The Crystal Variation (97 page)

“One thing at a time,” she told him, tending her own explorations. “Good amount of dust hereabouts. I’m wondering—”

“Captain, I have a star! We—we are close within a system . . .”

The old scholar laughed. “Why, thank you, Pilot Tor An, my son. Yes! The equations have not misled us. We should indeed be very close to a star system within a few percentage points of the mass and energy output of the average star-system with populated planets in our former galaxy.” He raised a frail hand as both pilots turned to stare at him.

“I guarantee nothing, of course! I have merely done what my poor skill allowed.” He glanced at his tablet. “Locate, my dears, the plane . . .”

“Working on that now,” Cantra assured him, spinning back to her board. “Star’s slightly oblate; might be the bulge ‘round the equator can tell us something interesting . . .”

“No radio traffic on common frequencies,” Tor An reported. “The military transceivers are entirely out of band . . .”

“We’ve got a gas giant, working on mass analysis. ‘nother gas bag right here, not nearly as big, but she’ll do until we can . . .”

The in-ship comm chimed, and Cantra swore, not quite under her breath.

Tor An touched the stud.

“Tower,” he said, prudently leaving the general line closed. “Yes, Speaker, the ship has entered normal space. No, we do not have an estimation of when we will—No, we do not know what sector—” He flushed, lips pressing tight. “The pilots are doing what we may, Speaker, the nature and order of our work is dictated by circumstance. We will inform the passengers when an appropriate port has been located. Tower out.”

He hit the stud a little harder than was needful, and then looked shamefaced. Cantra chuckled, and grinned when he met her eyes.

“My foster-mother always said passengers was more trouble’n they was worth,” she said. “I’d own she was right. You, Pilot?”

He tried to frown, but his lips kept twitching the wrong way, and finally he let the smile have its way. “I’d own she was right, too, Pilot,” he said, and turned back to his board.

QUICK PASSAGE’S
brains were top-notch and her instrumentation was second to none. In relatively short order, they were in possession of a fistful of useful facts. The larger gas giant was just over one-thousandth the mass of the star; the smaller gas giant half the mass of its sister. The giants were more than ninety degrees apart as they circled the star, but in the same plane. There was some debris, and some radio noise typical of energetic discharges. The star had a single small relatively low-energy magnetic storm on its surface, and there seemed to be no other stars within half-a-dozen light-years. So far, so good.

In-ship chimed; the boy reached—and stopped as she held up her hand.

“She’s got six ship-days to stew and we got work to do,” she said. “Turn it off and mind your analysis, Pilot.”

Tor An grinned. “Aye, Captain.”

In the back of her head, an image formed: A white dragon, wings blazing light, rose in a lazy spiral into a brilliant sky. Cantra’s fingers paused on the workpad; then she spun and came out of her seat quick. The boy was up, too, and they walked side-by-side and quiet to the power-chair.

Liad dea’Syl’s eyes were closed, his head against the rest. He was breathing, shallowly. Lucky was curled on his lap, and the long, clever hands rested on the plush orange fur. On his far side, Rool Tiazan knelt, his fingers curled lightly ‘round one thin wrist.

“Tell me, my friend,” the scholar whispered. “Is it a fine world, and green? Will people prosper and do well?”

“It is the very finest world possible, Grandfather,” the dramliza answered, his voice steady. “The land is rich and bountiful; its star is stable and gracious. Here, the tree will grow to its full height, honoring M. Jela. Here, may people prosper, do well, and be happy in their lives. You have given us a great gift, and we shall evermore be your children in gratitude.”

The scholar smiled. “That is well, then,” he said softly, and sighed.

In Cantra’s head, the white dragon was lost in the brilliant sky, or maybe it was only that she couldn’t see him through the tears.

Thirty-Seven

THIRTY-SEVEN

Quick Passage

CANTRA LOOKED DOWN-BOARD
to Tor An, who smiled at her encouragingly, and touched the in-ship stud.

“This is Captain yos’Phelium to all passengers. As you know, we’ve established orbit around an uninhabited world, and deployed probes to the surface. I’m pleased to say that the analysis has now been completed—and to our benefit. Wake-up protocols for passengers in slow-sleep will begin within this ship’s hour, in rotation. Off-loading will commence within the next ship’s day. Schedules will be on every public screen.” She paused and looked again to the boy, who moved his fingers:
Captain’s privilege
.

Right. She took a breath and bent again to the mic.

“Welcome to Liad, gentles. The pilots trust you’ll enjoy your stay.”

END

Balance of Trade

Introduction: Balance of Trade

INTRODUCTION:

Balance of Trade

One of the hazards
of being a writer is generating too many ideas. The unused ones tend to pile up in drifts in the corners, which makes for an untidy house.

Back before we’d written
Plan B
, we had an idea for a story—a scene, really—a good, meaty scene. The trouble was, none of the characters on-roll were willing to take it on and make it their own.

The idea languished, and every so often we’d dust it off and put it on offer, but nobody stepped forward to claim it. In the meantime, the scene had gotten larger, more complex, and had developed some interesting resonances—enough to move a certain Master Trader to take an option on the project, contingent upon locating an appropriate lead.

About then, we got a request for a Liaden Universe story from
Absolute Magnitude
editor Warren Lapine, and, well, there was the Master Trader’s interest, and . . . this kid. We’d never seen him before, but Jethri—his name was Jethri—said he could do the job. He liked the scene.

So, we let him take it for a spin; the resulting novella, “Balance of Trade,” was published in
Absolute Magnitude
. And we figured that was that.

But while we felt we were done with Jethri, he wasn’t done with us. When Stephe Pagel at Meisha Merlin asked, “What are you doing next?” Jethri jumped up and said, “Me!”

And here he is, having earned it. We hope you enjoy his adventures.

Sharon Lee and Steve Miller

Unity, Maine

September 2003

Cast of Characters

BALANCE OF TRADE

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Gobelyn’s Market
out of New Carpathia

Arin Gobelyn,
Iza’s deceased spouse, Jethri’s father

Cris Gobelyn
, first mate, Iza’s eldest child

Dyk Gobelyn
, cook

Grig Tomas
, back-up everything, Arin’s cousin

Iza Gobelyn
, captain-owner

Jethri Gobelyn

Khatelane Gobelyn
, pilot

Mel Gobelyn

Paitor Gobelyn
, trader, Iza’s brother

Seeli Gobelyn
, admin, Iza’s second child

Zam Gobelyn

Elthoria
out of Solcintra

Kor Ith yo’Lanna,
captain

Norn ven’Deelin
, master trader

Pen Rel sig’Kethra
, arms master

Gar Sad per’Etla
, cargo master

Gaenor tel’Dorbit
, first mate

Ray Jon tel’Ondor
, protocol master

Vil Tor
, ship’s librarian

Kilara pin’Ebit
, technician

Rantel ver’Borith
, technician

Tarnia’s Clanhouse

Stafeli Maarilex,
Delm Tarnia

Ren Lar Maarilex
, Master of the Vine

Pet Ric Maarilex
, his son

Pen Dir
, a cousin, off at school

Meicha Maarilex
, a daughter of the house

Miandra Maarilex
, a daughter of the house

Flinx
, a cat

Mr. pel’Saba
, the butler

Mrs. tor’Beli
, the cook

Anecha
, a driver

Graem
, Ren Lar’s second in the cellars

Sun Eli pen’Jerad
, tailor

Zer Min pel’Oban
, dancing master

Note on Liaden Currency and Time

NOTE ON LIADEN

CURRENCY AND TIME

Liaden Currency

12 dex to a tor

12 tor to a kais

12 kais (144 tor) to a cantra

1 cantra = 35,000 Terran bits

Standard Year

8 Standard Days in One Standard Week

32 Standard Days in One Standard Month

384 Standard Days in One Standard Year

Liaden Year

96 Standard Days in One Relumma

12 Standard Months in One Standard Year

One Relumma is equal to 8 twelve-day weeks

Four Relumma equal One Standard Year

Balance of Trade

BALANCE
OF TRADE

A Liaden Universe
^®
Novel

Day 29

DAY 29

Standard Year 1118

Gobelyn’s Market

Opposite Shift

There are secrets in all families

—
George Farquhar, 1678-1707

“DOWN ALL THAT LONG,
weary shift, they kept after Byl,” Khat’s voice was low and eerie in the dimness of the common room. The knuckles of Jethri’s left hand ached with the grip he had on his cup while his right thumb and forefinger whirled ellipses on the endlessly cool surface of his lucky fractin. Beside him, he could hear Dyk breathing, fast and harsh.

“Once—twice—three times!—he broke for the outring, his ship, and his mates. Three times, the Liadens turned him back, pushing him toward the center core, where no space-going man has right nor reason to be.

“They pushed him, those Liadens, moving through the night-levels as swift and sure as if it were bright world-day. Byl ran, as fast as long legs and terror could speed him, but they were always ahead of him, the canny Liadens. They were always ahead—‘round every corner, past every turning in the hall.”

Mel, on Jethri’s left, moaned softly. Jethri bit his lip.

“But then!” Khat’s voice glittered in the gloom. “Then, all at once, the luck changed. Or, say, the gods of spacers smiled. He reached a corridor that was empty, turned a corner where no Liaden crouched, gun aiming for his heart. He paused then, ears craned to the rear, but heard no stealthy movement, nor boot heels sounding quick along the steel floor.

“He ran then, light of heart and all but laughing, and the way stood clear before him, from downring admin all the way to the outring, where his ship was berthed; where his mates, and his love, lay awaiting his return.

“He came to the bay door—Bay Eight, that was where. Came to the bay door, used his card and slipped through as soon as the gap was wide enough to fit him. Grinning, he pushed off in the lighter grav, taking long bounds toward Dock Three. He took the curve like he’d grown wings, singing now, so glad to be near, so glad to be home . . .

“That was when he saw the crowd, and the flashing lights that meant ring cops—and the others, that meant worse.

“He shouted and ran, waving his arms as if it all made a difference. Which it didn’t. Those lifelines had been cut good hours ago, while he had been harried, hounded and kept away—and there was eight zipped bags laid out neat on the dockside, which was all that was left of his mates and his love.”

Silence, Jethri’s jaw was so tight he thought teeth might shatter. Mel gasped and Dyk groaned.

“So,” said Khat, her voice shockingly matter-of-fact. “Now you see what comes to someone who cheats a Liaden on cargo.”

“Except,” Jethri managed, his voice breathless with tension, though he knew far better than what had been told—Khat on a story was
that
good. “Excepting, they’d never done it that way—the Liadens. Might be they’d’ve rigged something with the docking fees—more like, they’d’ve set the word around, so five ports later Byl finds himself at a stand—full cans and no buyers, see? But they wouldn’t kill for cargo—that’s not how their Balancing works.”

“So speaks the senior ‘prentice!” Dyk intoned, pitching his voice so deep it rumbled inside the steel walls like a bad encounter with a grabber-hook.

“C’mon, Jeth,” Mel put in. “You was scared, too!”

“Khat tells a good story,” he muttered, and Dyk produced a laugh.

“She does that—and who’s to say she’s wrong? Sure, you been studying the tapes, but Khat’s been studying portside news since before you was allowed inside ship’s core!”

“Not that long,” Khat protested mildly, over the rustle and scrape that was her moving along the bench ‘til she had her hand on the controls. Light flooded the cubby, showing four startlingly similar faces: broad across the cheekbones and square about the jaw. Khat’s eyes, and Jethri’s, were brown; Dyk and Mel had blue—hers paler than his. All four favored the spacer buzz, which left their scant hair looking like dark velvet caps snugged close ‘gainst their skulls. Mel was nearest to Jethri in age—nineteen Standards to his seventeen. Khat and Dyk were born close enough to argue minutes when questions of elder’s precedence rose—twenty Standard Years, both, and holding adult shares.

Their surname was Gobelyn. Their ship was
Gobelyn’s Market
, out of New Carpathia, which homeworld none of them had ever seen nor missed.

“Yah, well maybe Jethri could tell us a story,” said Dyk, on the approach of mischief, “since he knows so many.”

Jethri felt his ears heat, and looked down into his cup. Koka, it had been—meant to warm his way to slumber. It was cold, now, and Khat’s story was enough to keep a body awake through half his sleep-shift.

Even if he did know better.

“Let him be, Dyk,” Khat said, surprisingly. “Jethri’s doing good with his study—Uncle’s pleased. Says it shows well, us having a Liaden speaker ‘mong us.”