The Crystal Variation (148 page)

“Hah. The master of Modrid hall oversteps. As I am certain the ven’Deelin will demonstrate, in the fullness of time. So you tell me that you are on a hall account at the moment?”

“I have some liquid.”

“Which you put into your speculation cargo, here. I see. However, matters become awkward if you lack a valid—”

“Will a Combine key do?” Jethri interrupted.

Tan Sim blinked at him. “Certainly,” he said, adding delicately. “Have you a Combine key?”

“Yes.” He reached inside his collar for the chain. Miandra ducked under his elbow and sat up, watching him pull the key up and then lift the chain over his head.

Tan Sim caught the key and held it in his palm, frowning at the inscription.

“A ten-year key?”

“With two trades on it—an acquisition and an assisting.”

“And you are at the hall for certification?” Tan Sim raised a hasty palm. “No, do
not
tell me. I am merely a trader. The ways of the masters are too subtle for me. So.” He released the key, and it swung gently at the end of the chain. “Well, then. If the young trader will do me the honor of using his key to access the Combine computer in the main bar, I will be pleased to guide him through the procedure for uploading an invitation to bid to the tradenet.”

SCOUT CAPTAIN TER’ASTIN
received them in Scout Hall’s book cluttered common room. After tea had been called for and tasted, he inquired as to the purpose of their visit, and listened in attentive silence while Miandra recounted her tale.

“And I
cannot
go home, sir, though I know you will think me beyond the pale for saying it—and I
will not
go back to the Healers,” she finished, heatedly, her hands folded tightly on her lap.

“A knotty situation,” the Scout said seriously. “I am honored that you thought me worthy of advising you. Let me consider.”

He picked up his teacup and sipped, Jethri and Miandra following suit, and sat for some few minutes, eyes not quite focused on the overladen bookshelf just behind Miandra’s shoulder.

“I wonder,” he said eventually, bringing his gaze to her face, “if you might consider going on with the evaluation, should a different master healer be found to conduct it.”

Miandra’s frowned, not liking the idea much—and the Scout held up a hand.

“I have in mind a particular master healer—in fact, a master healer attached to the scouts. I am able to vouch for her personally, having several times made use of her skill. I think you will find her a deft touch, with a proper respect for the perceptions of others. I have never known her to cause inadvertent suffering. As a Healer-in-training, I am sure you understand that it is not always possible to spare the patient all pain.”

“I do understand that, yes,” Miandra said, somewhat stiffly, to Jethri’s ear. “The master healer at the hall believes that pain strengthens.”

“Ah,” said Captain ter’Astin. He put his hands flat on the arms of his chair and made a show of pushing himself to his feet.

“If you like,” he said, extending a hand to Miandra. “I will introduce you to the lady I have in mind and the two of you may consult. Should you both agree to go forward, then Healer Hall will be notified of your whereabouts, and you may complete your evaluation while remaining here as a guest of the Scouts. Will that answer, do you think?”

Miandra hesitated and surprised Jethri by throwing him a look. He inclined his head.

“Truly, Miandra, it sounds as though the captain’s solution answers all difficulties,” he said, and of course right then what happened but that another possible problem jumped to the front of his brain. He looked to the scout, who inclined his head, black eyes amused.

“Healer Hall may take offense.”

“No fear,” Captain ter’Astin said. “I believe that my powers of diplomacy are equal to the task of explaining the matter to Healer Hall in such a way that they cannot possibly take offense.”

Day 180

DAY 180

Standard Year 1118

Irikwae

IT WAS A GOOD
thing Raisy’d insisted on coming along, Grig thought, drinking off the last of his ‘mite. A fastship was one thing, but pilots needed to sleep.

They’d done the run from Kinaveral to Irikwae straight through, manning the boards in shifts, six hours on, six hours off; ‘mite and crackers at the station. He’d done many a run just that way, back when him and Arin was active on Uncle’s business. ‘Course, he’d been a couple hundred Standards younger then.

“Hull’s cool,” Raisy said. Grig sighed, spun the chair and came to his feet, pitching the cup at the wall recycler.

“Let’s go, then.” Raisy handed him his jacket, and he shrugged into it as he followed her down the cramped hallway. She unsealed the hatch and swung out down the ladder; Grig followed, feeling the solid thunk of the hatch resealing as a vibration in the rungs.

On the tarmac, Raisy was surveying things, hands on hips, eyes squinted.

“Nice little port,” she said as Grig came up beside her. “You got an approach planned, brother?”

“Figured to check the exhibit halls and Trade Bar—boy’s ‘prenticed, after all. Guild oughta have a record of him and his location.” He shrugged, pulling his jacket straight. “How’s your Liaden, Raisy?”

“Better’n yours,” she answered, which wasn’t strictly true.

“Good.” He paused, giving the port his own stare, and pointed. “Exhibition hall.”

“Right,” said Raisy. “Let’s go.”

HE’D FINALLY FOUND
masks.

Red leather half-masks, with gilding around the eye, nose and mouth holes. Jethri accessed the detail screens and found an image. The red-and-gold reminded him of the books in the Ruby Club’s public parlor, and he thought the house master might find them to be exactly what he wanted.

Trouble was, he’d have to buy at least a gross of the things, and they were dear at that level.

Grumbling to himself, he filed the information to his personal account, so he could access it from the computer in his quarters.

He’d also found depilatory, which was a far cheaper proposition at the gross level, but still more than he either wanted or needed. In fact, Meicha’s work showed no signs of failing yet, so it could be that he was fixed good and proper and would never sprout another whisker. He made a mental note to ask Miandra if she could figure out what her sister’d done, the next time he saw her. Since she’d opted to have the Scout’s master healer do the evaluation and report, that meant three days. They’d promised to share a meal with Captain ter’Astin on the evening of her last day of evaluation, and he was looking forward to it, anxious to hear what the tests showed—

He brought his mind ruthlessly back to the matter at hand.

It might be, he thought, pulling up the secondary detail screen, that the master of the Ruby Club
would
be willing to buy a skid, less two tubes, of depilatory. He had been interested in the masks, though, and now Jethri was interested in the masks, too, as an unexpected, and unexpectedly complex, exercise in trade.

He filed the depilatory info to his personal account, ended his session with the Combine computer and waited for his key to be returned to him.

“Ah, here is the earnest trader, in the midst of his labors,” a distinctive voice said behind his shoulder. Jethri inclined his head without turning around.

“Trader sig’Lorta. How may I serve you?” The machine whirred and his key was extruded. He stood, slipping it into an inner pocket.

His mentor looked up at him. “Have you time to join me in a cup of tea, Jethri Gobelyn? I wish to discuss your progress with you.”

Not that there had
been
much progress, Jethri thought, grumpily, with him on rest leave for two days. Still, when a man’s mentor wanted tea and a chat, it was a good idea to have time for him.

So, he inclined his head again, murmured, “Certainly, sir,” and followed the trader to a booth, where a pot and cups were already set out on the table.

“If you would do me the honor of pouring?” Trader sig’Lorta murmured, pulling the multi-use screen toward him.

Teapots were tricksy, the handles being just a bit too small to comfortably accept his hand. That aside, nobody could say that Lady Maarilex had neglected the niceties in her efforts to give him polish, no matter how many teapots it cost her.

He poured, with efficiency if not style, setting the first cup by his mentor’s hand, taking the second for himself. Carefully, he replaced the pot on its warmer and composed himself to wait, cup simmering gently before him.

“Yes, here we are,” murmured Trader sig’Lorta. He looked up from the screen, took his cup in hand and raised it to taste, Jethri doing the same.

Manners taken care of, the trader put his cup aside and folded his hands on the table.

“I hope,” he said courteously, “that your injury no longer pains you.”

“No, sir. The house doctor renewed the dressing this morning and is very pleased with the progress of healing.”

“That is well, then.” He moved a hand, showing Jethri the multi-screen. “I find that you have been at trade on the days granted you to recover from your wound.”

Uh-oh.

Jethri inclined his head. “Yes, sir.”

“Ah.” Trader sig’Lorta smiled. “You begin to demonstrate to me that you are, indeed, a trader, Jethri Gobelyn. I am further compelled by the . . . ambitiousness . . . of your offering on the tradenet. However, I am puzzled by something with regard to that, and I hope you may help me understand why I find no credit to your account, covering what I must believe to be a rather substantial cost.”

“Sir, the merchandise under discussion was bought as a private speculation. Therefore, I used my own resources.”

There was a small pause, then Trader sig’Lorta inclined his head.

“I see that I did not explain the process as well as I might have done,” he said slowly. “In essence, any business that you conduct on port should be recorded to your file, so that the certification will reflect your actual skill level as nearly as possible. This includes private deals, side trades, and day-brokering. Have you any questions?”

So, he could have used the guild account to buy the speculation cargo, could he? Jethri sighed. Being as he had formed the intention to buy the pod’s cargo to help Tan Sim out of defaulting on his contract in a way that wouldn’t raise prideful Liaden hackles—maybe not.

“Thank you, sir. I had not understood that all my actions as a trader on port would be taken into balance by the master who will evaluate my file. The matter is now made plain.”

“Good.” Trader sig’Lorta sipped his tea, appreciatively. Setting the cup down, he reached again for the multi-use screen.

“I see that you have used your Combine key to record your offer—very good. I also see that the pod is scheduled to be opened this afternoon, so you should leave me very soon in order to be in good time. When you are returned this evening, I ask that you write a trade report of this particular transaction, and forward it to me. I will review it and enter it into your file.”

Jethri inclined his head. “I will do so, sir.” He hesitated. “Is there anything else I might do for you?”

“For today, I believe that will suffice.” He raised his cup. “Drink your tea, Jethri Gobelyn, and may your speculation bring profit.”

THE EXHIBIT HALL
had a decent number of goods on display. Raisy, who’d never had any interest in that side of the business, strode right on past all the tables spread with tantalizing merchandise. Despite being wishful of locating Jethri, Grig’s step slowed, his gaze darting from side to side, until Raisy retraced her steps, wrapped strong fingers around his wrist and pulled him along with her.

“I thought you wanted Jethri.”

“Well, I do. But where’s harm in seeing what’s here and whether any of it could be had for a profit?”

She sighed gustily and dropped his arm. “Grigory, you are incorrigible.”

“Maybe so—” He stopped, his eye drawn to one of the dozens of ceiling-suspended info screens. This one was only ten paces away, clearly visible over Raisy’s left shoulder, and the phrase that had caught his eye—

Jethri Gobelyn.

“Raisy, turn around.”

She caught the tone, and turned, cautious, checking for threats first, then put her attention on the screen, which had a resonance scan on display.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing, brother?” Raisy breathed.

The screen changed to detail, all written out in plain Liaden, including the name of the trader-at-offer.

“
Just
like Arin!” Raisy shook her head, threw him a look over her shoulder. “I thought you said the boy didn’t get his training.”

“He didn’t,” Grig murmured, memorizing the address where the pod was due to be opened within the hour. “This has gotta be a fluke, Raisy. Boy likes salvage lots. Got a real touch with ‘em. He’s got a problem there, too, looks like to me.”

“I saw it.” She jerked her head at a sign bearing the Liaden for
Information
. “Get us a taxi?”

He nodded. “I’ve got the address.”

WELL, THERE HADN’T been
any advance bidders, but there was a fair crowd waiting outside Bay Fourteen of the Moon Mountain Refit Shop—at least, according to Tan Sim it was a fair crowd. Jethri counted nine traders as they followed the shop technician to the bay door.

“An additional few moments, traders,” the tech said to those gathered, as he unlocked the access hatch. “We treasure the gift of your patience.”

Tan Sim ducked through the hatch, Jethri on his heels, the tech on
his
heels. Inside it was dim and a little too warm, as if the noisy air-moving unit wasn’t up to the job. The pod took up most of the available floor space; half-a-dozen porta-spots took what was left. Tan Sim went against the wall to the left of the hatch, Jethri, wondering where nine more traders were going to fit in this space, to the right.

The tech kept straight on to the pod, and wrapped both hands around the emergency stick by the hatch.

“The mechanism operated correctly, if slowly, during initial testing, but it is always best to be certain in such cases that functionality has not failed.” He hauled on the stick, putting his back into it.