Balance of Trade Read Online Free PDF Page B

tried to relax them—to make his face trading-bland. "I think the ship owes me that information. At least that."

    "Think we can do better for you," his mother the captain surmised, her mouth a straight, hard line of displeasure. "All right, boy. No, the final papers aren't signed. We'll catch up with Digger 'tween here and Kinaveral and do the legal then." She tipped her head, sarcastically civil. "That OK by you?"

    Jethri held onto his temper, barely. His mother's mood was never happy, dirt-side. He wondered, briefly, how she was going to survive a whole year world-bound, while the Market was rebuilt.

    "I don't want to ship on Digger ," he said, keeping his voice just factual. He sighed. "Please, ma'am—there's got to be another ship willing to take me."

    She stared at him until he heard his heart thudding in his ears. Then she sighed in her turn, and spun the chair so she faced the screens, showing him profile.

    "You want another ship," she said, and she didn't sound mad, anymore. "You find it."

Day 34
Standard Year 1118
Ynsolt'i Port
Zeroground Pub

    "NO CALLS FOR Jethri Gobelyn? No message from Sirge Milton?"

    The barkeeper on-shift today at the Zeroground Pub was maybe a Standard Jethri's elder. He was also twelve inches taller and out massed him by a factor of two. He shook his head, setting the six titanium rings in his left ear to chiming, and sighed, none too patient. "Kid, I told you. No calls. No message. No package. No Milton. No nothing , kid. Got it?"

    Jethri swallowed, hard, the fractin hot against his palm. "Got it."

    "Great," said the barkeep. "You wanna beer or you wanna clear out so a paying customer can have a stool?"

    "Merebeer, please," he said, slipping a bit across the counter. The keeper swept up the coin, went up-bar, drew a glass, and slid it down the polished surface with a will. Jethri put out a hand—the mug smacked into his palm, stinging. Carefully, he eased away from the not-exactly-overcrowded counter and took his drink to the back.

    He was on the approach to trouble. Dodging his senior, sliding off-ship without the captain's aye—approaching trouble, right enough, but not quite established in orbit. Khat was inventive—he trusted her to cover him for another hour, by which time he had better be on-ship, cash in hand and looking to show Uncle Paitor the whole.

    And Sirge Milton was late.

    A man, Jethri reasoned, slipping into a booth and setting his beer down, might well be late for a meeting. A man might even, with good reason, be an hour late for that same meeting. But a man could call the place named and leave a message for the one who was set to meet him.

    Which Sirge Milton hadn't done, nor sent a courier with a package containing Jethri's payout, neither.

    So, something must've come up. Business. Sirge Milton seemed a busy man. Jethri opened his pouch and pulled out the agreement they'd written yesterday, sitting at this very back booth, with Nance the bartender as witness.

    Carefully, he smoothed the paper, read over the guarantee of payment. Two kais was a higher buy-out than he had asked for, but Sirge had insisted, saying the profit would cover it, not to mention his 'expectations.' There was even a paragraph about being paid in the event that Sirge's sure buyer was out of cash, citing the debt owed Sirge Milton, Trader, by Norn ven'Deelin, Master of Trade, as security.

    It had all seemed clear enough yesterday afternoon, but Jethri thought now that he should have asked Sirge to take him around to his supplier, or at least listed the name and location of the supplier on the paper.

    He had a sip of beer, but it tasted flat and he pushed the glass away. The door to the bar slid open, admitting a noisy gaggle of Terrans. Jethri looked up, eagerly, but Sirge was not among them. Sighing, he frowned down at the paper, trying to figure out a next move that didn't put him on the receiving end of one of his uncle's furious scolds.

    Norn ven'Deelin, Master of Trade