by neetha Napew
“That is splendid coffee. From Earth?”
“Yes indeed, a scarce commodity these days.”
“And what are you trading it for? I need such facts for my report.” A report Zainal was certain would never be written, much less filed. “As I mentioned before, we are looking for spare parts that were transported here during the recent occupation of Earth.”
“Ah yes, Supreme Emassi Kamiton remarked to me that you might be seeking to purchase some bits and pieces.”
“Yes, well, my success would mean that he”Zainal lowered his voice and leaned toward Kapash”would be able to improve his own communications network.”
“How?”
“Ah.” Zainal stepped back. “Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?” He gave a slight smile.
“What exactly do you wish to bargain for?” There was a little emphasis on the “bargain,” and since Zainal knew that as market manager Kapash would know exactly who might have what, including items he might have secreted in case they became valuable, Zainal allowed his smile to broaden. Zainal thought rapidly of a diplomatic way of diverting Kapash, a man known for his greed.
“This and that,” he said with a negligent flick of his fingers. “What have you to tempt us?”
“How do I know that when you do not tell me what you seek?” Zainal thought quickly and noticed Ferris fondling his prized handset.
“Such items as this,” he said, unclipping the unit from Ferris’s belt and displaying the cell phone. “Invaluable communications unit. See, I am in contact with my ship at all times.”
He depressed the panic button and instantly a voice, made tinny by the cheap handset, answered.
“Baker Alpha Sugar Sugar One.”
“Zainal. Testing. Above board, out,” he responded and closed the
connection before offering Kapash the instrument to examine. They had devised a number of passwords for different situations. “Above board” was “Things are proceeding well,” while “Mayday” meant “Emergency.” “Marines are coming” would indicate immediate physical help would be appreciated.
Between finger and thumb, Kapash accepted the unit from Zainal and turned it over.
“Connects across miles of empty territory so even the fastest advance units may be in touch:’
Kapash handed it back with an air of disdain. “I can do that with any unit on Barevi.”
“Certainly. I would expect you to be so equipped. But Botany is not so well supplied. Nor could we find more in the few unlooted storehouses on Terra. Most of the type we need on Botany are prob ably,” and Zainal paused to swing his glance around the market, “here. However, coffee, too, is in short supply on Terra.” Which was basically the truth since there was no transport to bring the beans to foreign marketplaces.
“No more?” Kapash was startled and sipped eagerly at his cup. “No. Much of Earth’s agriculture was laid to waste. It takes time to grow proper coffee and it takes experts to harvest the crop and process it. There will be no more until the industry recovers from the occupation.” Zainal didn’t think the Catteni had looted all the items required for the production of coffee, but he was reasonably certain that he’d find some spare parts languishing here on Barevi, apart from those needed to repair the plantations’ vehicles.
“None?” Kapash seemed genuinely upset.
“We have the last of the roasted beans.” Which was certainly true of the beans they had acquired from Kenya and Santa Lucia. Kapash continued to look dismayed, but a flicker of thought behind his eyes told Zainal that, not only was the man fond of his coffee, but he would also wish to enjoy it without stint.
“What standard would you use to trade for more of the hand units?”
Zainal hefted his. “Equal weight of beans for the unit seems fair.” Kapash turned toward the stall, saw the scales, and peremptorily gestured for Zainal to bring the unit over. He did and Kapash put it on one side of the scales. Zainal gave Kathy the sign to pour beans in the other side. She was scrupulous in making up the weight, even to the last bean, which edged on the side of generosity. Then she spread both hands out to indicate it was up to Kapash.
He looked at the beans, picked up a handful, and sniffed them. “They make a rich cooked coffee,” Kathy said winningly. She used “cooked” for “roasted” since there was no equivalent Catteni word to describe the exact process.
“How many cups of coffee would that lot make?”
“If you grind properly, this should make four large pots of good, strong, black, rich cooked coffee. You probably have a nut grinder at home.” She showed him the one she had brought from the BASS1.
“Is that what those are used for?” Kapash remarked, lifting his eyebrows.
Zainal wasn’t sure which he meant but it had been a wise precaution to bring along grinders and what was left of the glass dripfilter cafetiers. They even had a carton of the glass insets on board the BASS1.
“A special brew requires perfect equipment, as I’m sure you have discovered, Manager Kapash,” Zainal said suavely. Peran was beginning to jiggle in front of his father, restless now that the adults were so obviously absorbed, but Zainal tightened his hand on the boy’s shoulder to remind him of the respect due Catteni adults.
Kapash’s coffee was now cool enough for him to take a bigger swallow, which he seemed to be rinsing around in his mouth, savoring. “This is different from other brews I have sampled.”
“You are currently enjoying a mild roast of arabicas,” Kathy Har
vey said and reached for another pot she had recently made and a clean cup. “Now this is from robusta beans, which give a much stronger taste.”
Kapash’s eyes widened with appreciation as he smelled the steam and, blowing on the liquid, attempted a sip of the new coffee. “Mmmm, much stronger and far more to my taste.”
“There are many different types of beans, and combinations of them, Manager Kapash, for those subtle and sophisticated enough to appreciate the finer flavors,” Zainal said. “What else have we brewed, Captain?”
Kapash actually seemed to have sophisticated taste buds because he was able to distinguish the milder roasts that Kris had made from the stronger robusta. He summoned a minion and sent him off to col lect the proposed merchandise. Of course, the handsets on Botany would be of no use unless they could put up the satellites, but Zainal was encouraged by the possibility. Leave it to the market manager to have set aside choice trading items.
Meanwhile, Eric was already at work on Luxel, pouring a substance into those wide jaw trays he had insisted he must have, and making Luxel open his mouth so wide it looked as if he might lock his jaw hinge. Then Luxel had to sit, those things in his mouth, while Eric consulted his wristwatch and fingered a little blob of the green substance he had placed in Luxel’s mouth.
What a bizarre way to regain possession of the spoils of invasion! Zainal wondered exactly what deal Eric had fashioned with Luxel. Four teeth to be replaced? How could they get Luxel to give them items from eight cartons, instead of only four? How many had Eric bargained for? And then there were the larger necessities: the framework on which the individual units would be hung as well as the thermal protective material. That didn’t come in a carton but was as necessary for the satellites as the major units that powered, controlled, and directed them in orbit. There were moments when the magnitude of the task he had committed himself and the others to complete overwhelmed him. Sometimes, he thought, very privately so he couldn’t hear it himself, that his success as executioner of the malignant Eosi was leading him to think he was invincible. He could be vincible on another mission, but not this one! So much depended on his success here on Barevi. It would certainly set a precedent.
“There.” Zainal pushed the six bags of coffee beans toward Kapash. “You will deliver the hand units tomorrow?” Kapash blinked, and at first Zainal thought the man considered the beans a bribe. “We shall be looking forward to your messenger.” He had completed a subtle bribe with Kapash, giving him the coff
ee beans before taking ownership of the hand units that had been the object of the trading. They could also expect more business from Kapash: he was definitely a coffee addict. There were more sacks of coffee beans in the capacious hold of BASS1, and they knew where to get more. Then he saw Captain Harvey trying to get his attention and he strolled over to her.
“We’ll need more beans, Zainal.” Her eyes sparkled with this evidence of success. “While you were gone, we had a coffee fiend who has delivered us five Motorola crates of orbiting controllers. We definitely need more beans.”
“Do we have any coins to pay for a hire lift?”
Harvey thrust a hand into a pocket and emptied the contents into his hand: small coins, to be sure, but sufficient in number to pay Natchi’s modest charge. He signaled the veteran from his box and then looked around for Peran.
The boy materialized beside him. “Return to the ship and ask Floss to come back with ten sacks of assorted beans. Here are tokens for Natchi’s lift.”
The veteran was almost as prompt in attending Zainal as Peran had been. “May we hire your lift again? Peran, my son, requires it for an errand.”
“Such a sturdy lad, Emassi. Surely he will captain ships when he has finished his training.”
Peran was agreeable to having such a future assigned him, and he straightened his frame to make himself appear taller, more worthy of such rank.
“Indeed, when his tutor approves his lessons,” Zainal said, and Peran’s face fell. “Now he must go about his father’s errands.” Zainal slipped Peran the tokens, which when he had offered them to Natchi, the old onearmed man had cheerfully waved aside.
“I owe you service for the many fine cups of coffee I have received, Emassi. I also need to walk. I will accompany your son.” “My thanks, Natchi, for your courtesy.”
Natchi performed a maneuver more salute than bow. Then, with smartness reminiscent of other days, he turned and followed Peran to where he had stored his lift.
By the time they reached their stall the next day, a goodly crowd was waiting. So they scurried to get the next urn of coffee started and poured out what was in the hottle for the
__ impatient customers. Among them were interested sellers, and Zainal and Chuck began again checking their lists against the proffered items. Much coffee was consumed: Zainal was beginning to think that he was getting all Barevians addicted to the beverage. Well, there was nothing wrong with supplying a desired substance.
About midmorning, when Zainal was winding up a good deal with someone who had twentyvolt truck batteries to trade, Bazil appeared, a very anxious expression on his face. Unwilling to interrupt Zainal at what was obviously a crucial time, Bazil approached Kris, pulling her sleeve urgently.
“My father must help. It’s Ferris. He’s being hauled to Kapash’s office as a thief,” Bazil said.
For a moment, sheer funk robbed Kris of any strength. “Where is he? What did he take? Do you know, Bazil?”
“He’s been visiting all the drinking places, talking to the servers. Like he told Zainal he would do, to advertise Eric’s services. Then a big guy arrived this morning, swearing Ferris had robbed him. He
didn’t say what, but Ferris ran, and one of the market guards caught him. They’re hauling him off to Kapash’s office. Oh, Kris, if he’s put in that triangle, he’ll be killed.” Bazil was almost sobbing with fear.
Kris was really torn about interrupting Zainal. Maybe she could handle this. She beckoned to Chuck. Clune, having heard what Bazil had said, stepped forward.
“I’ll come, too,” he said, pumping up his biceps.
Chuck also saw how deeply involved Zainal was in the business of trading and he took Kris’s arm.
“What could he have stolen? And yes, I know his history, Kris, but we’ll get him out of it. I know Kapash has just been waiting for the chance.” Chuck scooped up something from the digitally locked box before he slammed it shut and passed it over to Sally Stoffers, telling her to guard it. She knew it contained gold flakes and the smaller nuggets. “We’ll just see if we can deal with this.” Kris saw the marked hesitation on Bazil’s face.
“I am Lady Emassi, Bazil. I can deal with a mere market manager. Tell Zainal we’ve gone to the manager’s office, Sally, but only when he’s finished dealing. It’s this way, isn’t it, Bazil?” Kris said, striding down the long side of their square.
Bazil still looked scared and dubious but he ran to catch up with her, worried about Ferris. While she knew that Bazil might be feeling cheated of his father’s support, she also knew that Zainal would be annoyed with his son for interrupting him.
There was an interested crowd around the manager’s office but Kris, with Chuck and Clune beside her, formed a wedge and pushed her way through, alarmed to hear Ferris sobbing.
“I stole nothing. It was on the floor. The man said I could have it,” he was saying.
“Who are you?” the man demanded, and she saw the gap in the front of his teeth.
“I am Lady Emassi, a rank conferred on me by Supreme Emassi Kamiton,” she announced, squaring her shoulders and trying to control her panting, for they’d rushed to get there. “Ferris is one of our young people. What do you allege he has stolen from you?” She knew she was imitating Dame Edith Evans at her most regal and repressive, but perhaps it would work.
The man pointed at the gap in his teeth. “My toof.”
Kris managed not to grin at his lisp. “How could a slender lad like Ferris steal your tooth?” she asked, managing to retain her Evansian pose.
“It was on the floor,” Ferris said, as if that conferred legitimacy on his action.
“And that’s where you found it?”
“Yes. On Sicrim’s floor. This morning.”
“But the toof is mine,” the fellow insisted, becoming more agitated.
“I was just taking it to Dr. Sachs,” Ferris said, looking penitent and putupon.
“But it is mine!”
“If it was left on the floor since last night, sir, it may be presumed that you had abandoned it,” Kris pointed out. “Therefore, the lad has not knowingly stolen from you as an act of bad faith. He was, in fact, bringing it to the one man on this planet who can replace it in your jaw.
“He can?” the man exclaimed.
Now Ferris shoved his hand in his pocket and displayed a tusk neatly bagged in one of the little plastic envelopes that Eric had brought with him.
“That’s mine!” The fellow lunged to repossess it.
“A lot of good it does you in the bag,” Ferris said contemptuously, recovering some of his usual impudence, and he folded thin arms across his chest. “I cleaned it off, which Eric says is necessary, and put it in the bag for safekeeping. I did not know who it belonged to.”
Ceremoniously, a look of creditable innocence on his face, Ferris handed it over.
“It belongs to me.” The man slipped the item into his pocket, leaving one hand protectively over his tooth, as if Ferris might somehow regain it.
Kris swiveled squarely to face Kapash, who had been listening and watching the proceedings with an odd expression on his face. “How could Ferris have known the owner, Manager Kapash?” Kris asked earnestly. “Now that he does, he has returned it. No theft has occurred. There has been honorable restitution of a missing object.”
“But he took what does not belong to him,” Kapash said, his face severe and threatening. “He is a thief. Nor did he properly attempt to find out who owned the tooth.”
“But Sicrim said I could have any teeth I could find,” Ferris said plaintively. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Ask Sicrim.”
“Is this Sicrim present?” Kapash asked after briefly mulling that over.
He is trying to be reasonable, Kris thought, in these ludicrous circumstances, but Sicrim was not among those who crowded around the office.
“He is a thief!” the tooth owner said unforgivingly, pointing down at Ferris with a dirty, broken finger.
“He is a boy,” Kris said, gi
ving the plaintiff a long and sour look for his bullying attitude. “And the sooner you get to the dentist to replace that tooth, the better. The longer you wait for treatment, the less chance you have of getting it back into your jaw, you know”
“Aha!” Kapash said, pointing at Kris. “So this is how you get business for that expert of yours?”
“What? I’m not the one knocking teeth out, Kapash. He has to get that done for himself,” she said, jerking her thumb at the plaintiff. There was a ripple of amusement from those so avidly listening to the discussion. She wished she’d thought to bring some packets of beans, although dropping some on Kapash’s desk would have been too obvious a bribe. But, to judge by the onlookers’ attitude, she also sensed that she had made a good argument.
“Let it be, Kapash,” someone from the crowd said.
The faint wail of a siren was audible after that remark. “Besides, there’s the riot alarm. That’s your business, Kapash.”
Kapash held up his hand to silence those in the office. Plainly heard were aggressive shouts and calls as well as the bray of the siren. Clearly Kapash had to investigate, and with a glare at Kris, he rose and stalked out of his office, gesturing to his guards to fall in behind him as he went in search of more culpable and lucrative targets. Most of those gathered followed him to see what amusement the new diversion would provide.
Kris held out her hand to Ferris and led him out of the office.
“I did have Sicrim’s permission, Kris, I did. I know you won’t believe me.”
“But I do, Ferris. You have more sense than to get us into any trouble with your taking ways. Especially after this,” she said as they walked as quickly as possible out of the square.
Whistles, more sirens, and startled, hurt cries could be heard, and served to hurry them out of the vicinity.
They met Zainal, hurrying in their direction, in the main corridor of the next square.
“What happened? What’s happening?” He pointed in the direction of the audible disturbance.