“Not our problem, and we’ll have more than our share, I suspect.” Zainal gave a shrug. “I know of Kapash, let us say. He may not be an improvement over Vitters. And once we have goods on the premises, I’ll want to be sure nothing is missing the next day. Natchi, a one-armed veteran, has also warned me. Natchi is to be given as much coffee as he wishes. He’ll do more than cool his drink with his breath if he hears anything we should know. Is Clune the biggest man we’ve got? Or Ninety Doyle?”
“It’d be a toss-up, Emassi.” Chuck grinned and, with a flourish, gestured for Zainal to precede him up the ramp and into the KDM. “Even the biggest Catteni would think twice before tangling with either of them unless they were totally nuts.”
“Have I still got the spy on my tail?”
“Big ugly son, straggly beard, wearing dirty yellow pants and a blue vest?”
“You’ve seen him. The very one.”
“Wouldn’t like to upset that fellow!”
“I don’t want anyone leaving this ship alone. Only in groups of two, preferably three. The women are definitely not to leave without a male escort.”
“What would they leave for?” Chuck demanded. “All the comforts of home.”
As Zainal reached the main corridor, he could smell the fragrance of fresh coffee and made his way quickly to the wardroom, where, as if she had known his exact moment of return, Kris had a cup ready to hand him when he entered.
“The boys saw you coming,” she said, smiling. “I was roasting more coffee beans. Tell me what you think of this brew. Maybe I can get the right balance yet. Could you smell it on the dock?” He could hear the exhaust fan whirring but he hadn’t smelled the aroma on the dock. Other things had been redolent— hot grease, oil, and stale ship fuel: the usual compound in this sort of area.
“They’ll all know by tomorrow” Zainal shrugged with an indifference he didn’t feel. In fact, he was seething with anticipation to witness the stir they would make in the unexpectedly torpid atmosphere of what had once been a hectic and active marketplace. He had also tread on parts stuck in the mud of the market aisles. The one he dug out was indeed a spark plug but too dirt-encrusted to be saved; another was a circuit board of some type. What Chuck had reported was correct: merchandise was being wantonly and casually destroyed. So much for Kapash’s boast that he kept the facility in order.
Chuck came in then, hanging the dartboard back on the wall in its usual spot.
“Another cup, please, Kris, before I take a casual”—Chuck grinned that “casual” was not the most apt adjective—“stroll around the market.”
“Take Clune and Ninety with you and show them Stall Ninety-two,” Zainal said. “Northwest corner. There is a wooden floor to which we can attach Eric’s equipment. We’ll need new bolts and, of course, the locks.”
“Is that far from what you Catteni euphemistically call a drinking spot?” Kris asked hopefully. She remembered all too clearly the brawl she had nearly been embroiled in the last time she’d been in Barevi.
“Yes, and not near the main intersections,” Zainal added, satisfied. “On a good wide aisle.”
“Did you catch the names of any merchants?”
Zainal handed Chuck the hand cam he had been using on his tour of the market areas. “Which one of our crew can develop film?” he asked, taking out the film he had used up on his return to the KDM. “Then we can see who our neighbors are.”
“Gail,” Kris said and, going to the wall unit, she depressed a toggle. “Lieutenant Sullivan to the wardroom, please.”
“Coming,” was the cheerful reply.
It didn’t take her long to arrive, almost breathless, at the door. She raised her arm to salute, but changed the motion to pushing her hair back from her face. Zainal had long since requested that formality be reserved for those times when other Catteni were present, but service habits were hard to break.
“Can you please process these, Gail?”
“Certainly, sir. Are they urgent?”
“Reasonably. And no one is to leave the ship alone. Especially you women. Never leave without a man with you … preferably Clune or Ninety. Pass the word along.”
“Yes, Zainal. I will.” She widened her eyes briefly and then flicked her fingers at him in a salute and turned left down the passage. Kris took a new camera unit from a closet and handed it over. He pocketed it, patting the slim rectangle for a moment.
“Should we all carry one, just in case?”
“No reason why not. Photo proof might be necessary and some of what I shot might not develop because of shadow but…”
“We might be able to identify enough to help find the right ransomables.”
Kris finished the thought. “We are adding tires, batteries, and spark plugs to the list, aren’t we?”
He nodded a vigorous affirmative.
“The name of the market chief is Kapash. He would not want the world and Barevi to know that, at one time, he was storing illegal substances: flip, strew, and lily.”
“Oh?” Kris said, her tone asking for elaboration.
“Flip destroys Catteni balance. It’s a powder and, blown into the face, can cause vertigo. Often illegally used during fights. Too much can destroy balance completely. Strew clings to skin and has an obnoxious stink to it. It also clouds memory. Lily is the worst. It’s toxic, especially to the Turs, and was often used to subdue them. In quantity it can be lethal to any of the known species. I don’t think it was used on Earth, but it might have been.”
“Lily is your word for a bad drug? I used to love stargazer lilies. They could scent up a room for weeks.” She smiled nostalgically. “Why did you warn me about such substances?”
“I’m warning you about Kapash. You may threaten him with exposure if he makes any move on you or any of the crew. Dealing with any of those three drugs carries a mandatory sentence to one of the mining colonies. He’ll know that.”
“So he wouldn’t want that bruited about.”
“No, he would not. Your threat is—if you need to use it—that if you are not back by a specified time, such information will be delivered to the space commander, Ladade. He knows I know, but he can’t touch me. Or hasn’t tried to. As I told the lieutenant, no one is to leave the ship alone. I’d rather you,” and he pointed his finger at her, “went out only with me or Clune.”
“Isn’t Alex McColl big enough, too?” Kris asked, grinning. She knew she shouldn’t feel so cocky, but she had benefited from sessions with Mpatane Cummings in unarmed combat training, and was adept enough to have floored Clune and Chuck in exercise sessions. Mpatane might look delicate but she was dangerous with hand and foot. She’d had Kris doing some toughening exercises with the edge of her hand. Mpatane could split a hunk of wood with a blow. She’d also taught Kris how to send a man’s nose into his brain with the heel of her hand. Not, Kris thought, that a Catteni nose would not be as fragile as the human equivalent, but a crack there would certainly smart enough for her to get out of a Catteni’s clutch. Catteni used genital guards even when off duty, so the classic ploy of a knee to the crotch would not be an option. Kris was glad to have other time-tried maneuvers, and got quite adept at flooring anyone who dared grab her: once you knew how, it was simple to use the force of a rush to the attacker’s detriment. Most of the Catteni fighting she had observed had been flailing fists and butting heads. Not much finesse, more pure brute force. She now had countermeasures but would prefer not to have to use them.
“We could get in a few good licks in ten seconds,” Kris said, noticing that the other women bristled a bit at the notion that they couldn’t defend themselves. “But Catteni don’t fight fair,” she added.
“Just a safety precaution. Until you know the Barevi market area, you need to have a fail-safe,” Zainal said, accepting their rebuff. When he gave Kris an admonishing glare, she gave him an impudent grin.
They spent the rest of the afternoon getting the bulky dental elements onto Natchi’s big lift and checked to be sure they ha
d everything else they needed. They had found a digitally locked strongbox for the smallest gold items. The metal ingots were a little easier to safe-keep, being heavy and bulky in themselves and not something even a Catteni could slip into a pocket. They had more than enough of a crew to leave someone on board on comm watch at all times, and Bayes had rigged a perimeter alert in the berth against snoopers. The KDM, aka BASS-1, had integral shielding against electronic snoopers so one person on board should be sufficient. Possibly two or three. Herb Bayes knew some rudimentary Catteni.
One of the first things Zainal wanted to liberate was a carton of handheld comm units so that all members of his group could keep in touch no matter where they were on Barevi. He gave each of the women a tiny Mayday patch that would emit a ten-second yowl if they got cornered. The sound was one that was particularly irritating to Catten ears and was guaranteed to let them escape while their would-be assailant was battered by the noise.
The water tested 99 percent pure without any unusual bacteria or noxious minerals. It was a bit high in iron but that would be temporary, as Zainal knew from his term as market manager that the piping was all properly done. The tap only needed to run a bit. Sometimes, just to be awkward, the market manager would do silly things, like health checks on a merchant. A water filter from the survivor kit would let them filter enough water for the first urnful of coffee — just to be on the safe side. Zainal hoped that the coffee could be made quickly enough so that he’d’ve collected some local credits before Kapash figured out a new way to derive income from their stall. Zainal surely hoped that Kapash would prove to be a caffeine addict. That would be useful. After reading the manual for the roaster, they had been able to dry several more sacks of beans on their flight to Barevi, and the results had brewed into a decent coffee. They’d do more once they found out how the beans were selling. Kris was keen to try some blending of the two bean types.
The next morning, when Zainal woke up early, he could already smell the onboard coffee. Dressing quickly, he went to the galley and found Kris pouring cups for those already gathered in by the delightful aroma. She had made pancakes, too, from the last of the flour, milk, and eggs on board. There were ripe bananas to start with and he was becoming quite fond of the fruit. They had several big stalks of bananas slowly ripening in the hold along with the oranges they had taken on board at Santa Lucia. They would see how things went before they offered the fruits in the market. But there was a three-week limit to the bananas and they might well have to trade them for what they could get, even if Kris had hopes of returning with some to Botany as a special treat. The oranges would keep and some of the other fruit had been bought green enough to make the trip back to Botany.
“I made another big pot of coffee,” Kris was saying now, as Floss and the boys joined them in the galley, “so we could bring some to the stall just in case we have early customers,” she told him, jerking her chin at the big padded thermal bottle.
“Good thinking:”
“Do my best with the first cup of coffee,” she replied. One of the things Zainal particularly liked about Kris was her ability to wake up in a good mood. It certainly started the day off well for those working with her. She had toasted the last of the baked bread she’d been able to make from the flour they had brought from Botany.
If Zainal remembered correctly, there had been a bakery in Barevi market, unless a fight had trashed it. The one he remembered had done good business, especially after some of the Terran breads had been offered for sale, when different types of flour became available following the mass looting of Earth. Coffee and bread from Terra were good things.
“We’re ready when you are, Zainal,” Bayes said. “All loaded on the lift.”
Despite the heat of the coffee, Zainal managed to drink it down, felt it slosh in his belly and hoped it would have its usual stimulating effect on his system. Kris carefully handed him a nicely browned slice of bread, spread with some of the sweet stuff he liked. He smiled at her.
“Take the bottle,” she said, nodding to the padded affair.
By its convenient handle, he swung it off the worktop and followed Herb Bayes, Chuck, Captain Harvey, Sally Stoffers, and the two Doyle brothers, who were on the first shift of the ransom team. His sons followed him, eager for their first glimpse of famed Barevi. Zainal hoped that someone would apply for the job of tutor. While experience in the market-as well as their command of both languages would be useful, they badly needed training in other areas. They wouldn’t like it, but then, he hadn’t enjoyed his schooling either. Piloting was always good training to have.
Other merchants were beginning to open their stalls one by one, pausing in the process to talk to their neighbors and assure waiting customers that they would be ready presently. His team made short shrift of setting up, since they would be buying, not selling merchandise. Even the coffee wasn’t for sale, offered only as a courtesy to those who came to show their goods.
“Filter the first water that comes out, Ninety,” Zainal murmured to the heavyset Doyle brother.
“Smart, too,” Ninety muttered back as the tap spat rusty water into the filter material, but there was soon enough to fill the big urn. Bayes nodded assurance that the power conduit was good and they wouldn’t need a transformer to handle the electrical current, while Kathy Harvey set out cups, brown sugar, and the Botany sweetener and every spoon from the galley. Kathy had taken it upon herself to be sure the spoons did not go missing.
Zainal hadn’t liked milk in his coffee when they’d had enough to use it, said it ruined the full coffee taste, which he preferred dark and sweet. Thinking about it made him pour a cup from the bottle. Second one was nearly as good as the first, and he could savor the taste. Then Natchi appeared at his elbow.
“Does that smell like I think it does?” the old man murmured, inhaling deeply. Oh, it does. It’s coffee, isn’t it?” He was salivating in anticipation.
“Coffee,” being an alien word, sounded the same from Catteni lips as it did from Terran. Zainal had noticed that the Kenyans called it kahawa.
“I brought my own seat,” Natchi said, holding up a battered crate as he reminded Zainal of the previous day’s promise. Zainal poured him a cup.
“Put your seat where you will be comfortable, Natchi, behind the stall where you won’t be trampled in the rush,” Zainal suggested when he saw that sharp noses down the line were picking up the unmistakable aroma from his pouring.
“We have a list of items we are looking for,” he said in a carrying tone, glancing down the row of stalls and catching the gaze of several other merchants, “and those who wish to peruse the lists might enjoy a warming cup.”
By then, the others with the dental equipment lift had arrived, with Eric Sachs hovering at the tailgate, anxious that his precious equipment not be harmed. Only if it fell on someone else’s toe, Zainal was sure, gesturing for Eric to use the cubicle they had rented for dental work. Ferris and Ditsy had offered to see if they could find men in the drink shops who might need Eric’s skills and persuade them to come and see the wonders of tooth repair and restoration. As aids, Gail, who had a gift for printing and sketching, had done a flip chart depicting examples of the dental care Eric could provide, even putting a small diamond in one crown when she had heard that Mike had included some flat-cut stones in their barterables.
“You say you have a list?” asked a low voice at Zainal’s side, and he saw a man, ostentatiously wearing a communications badge, standing beside him.
“Yes, we do, please step up,” Zainal replied, remembering what Peter had told him of the ways of treating prospective sellers.
“Who speaks Catten besides yourself, Emassi?” (Clune had mentioned during the journey here that no one would ever mistake Zainal for anything but Emassi class, no matter what he did or how he introduced himself.)
“All who are here, merchant. Captain Kiznet, I think list two,” and he held out his hand to Clune for a copy of that list. They had printed up lists of units and n
umbers, as well as logos of the various manufacturers whose items they were eager to find. “And would you like a cup to sip?”
“The aroma attracted me first, Emassi,” was the unusually candid reply, and Peran was quick to pour another cup from the bottle and present it with suitable dignity to the merchant. “I grew accustomed to this Terra drink, but it is hard to obtain in any quantity.” Zainal chose to ignore the subtle request for more information about his sources.
“It may be stronger than the brew you drank on Terra, merchant, and you may wish to add sweetener.”
The man took a sip and let it drain down his throat with an expression of delight and relief. “No, it is fine as it has been poured, Emassi. “
Kathy was holding out a copy of the list to the prospective trader. She had also put out a little bowl, and totally without shame, she caught the merchant’s eye and rubbed her thumb against her forefinger suggestively. “Have as many cups as you desire,” she said very graciously. Zainal watched the man’s face, but he showed no offense and, indeed, dug into his pocket and flipped a coin into the bowl, which already held some small change.
“We try to serve only the very best brew. This is called robusta, grown in the mountains of Kenya and considered the best of the best. It is, however, strong and you might prefer a milder brew”
The man cleared his throat and swallowed. “True, but exactly what is needed to start a chilly morning and a day’s trading.” He held out his hand to take the list from Kathy. “Ah, these all seem to be electronic parts from Terra.”
“We are looking for spare parts to repair damaged machinery” Zainal said cautiously. “Do you know if you have any of these items in your stores?” According to the reconnaissance Chuck had done, this man did.
The man raised one hand over his shoulder, twiddling fingers, and suddenly two younger men were by his side.
“Check our stores and see if any of these items are in stock.” He passed the list over. The clerks ran off but not without a longing sniff in the direction of the coffee.
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