Trade Secret (eARC) (31 page)

"Figure it like walking into a bar at the end of a route. If you're in the big room, you grab a seat, look around, see if you know anyone, or if you want to know someone. Mostly everything's even."

He shrugged, nodded.

"But if you walk into that same bar and walk right on into that back room, the select lounge, the premium zone--whatever they call it there--then, you walk right in, you'd better know someone or they better know you, 'cause else everyone needs proof you belong there."

He nodded, agreeable.

"That's how Liadens live mostly, like they're all in a premium room all the time, always ready to come out and be biggest jet or sitting back counting how far they gotta go to get there, or how careful they've got to be of who. Always on the pose for 'I'm more dangerous than you are' I guess. Where they come from, one mistake, one snub to the wrong clan, and you could be in for a decaying orbit!"

"Sounds like too much trouble to me," the local replied with a sniff.

"Not easy, is my guess."

"But hey, tell me who you know on a Liaden ship? A trader even, that's got to be a first. Talk about not easy!"

They nodded together over the ease, ignoring the sound of someone well behind them in the queue giving up and walking out. As if on cue, Grig reached to a leg pouch and offered Khat and Barney each a pilot's fruit bar, pulling them back in a seamless motion when the clerk finally emerged from the meeting room she'd taken Therinfel's representatives to.

Khat felt Grig do as she did--look away from the room, toward Barney. Barney did not look away, instead moving his head to peer around Khat with avid interest, as did half the room. The clerk closed the door quickly, avoiding looking into the meeting room or at the larger assembly, finding a path to her desk by dead reckoning or habit, whichever was stronger.

Grig handed out the rations again, taking his thanks from Barney, who was quiet while he ate, giving Khat a break. They'd barely finished when the other room opened and in short order the people in front of them rose, only to have the clerk wave them aside with a curt, "No confirmation on that bond your agent was to post. You can wait, but I have a crowd and must call the next."

"
Gobelyn'
s
Market?
Tradeship
Gobelyn'
s
Marke
t."

Khat winced at the volume of the announcement, and perhaps misreading that expression, Barney patted her on the knee before she rose, whispering, "Good luck, Pilots!" as they rose to enter enter the inner sanctum.

*

"
Gobelyn'
s
Market
? Is
Gobelyn
's
Market
crew here?" The words came in an awkward Trade, as if they'd learned from someone who barely knew Trade.

It was unexpected, and Khat already at the ragged edge of polite after what Route Administrator Clowfar had called an "expedited" hearing on the ability of the
Market
to operate within Franticle's space as need be. They'd all the ship's public technical details with them, and an abbreviated discussion of the piloting depth on the ship, and of course the go-ahead sign from officials on the station. She'd thought herself exhausted--and this was not what she needed.

Grig's sign was subtle but Khat caught it, taking the right side, so she could cross-draw if need be. The express lift was half full, with two Liadens unknown to Khat focusing their attention on her as they dropped fifty-seven floors at a pace unsettling to the seven or eight citizens if not to the pilots. She'd seen them too late, but really, they'd been good about using the taller and bulkier locals as cover, and stepped in just as the doors slid shut.

"
Gobelyn'
s
Market
?" inquired the tall one again, he a good hand shorter than Khat and a head and half or more shorter than Grig. He bowed with a flourish to her corner, taking in Grig's presence a half a heartbeat after he'd started his bow and trying to include all who might qualify.

They were posing Liaden: both competent-looking, both with hands close enough to pull points that they might be trouble if that was their goal.

Grig bowed to both of them, a bow that meant something more to them than to Khat because they both stiffened and gave him more attention. Khat used their discomfiture to adjust herself.

"Yes, consider us of the
Market
if you will, Gentles. It is good of you to have noticed."

Khat inwardly chuckled, for to her eye Grig's stance was exactly what was needed in close quarters. He'd looked to have gained twenty percent in volume and ten percent in height and he'd managed to speak both softly and at volume at once. He spoke a well-accented Trade, and then in Liaden said something Khat only caught part of, the part that was
Therinfel.

A different bow from the tall one; a pause of the machine brought them with a press of gravity to an intermediate floor where none entered and five exited, squeezing between the Liadens gingerly. The lift dropped again, the Liadens ignoring the locals.

Grig chuckled, saying quietly to Khat, "Yes, our friends are of
Therinfel
, as we'd surmised." He switched then to
sotto voce
loop lingo, adding, "Stinks shifties can't sneeze no-perm, brain slogs mudtrap."

Right. These were flunkies, boss must be waiting at the main exit, mudtrap clearly being ground level.

She nodded agreeably to Grig, smiled at the Liadens, said nothing, shifted slightly, saw one of the Liadens shift, too. Was there a point to this or had the Liadens accidentally taken the same lift? Perhaps they were merely recognizing fellow traders, after all. Or perhaps being two on two she'd just determined which Liaden was supposed to cover her.

Another intermediate floor brought an exchange of locals, three off and three on, and Khat used that change of circumstance to put a squarely built citizen between her and her cover. She also shook her shoulder out, likely giving her cover concern about her handedness. She was ambidextrous, for what it was worth, but feeling rusty of her weapons training. She'd been so busy in the supposed off year that some things had been let to slip.

The stop at the bottom was smooth, and Khat leveraged the square fellow's lack of speed with her own quickness, taking eye motions from Grig to mean she'd go left and he right.

"Talk with us," the taller Liaden was saying as the passengers all proceeded forward at once, and Khat took her left, turned, saw that both of T
herinfel
's crew were following her, went to slip around a pedestrian snarl and found herself face to face with the pilot she'd seen on Banth, and then today, heading into the meeting room. Beside him was a silent and cold-eyed Liaden woman wearing unmarked pilot leathers and an open sidearm.

He offered, politely and in Trade, "I see you and you see me, how good a thing this is to be recognized, Pilot. Recognized, if not met, perhaps we have some shared
melant'i
. We should talk of
Gobelyn
's
Market,
yes, Khatelane Gobelyn? Yes. And of this Jethri and his errors. And perhaps of Balance. And of this Arin who is dead. There is a beverage shop nearby, where we have arranged a table seating. You should come."

*

They did come, Grig looking first to her for direction--she higher on the family charts than he, she second pilot overall to his reserve, damn the luck. But she asked his opinion with a raised eyebrow and got his reply in the form of a half-tick nod, a relief.

The beverage shop served local teas, coffee toot, and brews, with Khat's choice quick toward the high-power root tea and Grig's the same, spiced.

"You have the advantage: you know I am Khatelane Gobelyn, and this is Grig Tomas, our clan being our ship
Gobelyn'
s
Market
. You and you--I do not know."

The woman gave a short bow and said nothing, while a larger bow came from the man, who admitted to being Ved bel'Mora Clan Traybin, a pilot of
Therinfel
. "You'll perhaps not be familiar with my clan, as we are not currently housed on Liad."

Khat nodded, repeated his name and thanked him for the share, knowing it would take a deep check for her to be sure of any clan's existence much less prove a homeworld. She turned to the female pilot beside him, who bowed again lightly, making as well a vague motion perhaps indicating lack of language.

Khat looked to Grig, who bowed to the silent woman, said a few words Khat didn't know, adding, "Grig Ric Tomas, sustaining pilot, tradeship
Gobelyn'
s
Market
."

His head motion was a clear follow-on and the bow she made became deeper, again unreadable by Khat, followed by a few words or names.

"Cousin, we have here, I'm told, Pilot Trainee tol'Vera Clan Croyn, apprentice applicant to
Therinfel
. She has not had training of the tongues as yet, her clan not affording that necessity until proof of competence in her trade."

Khat repeated that information as best she could, despite a great deal of surety that this was no trainee pilot, nor one of any clan she'd be likely to locate in a reference source. Her language ability? Why bring one with no understanding to the table?

The others were not acknowledged, though there were five of them scattered around the room like guards. She'd dealt with retrieving Iza often enough to consider them as such. . . .

"And so," Khat said as the drinks arrived and the waitress dismissed after being sure that they'd each gotten their own order, the waitress having an accent best described as thick, "we have come to speak with you, as you are sure we have much to talk about and so much in common."

The others got what they got, with Khat remembering to offer a pseudo bow indicating thay were all able to sip now. It was as much ceremony as she had on the topic.

There was a hint of a smile on bel'Mora's face.

He bowed, saying in a slow if clear Trade, "It is clear we deal now pilot to pilot, as pilots are as direct as traders are long-winded." He made a hand motion full of emphasis, encompassing the lot of them.

"It is as I suggested, Pilot. We share a certain
melant'i
, all of us here, the
melant'i
of the practical who must reach a destination necessary for others though the others have no understanding of how the course is laid or calculated.

"Thus, directly, I shall acknowledge I am requested by the head of my trade mission, for
Therinfel
is not here alone, nor by accident, to determine if your presence here is due to ours? When traveling far from common routes, one must know and be concerned of complications--are you in fact tracking
Therinfel
on an account of a perceived incomplete Balance?"

Khat shook her head briefly, suppressing the urge to laugh and weighing the information offered. So,
Therinfel
was once again part of a mission? And this pilot not the one in charge, but following orders.

"And how would we know
Therinfel'
s destination? When last I saw your ship and yourself you were at a backworld I barely recall."

That brought bright eyes, and perhaps a glance from the woman who spoke neither Trade nor Terran.

"We do trade, Pilot, and so often traders tell other traders, just as crew tell other crew."

Khat nodded acknowledgment.

"This coincidence is that--my home ship is just now finished refits and starting on our new route, and I back to it after my hire contracts are done. Since our ship's travels are determined by the captain after the trader makes his deals, indeed, we go where the trade moves us and how the captain takes us. My job is to make it happen safely, backup to the captain. That is why I am here today, representing the ship as the captain properly stays with the ship in a system and on a world new to us."

An awkward pause, then, "You must understand that the young chel'Gaiban took much of a fall to his
melant'i
there on Banth. He was rigorously schooled on his errors by those of us senior to him in travel and port etiquette, and I doubt will ever make such an error again. Yet your proper response to his mistake becomes less sure in following after the error of your kin. That young chel'Gaibin also erred in attempting to directly deal with you on a Balance price is not in question--he should have arranged for a meeting of
qe'andra
and men of business to determine such a Balance price in an orderly fashion, don't you think?"

At this Grig bowed his way into the conversation, oddly enough speaking quick sentences to the apprentice rather than the supposed master. She briefly opened her mouth as if to reply.

Grig turned quickly to Khat--"Pardon, Khat Gobelyn, but I felt that the apprentice was being left out, and ought to know that her over pilot, who says he is not a trader, is merely pressing my pilot to admit a falsity as truth under cover of polite discourse. Since she acts backup to him, it was clear that she should know, as a matter of courtesy."

Khat blinked: yes, it would have been possible for her to have conceded a wrong point, pressed in such a fashion. Liadens, even speaking Trade, were famous for their complex contracts and hidden meanings.

An interesting bow then from the shipmaster.

"Your point is taken, sir; one must not permit a dependent to remain uninformed in a complex situation. The question of fault is always one meriting extreme attention, since badly attributed it may lead to confused action . . ."

Khat saw the hand motion of the apprentice and thought she saw a response as she continued speaking with Grig.

"And tell me, if I do not trespass on secret, how is it that you have such a clear understanding of our tongue when it is so rarely of interest among Terran spacers? An odd accent to it, perhaps an old-fashioned one."

Here Grig spread his hands wide and smiled, gently, going on in Trade. "Spacers are of many molds, Pilot, and oft have much time to spend between stars doing other than polishing bright work. My family and my cousins have had this interest of languages--you have spoken of my cousins Jethri and Arin, and thus of my own line as well. While not proficient in all things Liaden, I believe Jethri's interest was sparked by Arin, his father."