Balance of Trade (53 page)

Captain ter'Astin bowed, hand over heart.

"Grig," Jethri said, quick, before his cousin thought of another way to provoke sarcasm out of the Scout. "What're you doin' here? Where's Seeli? How's Khat? Uncle Paitor—"

Grig held up a hand, showing palm. "Easy. Easy. Everybody's fine. You'll want to know that Seeli's increasing. She sends her love. Khat sends hers, too. Paitor tells me to tell you stay outta trouble, but I got a feeling he's too late with that one."

"I think he might be," Jethri said, suddenly and grimly recalled to the looming loss of six kais-six. He turned to glare at Captain ter'Astin, who raised an eyebrow and made a show of displaying empty palms.

"Tell me you did not know that this pod was filled with Old Technology, Jethri Gobelyn."

"He did not," said Tan Sim, speaking Terran as if it were Liaden, only much slower. He used his chin to point at the pod. "I find pod. I find manifest. Ore. Art metal. Jewels." He paused, bruised face showing grim. "I buy pod. Jeth Ree buys contents. Partners, we are."

"I see," said the Scout. "And neither one of you had the skill to read the image and deduce the presence of Old Technology?"

"Prolly neither one did," Grig said, matter-of-factly. "If the paper said ore, they'd've naturally thought the spot that caught my attention—and Raisy's—was ore. 'Course, I expect us three," he continued to the Scout's speculative eyes, "seen a lot more Old Tech than either of the youngers, there. You gonna get a blanket over that, by the way? 'Cause, if you're not, I'll beg your pardon, but me, my sister, our cousin and our cousin's partner have an urgent need to lift ship."

"As unstable as that?" Captain ter'Astin pulled a comm from his belt and thumbed it on. "ter'Astin. Dispatch a team and a containment field to Moon Mountain Refit Shop. Level three." He thumbed the device off and slipped it away.

"'preciate it," Grig said, giving him a nod. He looked to Jethri. "You seen them distortions in the scan you uploaded—kinda cloudy and diffuse?"

"Yes," Jethri and Tan Sim said in unison.

"Right. That's fractin sign. Non-industrial quantities of timonium being released as the tech degrades. Now, that blob—it does look convincing for ore, and the ghosts of space know I'd've been tempted to read it that way myself, if I was holding a paper that said ore. But what it is—it's one of the bigger pieces going unstable, releasing more timonium—and then more. That's why we gotta get a blanket over it right now. If it goes without being contained, it could leave a sizeable hole in this planet."

"Is that fact or fancy?" asked the Scout.

Grig looked at him. "Well, now, I'd say fact. My sister, there, she'd argue the point. You want to open the hatch, and we'll take a look at what else you got in there?"

"An interesting proposition," said Captain ter'Astin. "I wonder why I should."

"Grig an' me're the closest you're going to find to experts on the Old Tech," Raisy said, surprisingly. "There's better, mind you, but I don't think Uncle'd be much interested in talking with you—no offense intended.

"Now, me, I'd ask day rate, if we was gonna do the thing right and clear the stuff for you. But a quick looksee—" She shrugged. "I'm curious. Grig's curious. The boys here are curious—and you're curious. Where's the harm?"

"A compelling argument, I allow." The Scout stepped forward, grabbed the emergency stick with one hand and hauled it down.

The hatch rose, screaming in agony. Tan Sim swept forward and came up with Jethri's portable, blue-white beam aimed inside.

"All right." The five of them stepped close, staring into the depths of the pod.

"That big one over against the far wall," Raisy said. "That'll be your unstable. Look at all the busted stasis boxes around it." She shook her head.

"Now,
that
one," Grig said, pointing to a device that looked peculiarly coffin-like. "That one I'd recommend you hold for study. I don't say it ain't treacherous. All Befores are treacherous. But that particular one can heal terrible wounds."

The Scout looked at him. "How do you know that?"

"Well, now, that's a story. Happens our point man had made a lucky guess or he really
could
read some of them pages from 'way back, like he claimed. No matter the how of it, we had the location of a significant cache. Biggest any of us, 'cept Arin an' maybe Uncle, had ever seen. Trouble is, we was about a half-Jump ahead of a couple field Scouts who'd taken it into their heads that this particular world I'm talking about was interdicted an' so we needed to work fast." He shook his head.

"That meant we had to use every pair of hands we could get, whether they was attached to a trained brain or not. Which is how we happened to have the kid doing his own packing. Now, he'd been told over and over not to just turn the Befores on, or ask them to do things, or think about them doing things, or listen to them, if they started to talk in the space between his ears where his brain ought've been. He'd
been
told, but he was a kid, and a slow learner, besides."

"So he picked up a piece of the Old Tech and it killed him," the Scout said, softly.

"Good guess," Raisy said. "But it didn't kill him—though no question he'd've died of the damage. Chewed his left hand to bits, fingertips to elbow. Happened so fast, he didn't have time to scream, did so much damage, he dropped into shock. It was Arin who shoved him in the—we call 'em duplicating units. Don't know what gave him the idea it'd do a bit of good, but as it turned out, it was the best thing he could've done.

"By the time we'd gotten everything else loaded, the machine chimed, lid popped and there was the kid, a little groggy, with two good hands on him and not a drop of blood on his coveralls."

Scout Captain ter'Astin frankly stared. "It regenerated the hand and arm?"

"Good as new," Grig said. "Never given me a day's worth o'trouble. Though here's a funny thing." He held his hands up, palms out toward the Scout. "The fingerprints on the left hand're the same as the fingerprints on the right, just reversed." He flexed his fingers and let both hands drop to his side. "Works fine, though."

"So I see. A most fortunate circumstance."

"Nothing fortunate about it. Arin told us later he'd read that the duplicating machines could do more than what we'd been using them for. He really could read them old pages—you ever seen any? Metal, but soft and flexible, like paper, with the characters etched in, permanent."

"There are one or two specimens at Headquarters," the Scout said. "Though I admit that deciphering them has thus far proven beyond our ability. Arin Gobelyn was an exceptional man."

"Well, he'd been at it a long time," Grig said, with the air of one being fair. "He'd had a key, but I'm thinking that got spaced early, right after Iza come back from identifying the body."

"Or he may have left an abbreviated form of it in the book he had made for his heir."

"What!" Jethri squawked, shaken out of a state of blank amazement. "My journal?"

Scout Captain ter'Astin turned stern black eyes upon him. "Indeed. Your journal. You say you did not know it?"

"There were some odd—" He stopped, seeing the pages in memory; his kid notes and next to them, the various weird squiggles of his father's doodling. . . .

"Not until this minute did I realize, sir," he said, unconsciously dropping into Liaden. "Truly, as I had told you, I had been without the book and other remembrances of my father for many years, having only recently been reunited with them."

"Boy didn't get his training," Grig said softly. "Arin died too soon."

"You didn't train him?" the Scout asked. Grig shook his head.

"If Iza—his mam, you understand—had even thought I was, the boy was forfeit—me, too, more than sure, though Raisy'll tell you that's no loss."

"No such thing," she said, stoutly.

"Ah," said the Scout. "I wonder, this planet where you were a half-Jump ahead of a pair of field Scouts intent upon enforcing the interdiction—would that have been in the Nafrey Sector?"

Grig and Raisy exchanged a glance.

"Stuff's long gone," Grig said.

"True," Raisy answered. She nodded to the Scout. "You got a good mind for detail."

"I thank you. And you, if I may say so, are a great deal older than you look."

"That's because we got hold of some duplicating machines early," Raisy said, "and kept on reproducing the pure stock. We breed, like Grig here gone and done, the very next generation goes back to default."

"That's what was driving Arin to find out how to manufacture good fractins," Grig said. "The machines are going unstable, and he wanted his boy to be able to continue the line."

The Scout inclined his head. "I understand. However, the Old Technology is forbidden."

Jethri cleared his throat. Four pair of eyes turned to him, Tan Sim's looking more bewildered than anything else.

"I'm a—clone?" he asked, very calmly. He used his chin to point at the machine Grig had recommended for study. "I was born from one of those?"

"Almost," said Grig. "I'm sorry to tell you that Arin wasn't entirely straight with Iza, Jeth. I'll give you the details when we're private." He looked at the Scout. "Family business."

The Scout bowed.

"Captain ter'Astin?" A voice inquired. They all turned.

Four Scouts stood in the cramped bay behind them, equipment packs on their backs. The lead Scout saluted. "Containment Unit reporting, sir."

"Good." The Scout waved his hand at the big piece Raisy had identified as unstable. "There is your target. We will remove ourselves until the containment is complete. After. . . ." He considered Grig and Raisy thoughtfully.

"After, I believe I would like to pay the pair of you day-rate, and sit at your feet while you
clear
the Old Technology in this pod."

Raisy shrugged. "All right by me." She sent a look and a grin to Jethri, who couldn't help but grin back. "We're fast, cousin. Couple days from now, the only thing you'll have to worry you is how to profitably place what's left."

AFTER THE BEFORES were cleared and cleared out, and the broken stasis boxes sold for scrap, there'd been enough in the contents of the good boxes to return the initial investment, and one kais, three for profit.

"Not a large profit," Trader sig'Lorta commented, appending the information to Jethri's file.

"True," he'd replied. "However, if the coin had stayed in my pocket, I would have realized no profit at all."

His mentor glanced up, gray eyes amused. "The trade is in your bones, Jethri Gobelyn."

In between his assignments for the hall, and their work with the Scout, he spent time with Grig, sometimes with Raisy, though most often not. Family business, family secrets—he was clear he wasn't gettin' it all. Not even close to it all. No need, really.

As Grig said, "You ain't Arin. No need for an Arin now, if there ever was, with the machines going into unstable—but you're worried about the other. And you
ain't
Arin, Jeth, no more'n I'm Raisy. We're each our own self, give or take a shared gene-set. Like identical twins, if you know any.

"I will say Arin'd be proud of the way you're going about setting yourself up, building your credentials and associations. He
would
be proud if he was here for it—just like I'm proud. But—here's another secret for you—he'd've never gone at it like you done. Arin was smart about lots of things, but human hearts wasn't among 'em. I'm thinkin' it'll prove that your way's the better one."

"What was he trying to do with the fractins?" Jethri'd asked. "Remember how we built the patterns, an'—"

"Right." Grig nodded. "Remember what I told you? How all the fractins was dying at once? Duplicating units are powered by fractins, same as your weather maker, and that tutoring stick went bad on you in the exhibit hall. Arin, he had this theory, that if you put fractins together in certain ways—certain patterns—they'd know—and could do—some interesting things. So, he—"

"
WildeToad
," Jethri whispered, and Grig shot him a Look.

"What do you think you know about
Toad
, Jeth?"

"Nothing more than what's on the sheet of printout my father used to shim my nameplate," he said. "
Breaking clay
, it said.
Arming
and
going down
. If the clay was fractins, arranged in a certain pattern. . . "

"Then you got most of it," Grig interrupted. "Arin'd worked out what he figured to be an auxiliary piloting computer.
Toad's
captain agreed to give it a test run. Looked good, at first, the fractin-brain merged in with ship's comp. What they didn't figure on was ship's comp getting overridden by the fractins. Suddenly
Toad
was out of the control of her crew. Captain's key was worse than useless. The fractin-brain, it locked in a set of coordinates nobody'd ever seen, and started the sequence to arm the cannons. . . "

"They broke the fractins, but they still didn't get the ship back," Jethri said, guessing. "So, they crashed it, rather than risk whatever had their comp getting loose."

Grig sighed. "Near enough." He paused, then said, real quiet.

"It was a bad business. So bad Arin stopped trying to figure out the thinking patterns—for awhile. But he had to go back to it, Jeth. See, he was trying to find the pattern that would produce the fractin-brain that would tell him how to make more fractins."

He leaned forward to put his hand on Jethri's arm.

"You listen to me, Jethri, if you forget everything else I ever told you. Befores, Old Tech, whatever you want to call it—
you can't trust it
. Nobody knows what they'll do—and sometimes it's worth your life to find out." He sat back with a tired grin. "And that was
before
they started to go unstable."

Jethri glanced down at his palm, the burn nothing more now than a broad red scar.

"I'll remember," he promised.

Eventually, they come around to the reason Grig and Raisy were on Irikwae at all.

"He said
what
?" Jethri demanded. "The trader who bought the pod—my partner?"