by E. M. Foner
Kevin slit the top case open with his pocket knife and gave the customer a can to examine. “Just arrived from Earth. Normally I’d ask for two Rainbow decks a case, but I’ll trade you straight up since it saves me moving it to the shelf.”
“Well, I’m not one to haggle with an old hand such as yourself,” the trader said, “but I’ll be needing that twine to tie up the case now that it’s open.”
“Let me cut some off for you.”
“No need, no need,” the woman said, sticking the can back in the case and putting the spool of twine on top. “I prefer to do my tying in privacy. Lots of secret knots, you know.”
“If I know, they can’t be very secret,” Kevin called after the trader as she hurried off with her booty. He picked up the Rainbow deck and threw an impressive arc of his own.
“So what just happened?” Dorothy asked. “Did we come out ahead?”
“Sure. I could go down to the Shuk right now and trade this Horten deck for a wheel of cheese that you could barely lift.”
“How much is that in creds?”
“I don’t know. The point in trading is to keep upgrading, not to convert every last thing into ready money. Besides, if I can’t get your dad to accept rent, it would just pile up on my programmable cred. When you keep your wealth in trade goods, it helps grease the whole system.”
“Barter is better,” Dorothy reflexively parroted from her early education in Libby’s experimental school. “But what happens when you run out of space?”
“Instead of trading crystals for cases of beans, I’ll trade cases of beans for crystals. It’s just a matter of keeping everything in balance.”
“Oh, here come those cute kids from that family trader that reminds me of the one you grew up on,” Dorothy said. “Let me try.”
“Don’t give away the store,” Kevin cautioned her. “The kids have been stopping by for the last two weeks and I swear they’re just playing with me. We haven’t completed a trade yet.”
The two trader children approached the counter, which came almost as high as their necks, giving Dorothy the feeling she was serving disembodied heads.
“Are you new?” the boy asked.
“I’m just helping out today,” Dorothy replied. “It’s my husband’s shop.”
“Were you ever a trader?” the girl asked her.
“I went on a couple of trips with my husband, though he did all of the trading.”
The children exchanged a significant look, and then the boy said. “You’re so tall that it makes me feel small. Why don’t you come out here and we’ll spread a blanket?”
“Yeah, and bring stuff,” the girl added. “We have plenty to trade.”
“That sounds fun,” Dorothy said to her husband. “I haven’t had a good blanket trading session since Mist and I sat in on an EarthCent Intelligence training class for agents posing as traders. Do you have a box of items the kids might be interested in?”
“The yellow bin under the counter,” he said, resigning himself to a loss. “Take the blanket too. They didn’t have one with them.”
Dorothy put the fringed trader’s blanket on top of the yellow bin and went around to the front of the counter where the siblings were waiting and whispering to each other excitedly. They broke off to help her spread the blanket on the deck.
“Now let me see if I remember how this works,” Dorothy said, settling slowly into a cross-legged position that Aisha had taught her in their first informal pre-natal yoga lesson. “Should I lay out all of my goods or do we take turns going?”
“You’re the chandler, so we get to see everything,” the girl said immediately. Behind the counter, Kevin shook his head but held his peace.
“All right then.” Dorothy began pulling items out of the yellow bin and laying them on the blanket, and she was surprised to find that most of them were children’s toys. There were fluffy stuffed animals from a multitude of worlds, various constructions that looked like they would fly if thrown into the air, and every variety of marble imaginable. Next came a whole jar of multi-colored hard candies in transparent plastic twists. At the bottom of the bin were some old-fashioned coloring books and a giant box of crayons. The children’s jaws were hanging slack at the sight of the bounty by the time the bin was empty, but they both composed themselves rapidly before Dorothy looked up.
“Same old, same old,” the boy said in a bored voice. “Do you see anything you want, Shira?”
“I don’t know,” the girl replied, trying to imitate her older brother’s nonchalance. “We have much better stuff back on the ship.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dorothy said. “Let me call my husband and—”
“No, it’s fine,” the boy interrupted her. “We wouldn’t want him to get mad at you or anything. Maybe me and Shira could pick out a couple of those stuffed animals for our younger sisters.”
“Go ahead and—wait,” Dorothy interrupted herself. “Aren’t you supposed to offer me something in return?”
The boy and the girl whispered to each other again, and then the boy made a show of looking around to see if they were observed before pulling an odd-shaped bit of glass out of his pocket and placing it on the blanket.
“Dragon’s tear,” the boy said in a low voice. He glanced up at the counter to see if the chandler was observing, but Kevin had finished shelving the cases of beans and had moved to the back of the shop. “It’s from Floppsie space.”
“Wouldn’t that make it super valuable?” Dorothy asked skeptically. “How did you get it?”
“From a dying trader,” the girl blurted out, ignoring the pained look on her brother’s face. “He gave us a map.”
“A map?”
“A treasure map,” the girl continued. “For an island.”
“On Earth?”
“In space,” the boy said, deciding he couldn’t do any worse than his sister. “It was a space island.”
“Like an asteroid?” Dorothy suggested.
“Yes,” the girl jumped back in. “And we had to dig up the treasure chest, and the only thing it held was this one dragon’s tear.”
“From a Floppsie,” the boy asserted.
“It looks like regular glass,” Dorothy said. “What do you do with it?”
Here the children’s imaginations betrayed them, and after exchanging another look, they both shrugged.
“Well, I guess a dragon’s tear is worth a stuffed elephant,” Dorothy offered.
“And a bear,” the boy said. “We have two little sisters and they just fight if they don’t each get one.”
“Do you have anything else to trade?”
The boy’s hand went into the small belt pouch he wore in lieu of a purse and pulled out a handful of nuts and washers he’d probably gleaned from the deck while watching the men do ship repairs. Dorothy pretended to be looking elsewhere while the two children quickly picked out and concealed three more dragon’s tears that were mixed in with the odd lot.
“Ready,” the boy said, unable to keep a guilty tone out of his voice.
“What a nice collection,” Dorothy complimented him. “I grew up around ship repairs and my father taught me the names of all the fasteners. Those are #4 Sharf washers, and this is a Dollnick reverse-threaded lock nut, and that one is—” she paused and looked mysterious, “a Vergallian loyalty ring.”
“This one?” Shira asked, picking out the O-ring that Dorothy had pointed at. “It’s like a metal, but it feels rubbery.”
“That’s because it fits all size fingers.”
“It must be worth a lot,” the boy ventured.
“I could go a stuffed bear,” Dorothy allowed. She picked up the O-ring and slid it onto her pinkie where it fit loosely.
“I think I hear our mother calling,” the boy said, deciding that escaping with their loot now made more sense than waiting for Kevin to return and veto the one-sided trade. He gathered up his collection of hardware and thrust it back into his pouch while his sister stood up with a stuffed animal
under each arm. “Uh, thanks.”
“Yes, thank you,” Shira added, and the two children fled in the direction of their family’s ship.
Dorothy repacked the remaining trade goods and returned the bin to its place under the counter. Then she returned to her seat and picked up her tab to resume reading the translated Dollnick romance where she’d left off.
“How did you do?” Kevin asked when he returned to the front of the shop.
“I got a priceless dragon’s tear and a Vergallian loyalty ring in exchange for two of those stuffed animals,” she replied without looking up.
“Sounds like you just made a legendary trade and I can retire.”
“You keep the tear,” Dorothy said, handing over the oddly shaped bit of glass. “I’m giving the loyalty ring to my dad.”
“Looks like the dragon in this case was a volcano,” Kevin said, dropping the supposed tear in a jar with other bits of shiny stone and rounded glass. “Someday an artist will come in wanting pieces for a mosaic and I’ll make a killing. What’s your dad going to do with a Vergallian ring from a cereal box?”
“It’s actually a Verlock O-ring, the metallic elastomer type used for high-pressure hose fittings. Dad wouldn’t let me play with them when I was a girl because they’re too expensive to lose. He’ll be happy to get this one back.”
The sound of frantic barking came from out of sight to the left, and before Kevin could get around Dorothy and go to investigate, a trader appeared alongside a ship’s mulebot. Alexander trotted behind them, obviously herding the pair towards the chandlery.
“Hey, there,” the trader greeted the couple. “I didn’t realize Joe had added a supply business down here.”
“I’m just renting—well, squatting really.” The chandler offered his hand over the counter, “Kevin Crick, and my wife, Dorothy.”
“Joe’s daughter. I heard you got hitched,” the trader said. “I’m Hank, no last name, or maybe I’ve just forgotten. Must be five years since I was last here.”
“The eight-man Frunge survey craft I saw coming in to park an hour or so ago? We don’t see many humans who can afford those.”
“Your father-in-law put it together for me,” Hank explained. “It was just a salvage shell when I bought it from him around twenty-five years back. The drive is a rebuilt Sharf unit he let me have cheap, and we wired everything into the Stryx voice controller so she doesn’t even have a main console. Some traders call me Frank instead of Hank because they say she’s a Frankenship.”
“Looked to me like she’s got twice the cargo capacity of the Sharf two-man model most traders fly, so it’s probably jealousy.”
“Three times the capacity because I converted the cabins to cargo and live on the bridge,” the trader explained. “Plenty of space with all the survey equipment gone. Just a lot of Zero-G exercise equipment and a sleeping sack.”
Alexander whined impatiently at the interminable niceties.
“Oh, sorry, boy,” Kevin said, and tossed the Cayl hound a crunchy dog treat. “Forgot your commission.”
“I was just headed up to the market deck to stock up on supplies when your barker roped me in,” Hank continued, maintaining a straight face at his own pun. “Doesn’t look like you’re in the fresh food business.”
“I’ve got some onions and potatoes in the back, but it’s mainly non-perishables for food. Got seven grades of twine, though, and every type of cargo netting imaginable.”
“Brupt cargo netting?”
“No, not that, but I’d always heard they just went around making war on everybody until the Stryx threw them out of the galaxy.”
“Saw a Grenouthian documentary about them once, bit of a hit job if you ask me. Apparently the Brupt had two methods of stowing supplies on their military vessels. One was an interlocking cargo container system, not that different from what most of the advanced species use today, but the other was self-adjusting cargo netting. No motors taking up slack or elastics, mind you. The ropes were woven from long chains of nanobots and they would reconfigure to fit perfectly around any geometry.”
“Sounds a bit like overkill,” Kevin said, putting another spool of his Frunge twine on the counter. “Recognize that?”
“I better. I do most of my trading in Frunge space. They consider my ship a novelty.”
“They’re not offended that it’s a hybrid?” Dorothy asked from her chair. “The Frunge I know are pretty uncomfortable with mixing things.”
“Different in trader circles,” Hank explained. “Wouldn’t be much interspecies trade if the traders were afraid of mixing. Besides, the ship is metal and Frunge sensibilities about food don’t extend to alloys. My last stop was the metallurgical fair on Tzeba and I’m loaded with samples.”
“Really?” Dorothy asked, ignoring Kevin’s wince at her untrader-like show of interest. “Would you arrange a private showing for my friend Flazint? She does all the buckles and metal parts for our fashion line.”
Hank shot Kevin a sympathetic glance before replying. “Anything for a friend of Joe’s family, I wouldn’t be in business without him. I do want to start with fresh produce since I plan to be here a few weeks, but I’ll be sure to stock up on non-perishables on my way out.”
Ten
“I’ve never seen such attractive laborers in my life,” Donna whispered to the ambassador as the two women stole glances at the workers through the demolished wall of the embassy reception area. “I hope this job drags out forever.”
“You have to stop reading those steamy alien romance novels your daughter publishes,” Kelly admonished. “And don’t forget I’ve committed to host the next nuisance-species committee meeting, so the renovations have to be finished on schedule.”
“With a party immediately following,” the embassy manager reminded her. “There’s enough in petty cash to pay for something special. Our sabbatical replacements hardly spent any money at all.”
“I just wish those men would work faster,” Kelly said, though she couldn’t help smiling back at the broad-shouldered young construction worker whose teeth were way too white to be natural. “You know, I’d swear I saw that guy in the orange vest walk past with the same metal panel five minutes ago.”
“I wasn’t looking at the panel,” Donna said, nudging Kelly with her elbow and drawing an exasperated sigh in return. “Besides, Union Builders was the only contractor you found that was willing to start immediately.”
“I wonder if they’re named after Union Station or if they’re actually a union contractor and the workers are slowing the job down on purpose. I should have asked when I requested a list of contractors from EarthCent Intelligence.”
“Were you worried about their credit ratings?” Donna asked.
“No, I just wanted to make sure they were human-owned. There’s a lot less demand for this sort of construction on the station than you’d think, and none of the contractors our friends recommended could fit us in on time.”
“Could they be taking a morning break already? They’re all putting down their tools.”
“Who’s that guy in the suit flashing a badge at them? I better go check this out.” Kelly pushed her chair back from Donna’s display desk where the two women had been pretending to shop for furniture and hurried across the embassy reception area. She stepped over the small gap in the deck where the dividing wall had been cut out just in time to see the last of the workers filing out into the corridor. “Who are you?” she demanded of the newcomer.
“Dick Jones, Building Inspector,” the man rattled off in a professional manner while flashing an impressive looking badge. “You have no posted permit, there should be safety tape across the opening you just walked through, and it’s illegal for metal panel removers to be working in a space with open lighting fixtures.”
“What?”
“I don’t see any safety posters about proper lifting techniques, you need a board showing the number of days since the last lost-time injury on the construction site, and there are n
o temporary bathroom facilities for the workers.”
“They’re welcome to use the embassy bathrooms,” Kelly protested.
“Furthermore, none of those men were wearing appropriate eye protection, only one of them had crush-proof toes on his footwear, and the recycling bin in the corridor should be cordoned off while the lid is raised. Sign this.”
Kelly automatically accepted the tab that was thrust towards her and scanned the extensive list of violations. The inspector held out a stylus, but as she reached for it, he suddenly pulled it back.
“Or, rather than getting station administration involved, we could just settle this right now. I calculate you’ve got a minimum of two thousand creds of finable offences, not to mention the cost of the proper permits, but I’m a reasonable man and we’re all humans here.”
“Are you asking for a bribe?” Kelly demanded incredulously.
“I’m offering to make your problems go away,” the inspector told her. “Say a thousand creds and you’ll never hear from me again.”
“Just a second,” the ambassador said, pointing at her ear and turning away for privacy as if she had an incoming ping. Instead, she subvoced the EarthCent Intelligence hotline.
“EarthCent Intelligence. How may I help you, Ambassador McAllister?”
“There’s a building inspector on my renovation site asking for a bribe,” Kelly subvocalized, her throat barely moving. “I think he’s a conman.”
“That’s a safe bet since Union Station doesn’t have building inspectors. I’m dispatching an agent. Try to stall him.”
“Sorry about that,” Kelly said, turning back towards the fake inspector, who was halfway to the door. “Where are you going? Hey, come back! I have the cash right here,” she shouted, but the conman had already fled. “Libby! Do you have security imaging of the man who was just here?”
“Yes. Did you want a souvenir hologram?”
“I want you to send it to EarthCent Intelligence so they can track him down!”
“You know we don’t interfere in these situations,” the station librarian chided her.