by Sharon Lee
"That . . ." He discovered that his glass was empty, and reached for the pitcher. "May I refresh your glass?"
"Please."
That done, he sat back again, and looked to her face, seeing interest.
"You must understand, that I grew up on a Terran family ship. Such ships are not to compare with Liaden tradeships. They are typically very small, and privacy is . . . not very easy to achieve.
"That being so, when two ships or more came together, and bed-friends were chosen, the adults--those experienced in the arts--were given rooms and formal privacy. Those of us who were not yet experienced, but who knew the pangs. . .we bundled.
"We would find a corner in the kitchen, or back in a storeroom, or down in 'ponics, make it all nice and soft with shipping cushions all around, drape blankets over all, make the lights dim, and . . . cuddle. There is, you will appreciate, not much room in such an arrangement, though it is, I will say, comfortable, and comforting. Typically, there was insufficient room to undress and, as the bundle was within public space, there was the possibility of being interrupted at any moment, so clothes . . . may have become disordered, but were rarely discarded."
Compared to the lessons Samay must have had--assuming that Gaenor's tutoring had been typical--his experience sounded . . . somewhat cramped and limited in joy. And yet, he remembered certain encounters, even now, with breathless--
"We shall do this!" Samay announced, rising to her feet.
He blinked up at her. "Your pardon?"
"Teach me this art, of your goodness, Jeth. My own tutors taught that there is infinite variation upon delight. I would learn this variation, if you would teach."
She was serious; he could read it in the lines of her body. For a moment, he thought to demur, then recalled that Gaenor, too, had told him that delight had many faces. Who was he to deny a previously unknown joy to a night friend?
Jethri laughed, and rose.
"If you will learn, then I will teach. First, we shift the pillows."
*
They'd left one small light on, but blocked it to get good shadow, and he'd allowed the taking off of boots sufficient preparation.
Samay entered the tent first, as he held the cover back courteously. He followed, tucking the entrance snug around them. The bottom bunk made a slightly softer, and larger, bundling space than had been standard on-ship, but since he was was slightly larger than he'd been, back then, he considered it authentic enough.
"This is. . .cozy," Samay murmured. "And now, do we . . .?"
He stretched out on his side, and patted the mattress beside him. "Lie down, Maya, with your back against my chest."
She did so, making a warm, seductive, and nicely fragrant armful. He raised a hand and stroked her hair where it began to curl--where it would curl again, once she was back to Liad and had returned to the fashions of dirtside society.
She sighed, and nestled her cheek into his shoulder; then, taking the initiative, she stroked tempting fingers along the inside of his wrist. He gasped at the unexpected pleasure, and she laughed, soft and wicked.
*
A little later, he shocked her--not by using her softest and most private name, Nera, for, after all she had given him free use of it, for this time of shared pleasure. No, she had asked, as he nuzzled the back of her neck, what they might--had this been a bundling on his own ship--do next.
He had kissed and nibbled her ear, whispering that they might stroke each other's faces. Her gasp had been very noticeable, her demur gentle. It was, after all, nothing more than he had expected. He wouldn't have mentioned it--or dared it--if she hadn't asked. And really it was more than fine, since just then she'd executed a stretch like a dance move, offering the hollow of her throat to his lips.
A small while later, she had shocked him, holding his head to her breast, and murmuring. "Jeth, this will be a fine thing to recall when I am married, for my delm is aiming me at old"--here she barely managed to suppress the name of the lucky groom--"a qe'andra of extreme melant'i and form. He is unhappy with his heirs, one hears, and thus wishes more of them to confound expectations. I think if that is the marriage she makes for me I shall request to travel on Elthoria to and from it so you may tell me of things not covered by the Code!"
Alas, that thought had sobered them both, with Jethri trying not to think of Maya in a boring old man's arms--well, really, in any boring man's arms!--or himself locked a year away in a contract marriage allowing no sound of Terran or Trade . . .
Despite such shocks and thoughts, they found comfort together, play at last ceding place to drowsiness, as she tucked herself into the curve of his chest and settled her cheek on his arm, he with his cheek on her hair under the doubled bedspreads.
"Sleep well, my friend," Nera murmured, and he answered, mistily, "I thank you for the honor."
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tradedesk, Framinham Cafe
He left Nera still drowsing beneath their tent, and returned at all speed to Keravath, there to shower and to don fresh clothes, remembering to shift cards and other pocket items, and also to replace the earring he had given to Doricky with a simple topaz stud, which pleasantly echoed the stones in his trade ring, and was therefore appropriate for a modest young trader's day wear.
Scout ter'Astin was not in evidence, nor did the ship report his return since he had exited the ship with Jethri, last evening. Jethri hesitated, wondering if he ought to be concerned, then he remembered spying the Scout and his companion last night, and half-smiled. Very possibly, the Scout had found something to occupy him elsewhere.
Jethri finished his braid, and left the ship a-pace, arriving in the doorway of the Framinham Cafe on the note of ninth hour.
He cast about him, but neither Uncle nor his companion was immediately present.
"Good morning, Trader," said a lyrical female voice from behind him, speaking Terran.
He turned, as Dulsey Omron stepped through the door, closely followed by Uncle. Both were dressed as they had been last evening; both looked well rested, though Jethri somehow caught a sense of hurry from Uncle--was that how his face looked, when he was working with short time?
"You are prompt, and that is excellent," Uncle said with a nod. "We suddenly find ourselves needed elsewhere, but our consultation--that, we must have! Come, we've reserved our usual booth."
Scarcely had they seated themselves than the tray arrived, slotting into, and sealing, the booth's door. They were now private--and, Jethri saw, as Dulsey pulled a small box from her belt, they were about to go off the grid entirely. She touched the box's face, placed it in the center of the table, and nodded, while sliding a plate of steamed rolls off the tray.
"I hope you'll forgive our little eccentricities," Uncle murmured, pouring tea into three mugs. "We like our private business to remain private." He glanced up. "I am, by the way, your Uncle Yuri, Arin's brother. And this lady is Dulsey Omron."
Uncle Yuri was wearing the firegem ring on the third finger of his left hand, where it fit like it had been made for him.
Jethri smiled, a little wistfully, and nodded. "It becomes you, sir."
"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 di
scussions 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."