Canuche was a thoroughly civilized industrial planet, and so the din, the intriguing, not always entirely pleasant odors, the basic strangeness of an alien or primitive mart were missing here, but it was an interesting place for all that.
Findings and setters were settled beside the long rows of loose gems, and next to them stood the stands of those selling finished jewelry. Fabrics and the trimmings, tools, and machines required to turn them into completed products were in another area along with clothing. Food supplies and the equipment to prepare them formed yet another section, and large industrial products, chiefly represented by salespeople supplied with illustrative samples, tapes, and literature, formed a major portion of the complex. Only the prepared food stalls broke the pattern of grouping like with like. They Were scattered throughout the huge field so that patrons would not be forced to leave their areas of interest to find refreshment.
Rael drew in and held a deep breath. The aroma of cooking was everywhere, wonderfully tempting although she had eaten only half an hour before. She wondered how Dane Thorson was responding to those beckoning fingers of scent. He could stow food as if he had cargo holds in both of his legs, and this stuff was real. That alone made even the worst of it infinitely desirable to a space hound.
“Let’s cut past the cloth booths,” she suggested since the lead had been given to her. She had no interest in the finished clothing; Van Rycke already had a full stock of such goods. The fabrics were another matter. Brocades and faux gold and silver cloth rarely failed to interest the wealthier classes and individuals among primitive buyers, and good quality, attractive material could be counted upon to attract attention and customers on most Federation planets, especially when it was blessed with the added allure of being an import. The Queen already had a good supply, but Canuche’s market had been particularly good for textiles on each of her previous visits, and they might well run across something. There were other freighters in port, and some of them might be trying to sell off part of such a cargo.
“Rael! Rael Cofort!”
The woman turned quickly. “Deke!” Her voice dropped.
“Deke Tatarcoff of the Black Hole,” she explained to her companions. “He’s been a rival and a damn good friend of Teague’s for years. Do you mind …”
“Space, no!” Jellico told her. “A Free Trader does not ignore his friends or fail to make the acquaintance of a potential ally.” He also did not neglect an opportunity to size up potential competition.
The Solar Queen party walked over to the covered stand the other spacer had rented to display his wares.
Miceal studied the other Trader. Tatarcoff was short and stocky with a breadth of chest that bespoke some Martian ancestry. His eyes were brown, sharp and steady in their expression. His features were pleasant but well schooled; they would betray little he did not want to have read.
He was doing well, the Solar Queen’s Captain judged by the quality of his uniform and accoutrements and by the thick, three-inch-wide gold luck band circling his left wrist. Just the fact that he had rented an enclosed stall, and a large one at that, was evidence of prosperity.
“What’s Trade’s brightest star doing on Canuche?” Tatarcoff asked when they were in comfortable speaking range.
She laughed. “Put it on freeze, Deke,” she told him. “I’m on my own. The Roving Star’s not here. I’m serving with the Solar Queen. — This is Jellico, Van Rycke, and Thorson. Captain, Cargo-Master, and Cargo-apprentice respectively.”
Even as the introductions were being made, Rael was studying the Trader’s stock. It was mostly amotton, she observed, nicely woven in a variety of pastel solids and stripes well suited to the extremely light fabric.
“You folks interested?” Deke inquired. “I’ll make you a good deal.”
She shook her head. “Sorry, Deke. We’ve got all we need. This is lovely, though. It’ll move well here.”
Well and quickly, she judged. The fabric, a natural fiber from Amon, breathed like a second skin and felt as if it had no weight at all. Those were highly desirable characteristics on a world with summers as blisteringly hot as most of Canuche of Halio had to endure. These bolts were sure to catch the eye of the big garment manufacturers. In point of fact, she was more than certain that a few of their reps were even now evaluating Deke’s store from a discreet distance.
Her eyes drifted over the carefully stacked bolts at the rear of the stand. She fixed suddenly on a patch of intense blue. “Oh,” she breathed unconsciously in pure delight.
Tatarcoff looked at what had caught her attention and smiled. “Leave it to you to spot that. It’s worthy of you, too,” he added as he fetched down the examination length for her party to see. “It suits you considerably better than it probably will whoever finally takes it.”
She nodded her thanks. That was a compliment and a statement of the fabric’s value, not a sales lure. Tatarcoff knew that no Free Trader could afford the likes of this, not for personal use. Even her brother could not have justified that expense.
Rael found herself gazing down at an incredible, seemingly infinite mingling of blues and blue-violets in a shimmering field as soft as a cloud might seem to be in a dream of wonder. “Thornen silk?”
“Aye. One of my tubes gave out, and I had to planet there. I managed to pick this up in exchange for the finest sunstone I’ve ever seen come honestly on a rim market.”
There was no regret in his tone. He would make that expense good twice over when he did sell the bolt. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and if was rare.
Thorne of Brandine had given rise to a highly advanced human population independently of Terran seeding. Their planet-wide society had been pre-space when discovered and was still basically anti-mech, but it was complex, well developed, and heavily oriented toward their version of Trade. As befitted such a populace, they were ruled by a network of hereditary merchant princes owing ultimate allegiance to an official they called the Doge.
They also had very little liking for the presence of offworlders and less still for alien ways. They permitted the existence of a full spaceport to serve as a refuge for ships coming into trouble in the nearby starlanes, but they had only minimal intercourse with spacers, visitors or those running the complex. The planet was completely self-sufficient and preferred to remain so.
The rulers had a good eye for business, that notwithstanding, and they fully appreciated the value of their luxury goods, particularly their textiles. They would permit no steady trade that might grow too important, too essential to their economy, but they made occasional sales to keep Federation markets aware of their products and hungry for them. Always, they worked with individual Free Traders rather than Company ships and absolutely refused to accept any off-world agreements that would limit their choice of markets. Because their decision whether to trade among the stars or sell to their own kind was completely free and because their products were so eminently desirable, they had the power to dictate their will in the matter.
Neither Deke nor any other independent freighter Captain complained about that even if it did mean that the surplanetary merchants held a fully charged blaster in their dealings with off-worlders. Without that liberty of action, no Free Trader would ever get a crack at any of those prize cargoes. The Companies would have Thorne of Brandine locked in tighter than any space seal.
The woman sighed with regret as Tatarcoff started to fold the length again. She stole a glance at Van Rycke and saw the same hunger on him. He, too, longed to have the beautiful cloth and had no love for the reason that decreed that the Queen could not afford to sink that much capital into what was in actuality a single item, one that, given their current plans, would be singularly hard for them to place if they did acquire it.
“Good fortune with it, Deke,” she said sincerely, “though I think you’ll be sorry to see it go. I know I would be.”
“So I shall,” he admitted. “It won’t be for a while, at least. This won’t move until I planet on Hedon again. I’m not letting it go for less than it’s worth.”
Van Rycke’s brow raised. “There’re credits enough right here. Any of the major industrialists could take that bolt.”
“They could, but they won’t, not that lot. — You’ve never been on Canuche before?”
“No. The Queen’s pretty much new to this Sector apart from the Trewsworld-Riginni mail run.”
“Well, the veeps here aren’t old money or flying on school prestige and secondhand knowledge. Nearly every one of them came up through the ranks in his particular industry or via the prospector’s route. They’re capable, tough, and, since they’ve earned them the hard way, they appreciate the value of their credits. They may like luxury and its brag value as much as the next one, but reason rules, and it’d just about take a supernova on their office desks to get them to step beyond its bounds for an extravagant toy like this.”