Colemenoport
Offices of
Tree-and-Dragon Trade Mission
The luncheon trays had come, not from the Port Market caterer, as Majel had assumed they would, but from Skywise Provianto, on Schoodic Street in the port.
That was notable for two reasons. It was Majel’s own favorite eating establishment on Colemenoport, not only because it was Deaf-owned and operated, but because the food was superior to the Port Market’s offerings, and at half the cost.
The trays presented very well, with various breads, cheeses, and other food appropriate to a working meal. The cake, he saw with amusement, was indeed on offer.
He had been caught up by the master trader on arrival, and made known to “Priscilla Delacroix y Mendoza, captain of Dutiful Passage. Dyoli ven’Deelin, adjunct trader, representing Clan Ixin, our partner in this survey. Mar Tyn pai’Fortana, assisting Trader ven’Deelin. Our security team—Grad Elbin, Karna Tivit, and Tima Fagen. And Trader Padi yos’Galan, whom you have previously met.”
The younger trader gave him a smile and a nod.
“Councilor ziaGorn, it’s good to see you again.”
“Excellent!” the master trader declared. “The first order of business for this working nuncheon is—assembling nuncheon. Councilor ziaGorn, will you lead us?”
* * *
“Chief Expediter rooBios has asked me to give a presentation to his section regarding just-in-time delivery, deep inventory, and typical turnaround times,” Dyoli ven’Deelin said, in answer to the master trader’s query. She was plump and red-haired, her eyes blue and slightly dreamy, as if, Majel thought, the opportunity to give a presentation on delivery protocols was a rare and special treat.
The master trader nodded, and glanced down at the notepad by his plate.
“I will open the appropriate files, so that you may review them and get a feel for how we managed in the past,” he said. “We cannot deal in specifics, given that we are so new on-port.”
“Understood. I did have the feeling that Expediter rooBios wishes to have a general lesson laid for his section. He said to me that they had been operating in the same way for so long, he feared that they had come to think that there was only one way to go on, and that they have refined their methods to—” She paused, lips twitching.
“Perfection?” guessed the master trader.
“I was going to say near perfection, as the expediter did, himself.”
“That’s a hopeful sign,” said Captain Mendoza, who was possibly the most beautiful woman Majel had ever seen, despite being outlandishly tall. “If they know that their system can be improved, they may be helped to see that there are other systems.”
“My goal will be to show them exactly that,” Trader ven’Deelin said. “Since I will be limited to generalities, I may introduce several systems, to—”
She frowned, as if groping after a phrase.
“To shake up their certainties?” Trader yos’Galan murmured.
“That, yes. And also to—my brother had used to say, quick-start their thinking.”
“Gently quick-start their thinking,” the master trader said. “We have time for several discussions, and will obviously need to be more thoroughly informed regarding the near-perfect systems already in place.”
“Yes, sir. I anticipate at least one follow-up meeting with the section, once they have had a chance to think.”
“Excellent.” The master trader smiled at her. “Those files are open to you, now.”
He glanced down the table.
“Priscilla?”
“I’ve been invited by Yard Master tineMena to the next meeting of the Port Authority Readiness Committee,” she said. “Their facilities haven’t been upgraded since before the Dust arrived, and they’d like a modern eye on them.”
That visit, Majel thought, from his place at the master trader’s right hand, could snare the trade mission a customer, for surely the traders would have catalogs and contacts and be pleased to assist with the purchase of new equipment.
Indeed, the info-packet had not held shy of stating that the mission was firstly interested in establishing trade. One expected that trade ships were expensive to operate, and even with the Dust’s departure, the Redlands were inconveniently located. That had been part of the charm for the original settlers, and had certainly attracted Clans Korval and Ixin, racing against time to bring Liad’s Small Talents well out of peril.
No one had thought that the Council would send eliminators after those who had decided to leave the homeworld. But no one wanted to make it easier for them, should eliminators suddenly come into play.
“Trader Padi?” the master trader said. “What gay roistering is in your future?”
The young trader smiled, and used her chin to point at the notepad by her hand.
“I have letters from at least half a dozen people of those we met at yesterday’s reception. I am invited to call, to either bring or receive catalogs—on several instances to do both. Also, I have a meeting with Trader Isfelm at her office in just a few minutes, and I ought to leave now.” She inclined her head gracefully.
“Forgive me, master trader. I had not thought the tour would go quite so long.”
“Neither did I,” the master trader said. “What, beyond Trader Isfelm?”
“Back to the market. Saru—Assistant Manager bernRoanti—asked that I call this afternoon. She has a point she would like clarified. Is there any errand I might accomplish for you while I am out on port?”
“None that springs to mind. Come to me here, when you are done with your obligations, and let us go through our lists of invitations, for I do not hide from you, Trader Padi, that I have been getting similar letters.”
“Yes, sir.”
She stood, Security Officer Tima Fagen rising with her, and bowed to the table.
“Until soon,” she said, and left them, her security trailing after.
The master trader looked around the table.
“Grad? I saw you talking with market security. Did you gain any insights?”
“Yes, sir, we did,” said Security Officer Grad with enthusiasm. “They’d noticed we didn’t have a Talent on our team, and had—questions. Good questions, and a couple of tips. We’d like to sit down together and”—he grinned—“talk security shop, get some idea of how the port operates, what we might be up against, in terms of safety measures.”
“This sounds worthwhile,” the master trader said. “Do set up a meeting to share information and techniques. Understand that I do not wish to say that we can do very well without you, but for a few hours—”
“No, sir,” Grad said, shaking his head. “We’ll keep you covered. After—” He closed his mouth abruptly, and looked down at his plate; looked up again.
“We’ll keep you covered, sir.”
The master trader considered him for a moment before inclining his head.
“Thank you, Grad. We appreciate your care.”
“Thank you, sir,” Security Officer Grad murmured and picked up his cup, more, so Majel thought, to stop himself from saying anything else than because he craved fruit juice just then.
“Councilor ziaGorn,” the master trader murmured, then, and Majel lifted his gaze to meet those calm silver eyes.
“Now that you have seen us in action, sir, and know the awful whole, have you any advice to give us, or observations to make?”
Majel smiled.
“The awful whole is scarcely awful, sir. I believe that Colemeno is fortunate in its first new trader after-Dust. However, there is a matter of—local custom, as I believe you dignify it, sir—that I feel I must discuss.”
“By all means,” the master trader said, leaning back in his chair. “We do not wish to err against custom.”
He inclined his head.
“Show me our error.”
“Yes, sir. It is in your information packet.”
He paused to look around the table. Captain Mendoza gave him a small, encouraging smile. Trader ven’Deelin gazed at him with blue eyes abruptly sharp. Mar Tyn pai’Fortana sat quietly, as he had throughout the nuncheon, watching and listening with every evidence of interest. The two remaining of the security detail were politely waiting for his revelation.
Majel drew a deep breath.
“Specifically, the biographies in the information packet,” he said, looking back to Master Trader yos’Galan.
“On Colemeno, it is done to list one’s Talent directly after one’s name, in order to give the Civilized all of the information they must have in order to treat with one appropriately.”
The master trader’s eyebrows rose. He glanced at Captain Mendoza, then to Dyoli ven’Deelin and Mar Tyn pai’Fortana.
“That is a very interesting custom,” he said, returning his gaze to Majel’s face. “Unique, in my experience.”
“On Sintia,” Captain Mendoza murmured, “the Talented are brought into the Temple and trained as priestesses.”
The master trader nodded.
“Very true. And the priesthood have distinctive clothing, which must be thought to give sufficient notice to all.”
Another glance to the captain.
“Your pardon, Priscilla.”
“None needed; it’s perfectly true.”
“Trader ven’Deelin, do you have any objection to having your Talent listed in your biography in the mission literature?”
“I do not,” Dyoli ven’Deelin said, crisply. “I am, in fact, a Healer, and if called, I will serve.”
“And I,” said Captain Mendoza calmly, “have no objection, but I wonder what we might call me.”
Majel shifted, and her ebony gaze was immediately on him.
“Please, Councilor ziaGorn. I welcome your advice.”
He took a breath.
“As I understand from Portmaster krogerSlyte’s notes, Captain, you are a strong multi-Talent.”
“Am I?” She turned her smile to the master trader. “I have no objection.”
“Excellent.”
“Master pai’Fortana? Have you any objections to having your Talent listed as part of the trade mission’s info-packet?”
Majel relaxed, expecting another agreement. Mar Tyn pai’Fortana was insignificant in comparison to the rest of the team. Surely, he would follow where stronger Talents did not hesitate.
However—
“Yes, I do have objections,” he said firmly, and looked, not to the master trader, but to Trader ven’Deelin. The tight line of his mouth eased somewhat, and he looked then to Majel.
“At least—I have questions,” he amended.
“I will be pleased to answer your questions to the best of my ability,” Majel assured him. “If my answers are not adequate, then I will bring Portmaster krogerSlyte into the discussion, so that you may be satisfied.”
In addition to being the least of the team, Mar Tyn pai’Fortana was insignificant in his person—the smallest in the room, by height and girth, with neither beauty nor, so Majel had supposed from his reticence, wit. Still, the man had questions, and if Majel read this correctly, some distrust of the Civilized.
Well. He could certainly sympathize with that.
“Thank you,” said Mar Tyn pai’Fortana. “I offer information which you may not have. I am a Luck, born on Liad. I came of age in Solcintra Low Port, which is a dumping ground for those of whom the . . . civilized . . . do not approve. Lucks are distrusted, reviled, abused, used, and thrown away. We die young, as a rule. I am an anomaly, having survived my thirty-sixth Standard.” He reached for his cup, but merely turned it this way and that, until he raised his eyes again to Majel.
“Perhaps I was lucky. Understand that I mean to say that it was not—it was never—in my own best interest to declare my Gift, even when my Gift was my means of survival.”
He took a breath. Majel held his tongue, hearing the anger in the soft voice.
“I would not expose myself to more abuse. And now I ask: What is the policy of the Civilized, regarding Lucks?”
Majel did not look away from that angry gaze.
“Civilization understands you as a Serendipitist, Master pai’Fortana. There are certain constraints placed upon Serendipitists. For example, I own a casino. You may not enter my business, and you may be asked to distance yourself from a very short list of events, which are codified in Civilization’s charter. I will look up the relevant section and send it to you this evening, so that you may be informed.”
He took thought, and added, “There is no Low Port here, Master pai’Fortana. You have a particular, recognized Gift. You are, according to Civilization’s laws and charter, a Talent. Civilized.”
Mar Tyn pai’Fortana frowned.
“But you—are you not Civilized?”
Majel drew a breath, a little sharper than he had intended. Surely, everyone in the room, absent Security, was aware of his handicap.
Mar Tyn pai’Fortana raised a hand, showing empty palm and widespread fingers.
“Forgive me. I did not mean to distress you, after you have given me such a fine and honest answer. But I have lived beyond the limits of civilization. I think that I see certain . . . kindred signs.”
His distress was on display, Majel understood, with chagrin. That was poorly done. He produced an official smile.
“I am what Civilization is pleased to term Deaf. This means that I have no Talent for working with the ambient. Indeed, the ambient is invisible to me.”
He paused, then added, “According to Civilization’s charter, the Deaf are a vulnerable population, deserving of protection.”
It might have been sympathy he saw on Mar Tyn pai’Fortana’s face before the other man inclined his head.
“Thank you for that information. I look forward to receiving the sections from Civilization’s charter.”
“We all thank you for your forthrightness and care, Councilor ziaGorn,” the master trader said gently. “Have you anything else for us? Is there any way in which we may serve you?”
Majel shook himself.
“I think not, Master Trader. I thank you for the opportunity to participate in a working nuncheon, and hope to enjoy another, soon.”
The master trader smiled.
“You will be most welcome,” he said.