Trade Secret (eARC)

by Sharon Lee

  The other thing they'd finally done was--to the same guild--sent Khat's personal letter of complaint against Bar Jan chel'Gaibin. Khat wasn't sure if she'd have to give a deposition there again, but she was willing to.

  The big news for Dyk was the food, and Dyk drafted Mel and Zam, and convinced Seeli to come out with Travit for a few minutes anyhow, and they took over the big room, even Iza willing to come down from the bridge as long as Zam and Mel would switch off.

  They'd barely sat down when the formal note came in on channels, for Khat. She was back in a moment, sat down heavy.

  "The Guild has disallowed me a complaint against chel'Gaibin," she said, shaking her head, with Dyk making a nasty noise and Grig pointing a heavy look at Zam who'd picked up a port term not best used in a family with a Liaden trader in it.

  "No need for it," she got through the buzz, "'cause word is he's been published as dead."

  The buzz got louder, with Khat frowning over it and Dyk trying to pass everyone a second serving of whatever they'd had. "Not the news I was expecting. He wasn't old, and if he'd been polite I guess he was a looker. Just. I dunno. Just 'published as dead.'"

  Paitor nodded, thoughtfully. "No use complaining, unless you got an unpaid invoice or something . . ."

  "They said they'll send me something official for my files, but Delm Rinork calls all Balances even."

  Khat scrunched her face. "That's hard. Can't blame his mother, I guess, for calling it even. Not sure--well, fair don't count, does it? Dead is dead."

  The news meant that Mel and Zam wanted to know more about what had happened in the first place and by then Grig had mentioned, real low, and just once, that "published as dead" was something that might happen to someone who'd stepped outside of lines.

  That brought things around to melant'i and how much could it really mean, which wasn't something--as Grig pointed out--as useless to consider as it once was.

  About the time Dyk was cutting and serving the frijohns came another beep from the comm--

  Mel recognized it and sang out, "All-trade channel!" and rose before Paitor's dessert got set back on the plate.

  In a moment he could be heard saying a bad word and then saying something under his breath before his voice boomed out from local speakers.

  "Balrog's got news out on the trade channel and this is tagged special for us, attention Gobelyns!" There was a pause of about three beats and he said, "Oh wow!" And then--"You want me to feed it in?"

  Iza was eating and shaking her head so Khat jumped in:

  "First mate says play it, and then get back here before someone snatches away your food!"

  A voice fed in, starting before Mel got back.

  "Freza DeNobli here, from the tradeship Balrog, with news representing the Seventeen Worlds, and of interest to Combine key carriers and all traders. With the permission and encouragement of next of kin we have begun transmitting to multiple bounce points, including the operations channel of station Tradedesk, now in transitional orbit near Vincza, the full and complete authorized version of Arin's Envidaria. This release is . . ."

  "That's Arin's secret stuff! What are they thinking? How can they . . ." Paitor's shock was palpable and he shook his head, saying to Mel suddenly, ''You're recording, right? Full encouragement of next of kin?"

  Freza was talking in the background, but Grig's chuckle grew into a guffaw so loud Seeli made him be quiet so he wouldn't wake Travit. Didn't much matter, his grin was big still.

  "Jethri!" Grig said the name like it was prize. "Had to be Jethri because Uncle Yuri never did agree with it. And it wasn't really supposed to be secret, it just was going to be refined. But it is time! The boy's right."

  Iza was the only one still listening to Freza's talk in the background, and Grig caught her eye, quelling his wide smile to a slight grin, and nodding in her direction.

  "Jethri Gobelyn's gonna make his mark. Boy's the very spit of Arin, ain't he, Iza?"

  Freza's voice was promising a repeat transmission daily for a ten-day when Iza pulled together a wan smile with a shake of her head, which turned into a nod.

  "The very spit of Arin, Grig. The very spit."

  Epilogue

  Elthoria

  The Young Gentleman Returns

  "Mother."

  He bowed, affection to close kin, which he felt was true enough, especially since he'd teared up like a kid the instant he stepped from the lock into Elthoria proper.

  The tech on duty, one Kar Sin bel'Witnin had bowed greeting to one long missed, and added, "Trader Jethri, welcome back to us. The Master Trader sends that you will find her in her office."

  "My thanks," he'd answered, voice husky. "And for the welcome, also."

  Now, he found his voice even more clogged with emotion, so that he stopped, hoping she would understand all that he meant to convey.

  "My son, you return, and make us whole again."

  She rose from her chair, for he had not found her behind her desk, but in her favorite chair, hands folded on her knee--idle, when Norn ven'Deelin was never idle.

  Rising, she extended her arms, and he came into her embrace, bending so that he might put his cheek against hers.

  Her hug was stronger than he might have expected, her fingers a little cool, where they pressed his cheek.

  "There!" she said softly, and patted his cheek gently as she moved away. "Come now, sit down and allow me the pleasure of beholding you. Shall you wish for wine?"

  "If you please, ma'am."

  She poured, which ought to have been his duty, as son and as junior in trade. He reckoned that he'd be back there soon enough, and this hour, for his homecoming, the usual mode was suspended.

  He received the glass from her hand, and held it between his palms. She seated herself with a soft sigh, and raised her glass.

  "To the joys of coming home."

  "To the joys of homecoming," he answered, and they sipped, and smiled at each other.

  "I must thank you, first, for transmitting such fascinating reading. It will require more study yet, but I believe Elthoria may be well placed to assist in the goals put forth in this Envidaria. Allow me to praise your father to you, my child, as a bold and forward-looking man, of which we see too few among us. His death diminishes us all, and yet his work--his work enriches us."

  He felt the stupid tears rise again--well, it had been a series of tight Jumps from Hatalan, Scout ter'Astin being unwilling to leave the business there overlong. He was exhausted, was what it was.

  "Yes," his mother said softly, and then, more briskly, "Allow me to hold you a moment more from your bed to satisfy a mother's natural concerns. Are your affairs now in Balance? Have you recovered those things which were reft from you?"

  "Indeed, Mother, my affairs are perfectly aligned. I am in Balance with the universe."

  "Is it so, indeed? How long do you suppose this happy state will endure?"

  "Possibly another five minutes, ma'am."

  "So long as that? Well, let us see."

  Jethri had a sip of wine.

  "Well! I will also allow you to know, briefly, my child, as you indulge me with another sip of wine--I allow you to know that Rantel pin'Aker has contacted me, suggesting that we might deal together profitably in the matter of a certain young trader. We shall find ourselves on the same port in only two Standard Months, and will meet then on the matter."

  Jethri smiled. "The Master Trader was extremely taken with Tan Sim, ma'am. He said that, with proper nurturing, Tan Sim might well achieve Master."

  "And well he might. But first, he must survive. Rantel and I will make that our first priority, with your leave, my son."

  He grinned at her. "By all means."

  "Excellent." The corner of her mouth twitched. "You must also be made aware, my child, that Tan Sim was not the only young trader with whom Rantel was taken."

  "We might have shown well in comparison to others who were present. I think, ma'am, that Infreya chel'Gaibin may have . . . insulted Master Tra
der pin'Aker, and I was present when Bar Jan made a serious misstep with A'thodelm pin'Aker."

  "Well, here's worthy gossip! You will tell me more--you will tell me every detail of this grand adventure, after you have rested and refreshed yourself."

  "I have one more piece of news that ought to be given, and then I will seek my bed." He took a deep breath and met her eyes.

  "Bar Jan chel'Gaibin challenged me to a duel on Port Chavvy . . ."

  She met his eyes calmly.

  "Did you kill your man, my son?"

  "Yes, ma'am, I did, but not in the way you mean. In the simplest telling, I shattered his arm. He was alive and on his way to reconstructive surgery at the planetside hospital. I was at his bedside, to translate, when his mother came in, and . . . declared him dead. She emptied his pockets and . . . left him there." He took a breath, keeping his eyes on hers. "He had his valet with him."

  He hesitated.

  His mother entered the small gap in the conversation.

  "The Gazette reports the death of Bar Jan chel'Gaibin, upon an outworld. It is said that Infreya will raise the next younger to nadelm, but there has been no announcement. It might do well to find from your partner if he has expectations in that direction."

  "Yes, ma'am. I wrote Tan Sim about Bar Jan's death, since I . . . and I asked if he had any new plans."

  "That is well done. But there was something else you wished to say on this topic, I think."

  He took a breath. The Scout had warned him that, culturally, Bar Jan, being cast out, was even deader, if that was possible, than he would have been if Jethri had killed him outright. No proper Liaden would attempt to aid such a dead man. Jethri's answer to that was, in this, he was Terran. He had done what he had done, and the Scout had said no more.

  Norn ven'Deelin, though, was a proper Liaden, and though he didn't see how he could have acted in any other way, knowing what he knew, and bearing the responsibility that . . .

  "Speak, my child."

  "Yes, ma'am. I made--in Bar Jan's name--I made an application to the Distressed Travelers Fund."

  She considered him for a long moment before she inclined her head.

  "We of the clans, we embrace our customs, and hold them close. This one . . ."

  She sighed.

  "When I was your age, young Jethri, I had a favorite who styled herself a philosopher. Ah, the discussions we had on the loftiest topics imaginable! I can only think that such heights lent a certain savor to the wine. In any wise, she took the position that what dies, when one is cast out, is one's melant'i. It is of course possible to survive without melant'i though it is a difficult state, and those who do live so are to be pitied."

  She sipped her wine, and raised the glass in a soft salute. "You have done well, my child; your melant'i increases.

  "Now!" She rose, and he did.

  "Seek your bed; rest. You are not yet on the schedule. Come to me when you are perfectly rested and we will review your necessities in balance with the ship's and consider how best to honor both."

  "Yes, ma'am," he said, and put his glass down on the table. He bowed then, affection for close kin, combined with obedience to a master.

  She laughed, and waved her hand, sending him away.

  Obedient, he turned--and at the door, he turned again.

  "Mother."

  "My child?"

  "It's good," he said, "to be home."

  END