Trade Secret (eARC) (24 page)

He sighed, very gently, found a Liaden blandness suddenly in his face, and bowed.

"I enjoy being a trader on
Elthoria
," he admitted, "an opportunity arising from the natural aging and growth of the crew. The captain, of course, was alert to the necessities of the ship, ma'am."

She snorted as she sat down, motioning him to sit across from her.

"That's clear as a thundercloud. Looks like you've come away fine, though, and so we'll talk about other stuff, and eat. After that, if nobody joins us, I'll walk you to the Gallery where I can talk to some of my used-to-was friends while you get to the good stuff."

Jethri was settling; he had spork to mouth when his meal-mate spoke again, sharply enough to make him jump in his seat.

"One more thing!"

"Ma'am?"

"You can call me Doricky or Ricky, or you can call me Grandma. Don't need the rest of my names here--everyone will know who you mean. Now eat!"

He bowed to wisdom, and ate.

Tradedesk, Gallery 770

Gallery 770 was a low-ceilinged, comfortable cave, offering the intimate feel of a guild club, with carpeting on the floor, low-key lighting, paneling that might have been real wood, and off to one side, even a stone mantle framing a wood-fed fireplace.

Fire was something he'd had to get used to on Irikwae since he'd stayed in a house with lots of windows and working fireplaces in many of the bedrooms.

The idea that you'd
want
a fire for anything beside combusting rocket fuels had rocked him when he first faced it. It had taken a cat's calm assurance that tame fire was a good idea for him to begin to come to terms with.

He approached the fireplace immediately he saw it, to assure himself that it was in fact
not
burning real wood and producing extravagant heat. It was, he was pleased to find, artifice. Still, it gave off quiet sounds and, with the rugs, and the groupings of leather-looking chairs about it, did impart a sense of calm and comfort.

Doricky had escorted him to the door, down a casually marked hallway at the end of the main hall, where she'd left him in favor of three very mature women dressed nearly identically in ship livery.

"Just through there, Jethri. I'll introduce you around later, but go in and make yourself at home. Act like you live here--you have my permission! Now get!"

He'd taken her "permission" to heart, to the point of not seeking to determine who might be in charge of seating, nor even of immediately taking a seat.

He wandered the room a bit. There was art casually available--statues and sculpture, paintings, ceramics--and several discreet 3D touramas of plays he didn't recognize. He might watch a play, then, if the reception got slow, though maybe the plays were just to entertain until the reception really got under way. He'd seen a small stage on the other side of the fireplace, so there might be music later; and he'd glimpsed what he thought might be a bar.

He moved in the direction of his glimpse, finding not one bar, but two. The first was staffed by a pair of attentive servers about his own age, done up in fancy vests and three-cornered hats, each with purple flags on their badges.

The second bar was only an open table; there seemed to be no one in charge of the various open bottles, jars and dishes of what might be candy or something stronger, and lots of little trays of edemups.

Informed as to the precise location of refreshments, Jethri moved on, working the room as he'd seen Norn do. He had nothing like her easy skill in starting conversations with little-to-unknown colleagues, but she assured him that it would come with practice.

So--practice.

Here, he felt his dress was unexceptionable, maybe even a little too conservative. In this group, the essence of trade and its sometimes attendant showmanship were seen: rings, jewelry, quality textiles. Almost everyone had something distinctive about their dress, even if it were only subtle refinement or outrageous extravagance. His boots were fine, but not outlandish, his rings merely what the trader had chosen to wear.

He kept up his slow stroll as the room filled, exchanging nods, bows, and greetings with traders he'd seen in the tours and seminars. He smiled, shook hands when required, repeating names--his and theirs as appropriate--

"Be here at the launch, will you? Only two Standards once the move starts! I for one want to be here for the start of the final orbit!"

Jethri started to answer this pronouncement, only to find the trader from which it had issued turn somewhat unsteadily to another, asking the same question with the same inflection. It dawned on Jethri then that the trader was likely drunk--which seemed a bad plan so early in an evening.

Yet there was something to the idea of a drink--Norn ven'Deelin's teaching there had been exquisite: always carry your own drink, and if possible, make it something unlikely to be easily refreshed by an overeager host or a sly competitor.

Thus, to the staffed bar he went, canny enough to avoid the bloosharie that came to mind after his earlier sweet, and canny enough to request good Liaden wine, like those from Tarnia's own vines . . .

He requested three of the premier wines, each in turn, and was greatly disappointed that they had none, though Ranny Suki--the female of the serving pair--made careful note of the label names and promised to see if there were any onworld which might be brought for the next day. In particular he had wished for a glass of the exquisite Felinada . . .

Lacking Tarnia's wines, and seeking still something that was neither an unknown beer or an unknown local vintage, he asked, "Would you have anything Altanian?"

She bit her lip in thought, shook her head.

"I don't know all the wines by source, Trader. A brand or style?"

"Yes, of course. Misravon, it might be labeled, or possibly the finer, which is Misravot."

Her eyes widened, and the smile returned.

"Indeed, sir, we do! A moment though, since it is kept properly stored out of light. Please stay."

He did stay, leaning lightly on the counter top, listening to the room. The banter was friendly but charged with challenge, and there was a decided feel of anticipation, as the questions "Have you seen . . . ? Did you meet . . . ? Who is new . . . ? What's the news?" were asked and answered in variations.

Once he had his wine in hand, he would, he knew, need to tour the room some more. He did hope that someone would talk with him, rather than simply offering or acknowledging his greeting. An exchange of names was very well, but
deals
were done in conversation.

Bartender Suki must be having trouble finding the Misravon, he thought. But he waited for her still, not only because he had said he would, but because while he waited he had leisure to assess the group here. He was among the youngest--perhaps he
was
the youngest--a handicap, because that meant he was an unknown. He wondered exactly how the attendees were chosen; he had assumed he would be among traders of his own grade, else the invitation committee would surely have asked Master Trader ven'Deelin to represent
Elthoria
here. . .

He scanned the growing crowd in earnest, specifically looking for people he knew, who might in turn introduce him to people they knew. . .

There was Doricky, surrounded by a group of elder traders. He didn't see Blinda, but then he didn't
want
to see Blinda . . .

Rinork's Infreya chel'Gaiban stood in a corner near the door, talking cordially with Chally Delacorte--he'd been one of the main speakers on the topic of scheduling and turnaround early in the day. Standing beside her was a Liaden-seeming woman he didn't know, her dress very modest, her badge bearing a pilot's blue bar, and a slightly askew red bar. Though she was merely listening to the conversation, there was something . . . arresting in her stance. Jethri resisted the temptation to study her at length, and deliberately continued his sweep of the room--no staring like a long-lost looper in this company!

The pilot's presence at Rinork's side, though, brought to mind one person he hadn't seen yet in this more exclusive setting. Where was Bar Jan? And wasn't it. . .interesting that his mother was here, appropriately badged, the proper position of heir at her side filled by someone who did
not
wear, as far as Jethri could judge, the Rinork face?

Thinking back . . . hadn't he seen Bar Jan earlier, in the Hall of Festivals? Jethri squinted his eyes thoughtfully . . .

Yes! He remembered. Grandma Ricky had asked him to achieve a small third round of bloosharie candies for her. And on his way across the now-crowded space, he'd seen Samay pin'Aker, though her face had been turned slightly away from him. Then he had seen Bar Jan chel'Gaibin stalking toward the door, his badge conspicuously lacking the red bar.

Samay's badge, Jethri remembered, had been colored red and green, which meant he should find her among the company gathering in Gallery 770. That cheered him--and gave him a goal. He straightened, gazing round the room in good earnest.

A nearby rattle interrupted his search, and there was Ranny Suki, guiding a small cart filled with bottles and objects . . .

Her face lit up at seeing him, as if he were a long-time friend instead of a passing trader, and she parked the cart, efficiently pulling free several bottles to show them off.

"Here, sir, the Misravon. I have several dozens of bottles in stock, I find, and here too, is the Misravot. We have one case of a dozen, at proper temperature . . ."

"One dozen shall do," he said with a slight smile, and she laughed.

"Well, yes, unless you set the fashion, in which case the Misravon will go to anyone asking for Altanian and I'll reserve the Misravot for you or your party, since you have requested it!"

He bowed, but she was stacking bottles into the cooler, seeming to have one too many for easy disposition.

"Odd numbers, I guess--oh, shipped through a Korval distributor says the label, so they'd be counted by Liaden figures. I'll have them all ready, for when you wish to share them with your party. Shall I pour one now, so that you may be sure of it?"

He bowed.

"Indeed, please do," he said, wishing he
had
a party. Well, perhaps the Scout would show up, or Samay. . .

He received his glass from Ranny Suki, her anxious eyes recalling him to his obligations. Solemnly, he raised the glass and sniffed, finding the bouquet appropriately hinting of spice. A little wine on the tongue then; finding it smooth in the mouth, and the flavor--as he recalled it--tart, with an overnote of sweet-blooming flowers packing behind it a complex secondary set of notes and flavors.

He smiled at her. "Excellent."

She beamed. "Thank you, Trader ven'Deelin. I'll pass the word that you requested the beverage and pronounced it of the first quality."

He almost told her what his opinion of the wine was worth, having tasted Misravot precisely three times before. Then, he recalled Norn ven'Deelin, and merely smiled, with a small inclination of the head, as if they understood each other very well.

"The trader has given the room the benefit of his experience and his opinion," Norn had said, after they had witnessed one such do precisely that. "This is not lightly given, nor offered to the unworthy. If there are others more experienced present, let them bring their opinions forward, also. This is how we learn."

Of course, he being what seemed to the most junior trader in the room, there could be plenty to offer a more experienced opinion, but until then, his stood.

Still half-smiling, he carried his drink into the crowd that was rapidly becoming a crush.

His was a twisty course, following the least crowded portions of the floor. The gleam of a Master Trader's ring caught his eye more than once; he had stopped counting 'prentice and working trader rings for nearly all present wore one of those.

Eventually, his casual wandering brought him again to the fireplace, and the comfortable groupings there. One large, leather-looking chair almost directly catty-cornered from the door, was facing it. The person in the chair would be able to see everyone who came in, and be seen. It reminded him of images he'd seen of cruise liners where the captains apparently were seated in such chairs in order to impress the passengers. While it looked comfortable, and the view of the door interesting, it seemed, Jethri thought, a little
too
impressive for a young trader who knew his own
melant'i
to choose for himself.

He chose instead another leather-look seat, central of a small group of five, as far to the big chair's right as he could get. There was passage space behind the grouping, and to the sides, and the view of the room was very nearly the same view as might be had from the big chair, without being . . . obvious.

He settled comfortably, the glass in his hand attracting his attention. While bloosharie tended toward the reddish-purple side of things to his eyes, Misravot--at least
this
glass of the same, in lighting adjusted to local seeing and star colors--was pure, unadulterated blue. There were gemstones of the first water that boasted a blue so pure, and he'd been told that there were planets with skies that looked pure blue from the ground, though he often saw leanings to green and purple.

He twirled the glass, watching the surface where the reflections of the subtle ceiling lighting picked up the shifting colors. He recalled the room where he and Gaenor had played, and wondered if there was a secret aural mood trick going on in this room as well. He strained his ears, but if there was something to hear under the sound of voices, his ears weren't sharp enough to catch it. He did notice, however, a slow wave in the lighting, a change he hadn't noticed until he came to rest, nearly hypnotic if one paid . . .

"And so much for the party of the century--I say,
so much
for it that a prized guest stares at his drink all alone while the festivities go on around him!" There followed a sharp snap, as if someone had deliberately broken a glass pipette.

Startled, Jethri brought his attention to the room, where Doricky stood close to the large chair, leaning somewhat uncertainly on a walking stick.

He rose instantly to bow, careful of his drink. Master tel'Ondor would have been proud of his smooth combination of
honor to an elder, respect to the position, thanks for the quiet correction of a social infelicity
and
welcome to an event equal
that he managed.

"Would you like the chair, ma'am?" he offered with a Terran's wave at the seat he'd been in . . .

"Happens I would like a chair, as it seems that no one's quite sure what to do with me now that I'm not in charge of anything more than saying hello to others no longer in charge--well, and to those too new to know."

She nodded toward the chair in the corner.

"I will regard that chair as reserved, and I applaud your choice, which you should sit back down in as soon as you adjust this one to your left so I enjoy the same view that you have.
And
don't sit down until you fetch me the very twin of your drink. We will begin to set this place to talking, you and I!"