13.

It took time to shake the chill Ali's dark prediction had put on her, but Canuche Town's huge outdoor market proved to be an effective antidote. Rael Cofort's eyes were bright as she surveyed the long aisles of booths and less permanent stands and open tables filled with items being offered for sale or exchange. The capital boasted enclosed facilities as , well, of course, but those were not designed to draw small Free Traders seeking to supply themselves for a venture among the primitive planets and struggling colonies of the rim.

There was more than enough out here to meet their needs and give delight. She loved prowling around a big market, and this time she was going to be allowed to do some buying for stock, albeit under discreet but definite supervision.

She would look over the gems, certainly, she decided at once, but so much else was available that she resolved to do a quick inspection to see precisely just what was being shown. The mix of goods here had never been the same on any visit she had made to Canuche of Halio. She smiled again. Besides, it was fun to look.

Canuche was a thoroughly civilized industrial planet, and so the din, the intriguing, not always entirely pleasant odors, the basic strangeness of an alien or primitive mart were missing here, but it was an interesting place for all that.

Findings and setters were settled beside the long rows of loose gems, and next to them stood the stands of those selling finished jewelry. Fabrics and the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, tools, and machines required to turn them into completed products were in another area along with clothing. Food supplies and the equipment to prepare them formed yet another section, and large industrial products, chiefly represented by salespeople supplied with ill.u.s.trative samples, tapes, and literature, formed a major portion of the complex. Only the prepared food stalls broke the pattern of grouping like with like. They Were scattered throughout the huge field so that patrons would not be forced to leave their areas of interest to find refreshment.

Rael drew in and held a deep breath. The aroma of cooking was everywhere, wonderfully tempting although she had eaten only half an hour before. She wondered how Dane Thorson was responding to those beckoning fingers of scent. He could stow food as if he had cargo holds in both of his legs, and this stuff was real. That alone made even the worst of it infinitely desirable to a s.p.a.ce hound.

"Let's cut past the cloth booths," she suggested since the lead had been given to her. She had no interest in the finished clothing; Van Rycke already had a full stock of such goods. The fabrics were another matter. Brocades and faux gold and silver cloth rarely failed to interest the wealthier cla.s.ses and individuals among primitive buyers, and good quality, attractive material could be counted upon to attract attention and customers on most Federation planets, especially when it was blessed with the added allure of being an import. The Queen already had a good supply, but Canuche's market had been particularly good for textiles on each of her previous visits, and they might well run across something. There were other freighters in port, and some of them might be trying to sell off part of such a cargo.

"Rael! Rael Cofort!"

The woman turned quickly. "Deke!" Her voice dropped.

"Deke Tatarcoff of the Black Hole," she explained to her companions. "He's been a rival and a d.a.m.n good friend of Teague's for years. Do you mind ..."

"s.p.a.ce, no!" Jellico told her. "A Free Trader does not ignore his friends or fail to make the acquaintance of a potential ally." He also did not neglect an opportunity to size up potential compet.i.tion.

The Solar Queen party walked over to the covered stand the other s.p.a.cer had rented to display his wares.

Miceal studied the other Trader. Tatarcoff was short and stocky with a breadth of chest that bespoke some Martian ancestry. His eyes were brown, sharp and steady in their expression. His features were pleasant but well schooled; they would betray little he did not want to have read.

He was doing well, the Solar Queen's Captain judged by the quality of his uniform and accoutrements and by the thick, three-inch-wide gold luck band circling his left wrist. Just the fact that he had rented an enclosed stall, and a large one at that, was evidence of prosperity.

"What's Trade's brightest star doing on Canuche?" Tatarcoff asked when they were in comfortable speaking range.

She laughed. "Put it on freeze, Deke," she told him. "I'm on my own. The Roving Star's not here. I'm serving with the Solar Queen. - This is Jellico, Van Rycke, and Thorson. Captain, Cargo-Master, and Cargo-apprentice respectively."

Even as the introductions were being made, Rael was studying the Trader's stock. It was mostly amotton, she observed, nicely woven in a variety of pastel solids and stripes well suited to the extremely light fabric.

"You folks interested?" Deke inquired. "I'll make you a good deal."

She shook her head. "Sorry, Deke. We've got all we need. This is lovely, though. It'll move well here."

Well and quickly, she judged. The fabric, a natural fiber from Amon, breathed like a second skin and felt as if it had no weight at all. Those were highly desirable characteristics on a world with summers as blisteringly hot as most of Canuche of Halio had to endure. These bolts were sure to catch the eye of the big garment manufacturers. In point of fact, she was more than certain that a few of their reps were even now evaluating Deke's store from a discreet distance.

Her eyes drifted over the carefully stacked bolts at the rear of the stand. She fixed suddenly on a patch of intense blue. "Oh," she breathed unconsciously in pure delight.

Tatarcoff looked at what had caught her attention and smiled. "Leave it to you to spot that. It's worthy of you, too," he added as he fetched down the examination length for her party to see. "It suits you considerably better than it probably will whoever finally takes it."

She nodded her thanks. That was a compliment and a statement of the fabric's value, not a sales lure. Tatarcoff knew that no Free Trader could afford the likes of this, not for personal use. Even her brother could not have justified that expense.

Rael found herself gazing down at an incredible, seemingly infinite mingling of blues and blue-violets in a shimmering field as soft as a cloud might seem to be in a dream of wonder. "Thornen silk?"

"Aye. One of my tubes gave out, and I had to planet there. I managed to pick this up in exchange for the finest sunstone I've ever seen come honestly on a rim market."

There was no regret in his tone. He would make that expense good twice over when he did sell the bolt. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and if was rare.

Thorne of Brandine had given rise to a highly advanced human population independently of Terran seeding. Their planet-wide society had been pre-s.p.a.ce when discovered and was still basically anti-mech, but it was complex, well developed, and heavily oriented toward their version of Trade. As befitted such a populace, they were ruled by a network of hereditary merchant princes owing ultimate allegiance to an official they called the Doge.

They also had very little liking for the presence of offworlders and less still for alien ways. They permitted the existence of a full s.p.a.ceport to serve as a refuge for ships coming into trouble in the nearby starlanes, but they had only minimal intercourse with s.p.a.cers, visitors or those running the complex. The planet was completely self-sufficient and preferred to remain so.

The rulers had a good eye for business, that notwithstanding, and they fully appreciated the value of their luxury goods, particularly their textiles. They would permit no steady trade that might grow too important, too essential to their economy, but they made occasional sales to keep Federation markets aware of their products and hungry for them. Always, they worked with individual Free Traders rather than Company ships and absolutely refused to accept any off-world agreements that would limit their choice of markets. Because their decision whether to trade among the stars or sell to their own kind was completely free and because their products were so eminently desirable, they had the power to dictate their will in the matter.

Neither Deke nor any other independent freighter Captain complained about that even if it did mean that the surplanetary merchants held a fully charged blaster in their dealings with off-worlders. Without that liberty of action, no Free Trader would ever get a crack at any of those prize cargoes. The Companies would have Thorne of Brandine locked in tighter than any s.p.a.ce seal.

The woman sighed with regret as Tatarcoff started to fold the length again. She stole a glance at Van Rycke and saw the same hunger on him. He, too, longed to have the beautiful cloth and had no love for the reason that decreed that the Queen could not afford to sink that much capital into what was in actuality a single item, one that, given their current plans, would be singularly hard for them to place if they did acquire it.

"Good fortune with it, Deke," she said sincerely, "though I think you'll be sorry to see it go. I know I would be."

"So I shall," he admitted. "It won't be for a while, at least. This won't move until I planet on Hedon again. I'm not letting it go for less than it's worth."

Van Rycke's brow raised. "There're credits enough right here. Any of the major industrialists could take that bolt."

"They could, but they won't, not that lot. - You've never been on Canuche before?"

"No. The Queen's pretty much new to this Sector apart from the Trewsworld-Riginni mail run."

"Well, the veeps here aren't old money or flying on school prestige and secondhand knowledge. Nearly every one of them came up through the ranks in his particular industry or via the prospector's route. They're capable, tough, and, since they've earned them the hard way, they appreciate the value of their credits. They may like luxury and its brag value as much as the next one, but reason rules, and it'd just about take a supernova on their office desks to get them to step beyond its bounds for an extravagant toy like this."

Rael's fingers caressed the silk. She glanced over her shoulder. The market had grown more crowded in the short time they had been at the stand, but many of the same people she had noticed earlier were still studying it. Most were laborers or the owners or representatives of small businesses looking for a length of material or a few lengths at most, but several had that air of importance every Trader comes to recognize, be it in a tribal chieftain, government official, military officer, or industrial tyc.o.o.n or manager.

Those individuals had the power and means to buy and buy big. "Deke," she asked softly, "will you trust me with this?"

"Aye," he responded, surprised.

"Let me play with it a while."

"Have at it."

"How long is it?"

"Three yards."

"Perfect." The size of a major veil. Her plan would work if she knew anything at all of human nature.

The Medic straightened. Her rib cage arched slowly, with infinite precision, as each muscle of her body obeyed the command of her will. The motion was subtle, seemingly almost nonexistent and certainly indefinable to anyone trying to cla.s.sify or describe its individual components, but the close-fitting uniform shimmered sensuously even as her bones appeared to dissolve in a rippling swaying, as if in response to the light motion of the air.

As her body followed the strange rhythm directing its movements, her fingers closed on either end of the silk panel, and in that instant, it swept, wafted, into the air.

Up it swirled, glistening in the glory of Hallo's light, held a breath's s.p.a.ce on high, and swooped down again to envelop the woman as she slowly turned with it.

Again, the Thornen veil swept out. It seemed no independent thing but rather part of she who controlled it, even as together they appeared to be an exquisite extension of the light and air in which they flowed.

Miceal Jellico tore his eyes away from the apparition to study those around them. Van Rycke, too, had recalled himself to the world of the market, but the others were fully ensorcelled. Rael's performance was so unexpected in a place like this and so perfectly executed, the material so marvelous in itself, that nearly every eye in the vicinity was riveted on her as if by the command of some irresistible compulsion.

Three times and again a fourth, the veil rose to fill the air, then with a sigh and a lowering of the head as precise and perfect as the vision preceding them, Rael closed it in upon itself and returned it to its owner.

In so doing, she released her captives. Tatarcoff recovered nearly as quickly as the Queen's senior officers and claimed it from her with a proprietary pride. His eyes were on the several individuals making purposefully for his stand.

"I knew you'd approve, Rael," he remarked for his potential customers' benefit.

"It's wonderful. I envy the one with the spirit and credits to buy it," she responded, her voice seemingly low but in actuality pitched to reach those who were approaching.

"Fly well, Deke. I hope we'll run into each other again before we lift."

The Solar Queen party went some distance before Jellico gave a sharp glance at his temporary hand.

She was laughing softly but stopped and looked up at him when she felt his gaze. "I love doing that," she explained, "and I so rarely get the chance. Teague doesn't approve."

"Of his dancing?"

She was not surprised the Trader Captain had recognized what she had done. "Of using it or similar techniques to enhance one's goods. He doesn't think it's quite the most respectable way of doing business."

"It was effective," he said, "and you made no false claims. Thornen silk is beautiful. You merely . . ." He paused a moment. "You merely spun it into a dream."

"It's up to Tatarcoff to sell that dream," the Cargo-Master interjected, "though he'd have to have a crater instead of a brain not to do it now. Everyone back there wants it."

"Deke's good," she a.s.sured them. "He'll move the silk and probably most or all the rest with it."

"You moved it for him," Dane said, forcing himself to speak naturally. He was embarra.s.sed by the spell Cofort's performance had cast on him. A Trader, particularly part of the Cargo department, had to be able to keep his wits on his surroundings and business.

If the others said anything, now or later, so be it, he thought. He deserved no more after that lapse. In the meantime, walking around as dumb as a lump of inert matter would do no one, especially himself, any good. He was curious about the magic Rael Cofort had wrought-and magic it had been, Trader magic rather than the kind that so intrigued Tau. Van Rycke was one of the best, and he had not seen even him use anything the like of this . . .

"No," the Medic responded slowly. "Thomen silk itself requires no selling. Better simply doesn't exist. That bolt is such a patent extravagance here, though, quintessential luxury beyond anything required for any conceivable occasion on a planet like Canuche of Halio, no matter how formal. It was bound to be admired, but to lift the idea of actually purchasing it out of the realm of insanity, I had to waken the hunger for beauty, the ideal of beauty, that lies buried in every normal human soul."

"You succeeded," Jellico said, an obvious understatement in the face of the number of determined people who had pushed in around Tatarcoffs stand even as his party had left it.

She gave him a sharp look. "There are no objections, I hope?"

"None. We're not competing, not on this run anyway, and if the locals buy from one Free Trader, they'll be more inclined to patronize the rest of us as well." His eyes rested pensively on her. "You were selling more than Deke Tatarcoffs silk back there."

"That's part of the purpose of this excursion, isn't it?" she countered evenly. "I'm supposed to be displaying my skill in handling the various aspects of Trade, am I not?"

"You are. You've shown some strange talents, Rael Cofort. I'm curious to test the extent of them."

"Test away. Captain Jellico," she responded lightly. "I think you won't find me wanting, nor, perhaps, the scope of my abilities so readily fathomed as you seem to imagine, either."

14.

The off-worlders paused to examine several more displays but were not tempted to make a purchase until they were nearly ready to quit that part of the market. A metallic glitter on the foremost table of one of the large booths caught Van Rycke's eye. Even from a distance of several feet, he could see that it was a synthetic cloth of silver netting, exquisitely complex and extraordinarily fine.

He touched Dane's arm. "Give that a look over. If it seems worth it, make an offer."

The Cargo-apprentice nodded and stepped briskly toward the booth, taking care to conceal from both the Canuchean merchant and his own companions the considerable trepidation with which he viewed the a.s.signment. True, his chief had been giving him an ever-increasing amount of responsibility, but the transactions he had thus far initiated had been small and straightforward, all of them concerned with minor outfitting of the starship. This was much larger in scope and was for Trade itself. It would also involve real bargaining, or it would if he did not blow it the first time he opened his mouth.

The Canuchean displayed the examination length of the silver netting with a grand flourish, all the while extolling its beauty and virtues as enthusiastically as if it were the genuine article straight out of Siren's far-famed mills.

Once his litany of praise ended, however, he eyed Thorson's brown uniform as if in askance. "We deal chiefly in credits on Canuche," he said doubtfully.

Dane declared that the Solar Queen intended to pay by that means. He saw the flash of greed glint in the other's eyes and set himself for battle. Specie or specie credit was always the preferred method of payment on any Federation planet, and the merchant was going to attempt to secure as much as he could.

It was the apprentice's job, on the other hand, to minimize what the Queen had to lay out. Straight credits, being more desirable than an exchange of goods or services, were also more valuable. They generally bought more as a result, and Thorson was determined that those entrusted to him should do so. He held to his role as a prospective purchaser interested but by no means overwhelmed by the proffered goods and most a.s.suredly in no desperate need of them. In the end, after much discussion, he succeeded in shaving off an 8 percent discount for the Queen and then heaped another 2 percent on top of it as a bulk order bonus for taking all twelve bolts available.

"Not bad at all," Van Rycke gloated when they were out of sight and earshot of the booth. "The youngster's beginning to show a little promise. I don't know if I'd have had the nuggets to demand a bulk discount for a dozen bolts of cloth."

"A nice move," the Captain agreed, "but do we need twelve bolts?"

"It'll sell," Jan a.s.sured him. "Some primitive society will go for it, and it's absolutely stellar quality. If that cloth was real silver, we could take it anywhere in the inner systems."

"We still can," Dane interjected. "Those planets tend to enjoy greater wealth and luxury than the outer and rim worlds, but there are plenty of very ordinary people working away on all of them. They can't afford clothes spun out of precious metals, but those conscious of fashion will grab a good synthetic. If we aren't planning a trip in there ourselves in the near future, we'll be encountering ships like the Black Hole that are. Any one of them'd be glad to pick up some of this in exchange for goods we'll find more immediately useful."

"I agree," Rael said, "but I don't think you'll have to trade any of it off. You'll sell, and you won't have to leave the outer systems to do it. A dozen bolts wouldn't be anything to a large manufacturer. It could go even faster in individual sales in a fairly big town, much less in a city.

Aphrodite comes to mind at once. So does Sultana, which might actually be your best bet if you can swing in that far.

The teachers there'd jump at this for use in training, although, of course, they won't bring anything fake into the temples."

"Hera's even closer," Dane suggested. "According to Mara's notes, the priestesses there love glitter. They sew and paste mirrors and all sorts of beads and pieces of metal and strips of lace on their robes. They should go for this like a drowning man for oxygen."

"True enough, and as you so sagely point out, Hera's close by."

Thorson's head lifted in gratification at his chiefs ready acceptance of the viability of his suggestion. He did not see the look of pride that accompanied it. That was an extremely obscure bit of information, a one-line margin note jotted down as a reminder on an old reorder list. Van Rycke had not recalled it himself, although he doubtless would have done so before long, and he was pleased that his fledgling, who had obviously been studying the files, had beaten him to it.

With the business of the cloth's potential saleability settled, the Cargo-Master felt at liberty to address another matter whetting his curiosity. His blue eyes flickered in Cofort's direction. "Speaking of Sultana, Doctor, I'm wondering how you've managed to pick up her most cherished art form."

She smiled. "I first saw her Ibis dancers when I was eight years old. It was love at first sight. I'd always detested sports, and even then I thought formal exercise a galactic-cla.s.s bore, necessary to maintain health and muscle tone, perhaps, but a waste of time, plentiful as that is in s.p.a.ce. This beautiful, complex dance was different. I wanted it, and I was determined to learn how to perform it.

"I bought every tape and book my credits would allow and pestered my father for more, then I secretly worked with them, deciphering and copying the moves as best I could. I'd made such progress by the time he finally caught me at it that he sought to arrange for lessons for me the next time we planeted on Sultana, which was a regular port on our trade route. I was good enough that his request was granted."

"He was d.a.m.ned lucky you didn't disappear," Miceal told her bluntly. "Those people worship beauty. You must have had that even then, and you were a dancer, besides."

She shook her head. "To them, I was the ultimate tragedy. I had the talent to dance, but it was stillborn. I had come to it far too late. Sultanites literally begin preliminary training when they're six months old. Their parents start giving them coordination exercises at that age. They encouraged me to continue all the same because they, their teachers, recognized that my love for their art is genuine.