A Deal in the Amrayn Market
A tale in the Solar Trials universe of @professorhephaestus, alias of Ngozi Ukazu. (Am I tagging this right?)
Increscent Neptune loomed ever to the southeast, 8 degrees wide, above the spaceport that cradled the Venus High Flyer, the interplanetary liner the three Humans had arrived on. They stalked under the arch of the Dead Beast Gate. They were wary, for Amrayn Market has a shady reputation for an Aphran market, and that is a most shady reputation indeed.
Hovering in the air was the wailing reedy music of a tampira, in the mode of longing and loss. Bitter incense drifted from the door of a run-down temple of the Worm God, pacing the Humans as it was swept slowly down the street in the cool poleward trade wind. Next to the temple door was a prostrate figure sprawled on the ground, its face stretched in the rictus of a becc-dream, the gnawed remains of the narcotic root itself clutched in its hand. Whether it had sold its robes for the root, or someone had looted its clothing, mattered not at all to anyone.
Being warned, the Humans kept to the side of what passed for a street in this quarter, keeping to the tired sunlight that reached Triton. Only vague cloaked figures could be made out in doorways. One hissed when it had judged that a Human looked too long. Curiosity was a deadly crime in Amrayn Market.
The Human on the right, the one with some facial fur, started when he felt his pocket twitch. He leaned casually towards the leader in the center, murmuring in a Human tongue, "The first-gold resonator just went off".
The three shambled to a halt in the street, casting their eyes about as if casually. The furred one gestured slightly to the store they'd just passed. The old carved pillars of flame-tree arched over, holding the sign The Goods of the Third Merl Clan.
Parting the curtain of leather strips (what leather, a prudent mind would not contemplate), they carefully looked and stepped within. There was a small room with various statues and amulets behind translucent panels of utworla sandfish skin. One stood forth, evidently the shopkeeper. The three Humans had enough Trade Patois to be able to converse.
The first words were customary, the shopkeeper praising its rare and priceless (yet affordable) goods, the Human sneering at the evident common and shoddy quality. The leader glanced again at the befurred one, who nodded slightly.
The leader then commented, "It is beyond hope that you have something worth seeing. We might be interested in something … purer and more shining than this."
A shopkeeper needed to be skilled in interpreting vague hints. It spoke sharply to a collared servant to mind the main shop while it went through another curtain to a hidden chamber. Not long after, it called the Humans to come within.
There was a small table covered with deep purple-ultraviolet cloth. There was a centerpiece frame holding an inscribed shining yellow disk. Even the Humans could tell that it appeared to be the plate of an astrolabe.
The hairy one palmed the little detector and reached towards the disk. The shopkeeper clicked its teeth and gestured sharply with its wand. "It is the custom of the market. Goods are not touched without payment."
The furred one withdrew his hand with an affronted word, though he was fully satisfied. He glanced at the leader again and again nodded slightly. The detector had gone off strongly as it approached the disk.
The haggling did not last too long, considering. They settled on a price of 60 Venusian trade talents. The sequence of actions was a sticking point: neither was willing to hand over what they had before getting what they wanted. The Humans finally gave way. The leader offered the 60 talents on the spot for the disk, but warned, "We have heard that Aphrans have … loose ideas of justice, and the art of vendetta. Humans too have our own ideas about justice, but we prefer quick, large-scale destruction. We can afford to do this because we have the power to obliterate those who cheat us."
The shopkeeper bowed its body in acquiescence, for tales of Humans violence and wars had reached even the outer system. It began to draw up a receipt. "Shall I indicate the price as 95 talents?"
The Humans bristled. "Do you think to charge us more than you have agreed?!"
The shopkeeper made the gestures of humor and placation. "The honored Humans misunderstand my halting words. The price you will pay me remains 60 talents. The receipt that you may use to be reimbursed will say 95 talents. Humans coming into danger are surely not paid enough for their work?"
The leader gathered the two others with his eyes, and got their eager agreement. Even without that, it was a good deal. Their … organization would at last get a supply of first gold without the knowledge of the damnable meddling Martians, to experiment with … and maybe someday to surprise and displease the Martians.
The shopkeeper drew up, with fine brush strokes the receipt on utworla belly skin, and carefully stamped on the green-infrared ink of a seal. "This is the sigil of the Third Merl Clan. You may compare it with the design above the door."
The shopkeeper asked whether the Humans had a shield bag, to keep anyone inquisitive from prying into their matters and perhaps interfering. The Humans had already been instructed about the prudence of shielding their property.
The Humans continued further into the market, to not draw too much attention to this shop. The shopkeeper curtly instructed the collared one to keep an eye on the place while it went up the stairs to the living quarters.
The shopkeeper curled inwards to the shop owner and spoke, "My honored Aunt-Husband. I advise you to get a message to Third Ortho-Cousin Dlokenar, suggesting that it betray us and our shop to Omerronar and his subbranch of the clan. And make sure to get a cut of the bribe."
The shop owner raised up its bulk and said, with silky outrage, "Have the mind-worms eaten your soul?! This is a fine location of great value! You would have us lose our living and our goods, and worse, to our hated High Leg rivals!"
The shopkeeper laughed in the Aphran way and explained what had happened below. It laid particular emphasis on the Human threat of overwhelming power. And also mentioned selling them a decorative disk (brass plated in mundane gold), which had been sitting atop a framework, itself sitting on top of the good purple-ultraviolet cloth, which was sitting on top of the first-gold bracelets that the shopkeeper had slipped off its wrists while setting up the table.
The shop owner admitted awe. "It is so good a location and so valuable a shop -- it is too much to hope that Omerronar itself will run the shop and be present when the Humans and their weapons arrive. Regardless, they will still suffer a great loss, in bribing Third Ortho-Cousin Dlokenar and then losing goods and people here."
The Aunt-Husband caressed the arm of the shopkeeper. "Ah, every day I rejoice that I claimed you from the ruins of your family campound! Now let us prepare swiftly, before the Humans have a chance to check the bag!"
(Author notes: lots of Old Solar System planetary romances had a disreputable decadent Orientalist setting for some of the action, like this. On the other hand, Solar Trials feels more optimistic & clean than this, more Original Star Trek than Star Wars, so if the mood here seems wrong, please let me know.)
