Trade Secret

by Sharon Lee

  “Thank you; it is remarkably satisfying to have it back. Where did you say you found it?”

  Dulsey had taken two rolls and passed the plate to Jethri, who also helped himself to two and sent the plate on to Uncle.

  “I didn’t say,” he murmured.

  “But will you?”

  Jethri bit into his roll, which was stuffed with savory vegetables, and deserved his appreciation, which he gave, for several heartbeats.

  “I believe that I will,” he said eventually, raising his head to meet his uncle’s considering gaze. “You trade Terran side, and the trader in question is Liaden. He’s retired, never really had access to outspace, and he’s stuck, stuck bad, with some Old Tech toys that’re enough to ruin him, if the Scouts find him out.”

  “You interest me. Do you care to say who this trader is and where he might be found?”

  “His name,” Jethri said promptly, “is tel’Linden. I met him at the trade fair in Cherdyan City, on Verstal.”

  “And he has more stock, of the quality of this ring?”

  Jethri moved his shoulders, accepting a plate of fruit from Dulsey, choosing a few pieces and passing it on to Uncle Yuri.

  “He had fractins—real ones and fake. More real ones than fake. Frames, broken down, so it’s not obvious what they are. Old Tech kahjets . . . Nothing I could buy, being a Liaden trader, so-called, on a Liaden tradeship, trading for the next while mostly in Liaden space.”

  Uncle nodded thoughtfully, and looked to his companion.

  “He may be worth our while, this Trader tel’Linden. It may be that we can assist the trader in his stocking difficulties and also assist him in returning worth to his clan.” He paused to savor a roll, and nodded to Jethri.

  “We will of course pay a finder’s fee for those items which are found to be of use.”

  “You needn’t—”

  “No, Trader, we need,” Dulsey interrupted. “It is how business is done, and we would not be behindhand.”

  There was, Jethri thought, really no arguing with that. He inclined his head.

  “Any such fees may be directed to my attention, on Elthoria.”

  “I may say,” Uncle commented, “that it is satisfying to note that our work on your gene mix was well done. Your brother had thought that we might increase the sensitivity to fractin- and other timonium-derived activities. I confess, I had not considered it a trait that could be manipulated to good effect. But Arin often saw further than I.”

  Jethri put his cup down, quietly his mouth a little dry, despite the tea he had just swallowed.

  “Arin is . . . was . . . my father.”

  “Yes, that is how it is said among those who are not of our particular . . . family. In fact, at the level that matters—the level of genes and DNA—you are Arin’s brother. Not a clone, for as I say, we did work, seeking to enhance certain specific traits, which have matured well. We shall so note it, in the files.”

  “I’m . . . manufactured?”

  Dulsey extended a hand and touched him on the sleeve. Uncle looked . . . thoughtful.

  “Yours was a more deliberate mixing of genes than is provided by the random universe, yes. Manufactured . . . is a valid comparison. I will note that the process we used to capture the individual now known as Jethri Gobelyn ven’Deelin is only distinguished by deliberation. You are unique, and you are yourself. Nor were Arin and I exactly the same. When we have more time together at leisure, Dulsey can enumerate many examples illustrating that point.”

  Jethri considered that, and decided that he still wasn’t clear—and now that this particular box of sticky string had been opened, he needed to get clear, if for no other reason than honor demanded it.

  “Clones are even more illegal on the Liaden side of things than they are on the Terran,” he said, looking his uncle straight in the eye and holding the gaze. “I owe my mother, my Master Trader, my ship, and my crew mates the truth. If my presence is going to cause them trouble, then . . . I shouldn’t be present.”

  “You are not,” Dulsey said from beside him, “a clone.” Her voice rang with a truth so absolute that Jethri fully believed her at once.

  “You do, however, bring to mind a topic which we must address, now that we are together. You were, as I said, intended to fill a certain purpose. Now that I see the investment of time and resources has borne profit, I would see you at work more fitting to your nature.”

  Jethri shook his head, wryly.

  “If I stay on the Liaden side, being able to find fractins, and telling the difference between the good ones and the imitations, isn’t exactly a feature,” he said.

  “Ah,” said his Uncle Yuri, looking at him with interest. “And do you intend to stay on the Liaden side? I can offer you a very lucrative contract with our family company, as a fractin and Old Tech hunter. You will be utilizing your natural skills for the good of your family, and you will remain on the Terran side.”

  That last, that sounded right stern, but Jethri only shook his head.

  “Thank you, sir, but I’ll stay on Elthoria.”

  He met Uncle Yuri’s eyes. Uncle Yuri frowned.

  Beside him, Jethri heard Dulsey laugh.

  Slowly, then, Uncle’s frown melted into a smile.

  “Good,” he said. “Excellent. You are important to the process. I congratulate you.”

  “Process, sir?”

  Uncle waved his hand.

  “The same process that involves Tradedesk. The process of building ports and markets that do not have a Liaden side or a Terran side. The process of preventing a war that will be—according to my calculations and, independently, Arin’s calculations—inevitable. Following usual trends in such matters the war would split both the Liaden side and the Terran side into camps hostile to each other and to splintered noncompliant subgroups.

  “This would not only be bad for trade, it would be bad for humankind in space. Far better to build Tradedesk, and begin a Liaden-Terran trader exchange program. Cooperative action. Notice that I do not say easy action, or perfect results.”

  “The galaxy not plunging into war seems like a good outcome to me,” Jethri said.

  Dulsey laughed again, and Uncle actually chuckled.

  “So it does. Now . . .” He glanced at Dulsey, who nodded softly.

  “Now, Jethri ven’Deelin, we must away on business of our own. Thank you for a very enjoyable and informative hour. Doubtless, we’ll meet again. But even if we do not—continue as you’ve begun: live well, and profit.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Tradedesk

  The first seminar began soon, but not so soon that Jethri felt it necessary to rush down Tradedesk’s wide halls. His conversation with his uncle had given him food for thought, and he was deep inside those thoughts when he heard someone say his name.

  He stopped, blinking, and gazed about.

  “Trader ven’Deelin,” Master Trader pin’Aker said again. “Well met, Trader. I wonder if I might walk with you?”

  “Yes, of course, sir. Forgive me for my inattention . . .”

  “No need, no need! Who among us here does not have much to think upon? The possibilities exist for the increase and betterment of trade across many fronts! And yet, we are so different—Liaden and Terran. Are the cultural accommodations even possible?”

  “I think they are very possible, sir,” Jethri said. “I own myself but an indifferent scholar, but surely, if I can make a beginning . . .”

  “Which you have done, admirably, if by beginning we mean to say that a Terran can be taught the language, the Code, and all the myriad tiny details that make up a society. Certainly, I make no doubt that the next exchange—a Liaden trader to a Terran ship—will be equal to learning the language, the Terran Code, and so many details. But what we want, young sir—what we want, is not a Terran trader who may learn to be a Liaden trader, nor yet a Liaden trader who may learn to be a Terran trader.

  “No! I say that what we want is a trader who, standing as himself,
with only his skill to hand, can trade from that position equally—to Liadens, to Terrans, to whomever else we may find, as exploration expands.”

  “You argue for a trader-scout, then, sir?”

  “Do I?” Master Trader pin’Aker frowned in thought. “That is an interesting notion; I will think upon it. I confess my initial belief is that Scouts succeed by doing just as you do—blending into the society they wish to study. But, yes, there may be something in your idea, Trader. My thanks.”

  Here he moved his hand, as if brushing something lightly away from him.

  “Fascinating as these topics are, there is one, closer, I believe, to your interests—and mine. I am indebted to you, Trader, for the opportunity to speak with Trader pen’Akla last evening. He had much to say which interested me. A most personable young trader who may, I feel, with careful nurturing, one day achieve the purple.

  “I will tell you, as his partner, that the trader did confide some of the details of his current situation to me—no dishonor to him! I had asked him to clarify some few things his mother had spoken of to me, earlier in the evening. I understand from these discussions that I may be in a position to do Trader pen’Akla and yourself a good turn. With this in my mind, I will be contacting Master Trader ven’Deelin. If there is a reason why I should not, I beg you will tell me.”

  A good turn? Could Master Trader pin’Aker be willing to act as ven’Deelin’s cat’s-paw, and buy out Tan Sim’s contract with Genchi? Jethri felt a flutter of hope so strong that it was a moment before he could speak.

  “In-indeed, sir, I can think of no reason why you should not speak with my mother on your topic. I think, if I may say so, that you will find her . . . receptive.”

  “Norn ven’Deelin is a remarkable trader; she has long been a friend to those younger in trade, and a willing mentor to those who aspire. We have had several comfortable talks on the topic, so I may confidently say that she, as much as I, believe that, as Master Traders, one of our many duties is the nurturing of traders, and the widening of trade. We do not achieve excellence, nor do we serve the trade, when we allow young traders of potential—or, indeed, any trader!—to be abused and his vocation used as a whip to break him.”

  He paused then, his lips pressed together firmly.

  “Well,” he said, “no more on that head. I will do myself the pleasure of calling upon your mother soon, I think. When I see her, I shall report that I left you aglow with your successes, and in the very best of health.”

  They had come to a cross-hall. Jethri bore to the right, but Master Trader pin’Aker halted, and bowed.

  “Good-day to you, Trader ven’Deelin; I leave you here. My thanks for a most thought-provoking conversation.”

  * * *

  He looked for Tan Sim at the first seminar, but didn’t find him.

  But he did find his long-lost host, and First Board Scout ter’Astin.

  “Trader, I have news of your property and a time and location from which it can be retrieved.”

  Jethri stepped quickly to his side.

  “Where is it? Who has it? What—”

  “Peace,” the Scout said shortly. “Let us to Keravath; this is not something you will wish bandied about in the halls.”

  Ter’Astin’s face was impassive: a good Liaden public face. But there was something about it, or perhaps his stance, that convinced Jethri that the Scout was weary. And truly, his book! News of his book held more urgency for him than the next seminar.

  “Certainly,” he said. “Let us repair to Keravath. Have you eaten?”

  “I have ordered in a nuncheon; it should be on dock when we arrive,” ter’Astin said, walking rapidly down the hall.

  Jethri stretched his legs to catch up.

  “Had you an enjoyable evening?” he asked, when it seemed that the Scout would simply stalk along, silently.

  A black glance sparkled under dark lashes.

  “My evening was pleasant, and fulfilling, thank you. I hear various tales of your own prowess, as a trader of great skill, an arbiter of reasonable resource, and a connoisseur of wine and bedmates.” The glance this time was accompanied by a slight smile. “Truly, you amaze. I blush to think what I will say to Norn.”

  “You need say nothing. Master Trader pin’Aker assures me that he will share all. And, as he has it as his intention to go to her soon . . .”

  “My blushes are saved. On a similar topic, I feel I should tell you that Wynhael left station while we most of us slept. My good comrade Roe of the control team relates a horrific tale of an emergency departure filed, and a captain in a dangerous hurry. He tells me—in the strictest confidence!—that there was a moment when he feared the station would be holed.” He moved a hand, perhaps describing Wynhael’s departure.

  “However, as you see, we are unharmed, and Wynhael is no longer with us, so—a good beginning to a new day. Would you agree?”

  “I agree that a lack of Rinork and chel’Gaibin is welcome,” Jethri said.

  Their conversation became interrupted then, by their individual and joint necessities to acknowledge greetings from acquaintances, and so they reached Keravath’s dock.

  Jethri picked up the caterer’s box as the Scout worked the lock, and they entered, lock sealed behind them, and privacy insured.

  * * *

  “The crux of the matter,” the Scout said, as they unfolded the box in the galley, “is that I have found who holds your birthright.”

  Jethri, who had been contemplating a stack of handwiches that might easily have fed the crew of the Market, looked up, excitement cramping his stomach.

  “Who is it? Do you have it?”

  “I have this”—ter’Astin reached inside his jacket and withdrew a single sheet of folded hardcopy, which he offered—“given to prove that the article is, indeed, in the possession of this person.”

  Jethri snatched the paper, unfolded it. . .

  “It’s a page from my book,” he said. He recognized it—one of the pages where he had sketched a figure, his father had refined it, and he had refined his father’s iteration . . .

  He looked up.

  “Tell me.”

  “‘Tell me’ the child says.” Ter’Astin leaned in to pick up half a handwich. “Well, the short of it is that this item—your book—is not in the hands of the Scouts, but in other hands, even less tender of the promises of field agents. These hands are somewhat unscrupulous. Certainly, they have stolen the book—or had it stolen. They are, however, willing to return it to you, its rightful owner, and they are so gracious to give us a day and a planet upon which you and they will meet in order to accomplish this. But . . .”

  Jethri looked up from the page he’d been studying.

  “But?”

  Ter’Astin smiled thinly. “But they wish payment. As it happens, they want payment in kind. Your book”—he jutted his chin at the page Jethri held—“for the Envidaria.”

  “I don’t have the Envidaria,” Jethri snapped. The Scout met his eyes blandly, and Jethri turned away first.

  “I need to use long-comm,” he said, and sighed, suddenly seeing the elegant, subtle curve of Samay’s neck. “I will also need to leave messages here. We will, I think, wish to depart soon.”

  “I think so, too,” said the Scout, and went to wake Keravath’s board.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Gobelyn’s Market

  Serconia’s lessons were still on their minds when they jumped into the Franticle True system, there being four stars all dancing in a complicated set of orbits within easy reach and all moving with a lazy general relative velocity and together they were Great Franticle, the parts being bright little Franticle Blue, Franticle Hon, Franticle Core and Franticle True. Down the road there’d be trouble, according to some of the calculations, with Franticle Hon and Franticle Blue having a hot date that could just cause some problems with the other two . . . in not all so many hundred thousand Standards. Near term it meant there was plenty of mass to go around and Great Franticl
e one of the neighborhoods where odd stuff could happen to incoming ships.

  Of the eleven planets and forty-seven notable moons in all this mess only one moon and one planet were comfortably habitable, Franticle Blue having a clutch of gas giants, Franticle Hon a bunch of rocks, Franticle Core more comets than any one system ought—and Franticle True, of course having the livable planet and moon.

  Khat didn’t mean to yawn at it all sitting there with screens up and all the sensor ears open; the arrival had been enough to rouse Iza to be in first chair. But Cris had been on an alternate shift last ship night, stopping by all wide awake on the topic of Iza slowing down and the ship chemistry being odd and loose after seeing some big ships run; then they’d talked about her trips and then it was time for Khat to take the boards a quarter shift before Jump end, Iza letting Grig’s watch be short. Seemed to Khat like that was happening a fair amount, Grig getting a short shift, start or finish, and Khat wasn’t sure if that was humanitarian Iza sending a man to help his wife with the kid or Iza sending a message to Grig.

  Iza called out, “Got that tumble again, Khat, catch the numbers for us—tumble’s not useful!”

  Iza’d killed the tumble in a few seconds of shifting floors and sidewalls, and then cross-haired the destination, minor curses—not unusual in the captain—for the fact that they’d actually overshot and would have to kill the outward-bound vector before they’d be able to start in, adding at least a half-day to the front end of things.

  Given a stable orbit Gobelyn’s Market found the orients, and with them began picking up the comm feeds. With two inhabited worlds and a large-scale station, there was a fair amount of comm traffic, and as much or more because of the mining operations among the rock belt.

  Iza called out, “In and safe” to the crew, something she remembered to do every three or four Jumps despite the all-clear call being right there on the checklist, and Khat relaxed since she hated being the one to have to follow up on Iza’s misses. Actually checking checklists was what subordinates were for, that seemed Iza’s idea.