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Colemenoport

Offices of

The Iverson Loop


“I’ll be taking an even dozen of those adapters,” Trader Isfelm said, looking down at her notepad. “You can deliver ’em to Trans-Three.” She looked up to meet Padi’s eye, her own slightly humorous.

“That is, can you deliver ’em to Trans-Three?”

Padi considered her. Trader Isfelm was an example of what Vanz had let her know was a device found in popular romances along the Edges—a Dust Cousin, long cut off, and raised in alien circumstances, suddenly reunited with the main family. According to the romances, Dust Cousins were as common as port dust. In real life, Vanz supposed there might be as many as one or two.

And of course Trader Isfelm, a Clan Korval offshoot via Line yos’Phelium, would be the exception that proved the rule.

“I will not myself be making the delivery,” she said to those faintly mischievous eyes. “However, I repose every confidence that Cargo Master ira’Barti will accomplish the thing with aplomb.”

One corner of the straight mouth lifted, and Trader Isfelm glanced back to her notepad.

“Always good to be confident of your team,” she said. “I can make that transfer now, if you like, Trader.”

“Half up, to seal the deal, Trader,” Padi returned firmly. “I have an account at Colemenoport Merchant Trust.”

“Solid choice,” Trader Isfelm murmured. Her fingers moved on the keypad, light and quick, the room lights glittering across the many facets of the big, gaudy ring she wore. Many might find such a ring in poor taste. Padi, daughter of a clan of pilots, and a pilot herself, knew it for the treasure it was: a Jump-pilot’s cluster, old and precious beyond the worth of the gems that adorned it.

The trader finished her input, and put the notepad on the table before Padi.

“Your thumbprint, please, Trader.”

She obliged. Trader Isfelm took the notepad back, applied her thumb to the screen, and sat gazing downward, but not, Padi thought, at the screen.

She was looking at her ring.

“Is there some other matter in which I may assist you?” Padi murmured.

Trader Isfelm looked up.

“You know, there just might be.” She paused, brows pulled, as if considering how best to proceed.

“It’s clear Redlands-talk is close enough to what you’re used to or we’d be having this conversation in Old Trade, but I’ll lay odds it scrapes against your ear.” Trader Isfelm raised a considering eyebrow. “And that’s not to mention the bows.”

Padi tipped her head. “As traders, we of course have a great deal of forbearance,” she murmured.

“Oh, that goes without saying,” Trader Isfelm assured her. “I’m only meaning to ask that, if—let’s take a personal example. If I was to walk off a ship in Solcintraport, talking Redlands like I am to you, would I be understood?”

Ah. Not an unworthy question. Trader Isfelm had been not at all shy regarding her desire to go, as she expressed it, Out, which proved her Line even more than her possession of the ring. Padi had not understood that the trader’s ambition had included raising the homeworld, itself.

She leaned back in her chair.

“Understood—yes. Open to spite and protests of not being understood—that, too.”

“So, I’d be laughed at? Treated like a barbarian?”

Padi frowned.

“That might be the best case, yes.”

“Hah. Then I do wonder if you can help me, Trader. I require a complete set of Liaden language tapes. For these, I will give language tapes for Redlands-speak, and also for the other three dialects spoken along the Iverson Loop.”

“I have an interest,” Padi said promptly. “Also, I offer additional information pertinent to your side of the bargain.”

“I am buying,” Trader Isfelm told her.

“There is no price for the information I now share: First and most importantly, Clan Korval has been banished from the homeworld, and forbidden to return, in whole or in part.”

“Read that in the mission’s information packet,” Trader Isfelm said, with great unconcern. “Shouldn’t be an issue, unless you’re thinking to adopt.”

Padi inclined her head.

“I wish to be certain that you have adequate and up-to-date information.”

“’Preciate that.”

“If you do wish to raise Liad, and want neither to be laughed at nor challenged to a duel, you will want to study the most recent edition of the Liaden Code of Proper Conduct, and review A Child’s Guide to Melant’i.”

She paused. Trader Isfelm waited.

“The second work was written by Scholar Jen Sar Kiladi, a Liaden, for Terran consumption. It is quite the best work on the topic, according to a number of scholarly reviewers. I offer a file of the reviews as part of the additional information shared freely.”

“I accept your gift of information. In return, I offer a list of the most untrustworthy trade banks, cargo agents, and bars along the Iverson Loop.”

“I accept,” Padi said, adding truthfully, “A handsome gift.”

Trader Isfelm waggled her fingers.

“Only a list of mistakes already made. There’s no need to make them again.”

Padi laughed.

“Very true! Especially when there are perfectly terrifying new errors out there awaiting our attention.”

Trader Isfelm grinned.

“We think alike, eh? Maybe not so surprising. I wonder—have you time for one more question? I don’t want to keep you from other business—”

“I’ve still some time ’til my next meeting,” Padi said. “How may I serve you?”

“I wonder if Dutiful Passage would be willing to take—again, let us make it personal—me aboard, when they leave the Redlands to go back Out.” She tipped her head. “I have various skills, which I would of course place at the service of the ship. Or I might go as a passenger, if that was preferred.”

Yes, of course. Trader Isfelm did intend to go Out. One wondered what the loss of their lead trader might mean for the Iverson Loop, but Trader Isfelm was an astute woman. She would make such arrangements as she found wise and prudent.

Only—

Padi turned her hands palm up.

“This question is for the captain or the master trader, not for the junior trader.”

“Of course it is. I’ll inquire of the master trader the next time we meet.” Trader Isfelm put her notepad to one side, and rose. “I’ll send that list of errors to you this evening, Trader, and I look forward to your file of reviews.”

“Yes,” Padi said, closing her case and rising in her turn. “The adapter kits will be delivered to Transition Point Three within the next twenty-four hours.”

“All good. Here, Trader, let me walk you to the door.”


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