Trader's World (6 page)

The computer responded at once. It checked the ID of the incoming signal, and compared it with the video signal.
"Wild weather. Problems, Lyle Connery?"

"I don't know. Not with most of the group—they're coming along as well as I could ask. But I'm still uneasy about the Kallario team."

"Their full reports are in the databanks. They have completed three sample negotiations, in record time and with fine results. An outstanding performance. No sign of difficulties is reported."

"That's true on the face of it. But I'm particularly worried about Mikal Asparian."

"Ah. Now you become more honest."

Connery stared gloomily out of the glass-faced chamber at the racing clouds. Their dark face matched his mood. "I'm not sure we know what we're doing with Mike Asparian. But I think we may be ruining one damned good Trader."

"Indeed? That possibility must be evaluated. One moment."
Daddy-O switched additional computing capacity from an Iceland facility in preparation for a possible extra load.
"He seems to have performed impeccably. As well as anyone else in the whole training group, perhaps better."

"I'm not talking about negotiation skills, or test scores. They look superb; I know that as well as anyone. But I'm worried about the boy himself. I'm afraid that he's still an outsider—not just with the other three members of his team, though I sense a lot of animosity there. Kallario had been their leader and he believes that Asparian is challenging him. I feel sure it's their competition that's pushing all four of them along so fast—they're months ahead of any other quartet. But it's not helping Asparian, personally. He's trying desperately hard, but he's still like an alien among all the other trainees."

"Be specific."

"All right, I will. For a start, he didn't come from the usual Trader trainee background. We got him from a region which has
never
provided us with a recruit before. Most of the other candidates here are preselected by the time they are twelve years old, and they have a good idea even before then that they may become Traders. They belong to related families. Lots of them already know each other before they arrive here. Asparian didn't get out of the Lostlands until he was fourteen, and he had to be schooled privately because he couldn't speak Trader. Then he was pulled out of normal schooling a year early."

"He was as old as most trainees."

"Perhaps, but in my opinion he wasn't psychologically ready. That was your decision. He didn't know anyone well when he came here to start training."

"His profiles showed that he was more than ready for Trader Training."

"Sure—
mentally
he's fine, smart as they come. But he's smaller than most of the others, and he still isn't totally comfortable with the language. He has a bit of a Hiver accent, can't pronounce 'th' correctly. I've caught some of the others laughing at him behind his back, imitating the way he pronounces things. 'Zis is mine, zat is yours.' "

"His accent is a good deal less pronounced than it was when he began with you, four months ago. It will not be a problem for much longer."

"Maybe not. But he still won't fit in. He just doesn't know the ropes. This will be hard for you to comprehend, but there's a
network
that precedes entry to formal Trader training. If you've not been part of it—and he wasn't—then you make social blunders. He has learned an enormous amount, but some things come hard. He was completely tongue-tied the other day when he had to talk to a Master Trader who was meeting with his group. All the other trainees were smooth as could be, and he could hardly manage a word. I'm sure it was just that he was overwhelmed—he thinks Master Traders are like gods—but it was hard on him. If only he had a bit more self-confidence. I've seen how his mind works, and that goes beyond anything we can measure on the tests. He doesn't have any idea of his own potential. Look, I know some people around here think I'm biased in his favor, just because Lucia and I found him. And maybe I am. But I think Mike Asparian could be something very special. Even another Max Dalzell."

Daddy-O remained silent.

"Well, maybe I'm going overboard when I say he could be like Big Max," Connery went on after a few more seconds. "But that's how well I think of him. And I don't like what's happening."

"One moment."
Daddy-O was silent again, for so long that Connery wondered if they had lost the circuit. Nothing they were discussing should need that much computation.
"Your notes and the student records suggest that you have not yet arrived at your main concerns,"
Daddy-O said at last.
"You are still worried, are you not, by the remaining scheduled visits to the simulation facilities on the other islands?"

"Of course I am. But it's the same problem. The other three of that quartet are all from long-established Trader families. They have
relatives
in the simulation facilities. Asparian doesn't. He'll be at a big disadvantage."

"True, if we restrict our thoughts to simulations. But that will become his advantage in the real world, and a possible disadvantage for the others. No one has helpful relatives in other regions. Asparian will not look for sympathy or understanding where there is none; the others may. But I take your point, and it is consistent with conclusions that can be drawn readily from available data, without reference to emotional considerations. We are ready for the next step. A real training test."

"It's too early for that."

"Not for this particular mission. In fact, we will be permitted to send only inexperienced trainees."

"Trainees only? I've never heard of such a mission. Where is it?"

"A unique opportunity has arisen to send a junior group to the Darklands. The Kallario quartet is the obvious choice."

Connery swung to face the camera eye. "Be reasonable— Traders are hardly allowed into the Darklands, even for big negotiations. A trainee group wouldn't get past the port of entry—and if they did, we wouldn't know how to brief them properly! We don't have data. And the Darklands bought a Chill system for radio jamming, so we couldn't provide a Mentor. Why not a Hive environment, if we're going to be ridiculous? A Hive would be no worse than the Darklands for a trainee—and Asparian would have some advantage there."

"You are joking. A Hiver mission would not be consistent with our goals. But my proposal is serious. Also, the primary mission is one of quite negligible risk."

"In the Darklands? I don't believe it."

"Nonetheless, it is true. Listen to me, and see if you change your mind. The role of our group would merely be to serve as invited guests to a formal ceremony. The Ten Tribes are ready to crown a new emperor. The man who will ascend to the throne, Rasool Ilunga, has decided that his crowning will be an event unprecedented in Darklands history. He plans an elaborate coronation, putting on display the wealth of the Darklands. And to observe those ceremonies, with their jewel-encrusted robes and jeweled and priceless emblems of office, and also to be witness to his imperial greatness, Ilunga has invited representatives from every region; even a Chipponese party has been asked to descend from the Moon to Coronation City and attend the event. But the Ten Tribes have traditionally been highly suspicious of Traders, and Ilunga's condition on our presence is that children or trainees be invited, not qualified Traders. The Kallario group qualifies. The mission has no danger that I am able to identify."
There was a substantial pause.
"Of course, one could entertain a speculation that might lead to a possible second agenda: the Chipponese are looking for a permanent equatorial launch and landing franchise. The central part of Rasool Ilunga's Darklands empire is ideally located. It is tempting to correlate those facts and explore the implications. But it would be at the Fourth Level of difficulty."

"For Shannon's sake, you
are
trying to get them killed. You can't let them even look at Fourth Level—we'd never see them again!"

"With this trainee group, there is evidence to suggest otherwise. However, that is not a point to be profitably pursued at this moment. To ease your fears, I promise this: the quartet will not be charged with any second agenda. May we leave the situation thus? We both believe that the remaining scheduled visits to the Azores' simulation facilities are likely to be of limited use to the Kallario group. We will therefore cancel them. Also, the opportunity of the Darklands visit is something that requires further consideration. Let me attend to that, and prepare the necessary briefing documents."

"Don't you think—"

Connery paused. The circuit light had begun to blink, indicating that the terminal would remain open but that minimal computing capabilities would be linked into it. For all practical purposes, Daddy-O was saying good-bye.

A few more moments, and Lyle Connery was left staring out at the bleak Atlantic winter. The whole structure he sat in was shaking and swaying with the force of the wind. He stood up, wondering as he often did after a session with Daddy-O whether they had achieved any worthwhile communication at all.

CHAPTER 5

"Hello. On behalf of Rasool Ilunga, let me welcome you to the Heart of the World, home of the Ten Tribes."

The words were spoken the moment the four passengers stepped out of the Trader aircar. They peered around them. The Mach Six trip from midwinter at the Azores to tropical noon had left them with transit shock. They blinked, shielded their eyes against the glare of the equatorial sun, and squinted at the speaker. The temperature was in the middle nineties. Reflected sunlight flared from a thousand places on the baked ground.

The man standing in front of them was an albino, skeletally thin and frail looking. He was wearing a suit of white silk, white shoes, and a broad coolie hat that extended across his head and shoulders. Blue-tinted glasses covered his eyes. His features were fine-boned, with a thin, chiseled nose. He was extending a cotton-gloved hand as he continued in excellent Trader: "You have come a long way to be here, but I am sure that you will not find it a wasted journey. There are exciting times ahead for you."

Jake stepped forward and took the man's hand in both of his, Darklands fashion. "It is a pleasure to be here. I am Jake Kallario, leader of our group. Allow me to compliment you on your command of the Trader language, and permit me to ask your name."

"I am Inongo Kiri, principal negotiator for the Ten Tribes. And your companions?"

"Of course. This is Melinda Turak . . ."

Mikal Asparian had been last off the plane. Now he stood a pace to the rear of the other three and stared around him. Subconsciously he had noted and approved of Kallario's opening remarks. Straight from the Trader book of rules.
Rule Number 44: Give praise; it is free.
And
Rule Number 64: Get everything else wrong if you have to, but get their names right.

His eyes had adjusted to the bright sunlight. Now he took advantage of the other trainees' introductions to perform a more thorough visual exploration.

The plane had landed six hundred miles inland at a fork in a great river. To the south of the landing point, where the branches merged, a sluggish expanse of gray-brown water was visible, over two miles across. The land toward the river was marshy and covered with tall reeds, but the airfield itself stood on a cleared plain. Mike looked down, expecting concrete, and saw a vast tiling of baked clay bricks. There must have been tens of millions of them. A dozen ground vehicles waited at the edge of the field, each surrounded by a score or more of brightly dressed black people. Beyond them—unless the bright light was playing tricks with his eyes—stood two of the legendary animals of this continent.

Huge, bulky, improbable.
Elephants.

Two hundred years ago, according to Daddy-O's data bases, this had been deep, rich jungle and broad plains, teeming with wild animals. Now it seemed as tired and eroded as the Lostlands, the forest gone, the fertile game plains diminished, the animals vanished. What had happened here? The Lostlands War had not reached this region.

". . . Mikal Asparian."

At the sound of his own name, he jolted back to his immediate surroundings.

The thin albino was holding out his gloved hand and smiling a pink-gummed smile. "Delighted to meet you. Since this is the first visit for all of you, Mikal, and since we have a full day free before the coronation ceremonies begin, I have arranged for you to be given a tour of the region and a boat trip along the Great River. First, however, let us proceed to your living quarters and make you comfortable there. And then we will have a brief audience with Rasool Ilunga himself. Two days from now, he will of course be known only as Emperor, the Light of the World, the Lord of the Ten Tribes." He beamed at the four trainees. "But today, it is still all right to call him Rasool Ilunga."

The man speaks Trader superbly, Mikal thought. Probably better than I do! He shook Inongo Kiri's hand and felt the bones beneath the cotton glove. He had never met a man so thin. They began to walk slowly toward the parked ground vehicles. As usual, Jake and Melinda took the lead. Mike still trailed along behind, gaping at everything and somehow excluded from the group.

The relationship among the four team members had been tense for months. Only the common and powerful desire to become Traders had held them together. Things had taken a turn for the worse just before they left the Azores. Lyle Connery had briefed them, but had made it clear that they had a decision to make, and that it was one he could not make for them.

"You can work as a team if you want to." The Trader plane was already waiting for them. "If you do, you'll be pooling everything that you learn and reporting back as a group. That's the way to generate the most information. Or you can each use this as training for an
individual
mission. If you do that, you will each gather whatever information you can get, and keep it to yourself. When you arrive back here, you will file four individual reports. That has advantages, too, because when you qualify as Traders many of your missions will be conducted solo, without even a Mentor. So. How do you want to handle this mission? It's up to you."