Trade Secret (eARC)

by Sharon Lee

  He'd seen the contracts Rinork's man of business built, and if they had more behind them than any other High Clan's contracts, he'd not seen it--yet the strength Rinork showed, that strength showed more off-world than on, and more in the low places than the high.

  Rinork had odd melant'i in some ports, as if there were connections Tan Sim was unaware of. He hoped, of course, he could discover these connections if there were some, or else avoid them if they produced unequal results . . .

  The musicians, having finished their set, placed instruments down after perfunctory bows, fell together in a hug more properly a grope and rushed their bows and their goodbyes, leaving the barwoman with a bad expression and the few customers with little else to stare at but their hands.

  Glass being empty and paid for, and music done for now, he charted a course to Coyander Kenso that ran through the trade office and perhaps by the trade bar as well. Sometimes the trade bar was good for company, and he'd likely not be having much of that anytime else in the near future.

  *

  "Captain, I have copied all three of your test-mail locations with this request, and yet I still wait. This is a matter you've laid directly to my duties, you've informed me multiple times that I must not be behindhand in bringing exceptional trade opportunities to your attention, and that you value my experience. With all honor to your sleep, my melant'i as the ship's trader requires this interruption of your schedule!"

  Tan Sim repeated the gist of the message once more into the voice-recall box, and when there was not a direct response, he one by one sent the text messages to the remainder of his shipmates, for all that they might never see the captain to speak to him but at lunch once a relumma . . .

  And that message was request that they repeat his need to talk to the captain on short notice . . .

  For effect, he resealed the hardcopy of Elthoria's request into the message capsule he'd been handed so hastily--if tardily--at the trade office.

  "So, Coyander Kenso recalls our existence," had said the older of the women on duty. "Why, in the five trips on record, I doubt we've seen the Kenso nearly so up close as you, sir! And imagine to find you so active at nightside!"

  "Why, Trade Mistress bel'Verand, I have had every intention of stopping in person to the office: Coyander Kenso having an expanding route how could I do anything else? In fact, I come to inquire after the proper expressions of gratitude here on Finifter, there being trade halls preferring immediate and personal attention"--here he'd bowed extravagantly to all present--"and others interested in odds and ends only a trader in search of a commission by a hall might know would be welcome."

  His bows grew more profuse as he gave his complete introduction, and eventually, with the telling of tales and thanks for the superb treatment Coyander was enjoying, from first Jump recognition to the very moment--not to mention the careful preparations already under way for their departure, he also managed to give away a reasonable amount of his extra profit to buy the ship's melant'i back from the brink . . .

  He was nearly down to measuring the success of his mission by the backache even he would admit when the assistant trade mistress made a sign to the trade mistress herself and . . .

  "Why, there are messages and mail on file for your ship, Trader, and only a few go back more than two trips, if I recall correctly!"

  He'd carried an office hamper of junk with him, grunting at the weight of it, for many of the items were local messages printed on actual paper and brought up from the world below to entice ships--and they'd been billed for the storage of it!

  He'd watched them drop the paper and file cubes into the hamper with abandon, sighing, and bowing at their efforts. Finally, he'd picked it up--

  "And one last, Trader. This one arrived early this shift, and we immediately messaged to your ship that it was here--for yourself!"

  She'd dropped the message capsule into the hamper where it swam down into the morass--and so he'd tugged the lot to the so-called lounge, dumping it on the empty table in search of what was surely a message from Jethri, after all this time . . .

  From the captain's suite, the sound of the pressure door finding equality--yes, he'd already known the captain overdid his oxygen along with his alcohol when the ship was at port--and the door slid to reveal the bleak-faced man.

  "Trader, you have concerned the technical crew with your incessant messages and your . . ." He paused then, the papers, cubes, and out-of-date message capsule scattered across the table and onto his chair coming to his attention.

  "We have mail, Captain," he managed. "We have mail going back seven Standards or more, I gather. Some of it is for you, some for the technical crew, and some for the ship. Also, this, for me!" Tan Sim held the capsule up. "Mail which arrived today and of which I was uninformed--"

  The captain was unabashed. "The receipt message is in a queue, to be sure. It would have been discovered before we left the docks, Trader."

  With no little irony Tan Sim began clearing the captain's seat.

  "I'm sure you're right. It was only a matter of time before it was brought to my attention. And it is a good thing that it is found, for messages to traders like myself often have time value. Please, be seated, and we shall discuss this message, Pilot, and the possibility that we might change our route, with a view to an early departure, if it may be done at all."

  "You would have me change the route?" The Captain sat heavily, rubbing his chin grimly. "To what end, Trader?"

  "I am invited," he said with some emphasis, "and as a consequence so is this ship, to a preview tour and inspection of a multiplanet trade station being built in the Spwao System. And there is a trade show, expanding this time as a show-off. Those who preview it before it is in the final orbit will have first preference for slots, cargo, and routing. Elthoria passes on this news, Captain, being unable to attend. But I am no pilot, and only vaguely understand the timing of such things . . ."

  The pilot, having left the captain aside momentarily, closed his yes and said "Spwao. They've two planets and some belts as well; not hard in-system travel, just careful. That'd be why the station, so traders don't have to worry about the dust and junk, but can . . ."

  His words trailed off, and when he opened his eyes he managed a smile. Then his eyes focused on a piece of mail with an ancient time stamp, and he swept it away with a grimace, coming more awake.

  "I'll get the technical crew up here to help with this sorting. You have exact information? The invitation, it is not just for you, Trader?"

  "Let me show you, Captain. We shall look at it together to be sure we're on the same wavelength about the potentials."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Aboard Keravath in Jump to Vincza

  Jethri took it quickly that a Scout's view of proper training schedule and Norn ven'Deelin's were related--except that the Scout expected much longer attention and prompter and more accurate recall--call it an order of magnitude more intense.

  Everything they did was practice of some kind: meals included a description of cooking methods, a discussion of nutritive values and alternatives, warning of missing vitamins and minerals, and expectable allergic reactions from particular frontier populations.

  The Scout played music in the background--Jethri was to be able to describe type and mode if not artist and creator of the last three pieces at any time. They spoke Liaden, except when they didn't--the Scout switched languages in midsentence, often demanding Jethri explain Terran in such detail and history that the trainee felt truly ignorant of his own heritage, and stupid to boot. Given options of modes in Liaden he often was challenged as to choice and then asked to describe it in Terran or Trade, whichever was least able to handle the question.

  It was a little like being with Grig when he was in a mood--Grig also expected one to know what one knew at all times, and he'd ask strange questions sometimes that didn't make sense until days later. The Scout, it turned out, would drop in questions about space flight in a discussion of tea and spices; he'd ask about
textiles during a simulated test of the thrusters . . .

  There was quite a bit of that simulated thruster stuff, for once the actual gut-wrenching part of pushing the Jump activate button and watching everything on the screens go miraculously blank at the appropriate moment, much of what he did at the boards was ship training. Where it might vary from another ship the Scout was clear, and when what Jethri was learning was generic, ter'Astin was clear on that too.

  By day five of Jump, Jethri was into his twenty-eighth cumulative hour of what the Scout was prone to calling "the station connect quick-drill" with the mode in the comrade side of things--Jethri played with translations and got "easy-style station attachment" from the Trade version and "playing at station-lock" from the Terran.

  The playing part felt right part of the time: it was fun to see the problems coming up and avoid them, more like a puzzle than work.

  They'd gone fairly quickly from easy mode to hard as far as Jethri was concerned--his board was locked to the sim and all the screens on the bridge were synced to the same thing. He had played at what the ship could do at first, finding that Keravath was nothing if not responsive--at least in drill--and seeing that as far as he could recall, it had about three times the fine control he'd seen displayed on Gobelyn's Market.

  Once he was familiar with the basic controls, he'd started out at what the Scout promised him was "one-twelfth speed" and a zero-zero-zero-zero-one status--the ship being one ship length away from the simulated docking tube with no relative motion and all axes in perfect alignment, and latching equipment perfect.

  They'd worked with perfection the first two days, then lurched into a bad latch, the while upping the volume and incidence of radio chatter and outside infofeeds; by the start of shift on day five they were pursuing a docking collar with a slow roll and uncertain latch that would require Jethri to hold station while a supposed manual connection was locked from within the airlock.

  The work wasn't play this time. The Scout pushed him, the sounds were annoying, the ship gave him prompts about thrust variations in two units, forcing him to find an alternative for his preferred heel-and-toe approach to nodding the final hands' widths to connection.

  Trying to balance the close with the two opposite end thrusters made the lock a fulcrum; Keravath warned him of potential torsional problems if they locked successfully at the change rates he was applying, creating either a trunnion wave in the hull plate or a gudgeon split in the lock itself.

  Hands sweated: he lowered the incoming message rate, assigned priorities, turned some channels off entirely. Then the Scout repeated his name, instead of saying, "Pilot," making him take his eyes off the board and turn his head to look across to the piloting station.

  "Jethri, you understand that once we dock we'll be under local relationship and marriage rules. We need not open the hatch; just docking will do it. Some of these rules are in explicit conflict with the Liaden Code. As I'm not privy to Ixin's plans for you, you shall wish to be extremely careful--"

  "Hold that," Jethri told him with no uncertainty, turning back to his boards with a shrug. "If it is important you'll tell me later. Are my prime interior forward and aft thrusters to be considered unreliable for the duration? Do they have a self-heal I'm not informed of?"

  "The test cycle can't be performed in this kind of proximity to a docking target."

  "Lock them out then. I'll go with these others."

  "Yes, Pilot. Pilot's choice noted."

  The closing visuals showed three target surfaces--

  "If this is manual lock we'll need you in place. I assume the program is fully functional and I'll be able to monitor the results here. If that's the case, do it."

  "Pilot," said the scout, unsnapping his belts and moving rapidly to the portal to the outer ring, the speaker and function lights bringing news until: "In place, Pilot."

  "Contact should be in twenty-five seconds from my mark. I'll tell you to act when we've maintained position for three seconds."

  "Yes, Pilot. Three-second rule."

  Jethri eyed the main screen until the ship was within ten seconds of contact, then had three screens, each with their own circle and pointer until they disappeared into a blue center--contact!

  "Contact. Three count. Lock now!"

  "Hold contact! We've obstruction. Moment. Hold contact!"

  It felt like forever, but the upcount only said eleven seconds when the lights on the board showed good.

  "Confirm lock, please?"

  "Yes. Locked. Congratulations."

  Jethri smothered the "Yeah, right" he almost said into a loud sniff, quickly pulling the rest of the board into balance for a docked situation, powering down, checking the links to see if outboard power or . . .

  "Seriously, Jethri Gobelyn ven'Deelin, congratulations. You have done very well."

  Jethri nodded, pointed the Scout to his seat.

  "If you are second board here you will now take the con and finish the shutdown for me to check when I come back. I seriously need to leave this seat!"

  The Scout laughed.

  "Understood, Pilot. Do relax and get a snack, or tea. Tomorrow we will a have a well-earned day of rest!"

  *

  Jethri was not exactly blindsided by the news that he was to guide the ship to rendezvous. After all, he'd already been led to the board after a fine breakfast prepared by the Scout once before--breakfast a courtesy to the shift pilot!

  That was yesterday and he'd been tucked into the second seat with First Board status half a shift before the Jump ended, waiting, cross-checking, three of the screens filled with information on what to expect on arrival at the Spwao System, Vincza the planetary goal, with Tradedesk in orbit, the true goal.

  They went over emergency procedures, then into call-signs and--

  "If I'm on deck when we arrive," Jehtri asked, "what do I call myself? I'm not a pilot--"

  The Scout made several hand-signs, one meaning stop and another meaning something like This again? before wandering over and standing near Jethri's station and silently staring away into the screens for some moments. Then he rounded fully on Jethri, bending closer.

  "What is it, I wonder, that you feel we should call you? What is it that you feel we are doing with these lessons, with this training? Do you feel it a waste?"

  Jethri looked into the same screens the Scout had stared at, briefly wondering if he'd met the same lack of answer in those images of space and planets.

  Finally, he shook his head Terran-style, and started in.

  "No, I don't think it a waste, if the idea is to--acclimate me. As I hear you, you wish to be sure that someone traveling with you is capable of handling the ship in an emergency. So you--"

  "No," insisted ter'Astin. "Not me. You. Yourself. What is it you are doing? What is it you are accomplishing? What are you experiencing?"

  "I'm learning, is what I'm doing. I'm familiarizing myself with the ship. I'm training, so I'm a trainee. I have no status at this though. I have no idea why I'm training except it is your habit, your whim! I'm a stop-gap or a backup or a--"

  The Scout made that shake of the hands which indicated dissatisfaction with a result.

  "Look you, young sir. What we have been doing here is training you in what I know and can share the while I have been learning from you. I have been practicing my Terran and my Trade as well as learning of the culture of the loopers. I have been hearing and understanding accents. I have had my Terran histories corrected or adjusted dozens of times. And so far you offer me 'Trainee.' Trader, please, I'm sure you can do much better than that!"

  The Scout looked once more into the screens. "It is true," he admitted at last, "that we are working with a lack of formal nomenclature here. We might say, I guess, that we are working you as an apprentice might be worked. Or that you are a pilot-intern. 'Backup pilot' lacks both dignity and accuracy, I fear.

  "In effect we are to be making a presentation as a team here, Trader, and we need each the other's countenance."
<
br />   Jethri saw a light change on the board, noted the manual countdown check, agreed with the status light with a quick touch to the control pad to confirm it, stared ahead into the screens.

  He thought back over the training, thought over breakfast. Here he was, doing what he'd imagined himself doing as a child, sitting at the board of a starship in Jump--the same board he'd technically been sitting in when the ship went into Jump.

  "Today, sir, today I feel as if I've won something, or that I'm a guest, fed by the house and treated properly as one of the house might be treated, a truly honored guest."

  "So, then," the Scout offered with a touch of a smile, "we should have you name yourself 'Honored Pilot'?"

  Jethri snarfed at that, letting the laugh go.

  "That's a bit much. Still, it is true in a way, it is how I feel, but it could be misconstrued to show me as having a higher level than yourself, which is absurd to any observer. More, melant'i may suffer wounds from within and well as without, may it not? I'd rather not push in that way."

  The scout's hands made a response Jethri thought of as more or less even which led him into more thought.

  "Yet to say I am a guest pilot, then that makes no melant'i inferences as to my level or my ability, nor does it overstate my importance to the ship or your reliance on me. What traffic control might make of it--we should understand that they'll need to have confidence in my rating!"

  The Scout stood and stretched, made one of those all-purpose dancing moves that showed him ready to move, to fight, to think, to act.

  "Ah, Ixin's genius shows through. Norn clearly has not lent me a silly son seeking to burnish his name. So, you may have solved this. And the more accurate we make this, the more we believe it and the more impact we may get from it."

  The Scout took a formal step back, and bowed.

  "Hail to Jethri Gobelyn ven'Deelin, Guest Pilot. You will identify yourself as Pilot in Charge when appropriate, and if asked or pressed you may well say you are on the familiarization stage of a learning survey."