Trade Secret (eARC) (41 page)

The woman who stood at one end of the table was a pilot dressed as a pilot, a former Scout, he'd been told, and thus, like ter'Astin in his day work, free of major jewelry or cosmetics. If she had a scent it was the scent of her warm skin and not of a perfume. Her hair was pilot-cropped and indeed, he'd seen her recently in the distance at the side of Infreya chel'Gaiban and could have picked her out of a roomful of pilots because of that.

The bow he'd started, one of acknowledging a reciprocal trade opportunity, was largely blocked by ter'Astin's surprising--nay, shocking--bow somewhere between that of joy of seeing a comrade to delight in seeing a paramour, by his close approach to her corner of the table.

"Rand, we have come, as I promised we would. And as pleased as I am to see you, we must be gone soon, for the taxi is counting time and my expense bill for this effort becomes more extensive by the moment."

Jethri finished his bow, gave over the idea of repeating his name to one who knew well who he was, and said, "I am here to trade what is mine for what is mine, Pilot."

Her bow to him was an echo of his.

"Yes, a straightforward trade, is it not? In that case, let us see what we speak of."

With main force Jethri resisted bowing again, instead pulling the reader from its pouch and placing it on the table before her. She reached into her pilot's jacket and casually flipped a fractin there, where it slid perilously close to the edge. She reached for the reader and seemed surprised with Jethri's speedy retrieval of it.

"I am lacking my book and my fractin, Pilot. The fractin there will not suffice."

He replaced the reader in the holster, waiting, feeling now some reciprocity as he considered where the fractin might be.

The Scout and yos'Belin exchanged glances and some flick of hand-talk Jethri couldn't catch, but the Scout backed him up saying, "The boy is all but Master Trader, Rand. And he is kin to the Uncle. Who knows what he sees that we don't? The lack of the book might concern him, as well."

She pursed her lips then, and reached into her jacket, in fact bringing forth the book and gently shoving it to him while he felt the fractin being active, declaring itself.

Jethri caught the book to him, flipped pages--complete, as far as he could see. It felt vaguely like it was welcoming his touch, but perhaps that was simply the leather surface, or the texture of the pages.

The pilot reached for an inner jacket pocket again, but Jethri shook his head Terran-style.

"Ma'am, not to be obtuse about this, but it is either in your left belt pouch or in a pocket under it."

Having the book, Jethri detached the whole of the
Envidaria'
s holster and placed it on the table while she stared hard at ter'Astin's blandness, then put the book in his side pocket.

"You did not say we were dealing with
dramliz
, my Scout," she said, her hand efficiently opening the pouch and giving over several fractins.

"One does not underestimate the Uncle's kin!" There was annoyance in ter'Astin's reply.

Jethri took them in his left hand, rubbed his right palm on them both and bowed as he returned the one that was not his while the one that was his thrummed in his hand.

"This one belongs to someone else."

She looked it over and was tucking it away as ter'Astin was bowing to both of them, saying, "That's done then. We shall . . ."

"Not yet," snapped yos'Belin, reaching for yet another pocket.

Jethri, in the midst of rubbing his fractin as he had as a youth, saw her motion and began to shift into one of Pen Rel's defense positions. The Scout saw him reacting, and by then her gun was out, coming up--

One or another of them had tangled their legs under the table--what Jethri saw were two struggling figures wrestling over a gun, bouncing first on the table and then on a chair top before falling . . .

Jethri's knife was in his hand but then there was a piercing whistle and a rush of pilot jackets, with someone saying, "Please step back, Trader, you'll not need your blade . . ."

*

The gun had gone off in the struggle, doing no more damage than putting a hole in the table, and now the room was clear of any but the Scout he knew, and another, this one Commander Anthara ter'Gasta Clan Idvantis.

"Has no one heard the noise, Commander?"

The Scout lounged, looking none the worse for the wear. Jethri sat several seats away, his fractin soothing, while ter'Gasta paced, periodically looking at the damaged table.

"You have luck, ter'Astin! Any of you could have been killed, or all of you. Why not wait until . . ."

"Commander, that's not how the flow of event went. Yos'Belin had not much to say, I had not much to say, and the trader was not full of words. The issue was to make the trade, which we'd done, and thus you have your pilferer in custody. Did you also come up with her backups?"

Jethri looked up, seeing sudden levels. Not an accidental recovery, the Scout had been planning this--

"She was the one who violated
Keravath
then?"

"Oh yes, Guest Pilot, she was. She also violated Scout Headquarters security before her sudden retirement."

Commander ter'Gasta bowed. "Several other areas beside the key cabinet were involved; she had on her even today a key I think is to the pharmacy."

Ter'Astin bowed a quick acknowledgment.

"In that case, we shall proceed. You have the information and the people you can find, and likely leads to several more. I have a mission to complete, and young Jethri here wishes to make up lost time with an admirer."

Jethri barely felt his face warm--and yes, he had several admirers he'd like to see . . .

"Your ship is on port. You're free to go as soon as we have our items of evidence to give to the security detail."

The Scout looked askance at the pacing Commander.

"The room is here, please take measurements and, if you need, I will speak and write a full debrief as we travel to
Elthoria.
"

"Captain, thank you. You will debrief en route--that is a sensible approach since we already have the incident reports you sketched on your way in. The other evidence is what we need--your associate here has them at the moment, as I understand it."

Ter'Astin risked a glance at Jethri and then back to the commander.

"Unless Trader ven'Deelin is even more subtle than I believe, he carries his own property and no other at the moment."

Jethri sat forward in his chair, considering his book, his fractin, his knife . . .

"Do not be absurd, Trader," said the commander. "You'd hardly be able to overcome a pair of Scouts. Please return the items yos'Belin took from us and we will all move forward."

"No, ma'am. The Scout is correct. I own all that I carry. The Scout has said so and he tells the truth."

"All I want are the things that were being traded. So that would be the reader, the book, and the fractin."

Jethri stirred, began to measure the room.

"The reader, ma'am, was transferred to me by a friend, and it is a birthright. The book was given to me by my father, and it is a birthright. The fractin I selected for myself from a pile of fractins given to my father by my uncle for me to play with. It is a birthright."

"Trader," she began, but ter'Astin stood.

"This man has told you the truth. The book you demand is his and always was--he lent it to me for our interest, so that it might be copied. It was copied and it is now returned to him. The other items . . ."

"The reader--"

"Is mine."

"Surely it is Old Tech and must be . . ."

"It is Terran Tech, I say, and it is mine."

"I'll call in the support, Trader. Please put the items on the table. Begin with the fractin and I--"

"No, ma'am, that won't work now. The fractin will not permit itself to be hidden away from me. It will answer my call. These are mine, and I shall walk out of here with them."

The Scout bowed to Jethri, and addressed himself to the scowling scout.

"Commander, the agreement was that we would return the book. The reader never was ours and never was in our custody. The fractin I cannot answer for other than to say the trader is an honest man. If he says we shall not keep it, we must recall that he is kin of the Uncle."

"Captain ter'Astin, you are risking your rank. The Scouts need these items and we shall have them . . ."

"I have a key to
Keravath
," Jethri said, standing slowly and bowing to them both. "It is as much mine as the items you claim are yours belong to you. In fact, the more that you insist on these items, the more likely I am to own
Keravath
for a pleasure yacht. It is a pleasant enough vessel. . . ."

"What nonsense do you spout, Trader, give--"

The Scout--
his
Scout, ter'Astin, had slumped into a chair, mirth written across his face. "I tell you, Commander, the trader is only an honest man. We should likely forget about the fractin . . ."

Jethri stood, offering the commander no immediate attack but recalling the method Grig used to look larger and more dangerous . . . He put on the aspect he might have had when faced with chel'Gaibin's gun, and then he gently reached into his pocket and unshipped his weapon.

There was a slap on the table as he threw it down.

"There, Commander. I invoke this. Concede my ownership of my goods or concede
Keravath
and whatever else your group owns on this planet."

"What is this?" She looked at it in bewilderment, hesitating to close with it.

"In piket, Commander, it is a Scout's Progress," said ter'Astin. "Here, it is a Writ of Replevin. I do believe this hand is his."

Gobelyn's Market
, Clawswitts

Dyk was in his glory. They'd had seventeen visitors in the last two days, including several for dinner, and knowing they wouldn't be lifting again for at least two more meant that he'd shopped fresh and was baking like mad. He'd even got to bake several very delicate cakes and a frijohn.

The rest of the crew wasn't in the same mood. Travit seemed not to like his air quite so thick, so Seeli was spending time with the room door closed and the dehumidifier running.

Grig had been to the commissioner's office three times and never yet in the door, since he was running side-guard to everyone else who was going there. The news hadn't reached outside yet, but it was Paitor who'd gone in with Khat to do the official depositions, and Cris was sucking all the trip files into usable units with the help of Zam and Mel when they weren't running here and there for Dyk.

Iza'd taken to sitting on the bridge doing optical survey, getting relief or backup from Mel and Zam, and Cris between the files stuff.

Seeli sat with the kid, mostly reading the fine print and the legal behind it after Paitor and Khat brought stuff back with them.

Therinfel'
s little trick of calling them thieves and scoundrels had been the chaos point for them: they had to keep their reputation straight and make sure the harassment stopped. It had been the Gobelyn name that got them in to see a couple of commissioners at once, and it had been Khat's good flight records that helped boost the idea that she wasn't a danger to anyone who wasn't a danger to themselves. To that end, they'd had witnesses come by the ship and record statements, and some of those had walked on down to the Commission office with Grig to redo them under oath.

All of the commission work was going to the hard side of this: getting the official harassment complaint certified by the commissioners to Terran worlds and run to the Liaden Trade Guild and Liaden Pilots Guild, too.

Time being what it was, Dyk got permission from Iza to wave three cakes and Niglund Boilt dinners in front of the air processor so the whole ship smelled good, and after about ten minutes he declared lunch come early since Paitor and Khat and Grig had another trip all set--the Liaden Trade Guild was sending someone to receive paperwork if they cared to tell the story in person.

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."