Derelict For Trade Read online

  In fact, the more he looked, the more he was impressed by Kanddoyd engineering, despite his discomfort. The huge cylindrical towers would

  have rendered many acres dark and undesirable on a planet, but here, since they passed through the Spin Axis, they cast no shadows. And elevators in them gave rapid transit from one side of the habitat to another— as long as you didn’t mind the change in gees, and the flip-over at the center, where gravity was zero.

  His musings were interrupted by the cheery clackings and whirrings of welcome from a Kanddoyd who bustled forward out of a cleverly concealed door. She was painted all over in curlicues of pleasing shades of purple. Jewels winked on her carapace as she made the complicated gesture that was the equivalent of a human bow. She said in a thin, reedy voice, "Welcome to the Bright Arrangement of Herbaceous Delights, O Gentle Trader. Locutor Danakak wishes no greater pleasure this day than to have the honor of assisting you in your important affairs."

  Dane said, "I have come to register a salvage find."

  "Ah!" the locutor said. "May I congratulate you upon your advantageous discovery—but at the same time we salute the misfortune of the unknowns whose craft has fallen, through the exigencies of fate, to your benefit." She clacked her mandibles rapidly, and rubbed together the complicated ankle armor that reminded Dane a little of ancient pictures of spurs. A deep droning sound rose, fell away. He identified both sounds—Grief for the Honorably Fallen and Acknowledgment of the Ephemeral Nature of Material Ownership—and hastened to produce from his belt recorder the corroborative sounds.

  "Thank you," he said, and pressed another code on his recorder as he said, "If you would honor me with the directions to the registry office of Prime Facilitator Koytatik, we can both carry on our tasks." Underscoring his words were the musical chirps of Friendly and Honest Intent.

  "Well, then," said the locutor. She made a series of rapid noises, the only one he recognized being Curiosity Appropriate to the Circumstances. "Your respected employer must rejoice in a worker so ready to execute her will in a timely manner! Permit me to introduce to your notice the humble Augmentor Laktic, whose greatest pleasure in life is the assistance of our Terran visitors in the expeditious discharge of their important affairs!"

  Danakak led Thorson along a roundabout route past terraced layers of fragrant herbs. He curbed his impatience, knowing that this was intended as a compliment. To conduct someone the shortest way was not only to

  hint that the person had no taste for beauty, but to indicate that one wished to spend as little time as possible in his company. People came and went along the winding paths, past offices whose exteriors were painted with geometric designs or decorated with ceramic mosaics. Busy Kanddoyds scurried in between all the other sentients, moving with the startling swiftness Dane had hitherto associated only with Rigelians.

  Under a flowering vine-covered archway they encountered a waiting Kanddoyd, and after a mutual exchange of compliments accompanied by rhythmic noises indicating good intentions, Dane found himself handed off to Augmentor Laktic. He was a young male, painted over with geometric shapes in metallic colors.

  He offered, at great length, to assist Dane in finding the appropriate office for the initiation of his business, at which time Dane pulled out the spool that Flindyk had given Captain Jellico and a printout version of the data, and said, "I’ve already gotten the proper forms. What I need to do is find the office where I can register this information. If you can take me there, I’d appreciate it, Augmentor Laktic."

  The Kanddoyd looked at the spool, glanced at the printout, and clacked in Surprise Tempered with Respect. "I contemplate with admiration the rapidity of Terrans in their business enterprise," he said, making a series of clicks and tweets that Dane sensed were interrogative.

  Dane’s time as cargo master apprentice had provided enough experience for him to instinctively endeavor not to give any hint of the time and money constraints forcing the Queen's crew to act quickly. Though the business he had here was only a matter of form, he didn’t know how much talk passed between the registry workers and those who dealt with Traders. It would be more difficult for Van Ryke if whoever he was working with found out about their desperate need.

  So he said, "Terrans usually act quickly to execute business so they can get to their pleasures the more quickly. Our crew wants to have plenty of time to explore all the delights Exchange has to offer." And he pressed his belt in the code that produced the sounds indicating Fervent Anticipation.

  The Kanddoyd laughed, a sound like a violin cadenza. "Ah! Of course! Then clearly it behooves me to bustle us along, the quicker to enable the Gentle Terrans to consort in the pleasure decks with other convivial beings. Since you appear to have all the correct forms, and filled out—as

  far as this humble augmentor is able to infer—correctly as well, I suggest we proceed directly to the august precincts of Registry and Claims."

  Thorson tried to keep his face impassive, but inside he felt a spurt of joy. So he was going to be successful!

  They proceeded up through levels and layers, all flower-bordered, with occasional views out into the habitat, to a door inlaid with a fabulous mosaic pattern indicating the birth of a star. Through the door, and into pleasant scents of fresh flowers. Kanddoyd music played softly from somewhere; not melodic, but the complicated rhythms were pleasing to the Terran ear.

  They had to go through two or three levels of functionaries, each of whose jobs apparently existed to prevent the applicant the disappointment of discovering that his forms were incorrect. After the customary exchanges of compliments, Laktic proffered the spool, with its unmistakable sigil of Trade Administration, and the helpers all bowed them on their way.

  Laktic seemed as pleased as Dane was, if it was possible to ascribe human emotions to a nonhuman. As they approached what appeared to be the last stop, Dane wondered if augmentors got paid for each successful piece of business they helped to resolve. If so, he had to admire all the more the indefatigable good manners that had detained them along the way; on Terra, though no one liked standing in line, Dane suspected twenty people could have gotten their papers filed in the time it was taking him just to find the correct person to submit his to.

  But at last Laktic brought him to a low table where an older Kanddoyd waited, her carapace jeweled in shades of gold to match her eyes. This was Prime Facilitator Koytatik, Dane discovered, after a truly memorable exchange of flowery politeness.

  At last, though, she dismissed Laktic, who thanked Dane—and on being thanked for his help, thanked him for his thanks—and after exchanging mutual wishes for each other’s long and pleasurable lives, Laktic departed.

  "Now, Gentle Trader," Koytatik said, making the clicks of Universal Goodwill. "Will you permit me the honor of requesting the data the augmentor has indicated you hold, so that we may persevere in your efforts to complete your business?"

  "Here is the spool," Dane said, tapping his belt to play the code for Happy Compliance. "And the printouts, in case you need those."

  Koytatik extended a grasping member to take the spool, which she dropped into a slot cleverly hidden among the mosaic patterns on the table. A thin screen extruded at an angle; Dane, from his height, could just see over the top, and watched Kanddoyd script flash up on the screen in ordered ranks of data.

  There was a pause, and for a moment Thorson felt a flash of something—almost pain—through his temples. But then it was gone, and he realized Koytatik was making sounds that he needed to decode. He recognized Universal Goodwill again, among other more rapid patterns. "The Solar Queen," Koytatik said. "And the ship you found is the Starvenger, registered through the Terran Free Traders."

  "That’s correct," Dane said.

  Again he felt that strange tightness in his head, and was reminded suddenly of Frank Mura’s feedle pipe and its ten ultrasonic notes. He surreptitiously activated the jeweled ultrasonic recorder that Jasper had made—noting at the same time that the facilitator was rapidly making
sounds that he recognized. All were positive ones, even the low droning of Important Business Proceeds Best with Care and Caution.

  "We must check your data against the claims registry of your own Traders, as well as our registry," Koytatik said. "If, of course, the owners of the Starvenger or the heirs of the owners have made an insurance claim against the ship—thus indicating they in fact duly abandoned her—then she is yours. If not, we shall proceed to the next step in our process, which is to post the claim."

  Dane nodded. "We understand all that. How long does it take to get transmissions to and from Terran Trade? A couple of days?"

  Koytatik made a series of sounds so rapid that Dane was not able to follow them, and he felt for the third time that odd sense of pressure in his head, and he glanced down at his ultrasonic device, and saw that it was flashing blue. But she said, "About that long, yes, indeed, Gentle Trader. If you will honor us with your presence again in two Standard Days, which is three Cycles in Exchange time measure, I shall avail myself of the pleasure of furthering your business once again."

  Dane nodded, mentally going over the questions he was to ask about the next step, so the captain could plan for them, but to his surprise the prime facilitator made a bow, clacking away with complimentary sounds and chirps, and then withdrew behind a screen with all the rapidity of her race. Dane felt an impulse to follow, except the screen was closed—and with a shrug he decided that, taken all in all, things had gone well enough. He could always get to the questions next visit, and report with the answers straight back to the captain.

  He got to his feet, and made his way back through the maze of flowered pathways, pausing only to exchange complimentary farewells with all the functionaries whom he encountered on the way.

  7

  Rip Shannon was glad to get back to the Queen, and said so as soon as he and Jasper Weeks stepped off the shuttle, magged their boots, and joined the other apprentices in the mess cabin.

  "Things quiet on the Starvenger?” Ali asked, lounging back.

  Rip glanced around at the cramped mess cabin, and lowered himself into one of the battered old chairs. The Queen was both restfully familiar and a little bit strange; it had been a long time since he’d really noticed just how small her cabins were. Small, but comfortable. Everything fit—like his favorite pair of boots. And yet. and yet.

  "Quiet as vacuum," Rip said, forcing a grin. He wouldn’t talk about how he’d had to fight against envisioning himself piloting that ship. He looked across at Jasper Weeks, who was staring down at his tube of fresh jakek, and felt with a sudden, visceral certainty that Weeks’s moods of abstraction after he’d returned from checking the engine rooms during their two-day stretch probably owed much to the same kind of daydreams.

  He saw a kind of sober assessment in Dane Thorson’s blue eyes, and knew, with the same kind of inner conviction, that both of the other two apprentices felt the same. But he also knew that no one was going to say anything out loud.

  Relieved, he stretched out his arms. "So, what’d I miss? Isn’t it today you go back to registry, Thorson?"

  Dane nodded. "Been three days Exchange time, so I’m going as soon as we’re done here." He waved a big hand at his half-eaten breakfast.

  "Other than that," Ali said in his mild voice, "we’ve all been taking in the sights—and the sounds. Lots of sounds."

  "Lots and lots," Thorson added with a twisted grin.

  "Any clues on our mystery?" Rip asked.

  All three shook their heads.

  "Ah, well, I guess it was too much to hope for that one of you characters would happen to walk into some dim bar and sit down in the next booth to some mysterious spacers, just in time to hear them discussing the strange happenings to their old friends, the crew of the Starvenger."

  "Only happens on the vids," Thorson growled.

  Ali tapped his long fingers idly on the arm of his chair as he leaned back against the bulkhead. "Maybe it’s my wicked nature, but I wouldn’t believe it if I did hear it."

  Jasper nodded. "Think we were being fed a load of horseradish."

  "For someone else’s arcane and nefarious purposes," Ali drawled. "Exactly."

  "Speaking of horseradish," Rip said, "how’s the master progressing with swapping that cargo for something we can use?"

  Dane sighed. "Looks good. He’s found an eager Trader who likes Terrans. Name of Tapadakk. Some kind of complicated three-way deal is shaping up nicely, despite all the flowery apologies and excuses for their goods not being fine enough for the exalted Terrans."

  "Van says dealing with these Kanddoyds is a fine lesson in patience,"

  Ali put in. "As if he really needed the reminder."

  "How are we holding out?" Rip said.

  "It’s tight, but Captain says if we can get everything wrapped in a few days, we won’t tip into the red," Ali reported. "One option we have is to

  move the Queen up to the heavy-grav section. It’s cheaper."

  "I’d like it better," Jasper admitted. "I want to drink out of a mug, and not worry when I stand up too fast from a chair, if I forget to mag my boots, that I’ll bounce my brains out on the ceiling."

  Dane said, "Except we’re a lot closer to the action here. May’s well not lose what time we have in traveling the mag-levs if we don’t have to." He rose—slowly, Rip noted. "Speaking of which, it’s time to find out whether we own two ships or not."

  Rip said suddenly, "Mind company? Captain says I’m off-duty for another six hours."

  Tnorson gave a nod. "Glad to have you along."

  As they started out of the mess, Frank Mura appeared from the galley, frowning slightly. "Anyone here have a mysterious appetite for carrots?"

  The men all shook their heads, and Ali laughed. "If we’ve got rabbits aboard, the one you should ask is Sinbad."

  Mura sighed. "I don’t mind if someone got a sudden craving, but I just want to be told if they’re going into my hydrogarden. I like to know what I have at hand and what I need to grow." As he spoke, he hefted something in his hand.

  Rip watched the object, some kind of tool, it looked like, spin slowly through the air in a lazy parabola, then arc down. "What’s that?" he asked, when Mura had finished talking.

  Frank shrugged. "Found it on the deckplates outside the galley when I came on duty today. Kosti or Stotz probably dropped it. Looks like the kind of thing they’d pick up—it certainly isn’t anything I use."

  "Can always ask Stotz when he gets back from his stretch at the Starvenger," Ali said, yawning. "Well, it’s been a long shift for me—I’m for some shut-eye. Night, gentlemen."

  Rip demagged his boots and pushed off, following Dane through the outer lock into the tube leading to the access lock to Exchange. They emerged onto a concourse, and Rip looked around with interest as Dane

  pointed out a few of the sights. He listened with part of his attention; the rest of his mind was involved with imagining what it might be like to design and build one of these habitats.

  They found an empty bench on a maglev, and the transport zapped them down into the Spin Axis towards the vertical shaft—the hollow core of one of the habitat-spanning towers—that would take them directly to their destination.

  "Hey—what’s that?"

  Rip’s eye was caught by the sight of what looked like a lush island moving slowly along a beautifully lit tube way up at the North Pole.

  "That’s the Movable Feast," Dane said, leaning toward the port. "We’re seeing it change level."

  "The Movable Feast? What is it?"

  "Just what it sounds like. It’s a kind of restaurant. Well, it is one, but it’s also the center of Exchange. I guess Dr. Cofort knows some weird stories about it."

  Dane’s shoulders hunched a little, and Rip tried not to smile. Eventually the big Viking—who had to be about the shyest man Rip had ever met—was going to get used to being within two meters of a beautiful woman without feeling like she was going to have him killed for looking.

  Rip said, "So
what’s the lure?"

  "I don’t know—food’s supposed to be great, but then it’s great in a lot of the eateries. Expensive, that I heard. But then you can just go in and get a bulb of drink. It stops at all the grav levels, which means everyone on Exchange finds it eventually at the grav they like best, and I guess over the centuries it became a kind of safe haven for talk. Nobody causes any trouble there."

  "Let’s take a look when we get done, if we have the time," Rip suggested.

  Dane gave a nod.

  They exchanged a few more comments about the sights Exchange had to offer as the pod sped along. Rip had a lot of questions on his mind, but the captain had expressly forbidden the Queen's crew to discuss anything having to do with the Starvenger where they might be overheard, so he saved them. Besides, he thought as the maglev slowed and he followed Thorson to the exit, it made sense to first see what the officials said. Some of his questions might be answered.

  They entered the splendid main garden of the trilateral Trade headquarters, and Rip looked around appreciatively. Soon he was feeling different emotions—a combination of amusement, bemusement, and impatience. He’d thought the others were kidding—or at least exaggerating—about the elaborate manners of the Kanddoyds, until they spent twenty solid minutes (he kept surreptitiously checking his chrono) walking around decorative herbaceous pathways and pausing to exchange smiling compliments with bowing, clicking, humming Kanddoyd functionaries.

  "If I understand all this right, all we have to do is find this Prime Facilitator Koytatik and get her word on Starvenger's status," Rip muttered out of the side of his mouth just after the third functionary bade them follow her.

  Thorson gave a quick nod. "Right. My guess is she’s busy with someone else, and the Kanddoyds consider it impolite to keep anyone waiting."

  Rip fought against a grin. So, lines like those he’d grown up with back on Terra were impolite? He looked around at all the beings walking the pathways, pausing beside fountains, exchanging polite compliments. Maybe the Kanddoyds had a good idea after all. Walking around pleasant gardens seemed a lot more conducive to good moods than inching forward in a long line next to other long lines in a featureless gray building.