One Trade Too Many

by D. A. Boulter

  Ms Pendleton, obviously wary and anxious, placed her palms on those of Tro Vremen’s giving a little shudder as she did so.

  “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Tra Pendleton,” Tro Vremen said. “I hope you shall enjoy your visit to Pelgraff. Should you experience any problems, simply mention my name, and word will come quickly to me. I shall make it my duty to smooth any disturbance.”

  Pendleton’s eyes went wide at that. “Thank you, Tro Vremen,” she said, voice unsteady. “I’ll do that.”

  Clay motioned with his hand towards the warehouse. “A bus will take all visitors into Grensel – Pelgraff’s capital city. Blue Powder has already made arrangements with the hotel. The staff there will answer any questions you might have.”

  Mary Pendleton followed the line of tourists – and the anthropologist – to the waiting bus. Mr Telford remained with them.

  “That was quite unkind of you, Mr Telford,” Colleen said.

  Tro Vremen’s browridge went up. “Unkind? I fail to see an introduction as unkind.”

  “I’ll explain it to you later.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Pelgraff

  The small transport drove quickly down the straight, wide roadway from the landing field to the city of Grensel. Colleen watched out the window as the fields and trees went past. She often missed the feel of walking in the open, with atmosphere instead of deckhead above her. She smiled.

  “What is it?” Clay asked, taking her hand.

  She squeezed his fingers. “Just thinking about Erin.”

  His eyes widened. “And smiling?”

  “Remembering the forests, walking in them.”

  He nodded, and squeezed back. “We’ll take some time to do that before we return to Blue Powder.” He nodded again. “The children will like that. We have two days here, maybe three.”

  Colleen leaned against him, and laid her head against his shoulder. She had made no mistake with this man, though for a while in the beginning she had wondered.

  “Thank you.” She sat there a moment, then finished with, “For everything.”

  “Mom?” came her child’s voice, interrupting the moment.

  “Yes, Brian?”

  “Do we get to eat at The Cousin’s?”

  Both she and Clay laughed. “Yes, of course. I’m sure Tra Villia will remember you with joy, and cook her usual special for you.”

  Brian’s eyes lit. “I love coming to Pelgraff. She makes such tasty food.”

  He turned his eyes again to the countryside, and pointed out various landmarks to his younger brother. One time he had made up names for them, but Colleen had stopped that at once. “When he finds out you lied to him,” she had told him quietly, “he will never trust anything you say again. Is that what you want?”

  Brian had taken another look at his younger brother, studied on that for a good minute, and then shook his head. “Is it okay if I tell him that these are just my names for them?”

  “Of course.”

  Brian had returned to his seat and turned to David. “There’s Tro Vremen’s Bridge,” he said. “Well, actually, it’s Ramtar Bridge, but Tro Vremen told me he worked on it, so I call it Tro Vremen’s Bridge.”

  Now they approached that same, and little David looked up to the big Pagayan and then to the bridge. “Tro Vremen’s Bridge,” he said to Brian.

  “That’s what I call it,” Brian agreed. “Its real name?”

  “Ramtar Bridge,” David replied. “But I like your name better.”

  “So do I.”

  Tro Vremen shook his head and looked over to Colleen. She shrugged. “Soon this will become Tro Vremen’s Planet,” she said, grinning.

  “That would cause me problems,” he replied. “The name, Pelgraff, resonates with us, and I would not wish to have others accuse me of trying to usurp that.”

  The transport entered the city proper. The driver slowed. “Tilsin Square, Mr Telford,” he said.

  Telford rose. He turned to her and tapped his portacomm. “You have my number if you need me. Otherwise, I’ll see you in two days.” He turned to Tro Vremen. “Good to have done business with you.”

  Tro Vremen laughed. “And with you, Mr Telford. Do I need to know the nature of that business?”

  “Nah, I don’t think so. Make it something to do with ... uh ... cindra berry juice. My company has an interest in marketing it.”

  Tro Vremen’s browridge came down. “But you dislike the juice, Mr Telford.”

  He shrugged. “If I make money from it; I don’t need to like it.”

  And with that he stepped out of the transport. It picked up speed and left him behind. Colleen took a quick look over her shoulder, saw him just standing by the road, as he always did. He did not move until after they lost sight of him as the road curved.

  “I wonder where he goes,” Colleen murmured, loud enough for only Clay to hear.

  “His business. I never ask. He has little enough time off, and we need not know how he spends his private time ... unless you think he plots against us.” Clay laughed as her head snapped around. “No, I don’t think so, either.”

  She relaxed, then pursed her lips. “You never have even the slightest doubt?”

  And in a voice so sure that she believed it implicitly, he replied, “Never. Not once in all the years he has worked for us.” He held her gaze a time, and then he elaborated. “And I’d bet everything I own that he never will.”

  “I’ve always thought that you didn’t like him.”

  “I never have, particularly. That doesn’t mean I distrust him.”

  She took his hand and squeezed it. He never failed to impress her. And, after observing the people around her for the last fourteen years, she knew that she had chosen well. She had picked a man with whom she could spend her whole life – no qualifiers attached.

  “There’s The Cousin’s,” Brian said, pointing out the window.

  “Yes, son,” Clay answered. “And we’ll go to it as soon as we’ve settled in our quarters.” He turned to the big Pagayan. “Tro Vremen, would you like to accompany us?”

  “Indeed, it would give me great pleasure,” Tro Vremen replied, with a knowing look at Colleen. He obviously understood that they would talk business there, while the children enjoyed themselves.

  The transport turned the corner, travelled two blocks, and then stopped in front of the Yrden Lines Office Building.

  “Home away from home,” Clay said, as he carried the small travelcases into the building, followed by Colleen and the children. The quarters, at the back of the office building, allowed Yrden traders to stay on planet and have instant access to all necessary planetary files, while remaining in close touch with their ships. And any local merchants who wanted to do business with the traders could find them without any problem.

  They unpacked the cases, made the children wash hands and faces, and then left again.

  “I want the Collenti Salad, Mom,” Brian said, as they walked along the sunlit street.

  Flowers blooming in the many pots in front of the buildings lent a comfortable aroma to the air, and Colleen breathed in deeply. Good to be on a planet again.

  “Me, too, Mom,” David echoed.

  “That’s Tra Villia’s specialty,” Colleen replied. “I’m sure she’ll have lots of it ready for us. I think your father and I will have some, as well.”

  The light and airy interior of The Cousin’s pleased her, and they sat at the table the wait staff led them to.

  “We’ve had a bumper crop of cindra berries this year,” Tro Vremen said, after they had placed their order. “It would please the growers if you could take more juice than usual.”

  Clay took out his reader and accessed the ship’s files. “I suppose we could take a few percent more, but our itinerary this trip only takes us to Daiovan Station. We’re not stopping at other Pagayan stations or worlds. Cindra berry juice is an acquired taste, and there’s not much demand for it on human worlds.”

  Colleen saw
the disappointment on Tro Vremen’s face, though he did his best to disguise that.

  She prepared to speak, but their waiter suddenly appeared. “Tro Vremen, you have a call.”

  “Excuse, me, please.” Tro Vremen rose and followed the waiter to the front counter.

  “Pelgraff must have need of more off-world goods. They must have plans of some sort, but they’re unwilling to ask more of us. They need the currency. Can’t we take more?”

  Clay shook his head. “I know you love this planet and its people, but no. Where would we sell it? Daiovan has its standing order, but they’ve rebuffed all our attempts to increase that.” He shrugged. “We already go out of our way to support Pelgraff,” he held up his hands to forestall her objection, “and it has paid off, yes. But there’s a limit to what we can do. We have responsibilities to both crew and Family to make a decent profit on each voyage. We can only bend so much.”

  “And the juice takes up a lot of room. I understand.” She understood, but that didn’t make her any happier. But the food – and Tro Vremen – arrived, and eating took their minds off business.

  * * *

  Clay Yrden looked out the Family Quarters window, and gazed over the city of Grensel. In the small room, the two children slept; behind him, Colleen rested in the lounging chair, eyes closed, thinking whatever thoughts she might.

  He, on the other hand, could not help but remember the disappointment, which Tro Vremen had tried hard to conceal, as he regretfully explained that they could not take on more cindra berry juice. But as bad as he felt for having to disappoint Tro Vremen, he felt worse over seeing the hurt on his wife’s face. She could understand – but not agree with – his position. And that had led him to do something that he could never have foreseen himself doing. He glanced at his chrono, and sighed.

  “I’m going out, Love,” he said to Colleen.

  He turned and saw her eyes flicker open. Her eyebrows rose.

  “Oh? Where?”

  “I have a late meeting – nothing that couldn’t wait, but I’d rather get it over with so I can relax tomorrow.”

  She sat up. “Shall I come with you? I can call in Brenda to look after the children.”

  He shook his head. “Not necessary. I won’t be long – maybe an hour.”

  He picked up his jacket, thanking what gods there might be that she did not ask with whom he had the meeting. He didn’t want to lie to her.

  He took the lift down to the ground floor, and walked out the Quarters’ exit. The sun had gone down, and the light from the moon bathed the streets in its glow – the population preferring only limited street lighting. Crime barely figured into it, Grensel having no crime rate to speak of. Nonetheless, he remained alert for anything untoward.

  Two blocks away, he stepped into the juicery. A man sat in a dark corner, his back to the wall, hat brim hiding his eyes.

  “Apple juice,” he ordered. He listened to the whir of the juicer, and took up the freshly made juice, passing over a Pelgraffen coin to pay for it.

  Several tables remained empty, but Clay walked over to the corner one and sat down.

  “Good evening, Mr Telford,” he said.

  “Good evening, Mr Yrden. Problems?”

  And well the man might ask, for he had given him no information when he called, and had never before called on Telford during his time off.

  “A personal one,” Clay admitted. He saw Telford’s eyes narrow and his body tense just a little.

  “Concerning me?”

  Clay waved that off with his free hand as he took a sip of the juice. “Only in that I hope you’ll find your way clear to give me a little information – if you have it.”

  Telford relaxed, but only a little. He pursed his lips. “On any subject in particular?”

  The words caused Clay to realize that he merely delayed. He took a deep breath. “I had to deny Tro Vremen’s request to take on more cindra berry juice.” He held up his hand to forestall Telford’s next question. “They had a bumper crop, but we’re not going anywhere I could sell or trade it. This upset Colleen.”

  And that got him a sharp look from Telford. In the fourteen years since he had offered the man employment, he had never talked to him of Colleen. Clay well knew that Colleen represented the only reason that Telford remained with Yrden Lines – or with their ship in particular. He still loved her.

  “It upset her because this is Pelgraff,” Clay continued. “And I’m wondering why Pelgraff means so much to her.”

  Telford pressed his lips tightly together. “And you think she’s said something to me? Why don’t you just ask her?”

  “I have.” He took another sip of juice, and Telford did likewise.

  “And?”

  “And I don’t think she really knows, herself. To me, it seems irrational.” He took a moment to study a piece of artwork hanging on the wall. “See, Pelgraff helps the Family – but we could have made more profit without it.” Telford raised his eyebrows. “Pelgraff doesn’t represent a drain on our resources, no not that at all. However, we could do better placing those resources elsewhere.”

  Telford didn’t reply to that. Family profit didn’t come under his purview. He stuck strictly to the security side of things. Didn’t seem to want to engage elsewhere. Unlike other crew and Family, he didn’t pursue a secondary trade.

  “I’m not sure what you want from me, Mr Yrden.” Everything he said, he cloaked in a neutral tone. He turned his head to watch a Pagayan female come through the door and walk up to the bar.

  “Help, Mr Telford, although I know you’d rather I did something foolish.”

  Telford’s eyes snapped to his. “If you think that, why would you believe that I might help?”

  “Because it’s not for me; it’s for her.”

  Telford sat silent, looking at the glass in his hand, for what seemed like an hour, though the silence lasted only a minute or three. Clay did nothing to hurry him. Finally, Telford raised the glass to his lips and downed the remaining half of his drink in one quick draught.

  “Pelgraff is hers, Mr Yrden. All the rest belongs to the Family, to you. All the rest came to her through you, but she fought for Pelgraff against all advice to the contrary. And she won. The planet and its people proved her right,” he paused for a moment, “and the rest of you wrong.”

  Clay stared at him. “Is it so important to her to prove us wrong?”

  Telford laughed, harsh and short. “Not important at all. You’re focussing on the wrong thing. Pelgraff is her contribution to the Family.”

  Clay shook his head, as if to clear it. “She contributes every day.”

  “As a cog in your machine.” Telford stood. “You brought her up from Erin, a refugee with nothing. You gave her a place. Gave. Pelgraff proves she has worth in your world. Pelgraff is her giving back. Time I left.”

  He stood and turned to go, took four steps and then stopped. He turned back and returned to the table, where Clay sat staring at his drink. When Clay raised his eyes, Telford spoke.

  “Use that argument on her – the one about getting a better return somewhere else – and you’ll have taken the first step towards something foolish, Mr Yrden.”

  That struck like a blow. It took a moment for Clay to recover.

  “Thank you, Mr Telford.”

  But Telford had already made it halfway to the door, and Clay doubted he heard the words – and if he did, he did nothing to acknowledge them.

  Clay drained his glass, and left the juicery in a thoughtful mood. Telford had indeed given him a gift. He had never thought of their life from Colleen’s point of view, not in this regard. He owed Telford. He shook his head slowly. The man would never accept anything. Indeed, he doubted Telford would ever even acknowledge that this meeting had taken place.

  He arrived back at Family Quarters only half an hour after he had left. Colleen looked at him quizzically.

  “That didn’t take long.”

  “No, no it didn’t.”

  He to
ok her by the hand and led her to their bedroom. While undressing, back to her, he spoke quietly. “Why don’t you tell Tro Vremen that we’ll take twenty percent more juice than we intended?”

  He heard her spin around. “Really?” Her voice keyed a little higher.

  “Really.” He turned and smiled at her as she came into his arms. “We’ll find some way to get rid of it even if we have to give it to a Paxton ship to take to a Pagayan world.”

  Her resulting enthusiasm made the hold space required for the juice a fair trade. More than a fair trade, indeed.

  CHAPTER 12

  Grensel, Pelgraff

  Adrian Telford woke in a foul mood. He slipped out of bed and looked at the woman lying there, still asleep. A good thing that, for his mood had little to do with her, and she did not deserve to fall victim to it.

  Emily Delman. His face softened slightly, and she moved languidly as she awoke. He forced a gentle smile to his face.

  “Awake?”

  She slowly opened her eyes, and her lips curved upwards as she saw him. A look like that should have done more than it did.

  “How long have you been up?”

  “A couple of minutes. I was just watching you sleep.”

  Her lips parted to show him the smile that he pretended she used just for him and no other.

  “And how shall we spend the day,” her voice came out low and husky.

  “Unfortunately, I have to go out to the launch site this morning. But we can do something special this afternoon.”

  Anything to allow him to forget the favour he had done Yrden, the favour which lowered his own chances. He pulled on his shirt, showing his regretful smile to the still-reclining woman. Still, the man had asked. And in asking showed that he yet strove to please the woman.

  The woman. He sneered at himself as he buttoned up his shirt. Colleen. The name he would never use until ... until never, it seemed.

  “Something’s bothering you,” Emily said, rising from bed, but making no move to cover herself in any way.