Merchants and Maji: Two Tales of the Dissolutionverse (Dissolution Cycle)

by William C. Tracy

  “Just what we need!” I shouted back into the tube. “I’m speeding up. Keep the furnace going.” Even if they couldn’t kill all the aliens that came to their planet, didn’t mean they wouldn’t try to arrest them on the merest offense. The protest had everyone on edge. I was probably driving too fast, or they were upset about the building I might have nicked a few turns back. I ratcheted the speed lever up another notch.

  “Fortunate then that you were contacted to fulfill this contract.” The big woman took up her previous line of questioning without a break. Kamuli would never directly confront me. She just poked and prodded. I still wasn’t sure how she and Bhon got along without killing each other. The one time I had tried to needle Bhon, I ended up with a handcannon about two fingers away from my nose. “Surely there were other more well-equipped merchants here. But that is why you lead us, after all. I would never have found such a contract as we are—” She grunted and shifted suddenly, countering the transport’s hard turn. That had been the wrong street. “—rocketing toward. Fortunate indeed.”

  I had been trying to push down that niggling doubt within myself since I signed the contract. Why did they pick me? I was deciding what to answer, when the speaking tube crackled again.

  “Do you want me to burn this engine out? You’re going faster than a tree skater with its feet alight. I can only shovel so fast.”

  “Sorry Saart,” I shouted back into the tube. “Almost there.” I didn’t slow down, though. The border between the Naiyul and Frente sectors was around one more turn, the warehouse not much farther. The disgraced Naiyul family might have been corrupt, but it was small compared to the major families of Sureri. They had no desire to start a fight they couldn’t win, and I used that to my advantage. If a Naiyul made a stink within the borders of an embassy, there would be repercussions I was betting the disgraced family didn’t want to deal with.

  “How’s our tail?” I interrupted the swearing coming from the speaking tube.

  “Mine’s about to catch fire from all this—” There was a pause. “Oh, you mean…” There was another pause, and I steered between two tall buildings. The streets were smaller here, barely wide enough for the transport. Lucky there was no one coming the other way.

  “She’s sitting about four buildings back,” came Saart’s voice, “making some gesture that—oh, now that ain’t called for.”

  I moved the speed indicator lever back down a few notches, gradually bringing the transport to a stop outside a boxy adobe building, larger than most of the others surrounding it. A pipe hissed in the cabin, letting out a buildup of pressure as the old military transport came to a halt. A vent creaked in the other section, and there was a thump that rocked Kamuli forward as the section behind us settled into its final resting place. She took a moment to set her headwrap back to rights, and adjust her jacket.

  We waited a few minutes, but I wasn’t expecting Amra for some time yet. They would have to go through negotiations, come to a—hopefully reasonable—price, and then unload the cargo before coming here. Best to move slowly.

  The weak Sureri sun was not quite fully overhead, and we scouted out the warehouse, looking for anything out of the ordinary. We kicked up small clouds of dust in the barren yard. There wasn’t much plant life in this city, and I wondered what the rest of Sureri looked like. Had the great families given the least inhabitable land to their disgraced cousins, or was their whole planet poor in life compared to other homeworlds?

  But the yard was empty, and we couldn’t stall any longer. The Naiyul official hadn’t followed us into the Frente section, so that was one positive. I jerked my head at the warehouse, looming in the empty yard.

  “Time to go. Keep your eyes up and your feet light. I intend to be back on Methiem this evening with enough money to think about retiring.”

  We slid the warehouse door to one side with a screech of rusty skids. Kamuli grunted as she helped me, and I noticed her knives were loose in their sheaths. I waited while my eyes adjusted to the gloom, feeling Saart’s fur bristle on my other side, and shivered. This was not the sort of contract I usually took on.

  The warehouse was largely empty, skeletons of shelves towering to left and right. The center of the floor was open, but littered with blocky objects, pushed together.

  “Anyone there?” I called out. “I was supposed to meet someone to pick up cargo.”

  A shadow detached from a far wall of the warehouse. I put a hand, palm out, to the others, telling them to wait.

  “Eyah, we are here,” a voice said in the Trader’s Tongue. It had a lilting accent. “Yer just keep yerself cool there, alien, and we’ll get the medicine ready.”

  “Why have they got medicine in this old dingy warehouse?” Saart whispered. “Don’t make sense.”

  I shushed him. The Sureri supplied lots of medicine to the other homeworlds, though it usually went through more official channels. I didn’t want to argue with the paycheck, but I had to check the seller’s story.

  “Medicine for what?” I hoped this Sureriaj would answer the same way.

  There was rustling, and a lantern flared to life, making shadows flicker and illuminating five gangly and fair-skinned Sureriaj. They looked as if they had been waiting in this warehouse for months, not hours.

  The one in front attempted to smile. I felt Saart bristle beside me. The Festuour and Sureriaj species were not close.

  “There is a great epidemic in yer Methiemum cities goin’ on. Yer did not know of it?” he asked. “The grand-dame asked yer to make a special run to Methiem, did she?”

  “That’s right,” I said, trying to follow his lyrical accent. “Told me I needed to deliver this to Kashidur City in twenty hours.”

  “Seventeen now, it is,” the lead Sureri said. “Very sensitive to the time passin’. Got to hand it off quick-like.” His eyes narrowed. “The epidemic is growin’ fast and yer own people are dying. Don’t want any o’ this gettin’ lost before it gets there.” Kamuli snorted. As if we would lose cargo.

  I put one hand inside my vest pocket, where I kept the directions the well-dressed Sureriaj had given me. I saw the alien’s hand twitch, and I pulled the paper out slowly.

  “I’ve got the directions right here—”

  “Lemme glance it with me own blinkers,” the Sureri said, stepping forward. I tensed, but handed over the paper the gentleman had given me. The alien looked through it carefully, silently sounding out words. I guessed he was able to speak the Trader’s Tongue better than he read it.

  I hoped he didn’t find anything wrong, especially considering the pistols I saw strapped to their thighs. The Sureriaj were even more enamored of the weapons than the Festuour, and unlike Bhon’s handcannons, their pistols could fire more than once before being reloaded. If I could get my hand in that market, I wouldn’t need to resort to deals like this to turn a profit. The Sureri snapped up projectile weapons from Methiem like a Kirian on a grub. But the circles those merchants moved in were far above my own.

  “Eyah, tis right,” the alien said shortly, and thrust the paper back at me, adding his own sheaf. “Yer bill of lading. Now pack these crates up nice-like and be off with yer and yer ilk. And make yer sure that fuzzy don’t interfere too much, ey?”

  He peeled back to the other four Sureriaj, ignoring Saart’s snarl, and gestured to twenty large wooden containers—the objects gathered on the open floor of the warehouse. They were almost haphazardly arranged, as if they had been moved here in a hurry and dumped with little purpose or arrangement.

  Kamuli and Saart picked up a crate each, and I tucked the paperwork away. Amra would check it later. I could understand the loading bills, of course, but hardly had the patience for it.

  I coughed delicately, and the leader’s head whipped toward me. I opened my hands to show I meant no harm, and stepped past the others, hoisting a crate. My advance hadn’t been expressly clarified in the meeting this morning, so I would be relying on my negotiating skills. />
  “I must be able to get off-world quickly to deliver this cargo,” I began.

  “Aye,” the leader growled.

  “And thus I must schedule the portal to take me to Methiem. Those aren’t easy to come by, last minute.” I hoped he would take my hint.

  “Unless yer plan to cross vasty unknown interstellar distances in some sort of flyin’ steam engine, I would agree with yer. And I’m wagerin’ ye’d not make it in time.”

  So that’s how it was going to be. “I had to offload my cargo in a hurry to pick up this shipment for you.” I told him. “I won’t make much profit and I need funds to get me to the drop off point.”

  The Sureri scowled, looking even more like a grotesque on top of a building. “Me grand-dame did nae specify what to pay yer now,” he grumped.

  “No, she left that up to me,” I told him. “This medicine is important. You said yourself people were dying.” This particular member of their species seemed unlikely to be on an errand of mercy. Despite the claim this morning there were no illegal drugs, I wondered if those well-off Sureriaj could be scamming the desperate Methiemum governments about medicine for the epidemic. Were the crates actually filled with drugs like Fuzz or StepUp? I wasn’t completely against the odd smuggling job, but that wasn’t what I signed up for this morning, especially if my people were suffering from this epidemic. Besides, smuggling required extra planning.

  The alien wasn’t taking my hint, and I put hands on my hips at the lack of answer. “Do you want it transported or not? If you do, I need the money to move it.”

  The alien turned away from me abruptly and held a quick conversation with the others. They were certainly his family members—probably all cousins, or maybe a brother or two. He spoke low and fast in the Sureriaj language, so I didn’t get more than a few words.

  When he turned back to me, he was even paler.

  “Eyah, we have enough to cover twenty percent now, the rest-like when yer complete the run. I will have ter inform the grand-dame, yer ken.”

  I only raised my eyebrows at him. If they freely admitted to having that much, then they had more. They would have planned to give me a small advance. Their family would reimburse them. “Half—to at least cover my expenses.”

  “Thirty percent. No more for yer until proof of delivery.” Oh, this was too easy. Never send a thug to negotiate with a merchant.

  I tried on my best innocent-but-not-really face. “It’s a question of pure logistics. If I don’t get enough money to move these crates, I might have to open them up and sell to the highest bidder to cover my costs.” I had intended to get at least get forty percent with this jab, but his eyes widened, his hairy ears coming to points.

  “Yer may not open the merchandise!” he snapped. “They must remain sealed to keep the medicine fresh. If we find yer have tampered with any-like part of the crates, me family will find yer and yer other aliens.”

  I stepped back. I could see a couple of the other aliens reaching for their weapons, and I held up my hands. Threats on a medicine run? What was in those crates? I kept my tone level. “Then I had better have enough to cover everything, and more, don’t you think?” I put my hands down, surreptitiously wiping sweaty palms on my leather leggings.

  The obviously agitated Sureri turned away again for another sotto voce conversation. At least they weren’t drawing weapons. Yet.

  “Yer are a merchant, no? Yer know how to schedule a portal. We canna be responsible for all yer expenses. Thirty percent is final.”

  That would barely be enough. The portals were expensive. I signaled Kamuli, and she put down the box she had picked up. “Then I’m afraid we may have to cancel our business.” Now the guns did appear, and I kept myself from moving, tense for the sound of a shot. Careful.

  “Yer have signed a contract with me grand-dame,” the Sureri said in a low voice. “I donna think yer want to be seen as a contract breaker, do yer?” His men fanned out, showing that they had five to our three.

  This would be a fine time for Amra to arrive with Bhon to even the odds.

  “There’s no need for a broken contract,” I said. “Give us the fifty percent up front, and all will go well. I’m sure your grand-dame will—”

  “Yer donna talk about our grand-dame!” one of the other Sureri called out, and I swallowed. Seems I’d hit a nerve.

  “Fine, fine. This is just business. Simple merchants, negotiating as friends.” My hands were at my sides, where I kept a few knives hidden. Kamuli and Saart had stopped all pretense of moving the crates out, and stood on either side of me.

  “We will give yer forty percent,” the lead Sureri said suddenly. He was watching his brethren, evidently seeing where this negotiation was going. I don’t think anyone wanted to try explaining bodies to the Naiyul constables.

  And I would have taken that amount, too, a few minutes ago. Now, I was starting to get annoyed.

  “I think we’ll take the full fifty percent,” I said, locking eyes with him.

  “Why you—” He switched into his native tongue, and his face went almost white with fury. As he began to reach for his holster, there was a clang behind us, and the Sureri started back.

  “Need any help, folks?” came Bhon’s voice, and I sagged. She appeared in a stream of light from the open doorway, Amra behind her with a long iron pipe. Bhon had a handcannon in each of her furry paws, and the two flanked us. Five against five.

  “Thank you Bhon,” I said loudly, “but the nice man here was about to give us fifty percent of our fee up front to keep our delivery timely and safe.” I watched him, challenging him to another move. He turned to his familymates with a snarl, and the group began handing small bags between themselves.

  “Fifty percent,” he spat at me, and produced a large bag. By the light chiming sound coming from it, it held the clear unbreakable chips used for trading between the worlds. Nether glass. “If me or me familymates find out yer tampered with the cargo, we will—”

  “And who should I go to for the remainder of my fee, once I deliver everything?” I didn’t want to know what threat he was going to make. The Sureri sputtered until he got his words going the right direction.

  “Yer need to see…to see…” He paused, clearly collecting his thoughts. Sureriaj were touchy about giving out their names, or names of those in their families.

  “Ask for…Frente Yatulnath,” the Sureri finally managed to say.

  I nodded, but by now, I was fairly sure this wasn’t the Frente family. We were in the Frente section of the Naiyul trading town, in a run-down warehouse, with five thugs who obviously didn’t know much more than we did. I knew the Frente family was fairly liberal in off-world trading—one reason I was willing to take the deal in the first place. These aliens seemed like they would rather trade with sewer rats. Whatever was happening, I doubted the Frente family would appreciate these five Sureriaj, whoever they were, being on their property. My thoughts flashed back to the Naiyul officer following us.

  “I will find Yatulnath,” I promised, fixing a cheery smile on my face. “I guess I should thank you for this deal, Frente…?” I left the name open for him to complete—an insult, though an uninformed ‘alien’ wouldn’t know that—and watched carefully enough to see him stiffen at the word.

  “Eyah, Frente…Masnaith, I am,” the Sureri said, not entirely smoothly. He was as Frente as I was. He recovered, sneering. “Yer have seventeen more hours ‘til delivery on Methiem. Be on yer way, then, all of yer, and donna let yer dogs mess the floor on the way out.”

  Kamuli had a hand on Bhon’s arm, and from the number of her teeth showing, the Festuour heard the Sureri’s last insult. I eyed the false Frente one more time, and guided Saart to the last few crates in the warehouse, making sure he didn’t try to start an inter-species war on the way.

  Once we were all out, I pulled the warehouse door closed with a screech. Let the false Frentes stew in the dark. I saw the rising questions among my crew and
cut them off.

  “All the crates into the transport now. We can talk when we have steel walls around us.”

  There was grumbling, especially from Saart and Bhon, as I helped them pull the last crates into the cargo section. It was full from floor to ceiling, only a small square left to stand in and a narrow corridor down the length. We would have had no room for the spices, and I wouldn’t have gotten more than a pittance selling them on my homeworld anyway. I prayed Amra negotiated for a decent amount.

  Saart banged the connecting pin to the two halves of the transport with extra vehemence, and Kamuli took the chocks out from the wheels.

  When everyone was in—Saart in the engine compartment, Bhon and Kamuli in the living quarters—I closed the heavy steel door of the cockpit shut behind me and threw myself into the co-pilot seat. Amra already had her hands on the control levers, her wrap settled around her.

  “Let’s go.”

  We had barely left the warehouse compound when the speaking tube beside the pilot’s chair crackled.

  “You want to…huff…tell us…huff…why that felt as legal as a…huff…padam made of wood?” Saart was busily shoveling coal as he complained.

  There was a wheeze from a second tube, placed above our heads.

  “A dog, eh? If the next batch of gargoyles are as pleasant as these they’ll be getting my hairy fist in their—” The voice was cut off by Kamuli hushing her mate.

  “They do have a point,” Amra said.

  “Don’t you start. Anyway, how did it go with the spices?” I searched the road ahead, but the Naiyul thug who had followed us had fortunately left his post. “Tell me you got something decent for them.”

  Amra gazed out the windscreen. “How do you do it?” she said, avoiding the question. “Stay so calm in negotiations? I get all flustered the moment someone tells me I’m wrong. I start to doubt myself. I don’t suppose I could negotiate while I had my ledger open?” She looked at me with regret and apology on her face.

  I sighed, but then wondered how my own negotiations might have gone without Kamuli’s imposing presence. No it was better for Amra to have sold the spices, even if we did take a loss.