Trading in Futures (2 page)

The buyer moved his hand. "Enough. One
cantra. A last offer."Gotcha, thought Jethri, making a serious
effort to keep his face neutral. One cantra, just like Uncle Paitor
had wanted. In retrospect, it had been an easy sell.

Too easy? he wondered then, looking down at
the Liaden's smooth face and disinterested brown eyes. Was there,
just maybe, additional profit to be made here?

Trade is
study
, Uncle Paitor said from
memory.
Study the goods, and study the
market. And after you prepare as much as you can, there's still
nothing says that a ship didn't land yesterday with three holds
full of something you're carrying as a luxury sell.

Nor was there a law, thought Jethri, against
Honored Buyer din'Flora being critically short on crimson
cellosilk, this Port-day. He took a cautious breath and made his
decision.

"Of course," he told the buyer, gathering
the sample bolt gently into his arms, "I am desolate not to have
closed trade in this instance. A cantra... It is generous,
respected sir, but--alas. My elder will be distressed--he had
instructed me most carefully to offer the lot first to yourself and
to make every accommodation... But a cantra, when his word was two?
I do not..." He fancied he caught a gleam along the edge of the
Liaden's bland face, a flicker in the depths of the careful eyes,
and bit his lip, hoping he wasn't about to blow the whole deal.

"I don't suppose," he said, voice edging
disastrously toward a squeak, "--my elder spoke of you so highly...
I don't suppose you might go a cantra-six?"

"Ah." Honored Sir din'Flora's shoulders
rippled and this time Jethri was sure the gesture expressed
amusement. "One cantra-six it is." He bowed and Jethri did,
clumsily, because of the bolt he still cradled.

"Done," he said.

"Very good," returned the buyer. "Set the
bolt down, young sir. You are quite correct regarding that crimson.
Remarkably pure. If your elder instructed you to hold at anything
less than three cantra, he was testing you in good earnest."

Jethri stared, then, with an effort, he
straightened his face, trying to make it as bland and ungiving as
the buyer's.

He needn't have bothered. The Liaden had
pulled a pouch from his belt and was intent on counting out coins.
He placed them on the trade table and stepped back, sweeping the
sample bolt up as he did.

"One cantra, six dex, as agreed. Delivery
may be made to our warehouse within the twelve-hour." He bowed,
fluid and unstrained, despite the bolt.

"Be you well, young sir. Fair trading, safe
lift."

Jethri gave his best bow, which was nowhere
near as pretty as the buyer's. "Thank you, respected sir. Fair
trading, fair profit."

"Indeed," said the buyer and was gone.

Ynsolt'i Port

Zeroground Pub

BY RIGHTS, he should have
walked a straight line from Textile Hall to the
Market
and put himself at the
disposal of the Captain.

Say he was disinclined just yet to talk with
Captain Iza Gobelyn, coincidentally his mother, on the subject of
his upcoming change of berth. Or say he was coming off his first
solo trade and wanted time to turn the thing over in his mind.
Which he was doing, merebeer to hand, on the corner of the bar he'd
staked out for his own.

Buyer din'Flora, now--that
wanted chewing on. Liadens were fiercely competitive, and, in his
experience, tight-fisted of data. Jethri had lately formed the
theory that this reluctance to offer information was not what a
Terran would call spitefulness, but
courtesy
. It would be--an
insult
, if his reading of
the tapes was right, to assume that another person was ignorant of
any particular something.

Which theory made Honored Sir din'Flora's
extemporaneous lecture on the appropriate price of crimson
cellosilk--interesting.

Jethri sipped his beer, considering whether
or not he'd been insulted. This was a delicate question, since it
was also OK, as far as his own observations and the crewtapes went,
for an elder to instruct a junior. He had another sip of beer,
frowning absently at the ship-board above the bar.

"'nother brew, kid?" The bartender's voice
penetrated his abstraction. He set the glass down, seeing with
surprise that it was nearly empty. He fingered a Terran bit out of
his pocket and put it on the bar.

"Merebeer, please."

"Coming up," she said, skating the coin from
the bar to her palm. Her pale blue eyes moved to the next customer
and she grinned.

"Hey, Sirge! Ain't seen you for a
Port-year."

The dark-haired man in modest trading
clothes leaned his elbows on the counter and smiled. "That long?"
He shook his head, smile going toward a grin. "I lose track of
time, when there's business to be done."

She laughed. "What'll it be?"

"Franses Ale?" he asked, wistfully.

"Coming up," she said and he grinned and put
ten-bit in her hand.

'The extra's for you--a reward for saving my
life."

The barkeeper laughed again and moved off
down-bar, collecting orders and coins as she went. Jethri finished
the last of his beer. When he put the glass down, he found the
barkeeper's friend--Sirge--looking at him quizzically.

"Don't mean to pry into
what's none of my business, but I noticed you looking at the board,
there. Wouldn't be you had business with
Stork
?'

Jethri blinked, then smiled and shook his
head. "I was thinking of--something else," he said, with cautious
truth. "Didn't really see the board at all."

"Man with business on his mind," said Sirge
good-naturedly. "Well, just thought I'd ask. Misery loves company,
my mam used to say--Thanks, Nance." This last as the barkeeper set
a tall glass filled with dark liquid before him.

"No trouble," she assured him and put
Jethri's schooner down. "Merebeer, Trader."

"Thank you," he murmured,
wondering if she was making fun of him or really thought him old
enough to be a full Trader. He raised the mug and shot a look at
the ship-board.
Stork
was there, right enough, showing departed on an amended flight
plan.

"Damnedest thing," said the man next to him,
ruefully. "Can't blame them for lifting when they got rush cargo
and a bonus at the far end, but I sure could wish they waited lift
a quarter-hour longer."

Jethri felt a stir of morbid curiosity.
"They didn't--leave you, did they, sir?"

The man laughed. "Gods, no,
none of that! I've got a berth promised on Ringfelder's
Halcyon
, end of next
Port-week. No, this was a matter of buy-in--had half the paperwork
filled out, happened to look up at the board there in the Trade Bar
and they're already lifting." He took a healthy swallow of his ale.
"Sent a message to my lodgings, of course, but I wasn't at the
lodgings, I was out making paper, like we'd agreed." He sighed.
"Well, no use crying over spilled wine, eh?" He extended a thin,
calloused hand. "Sirge Milton, Trader at leisure, damn the
luck."

He shook the offered hand.
"Jethri Gobelyn, off
Gobelyn's
Market
."

"Pleasure.
Market's
a solid
ship--Arin still Senior Trader?"

Jethri blinked. The routes being as they
were, there were still some who'd missed news of Arin Gobelyn's
death. This man didn't seem quite old enough to have been one of
his father's contemporaries, but...

"Paitor's Senior Trader," he told Sirge
Milton steadily. "Arin died in a loading accident, seven Standards
back."

"Sorry to hear that," the
man said seriously. "I was just a 'prentice, but he impressed me
real favorable." He took a drink of ale, eyes wandering back to the
ship-board. "Damn," he said, not quite under his breath, then
laughed a little and looked at Jethri. "Let this be a lesson to
you--
stay liquid
!
Think I'd know
that
by now." Another laugh.

Jethri had a sip of beer. "But," he said,
though it was none of his business, "what happened?"

For a moment, he thought the other wouldn't
answer. He drank ale, frowning at the board, then seemed to collect
himself and flashed Jethri a quick grin.

"Couple things. First, I was approached for
a closed buy-in on--futures." He shrugged. "You understand I can't
be specific. But the guarantee was four-on-one and--well, the
lodgings were paid until I shipped and I had plenty on my tab at
the Trade Bar, so I sunk all my serious cash into the future."

Jethri frowned. A four-on-one return on
speculation? It was possible--the crewtapes told of astonishing
fortunes made Port-side, now and then--but not likely. To invest
all liquid assets into such a venture--

Sirge Milton held up a hand. "Now, I know
you're thinking exactly what I thought when the thing was put to
me--four-on-one's 'way outta line. But the gig turns on a Liaden
Master Trader's say-so, and I figured that was good enough for me."
He finished his ale and put the glass down, waving at the
barkeeper.

"Short of it is, I'm
cash-poor til tomorrow mid-day, when the pay-off's guaranteed. And
this morning I came across as sweet a deal as you'd care to
see--and I know just who'll want it, to my profit. A cantra holds
the lot--and me with three ten-bits in pocket.
Stork
was going to front the cash,
and earn half the profit, fair enough. But the rush-money and bonus
was brighter." He shook his head. "So, Jethri Gobelyn, you can
learn from my mistake--and I'm hopeful I'll do the
same."

"Four-on-one," Jethri said, mind a-buzz with
the circumstance, so he forgot he was just a 'prentice, talking to
a full Trader. "Do you have a paper with the guarantee spelled
out?"

"I got better than that," Sirge Milton said.
"I got his card." He turned his head, smiling at the bartender.
"Thanks, Nance."

"No problem," she returned. "You got a
Liaden's card? Really? Can I see?"

The man looked uneasy. "It's not the kind of
thing you flash around."

"Aw, c'mon, Sirge--I never seen one."

Jethri could appreciate her curiosity: he
was half agog, himself. A Liaden's card was as good as his name,
and a Liaden's name, according to Great-Grand-Captain Larance, was
his dearest possession.

"Well," Sirge said. He glanced around, but
the other patrons seemed well-involved in their own various
businesses. "OK."

He reached into his pouch and pulled out a
flat, creamy rectangle, holding it face up between the three of
them.

"Ooh," Nance said. "What's it say?"

Jethri frowned at the lettering. It was a
more ornate form of the Liaden alphabet he had laboriously taught
himself off the library files, but not at all unreadable.

"Norn ven'Deelin," he said, hoping he had
the pronunciation of the name right. "Master of Trade."

"Right you are," said Sirge, nodding. "And
this here--" he rubbed his thumb over the graphic of a rabbit
silhouetted against a full moon--"is the sign for his Clan.
Ixin."

"Oh," Nance said again, then turned to
answer a hail from up-bar. Sirge slipped the card away and Jethri
took another sip of beer, mind racing. A four-on-one return,
guaranteed by a Master Trader's card? It was possible. Jethri had
seen the rabbit-and-moon sign on a land-barge that very day. And
Sirge Milton was going to collect tomorrow mid-day. Jethri thought
he was beginning to see a way to buy into a bit of profit,
himself.

"I have a cantra to lend," he said, setting
the schooner aside.

Sirge Milton shook his head. "Nah--I
appreciate it, Jethri, but I don't take loans. Bad business."

Which, Jethri acknowledged, was exactly what
his uncle would say. He nodded, hoping his face didn't show how
excited he felt.

"I understand. But you have
collateral. How 'bout if I buy
Stork's
share of your Port-deal,
payoff tomorrow mid-day, after you collect from Master
ven'Deelin?"

"Not the way I like to do business," Sirge
said slowly.

Jethri took a careful breath. "We can write
an agreement." The other brightened. "We can, can't we? Make it all
legal and binding. Sure, why not?" He took a swallow of ale and
grinned. "Got paper?"

Gobelyn's Market

"NO, MA'AM," Jethri said as
respectfully as he could, while giving his mother glare-for-glare.
"I'm in no way trying to captain this ship. I just want to know if
the final papers are signed with
Digger
." His jaw muscles felt tight
and he 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."