Andre Norton - Derelict For Trade

"Can always ask Stotz when he gets back from his stretch at the Starvenger ," Ali said, yawning. "Well, it’s been a long shift for me—I’m for some shut-eye. Night, gentlemen."

Rip demagged his boots and pushed off, following Dane through the outer lock into the tube leading to the access lock to Exchange. They emerged onto a concourse, and Rip looked around with interest as Dane

pointed out a few of the sights. He listened with part of his attention; the rest of his mind was involved with imagining what it might be like to design and build one of these habitats.

They found an empty bench on a maglev, and the transport zapped them down into the Spin Axis towards the vertical shaft—the hollow core of one of the habitat-spanning towers—that would take them directly to their destination.

"Hey—what’s that?"

Rip’s eye was caught by the sight of what looked like a lush island moving slowly along a beautifully lit tube way up at the North Pole.

"That’s the Movable Feast," Dane said, leaning toward the port. "We’re seeing it change level."

"The Movable Feast? What is it?"

"Just what it sounds like. It’s a kind of restaurant. Well, it is one, but it’s also the center of Exchange. I guess Dr. Cofort knows some weird stories about it."

Dane’s shoulders hunched a little, and Rip tried not to smile. Eventually the big Viking—who had to be about the shyest man Rip had ever met—was going to get used to being within two meters of a beautiful woman without feeling like she was going to have him killed for looking.

Rip said, "So what’s the lure?"

"I don’t know—food’s supposed to be great, but then it’s great in a lot of the eateries. Expensive, that I heard. But then you can just go in and get a bulb of drink. It stops at all the grav levels, which means everyone on Exchange finds it eventually at the grav they like best, and I guess over the centuries it became a kind of safe haven for talk. Nobody causes any trouble there."

"Let’s take a look when we get done, if we have the time," Rip suggested.

Dane gave a nod.

They exchanged a few more comments about the sights Exchange had to offer as the pod sped along. Rip had a lot of questions on his mind, but the captain had expressly forbidden the Queen's crew to discuss anything having to do with the Starvenger where they might be overheard, so he saved them. Besides, he thought as the maglev slowed and he followed Thorson to the exit, it made sense to first see what the officials said. Some of his questions might be answered.

They entered the splendid main garden of the trilateral Trade headquarters, and Rip looked around appreciatively. Soon he was feeling different emotions—a combination of amusement, bemusement, and impatience. He’d thought the others were kidding—or at least exaggerating—about the elaborate manners of the Kanddoyds, until they spent twenty solid minutes (he kept surreptitiously checking his chrono) walking around decorative herbaceous pathways and pausing to exchange smiling compliments with bowing, clicking, humming Kanddoyd functionaries.

"If I understand all this right, all we have to do is find this Prime Facilitator Koytatik and get her word on Starvenger's status," Rip muttered out of the side of his mouth just after the third functionary bade them follow her.

Thorson gave a quick nod. "Right. My guess is she’s busy with someone else, and the Kanddoyds consider it impolite to keep anyone waiting."

Rip fought against a grin. So, lines like those he’d grown up with back on Terra were impolite? He looked around at all the beings walking the pathways, pausing beside fountains, exchanging polite compliments. Maybe the Kanddoyds had a good idea after all. Walking around pleasant gardens seemed a lot more conducive to good moods than inching forward in a long line next to other long lines in a featureless gray building.

But the fifth time Dane had explained that they were expected by Prime Facilitator Koytatik, the latest Kanddoyd functionary, a Kanddoyd male sporting fabulous carapace designs in patterns of red, obsidian, and yellow stones, said, "It would please me the remainder of my days if the honored Terrans would permit me to escort them to the prime facilitator they seek, there to embrace quickly the important business that awaits."

While he talked, he was making all kinds of rhythmic noises. Dane tabbed his belt recorder and made similar noises as he said, "The greatest

pleasure of our day would be provided in following your excellent self to this meeting, O Locutor Telkdidd."

"Then," the locutor said, humming and clacking away, "may I humbly request the Terrans to fall in step with me?"

"We shall do so at once, with pleasure and alacrity," Dane said.

Again Rip felt the impulse to grin. This sounded so unlike the laconic Viking he was used to! But Dane had changed a lot since he first joined the Queen , he thought as once again they started wending their way under vine-decorated archways and past tiled doors. Only Dane’s change had been so gradual, no one had really noticed—any more than one notices oneself changing.

Finally they reached a fine set of doors with a beautiful mosaic depicting a nova. Inside, a splendidly decorated female Kanddoyd greeted them—adding, Rip suspected, five full minutes of compliments to honor Rip’s being along.

Dane responded patiently, his fingers working his belt to make noises that matched those of the facilitator.

Finally she said, "And now I bring myself with glorious emotions to the enabling of your completion of your exalted business. Your estimable colleagues at the Terran Free Trade headquarters have obligingly furnished us with a copy of the quitclaim that the heirs of the Starvenger made upon their ship, duly abandoned after serious illness rapidly overtook their crew. I salute with sympathetic gesture this ill luck." She paused, and the noises she made reminded Rip of the keening praifu-dogs of Ypsilon IV. "But so is life in the remorseless universe, as all beings must agree: one’s loss is another’s benefit, and this time, the benefit goes to the honorable Captain Jellico and his distinguished crew."

Dane grinned, forgetting to make Kanddoyd noises with his belt recorder; he and Rip raised their fists and rapped their knuckles together in the old gesture of triumph.

The facilitator watched, making high chirping sounds and a pleasant series of notes almost like a guitar being plucked in cheery major chords. "Herewith I tender to you the official papers, and the chip whereon your ownership has been duly recorded. Your good captain is now free to acquire items for trade from our splendid markets, and to go forth into successful business ventures in Terran space!" She started to rise, her noises merry and rapid.

Dane took the chip and slid it into his tunic pocket. He bent over the paper, scanning it quickly, then looked up. "Might we beg a few more moments of your time, Prime Facilitator? I have a question."

Her mandibles clacked; Rip suspected the sound indicated surprise.

"Is not the paper in correct Terran ideographs? Is something amiss with the information? Our offices will be desolated if we have effected error—"

"No, no, it looks fine," Dane said hastily. "It’s just that the paper here only lists the names of the former owners— Olben Kayusha and Nim Miscoigne. There’s no communication code or even a world of origin. All it says is that the claim is relinquished, and the official notations to that effect."

"I do not understand." The prime facilitator’s reedy voice dropped, now sounding like a violin slightly out of tune. "Here we have the correct forms, as agreed between our three estimable races in the venerable Concord of Harmony."