by Sharon Lee
"There you are, Trader!" Doricky greeted him upon his return. She took her glass and leaned back in her chair with a sigh and a grin. "This is becoming a crush, as we all knew it would. How do you regard it? And yes, let us at least sip your choice . . ."
They nodded a common trader's toast to success.
"Ah," was Doricky's reaction, though Jethri wasn't sure if it was for the wine or for the busy group of six entering the room in high conversation, all personages he recognized as having given presentations or led tours. The group headed to the bar en masse, speaking all in Terran, some of it so heavy with accents that even Jethri was hard put to follow it.
"That's timing for you," Doricky said comfortably, adding, "An excellent choice in wines--someone's been showing you the good stuff!"
Taking another sip, she nodded again appreciatively, then made a hand motion--
"Not being in charge this time around, I haven't paid as much attention as I should to things. Didn't notice who sent you the invite."
Jethri felt a twinge of panic--but this wasn't a security test, it looked like.
"I was away from the ship, but it went to Elthoria, Grandma. The note tells me a name from the committee . . ."
She laughed briefly.
"I suppose the note does," she admitted. "But ships generally don't get notes or invites, traders do. Guess that's how we got those Rinork folks--they've got some exclusive runs and that kind of puts a bind on people. But you're right new to the halls, aren't you?"
"That's so, ma'am. But wait"--he fiddled in the middle pocket, pulled out the hardcopy--"here it is . . ."
He handed her the folded sheet as the volume of noise in the room picked up. Laughter was all over, and if there was soothing sound underneath, there'd be no way of knowing it now.
She paused, waiting for the light to change enough for a good view, and said a long drawn out, "Ohhh . . . oh."
Looking him hard in the face, she raised the hand with the note in it and waved it in his direction with quiet emphasis.
"You don't have to tell anyone else who invited you, right, Jethri? Just say you got your invite from the committee. Spare you a lot of interfering questions--and sometimes the committee don't sign these things, anyway."
That touch of disquiet came again.
"Is there a problem, ma'am?"
She shook her head, emphatically this time.
"No problem, none. See, the committee agrees on most of the folks who've come before--so that we keep things friendly. First-timers are usually run by everybody, but not always, and anyone who's bought in before can just run an invite in if they really want to."
She handed the note back.
"You know 'em, do you?" She blinked, and suddenly laughed, putting her wine in danger. "What am I asking? 'Course you know 'em! Now I see why you looked so familiar to me--and that Iza! Right, right. Your father was the Gobelyn who wasn't--he married onto the ship. People wondered at the time, but--well. No use reheating yesterday's 'mite."
Jethri looked from her to the signature on the letter--Dulsey Omron. He was perfectly certain that he'd never dealt with anyone--individual or trade group--going by the name Dulsey Omron.
He raised his eyes to Ricky's face, and said, quietly, "You have the advantage of me, ma'am."
She frowned, eyes narrowing, then nodded.
"I see that I do that, too. Second time I run foul of Gobelyn family politics tonight! Sorry, Jethri; guess getting crushed wasn't good for my thinking apparatus, either."
"As far as I can tell, you're thinking rings around me," Jethri said. "Please, ma'am, I'd like to know why I'm supposed to know this"--he fluttered the letter in frustration--"person."
She had a leisurely sip of wine, studying him over the rim. He met her eyes straightly.
"Well," she said, at last, "Dulsey Omron's the pilot who companions Uncle--I reckon he's got as good a name as any of the rest of us somewhere about, but that's what everybody calls him, just Uncle. None of us have kin-claim on him; just, he's been around forever--and her, too--always busy, always open to helping; scheming and hatching, like traders do.
"We wouldn't be hosting this party, like we've done all these times now, without the Uncle helping out. He's got hands in other projects, too; some go bust; some do right nice for the investors. His company's Midcentral Crystal Logistics--and what all this has to do with you is that he's Arin Gobelyn's for-real brother, and Arin was the spit of him. Which means now I can say I've met two somebodies who Uncle was blood-kin to."
Jethri took a careful sip of his wine. So, he'd gotten the invitation not because he was a notable young trader, but because his father's brother was doing him . . . a favor? There was a blow to his ego, but what did it mean for his melant'i, he wondered--and let the wonder go, because Doricky was still talking.
"Shoulda realized it, first thing. You're the spit of Arin, and Arin was the spit of Uncle."
That, Jethri thought, was something he could have happily lived a long lifetime without hearing. Unbidden, and much too clear, rose the memory of Grig the last time he'd seen him, on Irikwae, with his sister, Raisy.
Who had been the spit of him--or him of her, since Raisy had admitted to eldest.
He took another sip of wine and, seated as he was, bowed in Doricky's direction.
"Thank you, Grandma. It's always good to have news of kin."
"Isn't it?" she answered, and abruptly came to her feet, with only minimal help from her stick. Her smile was directed over his head, and she bent as much as the stick would allow, producing an entirely credible bow of welcome to a favored acquaintance.
Jethri slipped his letter away into an inner pocket.
"Trader pin'Aker," said Doricky, "good greeting! I'm so pleased to see you here. It's been many years since I've been able to enjoy your company. I wonder, have you yet met Elthoria's newest trader?"
Chapter Nineteen
Tradedesk, Gallery 770
Barskalee's Master Trader Rantel pin'Aker Clan Midys, sat poised and polite beside Doricky, the small talk between the elders having quickly devolved into brief comments and questions from him and extended descriptions, histories, opinions, and genealogies from her. Samay, introduced briefly as his niece, sat beside Jethri with somewhat more equality in their discussion.
Since neither had previously traveled to Tradedesk, and neither had experienced a Sternako Memorial Trade-off, they fell from these similarities easily into conversation, bouncing between the Trade tongue and Liaden, with Samay showing traditional High House skill in one and a reasonable proficiency with the other. From time to time she ventured into Terran; her accent suggesting that she could use a tutor if she meant to continue.
As juniors, they'd been dispatched to the bar to retrieve drinks for their party. Jethri noticed that Samay was shorter than Gaenor, tending toward the slender. A chance remark of how long she'd be traveling on this trip revealed two things to Jethri at once: first, that she was, possibly, as much as a Standard his elder; and two, that Gaenor had never quite told him how old she might be. He'd never thought to look it up.
Their return with refreshment had brought a pause in the conversation between the elders, while the wine was duly tasted.
Master Trader pin'Aker was seen to smile very slightly--a Terran might have missed it entirely. He raised his eyes to Jethri.
"Your choice, Trader?" he murmured.
"Yes, sir," Jethri replied, and manfully did not add, If you wish, I will gladly bring a more pleasing beverage.
"Most enjoyable," the Master Trader continued, and this time raised the glass to Jethri. "Come, let us all bestow proper attention." He drank again, inclined his head, and turned once more to Doricky.
"This . . . trade-off, Host Doricky--will you do me the honor of explaining the history? I find myself underinformed."
"It's a history not many have, sir, but those of us who do, treasure it."
Doricky sipped her wine, and straightened somewhat in her chair, her glance drawin
g Samay and Jethri into the circle of those about to be shown a treasure.
"Emdy Sternako, of tradeship Energia had a reputation," she began, "of being willing to go anywhere to trade anything. He studied trade reports, news feeds, history, advertising--always, he had books and reading to hand; always, he was studying. His studying, his easy ways, and--even his friends admit it!--his silver tongue gained him the reputation not only as a trader of skill and merit, but as a man who could sell anything to anyone."
Doricky paused for another sip of wine, before leaning toward Samay, and beckoning her closer. Samay bent in, as did Jethri; even Master Trader pin'Aker leaned a little toward the storyteller.
"It was said," Doricky continued at the necessary volume to be heard over the noise of the room, her posture giving the impression that she whispered into their ears. "It was said, Master Trader, that Emdy Sternako once sold sawdust to a lumberyard--and at a handsome profit!" She leaned back, with a small smile.
"He was clever, and talented, too. More, he taught; he put together co-op deals that would benefit traders who were maybe not so clever, or a little less talented. He went out of his way to introduce other traders to profitable connections; he made himself available for consultation." She paused as if in silent reflection upon the virtues of Trader Sternako.
"A trader of rare melant'i," Master Trader pin'Aker murmured. "These are the qualities the Liaden guild looks for in candidates for Master."
"Oh, he was Master class, all right. If he'd been Liaden, he'd've had himself a purple ring, no question. Thing was, you might've thought he was Trollian--or even Liaden--except for one thing . . . ."
She waited. Samay being too patient to see the cue, Doricky finally gave in, waggling prompting fingers in Jethri's direction.
"And why wouldn't this Emdy Sternako be confused with a Liaden, Grandma?" jethri asked with a little emphasis.
She smiled knowingly, her palms forward directly beneath her chin, allowing the stretched thumbs to frame the bottom of her face.
"Sternako came from an old family, and said he got into trading because he was poor as a child. He said he financed himself on his first trip by not buying razors or depilatories. Since his first trip was a success, he decided it was because he didn't take off his beard, and he didn't want to jinx his luck. So, he never took that beard off, and I swear, it went out to his shoulders!"
Samay took a deep breath, perhaps shocked at the idea. Clearly, going on a trade mission was widening her horizons.
"Ah," said the more experienced pin'Aker solemnly, "so he looked a bush with a face in it, which never you will find among Liadens!"
Doricky shook her head in agreement. "Bush is correct. First time I saw him it was so dark a brown it was almost black. Next time it was so gray it was just about white, shoulder to shoulder.
"Well, Emdy, he was one of the traders who early supported the building of this station, and the notion that all traders, no matter their language or their homeworld, ought to come together and do business as equals. For the first six of our trade shows, he made it a point to come to a party at the show--let's call it this party!--and offer to outtrade anybody . . . and he did, most every time."
She sighed then, long and hard.
"Then, we sent an invitation, but he didn't come. Energia was listed as late. Over a Standard they listed her as late, then they listed her as missing--not only here, but at all of his regular ports. He never exactly made firm commitments, you see--but we always expected him to show up. That empty chair there--that's his chair. Only two or three folks I know would dare sit in it!"
She nodded to Master Trader pin'Aker. "There's your history, right there."
"I am grateful," he said. "I concur, the history of such a man is a treasure, reminding Masters of our obligations, and providing a standard to which all may aspire."
"That's right," Doricky said. "Something to aspire to, is Emdy Sternako. And there's the bell! The trade-off's about to start."
*
The laughter had died down from the start of the challenge, which apparently was a joke of long standing between two friends, each offering to trade fair-value items they'd brought in ancient transport sacks.
"I have here," the first offered, sipping loudly from a very large mug of ale and displaying the object at the same time, "a used mechanical grease gun, as favored on Ynsolt'i. You may inquire after the age of the grease in it if you like or have an expert on hand verify that it is still usable. I paid a great sum for it, and I challenge you to make it worth my while to trade with you!"
He showed the grease gun to all and sundry, offered side challenges, quaffed his beer.
"You hardly have better than this, I believe," the second trader said haughtily, "so you'll wish to offer me cash plus if you want me to take your . . ." Here she looked to the ceiling and the far walls with exaggerated expression while she puffed on her lectrostim pipe, and held a seal-pak high. "This is a genuine top-of-the-line antique cake-art multispatula! Hard to find in many systems, since some folks don't appreciate proper cake. Do know, rascal, that this is a new and never-used item, still hygienically sealed."
"You've taken up cake-baking, have you, Trader?" The first trader, Donpa Auely, looked startled, and took a large sip from his mug while eying his opponent suspiciously.
"Much more likely," she offered with a sniff, "than you'd take up the care and greasing of anything but a beer keg!"
The banter worked, drawing a crowd to the stage. The audience now joined in as the traders sparred prices, throw-ins, add-ons, delivery fees, and celebrated the taxless free-trade status of Gallery 770. Side bids and side bets rained down upon the pair as they showed off their silly goods until, practically nose to nose, they traded a mix of friendly insults.
"Antique, but brand new, never used!"
The telling points, according to many whistles from the audience.
"Used and we know it works!"
There were not nearly as many supporters for this view, but they were very loud with their cheers. Oddly, Master Trader pin'Aker seemed to take the used-and-proven view, while Jethri'd been willing to make noise in support of the spatula. He'd seen such tools properly employed by Dyk and tried them himself, and knew a little, at least, of its worth.
He shifted in his seat, and very nearly brushed cheeks with Samay, who had leaned in his direction, perhaps for a better view of the action . . .
Jethri staved off the startle in favor of enjoying the view, a light bow and slight smile presenting themselves as the proper form for the moment; his blush a momentary and comfortable warmth.
Her smile was as wry as his, and they shared a near silent chuckle, each retreating from their lean. Jethri sighed and felt warmth in his cheek again, but Samay's smile became a passing grin as they both turned again to the trading, which was by now getting very energetic, if not decisive.
From the direction of the bar came a distinct and musical female voice, speaking Trade.
"This calls for an arbitrator!"
Doricky laughed out loud. "Yes, excellent . . . I say do it!"
The sentiment moved in a wave then, Doricky's approval having been a fulcrum; names were thrown out as possibilities.
"Arbitration needs someone neutral!" suggested another voice. "Who here can be neutral--those two scoundrels have bested us all at one time or another!"
"A first timer!" called someone from near the bar, and Jethri felt a thrill. Was Grig here?
"Here is someone unknown!" called Donpa Auely, using his chin to point at the first row . . .
At, Jethri saw, Samay.
Suddenly, the whole room was looking at Samay.
Her cheek darkened, and it seemed that her command of language failed, for only a moment. Then she took a breath, much like one would take a centering breath before beginning a menfri'at pattern, and rose. She bowed acceptance of a necessity, and spoke in Trade. "What needs done? I am unfamiliar with these protocols!"
Into the cheers of Samay's bows
came another sound--Doricky's voice, getting louder and louder, saying the same words over and over.
"Hold launch, hold launch, hold launch!"
She repeated that phrase a dozen times by Jethri's count, standing and waving the walking stick over her head until the two traders stopped motioning for Samay to come up on the stage.
"Problem, Grandma?" asked the trader of the multiuse spatula.
"Could be. You two--you been busting through space for almost a hundred Standards, between you--and this person here is on her first trip to space, and never signed off on her own trade in her life."
The crowd hushed and Doricky took that as a sign to keep talking.
"You want neutral? Two of you up there to cook up trouble and tell jokes, and you can't even close the deal? You ought to have two arbitrators maybe--one for each!"
With this Doricky brought her stick down, leaned on it, and whispered at Jethri, her voice full of either meaning or menace, "Stand up like you want to and let me talk!"
Perforce, he stood, and there were cheers, apparently just because something had happened and they'd had enough to drink to make that good.
Doricky turned back to the pair on stage. "Have either of you traded with this man?"
They signaled no, and she went on.
"This man has a trade ring, and he's got a ten-year key--show 'em, Jethri!"
Glancing at Samay, he managed a quick, slight bow of joint endeavor. He then raised the hand adorned by his trade ring over his head, and pulled the ten-year key up on its chain and waved it energetically.
More cheers. Samay looked up at him expectantly and he dared to offer her a small smile.
"So he ain't a Master Trader, but he's lived ships his whole life I bet, and he's done something only a couple people in this room have ever done--been a trader on a ship out of Liad!"
There was a smattering of applause, but Doricky wasn't finished yet.
"Then, he bested that by being the first Terran trading off of a Liaden ship! Folks, this trader here is the walking ideal of the whole Tradedesk project!"
