leaned toward him lightly.

  “The rumors I do hear, my son, are that you amaze those who watch you work at the gym, and interest some of those, but that you work so hard and concentrate so greatly that none dares to disturb your workouts, for all that they admire you. Understand that there is interest . . .”

  She fiddled idly with her ring a moment.

  “I am Ixin for all purposes here, my son, and it is my duty to see you prepared properly for your life as a trader and as a son of Ixin, served by all that Ixin can bring to bear. Thus, it is important to me that you be a whole person, that you offer more to the ship than an excellent eye for textiles and a facility with a language that is silly, wrongheaded, lack-toned, and—”

  His head came up and he leaned forward.

  “Ah, you see? Indeed, I must imagine that Terran offers wonders to you as Liaden does to me; surely Terran begins to offer wonders to the first mate, who takes lessons from you.”

  Jethri was silent, watchful, trying to gather the sense of what he’d not done right, of a reason for rumors . . .

  “It is what I can offer the ship when we are in Jump, ma’am. And I learn much from Gaenor, and now from others since I can speak so much better and needn’t fall to Trade for simple things and even more . . .”

  The Master Trader bowed acknowledgment.

  “And so, we come to what the ship can do for you and what a mother can do for you and what needs to be done.”

  She paused, sighed, laughed to herself.

  “Our introduction of you to traders was quite effective as I recall, and in fact, you had the interest there of Parvet sig’Flava.”

  He remembered—the trader, the astoundingly interesting trader who’d perhaps had a drink too many and a need unmet who’d offered to take him away to her bed. He blushed, nodded.

  “I remember her, ma’am,” he said.

  “I’d be amazed if you did not, my son, indeed I would. I gathered that but for my intervention you would have returned to Elthoria in the morning with a stack of first memories of amazing kind and dimension.”

  His blush grew and she laughed lightly again, her hands making the same soothing motion.

  “Jethri, her wiles and her attractions are such that if she offered me a Festival night, I, at my advanced age, might be tempted. I beg you to understand that I am not laughing at anything but irony and situation. You were honored by the offer, and no doubt would have learned much.”

  He put aside her comment about her age and her own potential interest in the woman, b
ut in her face saw only serious interest in their current conversation, not jokes made at his expense.

  “I didn’t even know how I could say yes, ma’am,” he admitted, “and didn’t know how to say no, either. I’m not sure I would have done well either way!”

  “Yes, that, that is precisely my point, my son. Should I need to be off on adventure with ter’Astin, or if you do, I must know that I turn loose an Ixin able to deal properly with people in situations of intimacy, so that mistakes are not made. Your partner who we hope to install as a trader here, is an excellent person, and he is the son of a mistake or a treachery or a love match not well carried. Had he been a Festival child and acknowledged as that, all would have been well. Instead we have chel’Gaibin’s revenge still at odds with the norms . . .”

  She sighed, raised hands, and with open palms, bowed.

  “What needs to be done is a matter of care and of comfort, of seeing you confident and aware, of knowing that should you come upon Parvet sig’Flava again in similar spirits you might acquit yourself well whatever your answer.”

  He must have looked startled, though he felt the blush was gone . . .

  “And why not? You will not repeat that I tell you that she is reputed a night’s prize of the first water. You are of Ixin, you are of ven’Deelin! Why should you stay your suit if you are interested in such a challenge? Yet you needs must know the rules, and tel’Ondor has been instructed to turn you to the sections of the Code most needed. Yet bookwork and dry study is not enough.”

  That was said firmly, and her hands were strong with emphasis.

  “So, my son, your student of the long walks, she enjoys your company very much. She has brought this to my attention this day, having no one else to turn to on the matter but yourself and finding yourself full of busy eyes and silence.”

  Now he blushed well and truly—but what else was he to do?

  “I had thought,” he admitted, “that she might be interested, in maybe bundling or something. I just wasn’t sure, and she’s an officer and I don’t know that I should be bothering officers since it could confuse melant’i and, besides, without experience, I’d be a bother!”

  Jethri was fiddling with his hand now, seeing that he needed to do something about the hair on the back of it, which was darkening and . . .

  There was a genuine laugh then.

  “Jethri, a bother? At the risk of breaking confidences, let me tell you that you would be such a bother that Gaenor admits to asking Vil Tor of your inclinations—of your intentions—since he also enjoys your company and hers and he often finds you to hand at the library. I gather, she discovering that you also had no liaison with him, they had hatched a plot to make you theirs for the ship’s Festival!”

  Despite his best efforts to suppress it, Jethri sighed, a hearty exasperated sigh accompanied by head-shaking and after a moment, a wry grin that he also could not suppress.

  “But, well, I like both of them,” he admitted. “But I didn’t know how to ask for that kind of company, and I’m not experienced and . . .”

  It sounded like the trader snarfed.

  “Jethri, you have you. People are interested in you. They, some of them, admire your physical self as well as your personality, and the melant’i grows because you are, what is the phrase, low key? And what does a trader ever do? Eh, what does a trader do in moments of doubt?”

  He looked at her with wide eyes, feeling dumb.

  “You do exactly as Parvet sig’Flava did. You ask for the sale!”

  At this there was nothing to do but laugh—indeed, Paitor had told him the same thing how many times in his life?

  The trader again looked at her ring, and then slowly stood.

  “I have told Gaenor, on being very quietly inquired of, magnificently respectful of melant’i that as far as I know there is no physical impediment to your attraction; and also that as far as I know there is neither a spiritual block, nor a love match languishing. If I am wrong—well, you are of Elthoria now and will treat crew kindly and demur gently if that is your aim and necessity. You are your own person and I do not now order you to anyone’s bed, as this is not a marriage we discuss.”

  Jethri felt another thrill go through him, for indeed, he’d never considered that line of event. If he was a son of the clan as all agreed these days, then Ixin might order him to marry, if he’d read that part right in the rules! What a spot that would be, put down on a planet and left to dangle after a—

  “However, it is my thought you have an offer of lesser complexity on the way, my son, and I, at least, wish to be sure of your social graces before ter’Astin leaves my deck.”

  “But that’ll be before the ship Festival!”

  “Ah, so you too are counting days?”

  She smiled, not unkindly then, and rose with a bow indicating that he should consider himself dismissed.

  “Be bold, my son. This should not be difficult for you, as you are so often bold, when necessity is right upon you. Be bold for joy, and we shall all be better for it! You will wish to stop at your mailbox, I am sure.”

  Chapter Five

  Clan Ixin’s Tradeship Elthoria, In Jump

  From a Student’s Guide to the Basics of Relationship Balance

  as Elucidated by the Liaden Code of Proper Conduct,

  Version Seventeen, Amended

  Relationship Balance is an important part of melant’i at all times and must by necessity change as a person comes halfling and begins to participate more widely in the independent expression of interpersonal dealings ranging from simple friendships through comradeship up to cha’leket and contract marriage and even into the esoterica of so-called Lifemate or Wizard Match situations. All in all potentially hundreds of dozens of varying states of relationships may be diagrammed if required, but the bulk of these fall into the simple ranges we will discuss here. The astute student will understand that a multiplicity of relationships may exist simultaneously with . . .

  Impatiently Jethri stabbed the buttons—yes, yes, this much he knew. And he knew that contract marriages were arranged by delms or thodelms for the purpose of producing agreed-on heirs, and that some people had to be contract-wed multiple times if it made a clan good arrangements, but everyone was supposed to be sure there was at least one heir of their own body to replace them in the clan and the delm was responsible for making those arrangements.

  He had this letter to figure out, and it was written out formally, and the thing was it was all written in Liaden, because there it was, Gaenor was semiofficially his tutor or mentor in Liaden, and she’d been practicing that . . . and the statement at the top meant something important, because she wrote—“Jethri, I take this time to write to you, both as your friend and your intended I’gaina Prenada and would like to have the enjoyment of your company that we might together spend the upcoming off-shift in the guesting suite I have reserved, you and I, in cher’nuchiada. This will be great fun, and exercise, and after all, study as well, if you yet need an excellent reason for allowing your brain some respite from trade details and dry words.”

  He sat back from the task, fiddling idly with the new-to-him chain about his neck, a chain he’d judged to be platinum as soon as he saw it. Linked in back with a fusion clasp of magnetic depleted timonium, the necklet widened in each direction to exactly embrace a twelve-sided cameo—actually not a person’s cameo, but a cameo of Ixin’s own sigil, the rabbit against full moon. He’d put it on with a touch of trepidation after staring into that full moon for some minutes, still wondering if he was up to this, still wondering if he was going to be tossed for fraud into some Lowport for failing to bow in just the right mode . . .

  “My son,” had said the note, “in normal circumstances I would have presented this myself, but I had not the measurements from your suit fitting, nor the skill and equipment to adjust the clasp to your own neck. Between them the armorer and our machinist mate have done these things; I hope you will be able to proudly wear this for your interlude as it has gra
ced male necks in our clan for several hundred Standards or more. The full story of it will be yours as time permits, but for now, for the clan, wear it, and be amused as well as entranced this night. One should, at all times, wear the moon-and-hare, and if it lights the way, do not be surprised!”

  If nothing else were done, the moon-and-hare was on.

  The thing is there were other situations, like a cha’leket and that was like being best friend and brother or sister in heart all at once, maybe heartkin was the right word there, and there were formal things that needed to be done if someone was insulted, or killed, and there were other arrangements—the long term relationships, almost married, what the heck were they called?

  Nubandaria was what it was—it was like being promised lovers, an official pleasure love who family and friends could expect one to admit to, and one could agree to it and it was almost a legal thing, but then one could get over it without a delm doing a thing, all one had to do was—he’d seen that, there it was, give a nubiath’a and that was a parting gift, but there were back-rules to that, that if one gave a nubiath’a one wasn’t ever expected to go back with that person again. Somehow that seemed rude to him—to just sort of pay a sex-friend off when one had not started out on a cash basis, but then it also said they were appreciated and—

  But this word here was related but choppy, as he thought about trying to translate the pieces, since ally or joint effort was implied and so was joy and so was passing, as in short term and—cher’nuchiada.

  He didn’t want to agree to something that was going to make him stay away from Gaenor just because they messed around of a night, but no, cher’nuchiada was just a fun thing, like Dyk might call a flash-fling, well, except they were usually with someone one faunched for at first sight portside, as he had it, so not a flash-fling but still—