by Sharon Lee
However they’d begun, the process of Carresens in Spwao System began on Vincza, in the month before the rainy season, and then relocated for two more months to a smaller “Festevalya” on Tradedesk for the amusement of cruise ship passengers, and those citizens of Vincza who removed to the station to escape the rain.
“Bechimo, can you get me the coords for the next three Vincza sessions? Show me the schedule through twelve Standards, if it goes that far. It may be that this can work out well for us…”
The working screen began to fill with dates and place-names, rippled slightly and came more sharply into focus.
“Bechimo, why the font change?” asked Clarence.
“The station attempted to give larger fonts and preferred coloring to the events occurring at this station, or within the system. I have rectified the erroneous codes.”
“Thank you, sir,” Theo said lightly, watching for the next scheduled event. She frowned.
“Is there a pattern I don’t see?”
Clarence shook his head. “I was trying to figure that myself, but if there’s a pattern it isn’t obvious, is it?”
“The dates,” Joyita said, entering the fray from Screen Six. “They, coincide with local celebrations and growing seasons, as well as the rotation of certain ships and trade groups. The basic dates and algorithms are from the Second Arm Original Trade Almanac, Two Hundredth Anniversary Edition. The overrides are calculable based on the standard routes of the Carresens-operated ships Nubella Run, GRClement, Prism, and MVP.”
“Overrides?” asked Theo.
“It appears from a scan of past events, that GRClement is required at each Carresens, with two of the other three ships,” Joyita murmured, glancing down at a board that was out of Theo’s range. “For the Festevayla, one ship remains, in rotation. Nubella Run is the second Carresens ship of that name; GRClement has risen to replace OchoBalrog, which was retired from service eighteen Standards past.
“My interpretation of the schedules I see here is that a sophisticated and coordinated long loop system has been in operation since before the Trade Almanac began.”
He looked up and met Theo’s eyes.
“A deeper analysis may depend on the acquisition of trade history libraries, local pricing, weather, and political maps, as well as Carresens family history, birth records, and various stellar instabilities across systems.”
Theo nodded.
“How hard are these to come by, Joyita? It sounds like research we should have, and that Shan would want. Only, if there’s already a private set of loops running, Korval might not be welcome! We might not be welcome!”
“Welcome is different than allowed, pilot,” Clarence said, sensibly. “Looks like these Carresens have hit on a handy way to get business done. They come in, throw parties, bring in the ships and people for trade, have harvest fairs, and hiring halls; wedding marathons. They’ve built themselves into the every-day and special days of a string of places. Looks like they broker contracts, too. So we might have a good shot at picking up something.”
Theo leaned back in her chair, and looked to the chronometer.
“That would be good,” she said. “I’d like to get something out this appointment.” She glanced at the chronometer; saw that it was time to get ready for that appointment, and rose, determined.
“I will get something out of this,” she said, determinedly.
Clarence looked up at her, and nodded agreeably.
“Good luck, then, Pilot.”
* * *
It felt good to be dressed up, even a little; it felt good to have a task before her—a task that actually had some chance of success. She had Shan’s talking points, which were few, but she’d done this before, and it felt—not comfortable, exactly, but…more regular.
She came into their local gallery, and smiled, bouyed by the feeling of the familiar, even though she had only been to this spot once—and that was good, too.
The com was in her pocket, the ship-key hung round her neck, which had mollified, if not exactly pleased, Bechimo. Clarence had been all business when she went over what she called the rules of engagement, in case there was a problem. They were not yet so well trained a crew that they all knew everything that needed done—that had taken months or more to achieve with Rig, on a ship that wasn’t self-aware, and learning, and trying every day to do more, anticipate more—a ship trying to be a crew member.
Or two crew members.
At the edge of spider territory, Theo caught a lift down seven levels. From there, she had a decent walk, all in brighter, roomier, prettier place than she’d been. The air was perhaps heavier here, and she realized she’d have to be careful that she didn’t get a little inebriated on the extra oxygen.
* * *
Tradedesk was bigger than she’d realized, not only in cubes and mass, but in the amount of business that must go through it. The place was active and unlike the folks out in the spider zone there were signs of affluence and comfort. It wasn’t simply a higher oxygen content to the air, it was in the clothes and the walk and the kinds of storefronts. People were not just admiring, they were shopping, some of them walking proudly off with boxes and bags, or pushing carts. Local passengers were the bulk of the pedestrians given the talk she could hear: accents wrong for base Trade, wrong for base Terran. They were a respectful and informed crowd, too, with nods and polite hand signs for the young pilot with the rapid walk. There was also a willing concession of right of way, which Theo found it difficult to concede in return.
The way to the Carresens office lay through Festevalya, a bustling open market composed of numerous smaller shops and stands grouped in themes, crowded with storekeepers and patrons. There was a clothing store specializing in hand-made fabrics next to one with leathers and one with day clothes and one with night clothes. Each of the mini-shops had at least one rack or display with a bold Carresens Special, or New for Carresens displayed and given the range of things she might need, yes, she’d have to stop here on the way back!
Theo almost missed the side corridor she wanted; it looked more like a service hall than a route that led to a major…well, there was the sign above the small arrow: Carresens General. The hall entrance was a slightly disguised automatic air-seal—of course a station this size would have safety doors—and there was a warning sign for gravity shift, and as she walked through the door she saw that there was a change of texture.
The gravity shift was no problem, and she was in a smaller hall looking much more shiplike than stationlike—even some of Codrescu’s halls were bigger than this! The lighting was more shiplike as well. Yes, this was a ship’s passageway, she was sure. A ship not tube-accessed, but sealed directly into the fabric of the station.
The hall was short, ending at a door. A sign on the door said: please enter.
Enter she did, pressing the kickplate gently with her toe. She watched the door slide by, saw seals that looked good all around, saw the lights—a working airseal door, too, coated with an aftermarket paint that matched the hall of the station, but not the interior of the room. A faint impression under the paint, that there were words there.
The interior was a good size room, large for a ship, adequate for a station office, and she guessed it was the dining room of a trade ship. It was now furnished as an office, with one wall covered in images of planet-side fairs and spaceships, there were seven wait-seats, three of them occupied by pilots working assiduously on form tablets, and a counter—yes, that, too, sealed, flanked by doors: a serving counter, no doubt, except now the other side was not food prep but a clerk or—
“Pilot, your name and assignment?”
The woman suddenly behind the counter was a pilot, though she wasn’t wearing the working jacket. She was severe in aspect, hair finger-tight, dressed in a crisp and tight ship’s dress uniform all in pale blue; she might have been Pilot yos’Senchul’s age and certainly at least twice Theo’s. Her hands bore a ring each, one of them large—and gaudy—enough to be an old-fas
hioned pilots ring. The name stitched on the uniform pocket was Chels Carresens-Denobli.
“Theo Waitley, of Bechimo. I have an appointment with—”
“Yes, Pilot, I have you here. I’ve taken your info from station files, if you’ll be kind enough to let me see your license and station cards here a moment?”
Theo strode to the counter, handed the cards over, and watched as they were both machine scanned and eye-balled. Behind the counter the pilot flashed all good, very barley smiled, and handed them back, signing left-door.
“Pilot Denobli sees you now,” she said quietly.
* * *
Pilot Denobli was of an age with the pilot behind the counter out front, and he commanded a space that was a bunkroom, complete with several acceleration bunks folded into the walls, and a tiny foldout desk supporting a handheld device similar to that used by Rutland and Grafton. The name on his uniform was simply Denobli, and he’d not bothered to indicate a rank.
“We are,” he told Theo after introductions, “always interested in trade, Pilot, and still, somewhat surprised to have a query from Korval arrive in a contract ship rather than, let us say, Dutiful Passage and a yos’Phelium or yos’Galan. Waitley and Laughing Cat are not so well known…”
He lounged on a lightweight stool and used the table for a prop, leaving her with the only real chair in the room. That chair sat in a spot that was well lit and probably dead center of a vid-recording zone; it was only to be expected.
“I’d be surprised if Laughing Cat was known at all,” she admitted, “and I am greatly pleased that you’ve received us. We come at the bidding of Master Trader yos’Galan who hopes to begin some cross-lane trade, and perhaps a loop through this section that would also include Surebleak.”
Denobli’s hair was long enough to touch the bottom of his ears, and as extravagantly styled as the woman’s had been tight. Portions were colored gently with a green haze, and flared to a peak in in the center of his forehead while a braid started at the top of his head and reached to midback. The hair where it wasn’t green on gray was black as space. She noticed his hair because his hands were always in it, twirling the fringe over his ear, petting the peak into a point, adjusting the flow over his shoulders—that’s what they did when he wasn’t furiously questioning his handheld via keypad.
“And so, yes,” he said, “and you know of course that is why I talk to you directly rather than ask you to fill out forms and come back in three Standards when you have at least a small record for your endeavor, your Laughing Cat. I must say, and you should hear me well, that of all loops or routes I have considered, in the whole of my life, which is a long one and getting longer, I doubt that I have ever considered a loop including Surebleak. Not once, not ever, until I hear it from you. Also, I see the hand of a Master Trader here, if I may say so, for a pilot wishes to fly and travel and it takes a Master to see that a pilot might fly here to Tradedesk and back to Surebleak usefully. Might you elucidate?”
Denobli leaned back, the stool supported now by a single spot on the floor and his elbow, his hand currently twisting the hair at his other ear.
“My mission is exploratory, as you must know. Korval has recently finished a contract on Liad and the clan has removed to Surebleak. The Master Trader is seeking connections to be nurtured over a long term, which is why I have come in a ship suited to test a loop.”
“I like that,” he said, “how succinctly you put it. They have finished a contract. Well, the news arrives here of changes, and clearly Korval wished not to be on Liad or they would be there still, having had control of the skies from all accounts I have. Surebleak, though?”
His chin became supported for several seconds by the hand that had been adjusting his peak, and he seemed as much to be speaking to himself as to her.
“Your ship, of course, comes from Waymart, and perhaps you only know that the loop must go through Surebleak. And it is wise, for if Surebleak is to house Korval and their like it will need the ordinaries of food and rare-metals and specialties which Surebleak has not in quantity, if at all. I know this,” he said, using his thumb to point at his device, “as of today, for I have never thought of Surebleak as a trading partner, as you well know. If you have spent time there, which is a strange place as I hear it, perhaps you can tell me if you think the people there will permit this Tree-and-Dragon to be rulers there? Or are you disinterested in Korval’s problems, so long as you have a contract and a destination?”
There was a point here, somehow, if she could get at it, and it seemed best not to be too evasive, nor too forthcoming, if she didn’t see the point herself.
“Most planets are strange places,” she allowed, “and Surebleak maybe colder than some, but no stranger than a planet with a wet season that chases people to space…”
“It is so, planets are strange places to pilots. As young as you are, I wasn’t sure that you knew yet, or at all. Some pilots never do learn and they stay close to home always. Me, I take tours here and tours there and routes when I can—but see, I grew up on a ship. But let me ask this way, if I may.”
He fiddled again, this time using his left hand to twitch his braid thoughtfully, while Theo waited, practicing inner calm.
“This Surebleak,” Denobli said at last; “I am to understand, was without law. Governments all kaput when the company ran out of money. Now then, they have a Korval of a sudden, rules and—”
“But no,” Theo said, still trying to think her way through the question; “there was a government, or a system. Not a friendly system, but people lived and got by, and then when a strong Boss came, the system started to work better. That’s when Korval went, but there was something already.”
“Boss, ruler, eh?” Denobli looked her in the eye, his face serious, hands still.
“Here, what I am asking is will we hurt the people if we help Korval take this place and make it Liad again?”
Theo sputtered, thinking of Lady Kareen, then of Miri and her brother Val Con…
“I don’t think that’s the plan—to make Surebleak into Liad,” she said, slowly. “Korval’s not exactly in charge—there’s a council of Bosses who run—the turfs, they call them there. They’ve hired Korval to keep a road open, the big road for that place, though it isn’t much yet, so that trade can go forth, and the spaceport can be open. Korval is two—Val Con yos’Phelium, he’s one, from Korval like everyone knows, and Miri Robertson Tiazen. She’s local—from Surebleak. She grew up in a turf there. And she keeps Val Con straight on stuff, too. I think they’ll do good for the people!”
“Ho, Pilot, listen to you! First name with the delms, you say? So you have met some of these Bosses and folk of Korval, and master traders, too, and talked with them?”
She paused, unsure of how best to answer this question—if it was a serious question at all. Of course she was on a first-name basis with her brother, and his wife—but her relationship to the delm of Korval wasn’t, she thought suddenly, this man’s concern.
“I negotiated my contract with the Master Trader, Shan himself,” she said composedly.
Denobli’s eyebrows rose.
“Oh, did you? With the Master Trader, and you still own your ship? Why then clearly, clearly you are able.”
“Thank you,” she said, perhaps a bit sharp, but now that the questions were flowing, she asked, “Why did you ask? Do you think that Surebleak’s people will rise up and send Korval off-planet? That contracts and delivery would be at risk?”
“Good,” he said, “those are question for me, are they not? No, I do not think the people are in danger now, for though Surebleak has not been in my thoughts very much, you assure me that Korval is where they want to be, and Korval left Liad, which means they did not want to be there. People should be happy.”
Denobli paused, stared into nothingness for a moment it seemed, before staring at his screen, and finally looked up to Theo, whose chair had a height advantage over his position in the stool.
“Pilot, I have done th
e check of course, and I see you have been on a ship called Arin’s Toss. Now understand that this interests me greatly, and makes me happy too, because I like to think that people should be happy. Arin is a good name, and there was a thinker upon a time, a trader he was, who worked hard for his people, who had that name. I will send you a copy of a document he wrote, one that was sent out to traders and pilots. While the times were angry and confused, this thinker Arin, he had an idea of how to make trading work for people—to make happy pilots and happy traders and happy people all at the same time.”
He stopped, punched the keypad and sighed.
“See, and now I am informed—I see that Arin died Standards before the ship you piloted was commissioned, so clearly, it was not his own, as much as I would have liked it to be so.”
He sighed again, before continuing, “This Arin I speak of, he died helping people, and he left a position of great power to help people. We, that is to say the Carresens, we read and consider this man’s ideas about acceptable profits and sustainable routes and mutual growth. Understand that a ship the size of your Bechimo is nearly ideal for these concepts, in the right markets and locations. With or without Korval’s name, Theo Waitley, your offer has possibilities.”
Theo felt herself brighten: at last!
Denobli shook his head.
“I have made you happy. But, now! The sad news is that we cannot send you off today with a cargo of this or that or accept an offer to make a loop with Korval this month: our scheduling computers and our pilots are far too canny for that, and you do not claim to be a trader, or to have one with you.”
Theo said to herself inner calm, feeling disappointment rise to darken her moment of joy.
“Instead what we shall do,” said Denobli, “is we shall ask you to forward to your Master Trader a list of cargoes that we the Carresens feel might be of interest on several ends of a loop that would include Surebleak and which would not contain Liad, and we will ask about particulars of needs I have not thought of, for I have not before today considered Surebleak, as you will understand, knowing as you do that it is cold and not yet finished absorbing Korval. We shall see what it is the people of Surebleak have to offer that will make a good show out here in the Festevalya, that will make people happy. And maybe we can deal, Laughing Cat and Korval and Carresens. So, that makes you happy again, and I am happy, too.”
