Balance of Trade
Gobelyn's Market
Standard Year 1118
"IF YOU TRADE WITH Liadens, trade careful,
and for the gods' love don't come sideways of honor."
This set of notes was old: recorded by
Great-Grand-Captain Larance Gobelyn more than forty Standard years
ago, dubbed to ship's library twenty Standards later from the
original deteriorating tape. Jethri fiddled with the feed on the
audio board, but only succeeded in lowering the old man's voice.
Sighing, he upped the gain again, squinting in protest of the
scratchy, uneven sound.
"Liaden honor is--active. Insult--any
insult--is punished. Immediately. An individual's name is his most
important possession and he will kill to preserve its integrity.
Think twice before trading with--"
"Jethri?" Uncle Paitor's voice broke across
the tape's recitation. Jethri sighed and thumbed 'pause.'
"Yessir," he said, turning his head toward
the intercom grid set in the wall.
"Come on down to the trade room, will you?
We need to talk over a couple things."
Jethri slipped the remote
out of his ear. His uncle was Senior Trader on Gobelyn's Market and Jethri was
Senior Apprentice. Actually, he was the only apprentice trader, his
sibs and cousins being well above him in years and rank, but the
ladder was immutable.
"Yessir," he said again. Two quick
fingertaps marked his place in the old notes file. He left the
common room at a brisk walk, his thoughts half on honor.
* * *
HIS UNCLE NODDED him into a chair and eased
back in his. They were coming in on Ynsolt'i and next hour Paitor
Gobelyn would have time for nothing but the feed from the port
trade center. Now, his screen was dark, the desk-top barren. Paitor
cleared his throat.
"Got a couple things," he said, folding his
hands over his belt buckle. "On-Port roster: Dyk an' me'll be
escorting the payload to central hall and seeing it safe with the
highest bidder. Khat's data, Grig's eatables, Mel's on tech,
Cris'll stay ship-side. You..."
Paitor paused and Jethri gripped his hands
together tight on his lap, willing his face into a trader's
expression of courteous disinterest. They had textile on
board--half-a-dozen bolts of cellosilk that Cris had taken on two
stops back, with Ynsolt'i very much in his mind. Was it possible,
Jethri wondered, that Uncle Paitor was going to allow...
"Yourself--you'll be handling the silk lot.
I expect to see a cantra out of the six. If I was you, I'd call on
Honored Sir din'Flora first."
Jethri remembered to breathe. "Yes, sir.
Thank you." He gripped his hands together so hard they hurt. His
own trade. His own, very first, solo trade with no Senior standing
by, ready to take over if the thing looked like going awry...
His uncle waved a hand. "Time you were
selling small stuff on your own. Now." He leaned forward abruptly,
folded his arms on the desk and looked at Jethri seriously. "You
know we got a lot riding on this trip."
Indeed they
did--three-quarters of the Market's capital was tied up in eight Terran pounds
of vya --a spice
most commonly sold in five gram lots. Jethri's research had
discovered that vya was the active ingredient in fa'vya , a Liaden drink ship's library
classified as a potent aphrodisiac. Ynsolt'i was a Liaden port and
the spice should bring a substantial profit to the ship. Not,
Jethri reminded himself, that profit was ever
guaranteed.
"We do well with the spice
here," Paitor was saying, "and the Captain's going to take us
across to Kinaveral, do that refit we'd been banking for now , rather than two
Standards from now."
This was news. Jethri sat up straighter,
rubbing the palms of his hands down the rough fabric of his work
pants.
"Refit'll keep us world-bound 'bout a
Standard, near's we can figure. Captain wants that engine upgrade
bad and trade-side's gonna need two more cargo pods to balance the
debt." He grinned suddenly. "Three, if I can get 'em."
Jethri smiled politely, thinking that his
uncle didn't look as pleased with that as he might have
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