Freedom's Ransom

by Anne McCaffrey

“Return swiftly,” Zainal added to their retreating backs, “and have a drink.”

  “Do not be so quick to offer enticements, Emassi,” the merchant said, “or you will have all the raff and scaff of the market begging.”

  “The raff and scaff,” Zainal said, gesturing toward Natchi, who was savoring each sip of his cup, “often know local gossip and fact. Natchi and I have known each other a long time and I find his talk is informed and genuine.”

  “I am Zerkay, Emassi,” the merchant said, “and it is right that you should treat him with respect.”

  “As a veteran, he is due some preference.” Zainal was not going to get into an argument about the treatment of ex-soldiers when he knew very little about the man to whom he was speaking.

  Zerkay had finished his second cup, and when he would have added another coin, Zainal stayed the gesture and beckoned for Kathy to replenish his supply.

  “Have a cup of the freshest brew, Merchant Zerkay, and from different beans and grind. Let me know which you prefer,” she said in Catteni. She even had the right inflection of inferior to superior in words and cadence, and Zerkay raised his eyebrows in appreciation.

  “Your Terrans speak good Catteni.”

  “They practice,” Zainal replied, not without a touch of pride.

  “Amazing,” Zerkay said, lifting the freshly made coffee close enough to his nose to sniff appreciatively. “Hmmm. Yes, I can smell the difference. Lighter, milder.”

  “Arabica beans, grown on the highlands of Santa Lucia,” Kathy replied.

  “Highlands?” Zerkay asked.

  “There are many sorts of coffee beans grown in Terra, Zerkay, and nearly as many ways of preparing the cup you drink.”

  “Are there? How interesting. I did not know. But then, I have had little chance to enjoy Earth.” He inclined himself first toward Kathy and then toward Zainal, obviously quite eager to be indoctrinated.

  “We can supply you with the beans you like best, Zerkay, that is, if we can agree on the items I require.”

  “Have you enough coffee to satisfy both your needs and my tastes?”

  “That is what we must discover, Zerkay.” Zainal held his cup up to Kathy for a refill.

  “Ahhhh!” Zerkay raised his hand, signaled with his fingers for another of his young minions to attend him, and this one placed a stool by the table for his senior to use.

  There was a bustle and reshuffle of people at the far end of the broad market corridor, and for a moment Zainal was afraid that the advancing pile of cartons would tumble off the lift that transported them. The cargo had not been tied to the lift bed and Zainal feared for the safety of all the so-irreplaceable items. Then the two young men appeared, one towing the lift, while the second made frequent adjustments to the piled cartons to prevent any from falling off.

  Zainal caught Kathy Harvey’s glance and the flick of white paper in her hand, doubtless a copy of the list. He made a flourish with one hand for her to check the items proffered. Most of the cartons were prominently embellished with the Terran Motorola logo, and some were indeed cell phones. Another carton seemed to hold switching mechanisms, vitally needed for the satellites. Zainal had memorized some of the relevant alphanumeric combinations of parts used by the various manufacturers of what he most needed, and these looked right: three letters and six or more numbers with a final letter.

  Kathy Harvey was calling out the codes on the boxes to Bayes, who was checking them off.

  “Pay dirt, boss,” she said in English. “How about we give the nice man his own bean grinder as a special offer? Bayes hooked one up on an extension and we can give a demonstration. And let him smell the difference in the roasted beans. He has a big enough nose.”

  “Not that it’d work with all the stinks around here,” Bayes remarked sotto voce.

  “Coffee has its own indescribable smell. He may not catch the nuances, but would he admit that he doesn’t when we give him the pitch?” Kathy replied.

  “Which cup did you prefer, Zerkay?” she asked at her most deferential.

  “The one I just had,” the merchant replied, noting that Bayes had finished checking off the list and handed it with a bow to Zainal. Zainal nodded approval and settled himself on the edge of the stall top to see what was the most vital on this list to bid for.

  “We must decide a fair exchange for this merchandise,” he said. “Since you like coffee, are happy to find a supply, would you consider trading in coffee beans?”

  “You have the beans themselves?” Zerkay was impressed.

  “With great difficulty, but we have managed to obtain a small quantity,” and Zainal thought of the full cargo hold of fragrant beans in their sacks, “which I will offer for the specific goods I have been sent to find.”

  “Sent by whom, might I be so bold as to inquire?”

  “Why, by Botany, of course,” Zainal replied. Which, at one level, was true enough.

  “Ah yes, the planet that you have discovered.”

  “No, Zerkay, the planet on which I was dropped.”

  This information appeared to stagger Zerkay to the point where Zainal was afraid the man might tumble off his stool.

  “You? An Emassi? Were dropped?” “Like a common criminal” was the unuttered qualifier.

  “I was dropped, and I stay,” Zainal replied firmly.

  “Yes, I see,” Zerkay said, and perhaps, Zainal thought, he really did. One day Zainal would discover who had made sure that a Catteni had been included in a disparate lot to be left to live or die on an unknown planet. However, Zerkay recalled himself to the business at hand, leaning an elbow casually on the stall, glancing at his half-empty cup and then at the list dangling in Zainal’s fingers. “And how shall we judge the worth of each carton? For I think your friendly veteran will have already told you that trade has been very slow”

  “Surely not slow for a man of your acumen.” Zainal gestured toward Zerkay’s obviously large and expensive stall, with its well-built amenities and outbuildings. “And trading finesse.” Zainal indicated the fine fabric in which Zerkay clothed himself. So, Zainal thought, the initial courtesies were over. He had to play a very delicate balance now between desire and acquisition. His first encounter with a Barevi merchant was all-important … at least on what Kathy called their “coffee” standard.

  “Is coffee another of those items no longer available on Earth?” Zerkay asked casually.

  “What use could you possibly have for these parts?” Zainal countered, flicking his fingers toward the pile of cartons. “We Catteni are an inventive race, to be sure, but …” He let his tone drop off.

  “But you would surely be searching them out to deliver the units into the hands of those who can assemble them effectively?” shrewd Zerkay replied.

  “It is, of course, a tentative venture,” Zainal said, lifting his hand in a diffident manner.

  “There is uncertainty all through the system,” Zerkay admitted. “But you have more command of particulars than a minor merchant on Barevi.”

  “Minor?” Zainal infused his tone with disbelief. “No merchant on Barevi has ever lacked up-to-date information.”

  Meanwhile, some of the younger people in the marketplace were sidling up to Eric’s stall. One of them was bold enough to flip over the cards Gail had made. They giggled at the golden teeth. Instantly, Ferris stepped forward to give an explanation of dentistry and to forestall any attempt to make away with the cards in the spirit of mischief. For a little fellow, Ferris had learned from the Masai how to act with imposing authority.

  Two pounds a carton was what Zerkay accepted to make the trade a deal. As well as samples of the other grinds, which Kathy packaged up before his eyes, making the measures generous. She marked the bags and advised him to keep track of those he preferred so they could supply him with his preference.

  “And then I must produce more cartons for your inspection?” Zerkay was slightly amused. “This is not the way business is ordinarily conducted at Barevi “

&nb
sp; “No?” Zainal asked politely, his eyebrows arched above an incredulous expression.

  “Buyers do not set up stalls and woo the sellers to return items collected on another planet.

  “Are you the man who brought about the end of the Eosi?”

  “I am.” Zainal dropped his voice to a somber tone of regret. “You have already achieved much. I, as one of many, am in debt to you.

  “Then do me the courtesy of telling other merchants that I deal honestly for the goods I require,” Zainal said with great dignity. “That will be my pleasure,” Zerkay said, rising from his stool. It was retrieved by one of his escorts and neatly folded up. “Good trading, Emassi.” He inclined his upper body respectfully and then, turning on one heel, walked back to his own stall.

  As he was just out of sight, two of the young Catteni began to struggle over who had the right to look at the dentistry display. Eric came out and, by the simple expedient of removing it from contention and glowering at the miscreants, settled the problem. “If you should happen to know of someone with loose teeth, or who has lost teeth and wishes replacements, I am ready to supply the need,” Eric said after them with a great deal of dignity. The younger Catten withdrew before this unusual man took punitive measures.

  “I could go to the drinking places. That’s where most of the damage takes place, according to what Natchi says,” Ferris suggested slyly to Eric. The dentist was somewhat taken aback by such a direct, if practical, method of finding customers. “I could speak to the owner and tell him where men who lose their teeth can come to have them repaired.”

  Discreet advertising was, of course, legitimate, so Ferris went off to see what he could discover.

  While Ferris seemed fascinated by Eric, Ditsy seemed more interested in running errands and generally keeping his eyes open. It was he who remembered about the lift power packs and, somewhat diffidently, came to Zainal the next evening with an idea.

  “We did pretty well swapping those lifts, didn’t we, Zainal?” he began tentatively.

  “We wouldn’t have had as many coffee beans and the other good things we traded them for, that’s certain,” Zainal replied encouragingly.

  “I know which merchant handles sales of new packs,” Ditsy said.

  “We shall need more, certainly, to take back with us,” Zainal agreed.

  “Couldn’t we use more lifts?” Ditsy asked.

  “We could.”

  “They don’t recycle anything in Barevi. Did you know that?”

  “Yes, I did,” Zainal replied, thinking of the piles of waste gathered up by Rassi workers on a daily basis.

  “Natchi said that’s how he got his lift. He makes a living from it, even if he did get it from a stinking old garbage dump.”

  Said in Ditsy’s crackly voice, “dump” sounded more final than ever.

  “And you’d like to get one from the dump and see if you can fix it?”

  “Well, they are useful items, and we don’t have any now, do we, ‘cause you traded the ones we had.”

  “That’s right, I did. And I know that Jelco wanted one of ours very badly.”

  “Yeah, he was almost drooling over it,” Ditsy said with a bit of malice in his smile. “Asking us stuff like its service longevity and capacity ‘n’ stuff that I didn’t know. Natchi’s been telling me about a lift’s versatility and showing me how to make full use of one.”

  “Has he?” Come to think of it, Zainal had seen the two in deep conversation together. He wished that his own sons would find something honorable in the old soldier, rather than the usual contempt of the healthy for the infirm. But then, as Kris reminded him, his sons had had a very tough time for a few years and were probably still recovering from the “trauma.” Certainly they were a little confused about where they belonged. A tutor would help them find their way.

  “Yes. He says with the tools we got, he could fix any we could find and have them in first-class working condition. You see,” and now Ditsy’s demeanor changed, “no offense, but Catten don’t take care of their machinery at all well.”

  “I know that.”

  “Natchi said that there is normal wear and tear on any machinery, but a lot of that could be avoided with a simple servicing or minimal care. Mostly, in the case of the lifts, just not dumping the lift on its side in the dirt and muck around here.” The boy had contempt for such irresponsibility. But then, he had lived through the terrible times of the occupation and his personal values came from that experience.

  “So me and Natchi was—”

  “Were,” Zainal corrected without thinking.

  “Were—thank you—wondering if we had your permission to bring a few things, like basically sound lifts, back to the BASS-One and fix ‘em?”

  “I think that’s a very good idea.”

  Then Ditsy added forthrightly, “Between what I get in my hand for running errands now and then, which Kris said I don’t have to throw into the coffee bowl, me and Natchi can get some bargains. We could use a coupla more lifts back home, couldn’t we?”

  “In Botany?”

  “Either Botany or Terra,” was Ditsy’s response.

  “That’s a very good idea, Ditsy, and you have my permission, indeed my assistance, as well as my encouragement.”

  After that little chat, Ditsy was most often gone from the stall on pursuits of his own, and Ferris was looking for the toothless, to the point where running errands fell to Peran, Bazil, and Clune. Zainal was not so fond a father that he did not realize that it was his sons who complained about Ditsy and Ferris not doing their fair share.

  It was not unusual to have to roust the boys from whatever discarded mechanical wonders they and Natchi were involved in to help bag beans for the next day’s sales. And, to Zainal’s momentary chagrin, Ditsy had to remind him about trading for new power packs. Ditsy said that, in point of fact, he needed several types.

  “Natchi knows a great deal about machinery” Ditsy informed him, “and we got several things working real well but they need power packs. Are they like our old batteries?”

  “The components are entirely different and the power more intensified.”

  Zainal was almost amused by Ditsy’s careful separation of our as in Terran, and yours, as in Catteni. No harm in that since Ditsy was very careful about his manners in addressing any Barevian.

  Two days after Ditsy and Natchi had successfully restored four lift panels, a young man appeared at BASS-1, asking to speak with Emassi Zainal. Natchi surveyed the man with shrewd eyes.

  “Come from the hiring hall?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. A position for tutor is said to be still open.”

  Liking what he saw, for Natchi was a good judge of men, the old veteran gave him directions to Stall Ninety-two in the marketplace. Not long afterward, Zainal saw a tall young man coming directly toward him, a tentative smile on his face. Could this fellow be a potential tutor? Observing him carefully as he approached, Zainal saw that he walked like a pilot, with a buoyancy, like someone not quite accustomed to a lighter gravity and yet with the balanced stride of an athletic person.

  “Are you Emassi Zainal?” he asked, coming directly to Zainal. “I understand that you are looking for a tutor?”

  “I am,” Zainal replied, looking the young man over.

  “My name is Brone ” He offered Zainal a firm hand and shake. He stood squarely on his feet but out of the main flow of those using the aisle. Nor did he draw aside when several shabbily dressed Catteni passed by, as some of the other passersby did, as if not wishing to be infected by the lesser ranks. Zainal did not wish for his sons to be taught by a judgmental personality. They had endured enough of that sort of mental bias at the hands of their relatives.

  “Tell me something about yourself, Brone,” Zainal said and motioned for Kris to pour two cups of coffee. “And enjoy a cup of our coffee.”

  Brone reached into his belt pouch and withdrew several items: a sheet of paper, which turned out to be his educational background, neatly wr
itten, and an up-to-date license allowing the person (the ID picture was a slightly younger Brone) to pilot any inter-system craft.

  “I see you passed in your first attempt,” Zainal said, studying the card.

  “I reviewed old test runs and studied hard,” Brone replied, attempting to belittle what had been a sensible notion.

  “Would you consider the position of tutoring my sons until such time as you might move on to captain your own ship?”

  Brone smiled, an unusual response between two Catteni who had just met.

  “I doubt, in today’s economic situation, that I will have much chance to pilot a ship. Also, you must realize that I can only teach what I already know,” Brone said.

  “Your duties might include flying, for which you would get credit.”

  A look of hungry hope flashed on the young man’s face and was quickly controlled.

  “I want my sons to learn the basics and the protocols that every young Catteni must learn.”

  “That much I can teach, as well as navigational mathematics and port law,” Brone said.

  “You would not object to spending time on Botany?”

  “I hear that it is a very beautiful planet, with a light gravity.”

  Zainal chuckled. Born on a heavy world and physically adapted to the problem, it was amazing how every native Catteni dreamed of living on a light-gravity planet. Of course, their gravity-bred muscles then gave them more advantages over the indigenous species. It was one of the main reasons they had been able to overcome soldiers pitted against them in the invasion.

  “My sons should not lose any more of their heritage,” Zainal said. “We are leaving shortly, Brone, to return to Botany. My sons are standing over there by the two Terran women. Would you be able to join us at such short notice?”

  “They are well-grown lads,” Brone said noncommittally.

  “Peran is the elder and Bazil the younger.”

  Brone nodded. “I did not like my tutor.”

  “Nor did I,” Zainal admitted.

  “They wish to be pilots like their father? I heard that you were a scout.”

  “They have shown interest but they are too young to know their own minds.”