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.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened, then the door began, slowly, and with a long mechanical groan, to lift.
"So." The tech notched the lever down and the door sealed. "In case the internal lights are not currently operational, we have the portable spotlights available." He stood back, wiping his palms down the side of his coveralls, his eyes on the pod.
"If one of you gentlemen would admit the others, I believe we are ready."
Tan Sim waved Jethri toward the pod and pushed the access hatch wide.
"Please, traders! Enter and be welcome!"
Jethri scooped up one of the portables and stepped to the side of the hatch opposite the tech.
The bay was rapidly filling, with traders and the voices of traders—rather more traders, Jethri thought, than the nine he had counted only a few moments before. A pair of taller shadows at the back of the crowd drew his eye—
"Business of the Scouts!" the unmistakable voice of Scout Captain Jan Rek ter'Astin rang out—and there was the captain himself, flanked by two women in the uniform of the Irikwae Port Proctors, striding briskly forward. The attending traders scrunched close to the walls, giving them a clear course to Jethri. He caught a glimpse of Tan Sim, gridlocked by the now-silent crowd.
The Scout and his proctors settled into position to the left of Jethri, between the hatch and the attending traders. Jethri inclined his head.
"Have you come to arrest me, sir?" He asked, for the Scout's ears alone, not certain himself if he was joking.
Black eyes met his firmly. "That will depend on a number of things, young Jethri. And the sooner the hatch is opened, the sooner we will both know what duty demands."
Right. Jethri looked to the tech, who stood motionless, his hands around the emergency lever. He took a breath, held it, breathed, slowly, out.
"Technician," he said, loud enough to be heard to the back of the bay, "please open the hatch."
"Trader," the man murmured, and hauled down on the stick.
The hatch hesitated, and rose, moaning all the way to the top. Inside, lights flickered, and failed. Jethri pressed the switch on the porta-spot.
The beam flared, illuminating the inside of the pod with harsh blue light. Shapes leapt into being, sharply outlined. A busted stasis box, canted on its side, a large shape that reminded Jethri of the weather machine, built a hundred times bigger, another—
"Technician, close the hatch!" Captain ter'Astin ordered. "Proctors, clear the room."
The proctors turned as one and moved toward the crowd, hands making long, sweeping motions. Jethri pressed the switch on the porta-spot, killing the glare.
"Of your goodness," said the proctor on the right, "please leave the room. Business of the Scouts."
"Move along," said the one on the left, "there is nothing here for you to see. Business of the Scouts."
Inexorably, the traders were swept back toward the door. Tan Sim held his ground, creating an eddy in the flow of departing traders. The proctor on the right paused, and moved her hands sharply.
"Please, sir. We are clearing the area. There is no business here for you."
"There is business," Tan Sim said, sounding a bit breathless, but calm. "Yon trader is my partner in this matter—and that is my pod."
"That trader may remain, proctors," Captain ter'Astin said over his shoulder. He inclined his head to the technician. "Sir, you are required elsewhere."
The tech bowed, hastily—"Scout"—and was gone, not quite running, pushing past Tan Sim, who was striding forward. The tech darted between the proctors and vanished out the hatch. The proctors continued their sweep. Jethri bent to put the porta-spot down.
"Jethri!"
He snapped upright and spun, staring down the dim hall to find the proctors confronting two tall people and one of them was—
"Grig!" He spun back to the Scout.
"That man is my kin!"
The Scout's eyebrows rose. "Indeed. So we will be playing with the Liaden deck? You do trade bold, young Jethri." He raised his voice. "Proctors, those traders may remain, as well. Secure the door."
"Not a Liaden deck," Jethri said. "A human deck. In Terran, he's my shipmate."
The Scout tipped his head to one side. "I believe I begin to understand the scope of Norn's project. So—" He flicked his gaze to Tan Sim.
"Trader pen'Akla, I am Scout Captain Jan Rek ter'Astin."
"Sir," Tan Sim said stiffly. "I will be interested to learn what business Scouts have in interrupting the trading day."
Captain ter'Astin smoothed the air between them with a gentle palm. "Peace. Every matter in its time."
The confusion near the access hatch had sorted itself out and Grig was taking long strides forward, followed by a woman who looked familiar, though Jethri was sure he'd never seen her before.
"You OK, Jeth?" Grig reached out and grabbed his shoulder, squeezing, hard and comforting.
"I'm fine," Jethri said, though it took him a stupidly long time to get the Terran to his mouth. He glanced over Grig's shoulder at the woman. She smiled at him and nodded, agreeable-like. Grig turned, letting go of Jethri's shoulder.
"Don't tell me you're shy, now," he said to her. "Come up here and tell Jethri 'hey'."
She took a couple steps and came even with Grig. "Hey, Jethri," she said, her voice deep and pleasant. "I'm Grig's sister, Raisana." She held out a hand. "Call me Raisy."
He took her hand and squeezed her fingers lightly. "Raisy. I'm glad to meet you," he said, thinking that he'd never heard Grig mention a sister, but for all of that, they sure did—
"That's it," he said, the Terran coming a little
too
quick, now. "Couldn't place why you seemed familiar. You look like Grig, is why."
"Indeed," Scout Captain ter'Astin said, in his mud-based Terran. "It is a remarkable likeness, even for fraternal twins." He paused, head tipped to a side. "You
are
twins, are you not?"
Grig shrugged. "Raisy's older'n me," he said, eyeing the Scout's leathers. "Field Scout, are you?"