by Jay Allan
Pip sipped his coffee while he considered. “You’re going to take yours up, aren’t you, Ish?”
“Yeah, at the moment it’s all I have to sell and I’d like to get something out there. I’ll take the eight I bought with Bev. It won’t matter if I sell them all, because we have that whole bundle. The big question is how much to charge?”
Bev finished her omelet and pushed the tray back. “I was thinking thirty creds. That’s more than double what we paid for them.”
Pip shook his head. “If it were me, I’d start at fifty and let ‘em talk me down to thirty. These are top shelf goods. The leather is amazing and the tool work is exceptional. The rock jockeys and metal munchers will have money to spare and if you don’t take it from them, they’ll just drink it away instead.”
Bev smiled. “Point taken. We’ll see what the market will bear and that’ll help you move the large bundle later.”
Pip nodded and it seemed like a logical plan to me.
I looked back and forth between the two of them. “Do you think any of the crew will come to sell in the booth?”
Bev nodded vigorously. “They will, but maybe not until they see how it works out.”
Pip lifted his chin to get our attention. “I have one more question. How do we reimburse the ship?”
Bev and I looked at each other and then back at him. “Reimburse the ship?”
He nodded. “If Ish and I had taken this on, we’d have just absorbed the cost in the day’s business, but this is ship’s business. We can’t expect the rest of the crew to absorb the expense, can we?”
Bev snorted. “We only need to cover ten creds a day, right?”
“Something like that.” Pip shrugged. “The captain paid out forty creds for the rental.”
“No table,” I pointed out. “I wonder if I can add that at the office this morning.”
“How much is one?” Bev asked.
“A cred a day.”
“Whoa, can you afford it, big spender?”
Pip grinned. “I think that’s the answer. Ish, you and I were going to cover this expense when we asked Mr. Maxwell so why don’t we just do it.”
“Do you need me to chip in?” Bev asked.
I shook my head. “No, we’ve got this. After all, you’re only selling a few belts and we have that big bundle. We should make more than enough to cover it.”
“Okay, well if you want me to, just let me know.”
“Gimme twenty now and I’ll add twenty and reimburse the ship while you’re out setting up,” Pip said before getting up to start another pot of coffee.
I pulled out my tablet and transferred the credits. “Done.” While I was in my account I noted that I’d been paid again and that I was building up a respectable balance, even after having paid out the two hundred back on Gugara.
Bev stood up and grabbed her dirty dishes. “Okay, I need to get into some civvies and go get seriously commercial for a bit.” She looked at me with a twinkle in her eye. “Wanna join me?”
We all laughed and started moving. We took the dishes to the galley and Bev and I headed to the berthing area to change while Pip returned to morning mess duty. As I slipped on my jacket, I couldn’t help but remember that leather coat with the black silk lining on Gugara. I half wished I’d gotten it but the mass would have chewed into my trading. It only took a few ticks to change clothes and we headed for the lock with our belts in a duffel bag.
At the lock, Rhon Scham had the bow watch and gave us a bundle of blue cloth. “Compliments of the captain.” She told us. We had no idea what it was, so we unfolded it. It turned out to be a banner, about two meters long, with shiny letters sewn onto it. When we got it fully stretched out, we could see that the silvery material spelled McKendrick Mercantile Cooperative.
“From the captain?” I asked.
“That’s what the note says. She dropped it off just before midwatch last night.”
Beverly examined the fabric. “This is ancient. This banner has to be…maybe fifty years old.”
Rhon and I both shrugged.
“What’s the McKendrick Mercantile Cooperative?” I looked back and forth between them.
Bev shrugged. “I don’t know, but I bet there’s a good story behind this. Come on, we’re gonna be late.”
We refolded the banner and carefully tucked it in the duffel with the belts. Rhon keyed the lock and we bolted for the lift and headed up to the flea market office to check in.
The flea market manager seemed a nice enough guy. I suppose you have to be to coordinate the circus that constituted a major orbital flea market. He didn’t even appear intimidated by Beverly. He wore a bright green vest that clashed horribly with everything else he had on, which probably was the point. He certainly stood out in the crowd. Across the back it said, “Margary Flea” in big yellow letters and on the left breast it said, “Fergus, Manager.” He was happy to rent me a table for the four days and let me pick the one I wanted out of a battered collection stacked up in the storage area.
“You just bring it back tonight and it’ll be safe until tomorrow.” He handed me a plastic coated badge with all the pertinent information: dates, rates, services, along with a big four seventy-eight on its face. “Clip this to the drape at the back of your booth so that security knows you’re registered and take it with you when you leave for the night. There’s a magtag in it that will open the doors when you want to come back in the morning. It’s good for the full four days. After 1700 on the last day it expires. You can just toss it. Your booth is over that way about forty meters. Follow the signs painted on the deck. Good luck with your sales.”
Bev and I thanked him and headed off in the indicated direction to find our space. We had half a stan before the doors opened and let the public in. We joined the steady parade of merchants and the flea market felt like it was coming to life after a long night’s sleep, which in truth, I suppose it was.
It took us five ticks to find the place but no time at all to set up. The table was a pull-the-legs-and-lock type, so it was easy. We pulled out the banner and debated where to put it. A pipe-scaffold ran along the back of the space with a drape on it. If we’d had some wire or string, we could have hung it up there. Some pins would have let us attach it to the drape, but, of course, we had none of them. Ultimately, we just laid it out like a tablecloth and put a selection of the belts for sale on it. We stashed the empty duffel under the table. The display looked completely amateurish, even to me.
Bev and I looked at each other.
I shrugged. “We’re really not prepared, are we?”
She shook her head. “No. Not really.” She grinned at my hang-dog look. “But it’ll come. Live and learn, I always say.”
More vendors filed in and set up around us. Across the aisle was a potter, a youngish looking guy with sandy hair and an artificial foot. He slid a grav pallet into his space, all set up with his displays. He just locked it down and was ready for business. Looking around, I saw that the grav pallet seemed to be the standard as there was a procession of them winding in from the lifts.
Bev and I looked at each other. “If this catches on…” we started to say at the same time and laughed.
An obviously married older couple trundled up to the booth beside us and began unloading a simple cargo tote. The woman—a mousy, gray-haired matron in boots, a pair of jeans, a checked shirt, and a vest—began directing the man. He was nearly bald and wore a utility jumpsuit. Her voice carried over the rising noise level as she bossed him around.
“Not there, Virgil, I need that here.” Her smooth alto carried a whip-crack undertone that made me instantly feel sorry for him.
“Come on, Virgil, the floor will be open soon and I need this set up now!”
She continued along this vein for quite some time. Poor Virgil had apparently done this chore many times but he just couldn’t seem to do it to her satisfaction. They unpacked signs, display racks, and other paraphernalia from their little tote. With each new item, she’d
give Virgil another order. Bev had to look the other way just to hide her amusement.
I joined her on the far side of our booth and elbowed her. “It’s not funny. That poor guy.”
Bev nodded. “I know, I know. It’s just…”
Behind us we heard, “Virgil, I’ve told you a hundred times not that way. Set it up like this.”
I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing and Beverly looked down with a hand on her brow to hide her face. Her shoulders were shaking as she tried to suppress her laughter.
Luckily, about that time, a loud pa-pong echoed from the ceiling speakers and the big entry doors at either end of the hall rolled open. A tide of people surged onto the trading floor. In a few ticks buyers began sauntering by and Virgil left the woman to tend the booth by herself.
Bev and I stood awkwardly behind the table and watched as people passed. Some stopped to eye the belts, but more were interested in Bev. She wore her black leather pants, jacket, and boots. Under the jacket she wore a cream-colored shirt with a stand-up collar. Even with the buzz-cut and piercings, the shirt softened the edge a bit in comparison to the aluminum pullover she’d worn on Gugara. I wore my only set of civvies and, compared to her, I was about as non-nondescript as Virgil had been.
“Lookie loos,” Bev pitched her voice low enough to reach my ears without being overheard by those around us.
“What?”
“This first group.” She indicated the crowd with a slight nod of her head. “They’re the lookie loos. They have no intention of buying yet. Eventually they might, but for now…”
I nodded.
It didn’t take long for the experience to get boring. I took out my tablet and started making a list.
“Whatcha you doing?”
I didn’t look up. “Taking notes. Next time we need some clips so we can hang the banner on the drape, and Pip will need some kind of rack to be able to display that bundle of belts.”
Bev nodded and stretched her back. “Stools would be good too. It’s going to be a long day standing, I’m afraid.”
I added that to the list, along with grav pallet followed by a question mark and thermos of coffee.
A couple stepped up to the table, so I put my tablet away. The next three stans eroded under the steady trickle of buyers through the booth. Bev did the actual haggling and I listened out of one ear while I explained to the next buyer that the belts came from Gugara and were hand-tooled by one of their master craftsmen. Most people who picked up one of them and could feel the texture and suppleness of the leather wanted to buy one, even if they weren’t able to afford it. We set the price high and were in no hurry to drop it too quickly, something the hagglers caught on to right away. Nobody seemed too put out and Bev sold two at forty creds rather quickly.
About that time, Diane Ardele showed up with Francis in tow. He lugged a duffel stuffed with silk scarves, brocaded vests, and delicate china plates with oriental scenes painted on them. The plates were wrapped in sponge-foam and individually boxed. Bev and I moved the belts over to one end of the table and let Diane and Francis set up on the other. The booth looked more appealing with the brightly colored fabrics and shining glass. It also didn’t hurt that Diane wore jeans that were one size larger than painted on and a deep, scoop-neck top. With her cheerful smile, she was soon attracting as much attention as Bev. Francis and I knew enough to stand back and let the experts work the table.
After a couple of stans there was a lull in the action and we all just stood around grinning at each other.
Diane had sold about half of her scarves and a couple of plates. Bev had taken the four belts she wanted to hold for St. Cloud and put them in the duffel but sold all the rest of hers and a couple of mine. At the rate they were going, we’d be out by midafternoon, but she’d made a profit already, and one more from my pile would put me in the black as well. Diane and Francis seemed pleased, too.
Bev announced, “I need to stretch my legs.”
Diane volunteered to go with her. “You boys mind the store. We’ll be back soon.”
With that, they marched off toward the restrooms, heads together in some kind of feminine conference.
Francis and I were left staring at each other.
“So much for the window dressing.” He shot me a wry grin.
“What? You don’t think a little beef cake will work?” I pulled the leg of my jeans up to display the pale, hairy flesh beneath.
He grimaced and shook his head with a laugh.
A group of people came into the booth and Francis and I had our hands full for a few ticks. I managed to sell a belt at almost forty creds and Francis sold two of the plates and a rich, emerald green vest with gold threads. The woman who bought Francis’ vest had red hair and eyes that matched the new garment perfectly. She was cute to begin with, but when she slipped on the vest, she was stunning. The redhead never took it off the whole time she was haggling and Francis got a hundred and twenty creds for it.
“Nice.” I congratulated him as they left.
“Thanks. She was an easy sell. She wasn’t going to leave without it.”
I could still see her walking away through the crowd. “Yeah, I don’t blame her.”
Diane came back with a beverage carrier of coffees and a bag of sandwiches. “Bev’s gone prowling. Was that one of the vests I just saw walking off?”
Francis smiled. “Yup, got a hundred and twenty for it.”
Diane grinned and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks.”
She smiled at me and winked. “Only paid twenty for that on Darbat.”
The coffee tasted muddy and bitter, and the sandwiches soaked through the paper napkins, but I was hungry and ate every bite. The steady trickle of people continued and we took turns putting down our sandwiches to talk to them. I sold another belt before Bev got back.
She sashayed up to the booth pretending to be a customer. “What darling belts. Too bad they don’t have buckles.”
We all laughed until she produced a silvery chunk of metal inlaid with a blue stone and tossed it on the table with a thunk. The oblong metal block, about the size of my palm, tottered on a slight convex curve across the front. I didn’t recognize it at first and then I realized it was a buckle.
Francis scooped it up before I could reach it. “Is this turquoise?”
Bev shook her head. “That’s what I thought when I saw it, but it’s lapis.”
Diane peered around Francis to look at it. “It’s gorgeous, that’s what it is.”
Bev nodded and fished one of her reserve belts out of the duffel. It only took a tick for her to connect it to the buckle and hold it up for display.
We all just stared at it. “Oh—my,” Diane summed up our collective reactions succinctly.
The combined product caught attention immediately. Several people stopped to admire it and Bev played the crowd. “Sorry, folks, this one’s not for sale, but my friend here has more belts he’d be happy to sell you and you can get the buckles from booth two sixteen. The gentleman there has a nice collection available at very reasonable prices.” About a third of the crowd headed off in that direction, another third stepped up to the table and began looking over the few belts I had left, and the rest wandered off.
When the group thinned out, I managed to get Bev to fill me in on the details.
“I was just wandering around after we hit the head and I ran across this booth. He has a big peg board of these buckles all about the same size and shape. Each is inlaid with different minerals. I don’t know how he makes them, but the results are spectacular.”
“No kidding.” Diane grinned at her, fingering the buckle.
Bev pulled a small bundle out of the pocket of her jacket. “I got four of them, one for each of my remaining belts. He gave me a good price on the proviso that I not sell them on-station.” She saw the look on my face and added, “I told him that you would be along shortly. He sold these to me for fifteen creds each. He’s asking twenty-five to thirty-five dependin
g on the stone.”
Diane handed the buckle to Francis and he hefted it. “By the weight of this thing, the metal is probably worth that much.”
Bev nodded in agreement. “Yeah, the mass is going to be a problem for taking too many of these with us. I need to weigh them but I bet they weigh at least a hundred grams each.”
I did some quick math in my head. “Ten per kilo. I have mass for fifty and enough creds for about twenty.”
Bev grinned at me. “Depending on how well the belts sell, you’ll recover some of the mass, and a lot of the money.”
Diane raised an eyebrow in my direction. “How many do you have?”
“Pip and I got a deal on eighty of them back on Gugara.”
“Eighty? Whoa,” Diane said with a whistle.
“You guys should pay me a finder’s fee.” Bev teased, much to Francis and Diane’s amusement.
“Hey, I spotted the belts first.”
“Kids, if you’re gonna fight, please take it out of the booth, okay?” Francis grinned at us.
A new group of customers stepped up to the table and we had to behave, but I snapped a quick digital of the buckle with my tablet and flashed it over to Pip’s tablet before I started answering questions.
Customers paraded through the booth in a more or less steady stream for the rest of the afternoon. Francis and Diane sold all the scarves, almost all of the plates, and three more of the brocade vests. Francis only put one out at a time and after each sale he rummaged in his duffel and pulled out another.
After he put out the third one, I shook my head in amazement. “How many of those do you have?”
“Three more.” He grinned at me.
“Are you putting them out individually to make them seem more valuable? Like they are one of a kind or something?”
He shrugged. “They are one of a kind, just like the belts. I put them out that way so they’re easier to keep track of.”
I chuckled. “Never overlook the obvious.”
Late in the afternoon, an attractive woman in a smartly tailored blouse and slacks stepped up to the table and looked it over. “How are things going?”