The tone of voices abruptly changed. There was some sort of a fuss coming down the aisle, much shouting and warnings. Zainal was instantly alert but relaxed when he saw what was becoming a daily occurrence, someone with a bloody mouth coming to see the tooth man. The victim had a bloody rag over his face as friends escorted him to Eric’s booth. Zainal called out Eric’s name for he was busy rat-tat-tatting.
Eric quickly emerged and, taking in the scene in one glance, ushered the Catteni into his stall, twitching the curtain across it.
“Good fight?” Zainal inquired, as Catteni courtesy permitted.
“I won,” replied a burly man with the ship insignia of a minor duty officer. “Oh, this is where the coffee is. I could certainly use a cup.”
Zainal gave him a wave toward Floss, who smiled engagingly up at the fellow and put the cup in his hand and indicated the coin pot.
“What’s it worth?” he asked Floss.
“What you care to put in,” Floss replied flirtatiously.
Floss might have learned vocabulary from Peran and Bazil at the Masai camp, but she had certainly not learned how to flirt from them. Clune stepped forward from where he was drying cups and lingered just beyond her. The officer did not mistake the warning in the young man’s manner and moved judiciously toward Eric’s office space, just as a bellow and a kicking foot stirred the curtain.
“It would not have lasted past the first thing you chewed,” Eric shouted. His command of dental Catteni was now comprehensive enough for such remarks.
In her role as part-time dental assistant, Sally arrived with a glass of water and a bowl for the man to spit into. She disliked that part of her job but was becoming inured to it. She did like appearing in the form-fitting white uniform that Eric had said went with the duties. The uniform had been one of the things Eric had stuffed in at the last moment at his office, and fortuitously it fit Sally very well indeed.
Zainal then noticed a slight figure who had been parading up and down the aisle most of the morning.
“May I help you?” he inquired politely, as he tapped the man on the shoulder.
The gray-skinned fellow, rather scrawny even for a Catteni, jumped and whirled, his hands up in a defensive position. “This is where the man who does teeth works?” he asked, slightly breathless.
“Yes.”
“I wish to learn how to repair teeth. It would be a very good business for me to get into,” he added. And indeed, Zainal noticed that his upper teeth protruded in such a way that he looked like a burrowing animal the Terrans called a rabbit. Catten had a similar burrowing vegetarian creature, named a sukey. Then the man fumbled in a pouch and held out for Zainal’s inspection some odd objects-squarish at one end and broken off at the other.
“Teeth?” Zainal asked in surprise, remembering Ferris’s recent brush with Kapash.
“Yes, I saw him,” and he looked about, evidently for Ferris, who was away from the stall on his errand for Zainal. “He was here earlier, but I’ve seen him collecting broken teeth after a brawl in a drinking place. So I followed him. I have a friend who has loose teeth.”
Ferris was still collecting teeth in the drinking pits? At least this fellow was anxious to avail himself of the service, rather than attack Ferris, and had found the right place.
“Training to be a dentist demands many years of studying and can only be learned on Terra.”
“But he practices here,” the man objected. “I am Tavis,” he added by way of introduction. “I would do anything to learn such a profession. And if he does, he teaches.”
There was indeed a Catteni assumption that he who could do, could teach.
“I do not believe that the medical school where he learned is still functioning, and it is an expensive undertaking.”
“But if he does, I could watch and learn.”
“Do you read Terran?”
“I do,” said the man, and Zainal saw that, for all he was young in face, he was not a boy. “And I have studied much:’ There was a sudden slump to his shoulders as he admitted, “Learning is all I can do.”
“Learning is itself something that can be practiced. Have you ever considered being a tutor?”
The man shook his head. “Emassi and even Drassi find my appearance laughable.” He pointed to his teeth. “I heard that the tooth man is able to alter the shape of teeth while still in the mouth.”
While Zainal had heard from Eric that orthodontics was possible, it required long hours of work and much money.
“He can, but it is a long process,” Zainal said noncommittally, only now aware of how much he had absorbed of Eric’s evening dental lectures.
“But it is possible?” The man’s hand traveled halfway to his mouth before he restrained the movement, dropping it self-consciously.
“I believe so, but you had best discuss this with the doctor. And how was your friend injured?”
“Took a fist right in the mouth. His teeth feel loose, he told me, and I thought of the tooth man.”
“I am sure that Dr. Sachs,” and Zainal paused to let that name sink in, “will be able to save his teeth. But sometimes the nerve in the tooth itself has been damaged and it is wiser to remove it before it can fester in the jaw”
Tavis blinked, as if that possibility had never occurred to him. Indeed, it would have been news to Zainal if he hadn’t had a crewman once whose two front teeth, loosened in a marketplace brawl, had turned dark, with the gum above swelling from some unseen injury within the jaw. Zainal himself had had to yank the teeth before the man got some respite from the fierce pain in his mouth. There had been little nodes attached to the root of the teeth that smelled vile. So had the crewman’s breath.
“First, bring your friend here.” From Tavis’s expression, this was not a suggestion that appealed to him. “Well, he will have to bring his teeth himself if they are still in his head,” Zainal said a little impatiently.
Tavis nodded but was still lacking in confidence.
“Tell him Emassi Zainal requests his presence.”
“Emassi Zainal requests his presence.” Tavis considered this for a few moments and then drew himself up in resolve.
“You are doing your friend a favor. Fear not.”
“I am not afraid of him,” Tavis replied stoutly, as if convincing himself of that.
“Nor need to be, since you are doing him a favor.”
“Yes, I am.” With that, Tavis dashed off, leaving Zainal abruptly. Zainal shrugged and turned to other matters.
o~O~o
The day before, Chuck had exchanged a lump of their copper for a carton of Toyota brake linings and two cartons of spark plugs for truck transmissions. “We did promise Vitali we’d get such things,” he had informed Zainal.
“I know. And we must prove reliable to the coord.”
Indeed they must. And thanks to Ditsy’s enterprise, they also had both a supply of power packs and more of the coveted lifts to bring back. Erbri had been useful in this sideline, as well, bringing in damaged equipment that he also helped repair. So Erbri could be useful on Botany as well as Natchi, and Zainal had half decided that he’d bring the two veterans back to Retreat rather than leave them to live out their hand-to-mouth lives. In fact, Zainal thought he had done better, in many ways, for the Terrans than for the folk on Botany. He had thought they would have had more buyers for the metals, which Zainal knew were in short supply on Barevi, but considering the green coord’s trade with him, they could use the remaining metals to better advantage on Earth.
Zainal enjoyed a moment of peaceful reflection, wondering how much advantage he might wring from such insights. Barevi’s main function had always been as a trading planet and only secondarily as a place for long-haul spacemen to vent excess energy and for sporting Catteni to hunt live creatures. However, one of Kris’s cryptic phrases came to mind: something about a mountain coming to a man.
“What is that you say about the mountain and a man?”
She blinked for a moment, shook h
er head, and then her expression brightened. “If Mohammed won’t come to the mountain, let the mountain come to Mohammed. Is that the one you mean?”
“The very one,” and he smiled at her, just as a man stepped up to the stall.
“Excuse me, Zainal,” she said and offered a cup to the Catteni.
The man had a noticeable squint and an unpleasant expression on his face but, watching him for a moment as Kris explained how to prepare the bean properly, she seemed to have soothed him. He sipped the coffee and turned to survey those passing by. Kris gave an exasperated look at Zainal but smiled pleasantly at the Catteni. Then he said he wanted to purchase a bag of beans and evidently could not make up his mind between the arabica and the robusta. Kris offered to give him a quantity of both so he could savor them in his own house. They meant to stop selling the beans as a separate commodity since they were better used as barter but, as in the case of this pompous person, it was easier to comply than deny. And they acquired sufficient Catteni coins to defray other costs.
“But that is more than a bottle of the best wine would cost,” the man complained when Kris quoted him the price.
“Ah, there are some who maintain that good coffee is better than wine,” was Kris’s smiling reply. “It is the beginning of the day you should ensure, rather than the end.”
He grunted as he deposited the half-bags in the pockets of his loose jerkin before he stalked away, still annoyed at the cost.
“Be sure to grind them properly, as we showed you,” Kris called cheerfully after him. Then to Zainal she said, “Serving coffee has become de rigueur. All the best homes serve it.” Then she grinned.
“What’s so amusing? He was not,” Zainal said, for the squint-eyed man was an arrogant type of Catteni and possibly had not even liked being served by a Terran woman.
“No, and what do you want to bet he doesn’t explain to his wife that she has to grind them, much less that the water must be boiled to make a proper brew”
“I wouldn’t bet,” Zainal said. He knew how careful the women were to explain the correct process. Maybe next time they could bring proper pots and more grinders.
He was astonished that he was thinking in terms of “next time.” But he was beginning to think of a fairly complex business possibility. He needed to turn it over in his mind before he voiced it to the members of his current crew, to say nothing of the Botany colonists, who were expecting so much from this venture.
Later that morning, Zainal saw Tavis accompanying a Catteni, stalwart even among their species, to Eric’s office. The sort of man, Zainal thought, who was in the middle of brawls. Though it seemed true that the threat of transportation to a slave colony had remarkably reduced the number of brawls. Evidently Kapash had made good on that threat. The most recent fracas had involved two Catteni crews who had just landed on Barevi and had started by picking quarrels with each other even as they walked from the dock to the settlement. Ditsy had heard that half the crew had already been arrested and thrown into prison. Whether or not their captains would be able to bail them out of Kapash’s reach remained to be seen. In the meantime, if the slave ship arrived, they would be transported unless their captain ransomed them. Either way, Zainal thought, Kapash won. He wished fleetingly that, when he had been market manager, he had had that option. But in that year, there had been plenty of captive species to send to the work camps. Idly he wondered how long Catteni survived in those conditions. Not all the quarrelsome crew members had been rounded up, so Zainal called a halt to their business early, in case the remaining men were still in the market before they went off to hunt or do whatever form of enterprise they considered suitable for relaxation.
They all got back to the BASS-1 with no problem and ate their evening meal — Gino enjoyed cooking and had put together some unusually tasty meals. Eric was very pleased with his new patients and said he could easily support himself with dentistry on Barevi.
“What about that young fellow Tavis?” Zainal asked.
“The one who wants to apprentice himself to me as a dental assistant?” Eric asked with a smile. “Nice, earnest young man.”
“I think he fancies that you can teach him how to be a dentist, too,” Zainal said by way of cautioning.
“Hmmm. Fancies indeed. Not”—Eric paused to raise his hand—“that he isn’t intelligent enough. I shall happily train him in the skills I need in an assistant, and Sally can go back to bookkeeping.”
The next morning, Zainal was to meet with a merchant named Nilink, whom Ferris had brought to his notice as the owner of a large storage complex full of tires with the Goodyear and Michelin logos on their paper wrappings. Zainal was extremely eager to do business with the man but knew better by now than to appear keen. So he delayed his departure, using the time to memorize the weights and sizes of the tires on the list he had compiled on Terra. It was always wise to know exactly what he was seeking.
As he moved through the morning crowds to their location, he was surprised to hear a commotion. Then Ferris came dodging through the crowds and all but ran into him.
“Zainal! Zainal!” The boy’s face was terror-stricken. “Kapash’s men have taken Kris and Kathy! Taken them,” he gasped.
“Why?” Zainal grabbed the boy by the shoulders, holding him upright.
“‘Misrepresenting goods’ is all I heard. Chuck was arguing with them and so were Peran and Bazil. Brone tried to help, too. But they were taken away!” He had something more to say and not enough breath to spew it out.
“Steady, lad, steady! We can fix it.”
“But they have Emassi Kris,” the boy said. “And Natchi says there’s a slave ship in. He says they load fast and leave.”
“Go back, Ferris. Tell Chuck I have gone to attend to Kapash,” he said before he started running through the crowd toward Kapash’s office, pushing people out of his way when they were not fast enough for the pace he set himself. Kris! Not Kris! Not on a slave ship again. And Kathy. She, too, would be frightened, but it was Kris he could not do without.
Chapter Eleven
Kris had more sense than to struggle as she and Kathy were hauled away, Floss and Jax weeping, while Chuck had to restrain Clune and the boys from giving the bullies accompanying Kapash any excuse to knock them about with the heavy cudgels they carried: part weapon, part symbol of their function. The last thing she saw was Ferris, disappearing from view, undoubtedly running to find Zainal. And Ferris would, wherever her mate was.
“Misrepresentation of products, indeed!” she muttered to Kathy. “You know how careful we are to explain exactly how to grind beans and brew coffee,” Kathy was saying, sniffling with fear and wringing her hands.
Chuck disliked hand-wringing women almost as much as weeping ones, but he felt like weeping in fear himself. Natchi had warned him that morning that a slaver had made port early and would leave as soon as it was filled. Frankly, he wouldn’t put it past Kapash to ensure that Kris and Kathy were on it, a nasty result of the specious charge leveled against them.
Where was Zainal? Oh, and here was the merchant he was to see today! Speaking more calmly than he felt, Chuck greeted the man and asked him which coffee he preferred.
“The stronger bean,” Nilink said with an easy smile. “I shall need my wits today, bargaining with Emassi Zainal. It is amazing to find coffee on Barevi. I should have filled my hold with the beans and I’d’ve done well with such spoils.”
“You are a spaceship captain, Emassi?” Chuck asked politely.
The man’s clothing gave away little about him, though it was well cut and of good, durable fabric. He also had the air of someone accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed. Rather like Zainal, in fact, Chuck thought, wondering where the big Catteni was.
“I was indeed a captain,” Nilink replied, “as was Zainal, I understand.”
Ferris came running back, almost careening into Nilink but halting just in time with an apologetic bow to the Emassi. “I caught Zainal. He has gone to Kapash. My pardon,
good Emassi,” he added.
Kris and Kathy, still professing innocence of whatever it was the head steward accused them of, were thrust into a dark, dank prison cell, already well filled to judge by the number of people they disturbed by their entry.
Oh Lord, not again! Kris thought, for the ambience put her forcefully in mind of the first time she had been in this situation, before she had been dropped on Botany—when she and Zainal had been gassed during the riot of Terrans. Only this morning Chuck had mentioned that a slave ship had docked, and the thought filled her with dread.
Beside her, Kathy was trying to rearrange her clothing after the rough handling they had received from Kapash’s police.
“We didn’t misrepresent anything. Was it that squint-eyed fellow from yesterday, d’you suppose?”
Inadvertently she trod on someone’s arm and the man tried to knock her feet out from under her, cursing.
Kris steadied Kathy and motioned her to the wall, where they might find a safer place to wait.
“Zainal will come for us, won’t he?” Kathy asked.
“Yes, of course he will, Kathy,” Kris said positively. “Chuck will have sent Ferris running for him.”
They found a place to sit but they were not far from the communal slop pots and the stench was overpowering, so they moved, carefully, through the other prisoners to find a less redolent place.
Most of the inmates were sprawled, getting what sleep they could. The air certainly stank of stale beer and whatever other alcohol had been consumed: the stench was incredible.
“He will come?” There was understandable anxiety in Kathy’s voice.
“He will come!” Kris replied in an unarguable tone of voice and then, finding a space against the wall in the corner, pulled Kathy down to sit beside her.
“I’m thirsty,” Kathy said.
“Don’t think about it, Kathy.”
Kris did not think Kathy’s courage would improve by being told that prisoners in Barevi prisons were rarely fed or watered: at least not until prior to being forced onto a slave ship. She composed herself to remain calm and await Zainal’s arrival. Ferris would have found him, no matter where Zainal had been.
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