Paper or Plastic

by Mackey Chandler

  "I've seen this fellow before. You don't have to worry about his spleen. That's already come out one night, when he came in all beaten up by others. Perhaps as an initiation. I'd suspect that was when he got hired by this mysterious boss, as he already had the bracelet on then. I'd have liked to seen him exiled then, but nobody asks my opinion."

  "He's probably responsible for a lot of the battered people I've patched up over the last couple years. He didn't get the scars on his knuckles chewing on them," he explained, pointing at them. "But I'm not stupid, that is not a truncheon, it's a projectile weapon," he said looking at Roger like he was offended.

  "Of course it is, Doctor; please don't think I was trying to lie to you. If it wasn't a projectile weapon I wouldn't care if you mention it to the police. When I said I didn't need it, I meant as a projectile weapon, but to use it as an expedient club comes easily. My language even has a separate expression for it: pistol whipping. It would have been unethical to shoot an unarmed subdued man." That got another lifted eyebrow.

  "And if I report it to the police?" he asked, scowling.

  "Then you do and they will probably give me a hard time. Nothing I haven't experienced before. My understanding is they control firearms so tightly, it isn't technically illegal to own one, you simply can't find one to buy. And if you report it I won't owe you one, but if you kind of forget about it I'll owe you a favor. It's always handy to have people in your debt, Doctor. Just like this fellow is to me."

  "He is?" The doctor looked at him like he was mad.

  "Well sure, Doctor, he's just tried to slice me up like a cheese and I had a loaded weapon in my hand that could blow a hole through his chest you could toss a cat through. He owes me big-time for letting him live."

  The doctor couldn't help himself and laughed. "OK barbarian, I like how you think. And I appreciate you didn't try to threaten me to be silent. I only have one more question," he said while attaching an electrode to the man's neck. "Are you going to bring a bunch of those weapons on planet and make a great deal of work for me?"

  "No Doctor, we brought all sorts of stuff to sell, but we each have a gun - just two – and that's all we intend to bring on planet and they'll leave with us unseen, if nobody seriously threatens us. I have too much respect for your profession to casually threaten you. That's simply uncivilized behavior."

  "In that case, I haven't seen any weapon and I have no idea or interest, with what you struck this man. I suggest you go get some sleep. I don't wake the police up unless I have to, but I doubt they will show the same consideration in the morning and let you sleep in."

  "Thanks Doctor. You ever go down and browse around the farmer's market?"

  "Not midweek, but almost always at week's end. Why?"

  "We'll have a sale tent and I wish you'd come by and take a small thank-you. Not to neutralize owing you a favor. It wouldn't be near enough. But I shouldn't have smacked the guy in the face the second time. My temper got away from me a little I'm afraid and I made you some extra work."

  "Perhaps I'll see you. Don't worry about it too much. If they don't exile this one, it's just a matter of time until he's brought in dead, because he found someone with less patience than you. In that sense, you always know it is futile patching up these troublemakers who are headed to one end."

  They walked back out to their unlocked cart and Roger regarded the quiet, mostly dark building with no security and one doctor working away alone. How different it was than Earth.

  Chapter 27

  The really old timers started setting up at first light. You could tell they had done this a thousand times and had everything organized. Some backed their trucks up to the lane and sold off the rear. Quite a few were quietly piling separate stacks of mixed goods in front of their stands. Roger recognized that as orders for regulars, who would be in to pick them up soon. He'd seen the same thing on Earth at markets.

  Roger was kind of grumpy from lack of sleep and would have to make a real effort to be pleasant. Some of the trucks were serious vehicles, with tires as tall as Roger's waist. Nowhere was there anyone who looked like they were in charge, or seemed to be taking money. There were numbers on a board by each occupied stall and quite a few of the empty ones, but no order to them he could see.

  Martee stopped the cart at one farm stand that was all laid out, the family crew taking time now to pass around hot drinks and have a bite of breakfast before the customers showed up. She climbed down and walked over.

  "We're new here today. We won't be selling anything that competes with you. Would you answer a couple questions about how it works?" she asked.

  "I will if you'll come in the truck and show me some of your wares," one rural wit answered her. He started to reach for Martee's wrist, but the older man behind slapped him on the back of his head. When he jerked his head around angry, the grey headed man grabbed him by the back of the head and turned it to face Roger.

  "See that man, fool? If you grabbed the woman, he'd have hurt you so fast you'd have never known what happened. He reached in the small of his back as fast as a snake. You never listen to anything I've tried to teach you. If you don't get some sense soon, I'll leave you in town to fend for yourself, when we go home from market. See if I won't. You never even saw him standing there. You never looked. Open your eyes." and he slapped him on the back of the head for emphasis. The boy jumped up and stormed away angrily. The older man just gave Roger and then Martee a courteous nod. But the atmosphere was poisoned and Martee couldn't speak with them comfortably. She just nodded back and they drove away slowly further down the aisle.

  "The locals don't know enough to be afraid of you," Martee observed.

  "The old man did, but he didn't know enough to realize I'd just have backed you up and you'd have made the kid sorry he grabbed you all by yourself."

  "You've been a horrible influence, Mister McGregor."

  "Now really, you have to give some credit to Josh. I think he has corrupted you at least as much as me."

  "You don't mind he wants to make a permanent job of it?" she asked.

  "No, we're not right for each other, Martee. You aren't rethinking you'd rather be with me forever than Josh are you? I never saw your eyes light up for me like his do. Tell me if I'm wrong, because it could be a problem."

  "No, there is some spark there we don't have. But I'm awfully fond of you. I'd hate for us not to be friends anymore for my marrying Josh. And I'd hate it even more, if you two weren't friends anymore over me."

  "I really don't see that happening. But the best thing for me to do after you marry, is give you two some time alone. After Josh has been with you awhile he'll feel secure and we can all do stuff together just like we did in Sitra Falls. Who knows? Maybe I'll find someone special and bring them into the mix. I'm fond of you too, but that wild and passionate spark just isn't there and I think marriage without that is a bad deal. And what if you settle for less and then you do find someone like that after you've made promises and maybe even had children with another?" Martee nodded agreement.

  "Try this lady by herself. Maybe with less testosterone in the mix we can get some information."

  The lady in question was heavy. Not really fat with folds, but stout. The first person they had seen who was big and she had on a drab smock-like dress, that was like all the others, except there were blurry block prints in a faded red dye all over it. It looked like the sort of print you could do with a carved potato and Rog immediately suspected it was homemade. Some of the natives had some aesthetic faculties no matter how repressed. They would undoubtedly be their first customers.

  There was a plain white blouse or shirt under the smock, which looked whiter than most of the local clothing too. Even more surprisingly, she had a flower tucked in her hair over her ear. She had an assortment of unlabeled glass jars, with amber fluid in them clustered on a small table right in front of her, unlike the other stalls with big tables across the full width. Her truck had a box and Roger could see wooden cases inside the par
tially closed door. On each side, most of her stall was empty.

  "Hello, I'm Martee and this is my business partner Roger. We're interested in setting up, but there doesn't seem to be anyone in charge taking fees or assigning places. Would you be willing to show us what to do?"

  "Sure, but it will cost you a little something. I come in here and sit through the heat of the day to survive and make a bit of money, not to run a social service. What ya got to pay?"

  "We have luxury trade goods, clothing and pretty things and exotic off world items, some entertaining things too. Does any of that sound interesting?"

  "Nothing practical? How about cash?"

  "I have a little Trishan currency, but I didn't think it would find much favor, since it all has to be exchanged through the bank to be put on the credit net."

  The lady smiled big like Martee had made a joke and then abruptly cut it off. "Fifty Pid cash," she said in a lower voice, "and I'll tell you everything I can and try to keep the folks from taking advantage of you. You need the help, believe me."

  "Fine," Martee agreed, digging in her purse and withdrew a wallet. She spread it open and pulled a single bill out of a stack of them thick as her index finger and extended it to the woman. Her eyes darted right and left without turning her head and she crumpled the bill into a ball in her palm instead of grasping it between her fingers.

  "Put that away and don't be waving it around like a damn hawker's flag. That's the first lesson. Cash money is in short supply and you just gave me enough to live on for half a local year, if I was careful and stretched it out. Anything you see here in the market, durable goods, that has a price marked upfront, you can figure a third or even a fourth of that for cash. Cut lumber or scrap metal maybe a tenth. Stuff like food, even stuff that's not a necessity like my honey, nobody will pay cash for that, or services either."

  "Roger tried to tell me last night that cash would be worth more than I thought. I should have paid attention to him."

  "Yes, but it would have been difficult and probably expensive to find out just how valuable it is," Roger reasoned. "We're very happy to have your services. But you haven't introduced yourself."

  "I'm Rillian, but those as care to actually address me just say Ri." She seemed surprised they asked.

  "Why do you have just a few bottles bunched up in front of you? I'd think a tiered display with the big ones all rowed up in back and the small in front would be very attractive."

  "Maybe, if there wasn't a stone to be found anywhere, but all those glass jars lined up in rows is more than any small boy with a rock in his hand could be expected to resist. The little devils will snatch the small jars and run too, so I have to keep them right within reach or I'd have something stolen every market day."

  "And the parents won't do anything about it?" Roger asked.

  "Roger, remember how we talked about the philosophy behind Trishan politics?"

  "Yes Martee, but this is not philosophy it's theft and, you know, 'vandalism'," he said in English.

  "Well heavy people get treated very badly in Trishan and I assume all the colonies. The assumption is they take more than their share, so if they have a problem many will feel they have it coming and the law may not be very responsive. It's a prejudice similar to what you explained to me about Driving while Black in some parts of America."

  "My God, that's awful. And she'd not even fat," Rog insisted. "Not even pudgy, I'd just call her stout or stocky." All said in English because his Trishan failed him at that level of exactness.

  Martee translated as best she could, embarrassed to do so on a number of levels, but Ri was years past any embarrassment and was delighted to meet anyone didn't share the common distain for her.

  "How do we rent a space?" Roger asked. "I didn't even see any sign, directing you where to contact the management."

  "Probably because Old Man Heskeel would never have the imagination to think an offworlder would want to rent a space. All the locals know him and would go make arrangements ahead of time if they needed to. He's way too fond of his bed to beat the sun here. He'll be along to collect rents. He takes a lot of them in trade. In his own way he's as independent as any here, even some like me who live outside town," she allowed.

  "But nobody likes him. Only thing he has any love for is wealth and folks don't need to see a belly on him to know he wants a pritchen lot more than his share. He's probably so skinny because he begrudges the money to eat. I don't think he'll ever be happy while anybody has something that isn't his."

  "Ah… I've had the experience of a few folks like that," Roger allowed. "We have a word for it – 'miser'. Does he live all alone and make everybody around him miserable by applying the laws and rules in the most unreasonable ways?"

  "You sure you haven't met him? Sounds like you know him already."

  "No, but some personality types are universal – unfortunately."

  "More to the point - How much will it cost us for the day?" Martee asked.

  "Let me guess," Rog said, "no set rate because Heskeel squeezes everybody for as much as he thinks he can get."

  "You don't need me," Ri objected. "You're not half the snids I thought you were when you rolled up."

  At Roger's lifted eyebrow Martee supplied the word, "Marks, Roger. Like carnie people would call the crowd marks. It was in the Heinlein I read," she added, when he didn't drop the questioning look.

  "Look, I don't need a full square like a farmer. If I pull my van over to the edge, you can pull your little cart in beside me and we can share the spot for the day. It's sure to give Heskeel indigestion when he comes along, so it's worth doing just for that. If you want, you can set up with him when he comes around for a place of your own today, or next market day. Just don't let him cheat you. If you pay cash even a Pid is too much for a day. You should get a month's rent - eight market days for a Pid."

  "We have a little square tent. How about if we set that up right next to you and park the cart behind?"

  "Works for me. Just keep your goods in sight, so they don't grow feet."

  Strangely, having to worry about petty theft actually made Roger feel more at home.

  * * *

  Setting up had drawn a crowd all by itself. The pavilion was bright blue and about three meters square. They left the back open against the truck and the side away from Ri down to the ground, because the sun was rising on that side. On the other side they put the mosquito netting down and the front too, but the doorway unzipped and tied back. Roger wanted their space defined so they weren't mobbed and didn't have people going around the sides and back. They had high backed folding chairs with sling-type seats hung from four pockets on the corners. The seats provoked almost as much attention as the tent.

  The sun was well up and Ri had sold a number of the tiniest jars of honey. Most of her customers seemed to be children. A few brought empty glass jars and Ri took what had to be a tally sheet back from them and signed off for the jars. Rog wondered how many empty jars it took to earn a full one. Between customers they were close enough to talk with Ri. One fellow came along with a cart loaded full of produce and bought her biggest jar. He must have been on account, because nothing changed hands. Roger would bet he was a chef. The stains on his tunic suggested it too.

  Roger had their sourdough started in the folding bake oven, on top of the camp stove and he could see the man's nose working at the smell, but he didn't stop and ask about it. A quick walk down the lane as an experiment, yielded a nice lump of sweet butter for a ballpoint pen and a string of pork sausages for a bright penknife, with promises of fresh sausage for the next three market days.

  "I bet we left our rooms before the police came around to talk to us," Martee said. "I wonder if they'll think to check to see if we are here?"

  That remark did not go unnoticed by Ri and they recounted the adventure pretty much unedited. They didn't expect the doctor to report the conflict until his shift end past dawn.

  "Look, if you are that good at protecting yourself,
how about just giving me a due bill and holding this fifty Pid piece for me? I live outside of town and the police won't even come out there if you have a problem. I like having it, but I'm not short of funds or food right now and I'd just have to hide it. I was already nervous thinking about taking it home. Everybody knows I come into town on market day, so if they want to rob the place there's no way to stop them. I mostly stay safe by not displaying anything worth stealing."

  "Why do you choose to live out of town then?" Roger asked.

  "Because nobody will give me a job when I'm so big. That means I have to take whatever scutwork they have at public projects to make Basic. I'm not too good to sweep or trim bushes, but you get ten Pid a month local credit only and clothing and housing is a joke for Basic. Ten don't cover what a body needs for personal hygiene, much less any fun. Besides, you go to the cafeteria and the damn skinnys watch every bite, like you snatched it out of their baby’s mouth. Pritchen to that."

  "But you said your house isn't secure and you raise the honey. Does anybody try to steal from your hives?"

  "Oh yes, a few have over the years. The police won't come out of town, but search and rescue came looking for a fellow once when his brother said he was going to my place and the next morning he hadn't come back. I told them he hadn't shown up and helped them look around. Seems he pulled a hive off a stand and it broke up when it fell on him. He had a couple big carry bags he didn't get a chance to fill. Nobody commented on that. Our strain of bees here are very aggressive. He was swollen up so bad his arms and legs stuck out, like he'd been laying in the sun for a four-day. When you get a few hundred stings it does that to most folks. I haven't had much trouble since then."

  "Martee, I'm thinking how Ri wanted a note from us instead of currency. If the companies are allowed to issue script for cash, why can't I offer my note to buy stuff here? My I.O.U. And next trip we bring a really good photo quality printer and offer five, ten and twenty Pid denominations of Trio Interstellar Trading Company script, on high quality paper with copy protections. Maybe even have banknotes printed on Earth and bring them."