Tanager's Fledglings (The Tanager Book 1)

by Cedar Sanderson

  She wasn’t going to take the bait on the case, and she wasn’t offering him a place to sit, or a beverage. “Perhaps you have already seen something you like?” She reached out a hand and caressed a rug that was woven in complex swirls of blues and greens that reminded him of the little lizard he’d chosen to show Abe, and the ocean. That one was one of his choices, along with the red and gold flowers which looked like bursts of fireworks.

  “I have. But,” Jem shrugged. “I am, as you say, young. I am proving my worth, and I cannot risk much.”

  She lost a little of the softness around her eyes and they took on a certain glitter. “Ah, well, youth… I remember starting out…” She pursed her lips and looked at the blue rug. “It is not a big rug. What others?”

  Jem had learned very young how not to listen to the words people spoke, but the spaces around them, which said so much more and as a consequence were more important. This was a woman who would cheat him if she could. He gestured at three rugs in turn, including the red and gold as the second of those.

  She nodded, taking them in with one long sweeping stare that ended back up on his face. She was smiling again. “You would like four?”

  “Will you offer me a lesser price for the bulk purchase?” He wasn’t as enthusiastic as he had been a minute ago about buying them. He knew that Tas, a newly-settled, raw world, would not have buyers for the rugs. They were pure speculation on his part.

  She shrugged. “They are not made in bulk.”

  Jem gave up. He wasn’t sure what game she was trying to play, but he wasn’t interested. “I regret wasting your time, Madam.”

  He sketched another stiff little bow at her, noting her surprise with satisfaction. It wasn’t much, but he caught the change on her face. She had thought he was wiggling on her hook, and now he was going to walk away.

  “Tomorrow there is no market. If you desire the rugs…” She extended a little chip to him, and tapped it against his tablet when he lifted it automatically in return to her gesture.

  Jem got out of the tent and back into the bustle with something approaching relief. She had set his instincts off and his hackles were up, but he still couldn’t put his finger on why. Usually having an opponent count on his relative youth and inexperience meant that he had an advantage, but this time he’d seen that she meant to use it against him. He wasn’t in the mood to be played with, he decided, not after Abe’s generosity. That must have been it, the contrast between the hustler and the professional.

  Jem knew the man with the yellow shirt was still following him, but he still had business to do. After another three stops, he was forced to conclude that no one wanted the woolies. He’d seen two buyers, and one had fingered the sample swatches with a dubious look on his face.

  “Gen-engineered? On planet? Won’t fly, kid.” This time the word didn’t set Jem’s teeth on edge. The man was trying to be nice. “Lot of resistance to that sort of thing, down-planet. Up here…” He shrugged. “Look, being able to shear and spin…”

  “They shed off,” Jem interrupted. The man pulled a face.

  “Even with all the benefits like that and colors without dye, it’s still not natural, and I wouldn’t be able to label it as natural fibers. The market wants to hear natural.”

  He’d handed the samples back with a sad smile. “Wish I had better news for you.”

  Jem, who wasn’t supposed to be inwardly jubilant over his earlier score, let his face fall. “Oh, well. Can’t pick a winner every time. Say, can you recommend a place for dinner?”

  His stomach growled, on cue, and the other man grinned. “Still growing, I’ll betcha. My son kept on until he was forty – that’s about twenty-one Earth years – and about ate me out of house and home.”

  Jem, who wasn’t quite sure of his own age, rubbed his belly. “I don’t think I’m still growing up, more’s the pity.”

  He was a couple of inches shorter than the other man, and of slight build. Walter had often teased him about his appetite, but had always made sure he went to bed with a full belly.

  “Sarmea’s has good, cheap food, and plenty of it on the plate.” The other man stepped out of the booth and pointed down the aisle between the booths. The crowd was thinning out and the station lights dimming as the night-cycle approached. “You go down until you see Stan’s Tools, then hang a left and go right to the wall. Can’t miss the neon sign.”

  Jem clasped arms and went toward where food was. He really was hungry, and he’d done enough activity in the market to convince anyone watching that he’d struck out. Time for a meal – and a big one did sound good – and then some rack time before he could return to the ship and finalize the transfer to Abe. He was peopled out already, and still had hours of being social to look forward to.

  Chapter 4: First Contact

  Sarmea’s was properly ventilated, so Jem didn’t smell the spicy food until he stepped inside. His stomach growled audibly, making the hostess titter behind her hand as she led him to a small booth. The interior of the restaurant was dimly lit, with tinny sitar music playing over a sound system. He sat on the red-covered bench and was pleasantly surprised to feel it adjust to his weight. The comfort of the seat made him look around the room with sharper eyes.

  Decorated ornately, there were statues of elephants everywhere, and the glitter of rhinestones sparkled from designs inset into the ceiling. But the overall effect was sedate rather than flashy or overwhelming. He knew that the subcontinent once known as India on Old Earth had been one of the first nationalities to reach space with a colony, although he couldn’t recall details. But this was like something out of one of the books he’d read on the civilization pre-Diaspora.

  The waiter was a slim boy not much younger than Jem himself, but he pressed his hands together with the fingertips almost touching his hairline and a small bow. Jem solemnly returned it, but with his hands at his breastbone.

  The menu was in tradespeak and illustrated, which was only slightly helpful. The little pepper symbols, a universal to indicate spicy foods, were more helpful. Jem chose cautiously, selecting a dish that was a brown sauce, rice, and bore the two-pepper mark. He’d discovered the hard way that one man’s pepper was another’s supernova.

  While he was waiting for his food to arrive, he was amused to see the man with the yellow shirt come in and talk to the hostess. She pointed in Jem’s direction, and Jem felt a prickle of alarm as the other turned and looked straight into his eyes.

  As the man walked toward him, smiling slightly and holding eye contact, Jem wondered if he was from Abe, and if so, what Abe wanted. He’d been very careful not to give a hint that he had even brought anything besides the woolies to trade. Perhaps the time for lizard – no, dragon – delivery had changed.

  Jem stood as the man came within a few steps of his table. He bowed slightly, and the other returned the gesture.

  “May I join you?” The yellow top, close up, was patterned with a brocade of some animal cavorting. The yellow threads shimmered. Jem was left with the impression of ghastly unfashionable taste on the other’s part.

  “Certainly.” Jem kept his tone polite, and sat as the other did. He schooled his face to a mask of politeness to hide his trepidation and curiosity.

  Once seated, Jem folded his hands in front of him and met the other’s eyes again. He said nothing. He had not been introduced, and had not sought this meeting. It was the other man’s move.

  “I hear you are a trader.” The other began, leaning back and beckoning to the waiter, speaking to Jem without looking at him. “I have a proposition for you.”

  Jem raised an eyebrow. The man was looking at him now, and Jem was wondering if he was going to pretend he hadn’t been following on Jem’s tail all day.

  The man grinned suddenly. “I was watching you.”

  Ah, there, now he was talking. Jem leaned back a little and relaxed.

  “I noticed,” The man leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “You didn’t do very well today. Bad luc
k, that.”

  Jem shrugged. He had the option of staying longer, but the impression he’d gotten in the market was that the bioengineered woolies wouldn’t fly no matter how many noses he waved them under.

  “Be a shame for you to have traveled all this way and not see a profit.”

  The young trader wondered cynically if the other had any idea just where he’d come from, or even what ship was his. Was this some sort of test from Abe?

  “Wouldn’t be the first time, or the last.” He allowed slowly, picking up his water goblet to take a sip. Nerves were giving him dry mouth.

  “I can make the trip worth your while. I have some cargo to move.” The man in yellow slipped a data tablet out of his pocket and laid it flat on the table. “There are some conditions.”

  “What kind of cargo, and where are you shipping to? I plan to make Tas my next stop.” Jem was confused and trying to hide it. This wasn’t Abe’s man, or he would be asking about goods, not trying to move them. Also, this was… odd. The whole thing was odd and setting off mental alarm bells.

  “Live cargo. You handle livestock, right?”

  Jem nodded. The man knew something about him, then, and the Tanager by extension.

  “I’m sorry, did someone recommend me to you?” He asked.

  The man nodded. “Yes, yes, didn’t I say? Chap over to Fed Fabrics, you talked to him earlier, he said you were moving some kind of sheep that changed colors like a chameleon.”

  Jem blinked, trying to remember the buyer’s name at Fed. He’d been curt, brushing off the young trader as though he couldn’t even be bothered. Absently, he corrected the other, “They don’t change colors.”

  “But you do handle livestock?”

  Jem eyed him warily. The man had been following Jem since early in the day. At least since he’d left the Tanager, he was sure now. The Fed Fabric buyer hadn’t been inclined to recommend Jem, Jem was fairly sure he hadn’t even remembered his name five minutes later.

  “I do. But I have limited space and prefer to transport in stasis.” Jem allowed cautiously.

  “Perfect, perfect.” The other man rubbed his hands together. “I have 6 mid-size cases that must be handled very gently, no rough stuff, no exposure to vacuum. About 55 to 60 kilos each.”

  Jem thought about that. The codicil to avoid vacuum was strange. Stasis cases weren’t affected by lack of air. He was strongly inclined to tell the man to bugger off.

  The waiter interrupted his train of thought as he was searching for the right phrasing to politely tell the yellow man to go to hell. Jem smiled at the boy and repeated his earlier gesture and bow. The boy didn’t speak trade, or at least he hadn’t attempted to speak to him. The courtesy did make his smile go from ear to ear, though. The smell coming from his plate made Jem’s stomach growl again.

  “Ah, the lamb korma! Excellent choice.” The other’s voice was approving. He’d moved the data tablet when the food dishes were put on the table, but now he keyed it back on and shoved it across next to Jem’s plate. “If you will just fingerprint here…”

  “What?” Jem, startled, leaned away from it instinctively. “I am not going to contract with you right now.” He blurted, shocked by the other’s presumption. “I don’t know you, or what you are shipping, and you haven’t even asked my rates.”

  “But if you will just print, trust me, this is very lucrative. And you don’t need to know what we are shipping, the crates will be opaque, with special seals that cannot be tampered with.”

  Jem doubted that – there were always ways. He really didn’t like being pushed at, and he was hungry. Politeness went out the window. He pulled out his own data tablet and keyed it on, then held it up, deliberately letting the other see what he was doing as he opened the camera.

  “Hey!” Yellow man almost jumped out of his seat. He glared at Jem, then walked quickly out of the restaurant, his back stiff with indignation.

  Jem ate, a small smile on his face. It was probably not a good idea to make an enemy, but it had felt good to see the look on the man’s face. Horror and shock at the idea of a photo. Jem almost wished he had actually gotten one.

  With his belly full, Jem headed back to the ship. He had planned to spend the night in a cheap crash pad, but he knew too well how insecure they were. With the yellow man angry with him, Jem wanted home. He found he was very tired, and had to work to maintain awareness of his surroundings. Not being around people for so long made interacting with them a physically grueling effort.

  Seeing the hatch of the Tanager, after navigating the corridors full of partiers, was a relief. The earlier families had given way to mostly drunk adults. Jem rolled his shoulders to release his muscle tension, scanned the quiet dock area – he’d left the festivities behind him in the public corridors – and keyed in his entry code.

  There was no point in breaking seals and leaving the station. He was still meeting Abe with the lizards in the morning. Jem stretched out on the woolie’s cases rather than the cool metal of the deck plates and fell soundly asleep in moments, finally feeling safe.

  He was awakened by the chiming of an incoming call. Groggy, Jem rolled off the cases and stood up. He answered the call.

  “Scarlet Tanager.”

  “This is Treigh. Where are you?” The other man sounded tense to Jem.

  “I’m on the Tanager. In the shipping bay.” Jem wished he had a coffeemaker in the bay. He rubbed his eyes with the back of a hand and blinked. Did he have time to go get a cup before Abe’s deliveryman came?

  “Stay there.” Treigh broke the connection, leaving Jem frowning at the bulkhead in concern. He couldn’t leave until Treigh cleared him, anyway. What was going on?

  While he was waiting for Treigh, he loaded the lizards on a small pallet. Now that he was awake, he realized that it was very early, far earlier than station morning. It would be at least an hour before Abe’s man would arrive and he could be free of this place.

  It was not, he thought as he started a short routine of calisthenics to warm up in lieu of coffee, a good thing to always be alone. Walter and he hadn’t talked every day. There was enough room in the ship to allow them space. But the old man had always been there. Before Walter, Jem hadn’t known what alone could feel like. Now? Well, the pup helped.

  He missed the pup, but the little furball was safely in the heart of the ship, waiting for Jem to cast off from the station and the unnerving breaks in his routines. The bell rang for admittance and broke his train of thought.

  When the hatch slid open, Jem took an involuntary step backward. Standing in his entry was the yellow shirt man.

  “Easy, kid.” The man held up a hand and stepped to one side, letting Treigh go around him.

  “Jem, this idiot didn’t mean to scare you.” Treigh’s scowl over his shoulder, directed at the other, reassured Jem.

  “Who are you?” Jem asked, folding his arms and gathering his confidence. On his ship, he was in charge. The yellow man was no longer dressed in the vibrant shirt. Now, he wore the same uniform as Treigh. Jem wasn’t sure what that meant.

  “Officer Dilar Moskvin, at your service.” Moskvin clicked his heels together and made a deep bow with a flourish. “Sorry about yesterday’s theater. We, ah, needed to be sure.”

  “Sure of what?” Jem wasn’t going to relax. How well did he know Treigh, after all? What kind of a set-up was this…

  “Is there a place to sit and talk?” Moskvin looked around the hold, his face openly curious.

  “No. I don’t entertain.” Jem informed him. Which wasn’t strictly true, but it was here on Altressa, with the ship sealed.

  Moskvin shifted into a more relaxed pose, obviously settling in for a long chat. “We’d like to get some help from you.”

  Treigh inserted quickly, “You will be paid, of course.”

  Jem looked back and forth between them. Something about this whole situation seemed off kilter. He spoke bluntly, not caring if his anger showed in his voice. “What is it you want me to smuggl
e?”

  Treigh looked shocked. Moskvin threw his head back and laughed. “Smart kid. Going to tell me no again, aren’t you?”

  Jem nodded. He was hoping Abe’s man would show up, so he could throw these two off his ship and scratch Altressa off his route. He was really disappointed in Treigh, to boot.

  “It’s not smuggling.” Treigh shot the other man a dirty look. “Moskvin, your sense of humor is ill-considered.”

  “Then what?” Jem demanded. “You want me to carry cargo off the books.”

  “No.” Moskvin sobered. “Very much on the books, kid. But we had to be sure, no offense, that once bought, you stayed bought. And we couldn’t risk you getting picked up and thrown in the goose for smuggling along your route, without our cargo getting through.”

  Jem shrugged. “I don’t do that. Walter was pretty firm about it, and it’s not worth the risk.”

  Which, again, wasn’t quite true. He knew very well he could make easy money with little risk. Not to or from Altressa, but other places. It was a decision he’d made on his own after several long conversations with Walter. There was a certain freedom in having boundaries beyond which he did not step. He had honor. Jem lifted his chin a little and squared his shoulders. “I will need to review the contract.”

  Treigh and Moskvin looked at one another. Moskvin nodded, a small move Jem almost missed. Treigh pulled out his tablet and tapped on it.

  The hatch resounded with a loud knock. Treigh jumped, Jem was interested to note, but Moskvin didn’t.

  “Who is that?” Treigh froze, his fingers almost touching the screen.

  “Abe’s man. He’s come for…” Jem bit off what he was saying. Moskvin didn’t know what the cargo was. “A shipment,” he finished with a look at the stranger.

  Moskvin nodded. “Understandable. You still have to do business.”

  Jem went to open the door to the sleepy looking man on the other side. “I have the pallet loaded.”