Balance of Trade Read Online Free Page B

kais, when his word was two? I do not. . . " He fancied he caught a gleam along the edge of the Liaden's bland face, a flicker in the depths of the careful eyes, and bit his lip, hoping he wasn't about to blow the whole deal.

    "I don't suppose," he said, voice edging disastrously toward a squeak, "—my elder spoke of you so highly. . .  I don't suppose you might go a kais-six?"

    "Ah." Honored Sir bin'Flora's shoulders rippled and this time Jethri was sure the gesture expressed amusement. "One kais, six tor it is." He bowed and Jethri did, clumsily, because of the bolt he still cradled.

    "Done," he said.

    "Very good," returned the buyer. "Set the bolt down, young sir. You are quite correct regarding that crimson. Remarkably pure. If your elder instructed you to hold at anything less than four kais, he was testing you in good earnest."

    Jethri stared, then, with an effort, he straightened his face, trying to make it as bland and ungiving as the buyer's.

    He needn't have bothered. The Liaden had pulled a pouch from his belt and was intent on counting out coins. He placed them on the trade table and stepped back, sweeping the sample bolt up as he did.

    "Delivery may be made to our warehouse within the twelve-hour." He bowed, fluid and unstrained, despite the bolt.

    "Be you well, young sir. Fair trading, safe lift."

    Jethri gave his best bow, which was nowhere near as pretty as the buyer's. "Thank you, respected sir. Fair trading, fair profit."

    "Indeed," said the buyer and was gone.
    * * *

    BY RIGHTS, he should have walked a straight line from Textile Hall to the Market and put himself at the disposal of the captain.

    Say he was disinclined just yet to talk with Captain Iza Gobelyn, coincidentally his mother, on the subject of his upcoming change of berth. Or say he was coming off his first true solo trade and wanted time to turn the thing over in his mind. Which he was doing, merebeer to hand at the Zeroground Pub, on the corner of the bar he'd staked as his own.

    He fingered his fractin, a slow whiling motion—that had been his thinking pattern for most of his life. No matter the captain had told him time and time that he was too old for such fidgets and foolishness. On board ship, some habits were worse than others, and the fractin was let to pass.

    As to thinking, he had a lot to do.

    He palmed the smooth ivory square, took a sip of the tangy local brew.

    Buyer bin'Flora, now—that wanted chewing on. Liadens were fiercely competitive, and, in his experience, tight-fisted of data. Jethri had lately formed the theory that this reluctance to offer information was not what a Terran would call spitefulness, but courtesy . It would be—an insult , if his reading of the tapes was right, to assume that another person was ignorant of any particular something.

    Which theory made Honored Sir bin'Flora's extemporaneous lecture on the appropriate price of crimson cellosilk—interesting.

    Jethri sipped his beer, considering whether or not he'd been insulted. This was a delicate question, since it was also OK, as far as his own observations and the crewtapes went, for an elder to instruct a junior. He had another sip of beer, frowning absently at the plain ship-board above the bar. Strictly no-key, that board, listing ship name, departure, arrival, and short on finer info. Jethri sighed. If the vya did good, he'd one day soon be able to get a direct line to the trade nets, just by slipping his key into a high-info terminal. 'Course, by then, he'd be shipping on Digger , and no use for a Combine key at all. . . 

    "'nother brew, kid?" The bartender's voice penetrated his abstraction. He set the glass down, seeing with surprise that it was nearly empty. He fingered a Terran bit out of his public pocket and put it on the bar.

    "Merebeer, please."

    "Coming up," she said, skating the coin from the bar to her palm. Her pale blue eyes moved to the next customer and she grinned.

    "Hey, Sirge! Ain't seen you for a