Galatzi Trade Read online

  "Centosfour?" she asked, making it one word.

  I shook my head. "The star is called Centos. It is the fourth planet." I gave a very brief language lesson, four meaning four.

  Again she spoke rapidly. This time Chaladine said, "She understands if you speak carefully."

  And so Sartine asked again, saying each word slowly. "Why are you here?"

  "My people seek an alliance," I said. I didn't mention The Empire. She wouldn't understand.

  "An alliance. With Sudden."

  "With all of Talmon," I replied.

  She paused very briefly before responding. "I see. You are alone?"

  "She is alone, and she is not alone," Baardorid explained. "She comes with friends."

  "Alone, but not alone," Sartine echoed. Sartine stared at me. It was uncanny. She was so petite, so incredibly petite, but I detected an intense fire inside her, even as little as I knew her, I could see her inner fire.

  Her eyes dropped to my tablet. "Your..." She struggled to say "computer".

  "Computer tablet," I said. "Or just tablet."

  "Your tablet," she said. "What does it do?"

  "It talks!" offered Margotain from the other end of the table. They were the first words I'd heard since she had been introduced. "And it shows moving paintings." She spoke quickly, and I only understood because they had all been so amazed at the moving paintings, repeating the phrase so often.

  "But we don't understand the words," Rordano added. "It speaks in the language of Centos Four."

  "Would you like to see?" I offered.

  "Yes," she said. But she frowned. "Not now." She looked at Baardorid. "We must resolve our galatzi." She moved back to her seat, but she didn't settle into it. Instead she looked across the table at Baardorid, speaking too quickly for me to understand. The two spoke back and forth for only a minute or two. And then he leaned back.

  "Agreed," he said clearly.

  "And agreed," Sartine said. She smiled; she smiled broadly.

  And then she did something that wasn't quite universal across all the planets of man, but was nearly so. She reached across the table and clasped hands with Baardorid. And then she clasped with Valtine.

  Everyone then rose from the table, with me scrambling to my feet alongside Chaladine, but at first, only Sartine left her place. She moved to our end of the table and leaned across the table to clasp hands with Chaladine. And then she looked at me.

  She smiled again, speaking slowly. "Our customs are not your customs."

  "Some are," I said. "Some are not."

  She offered her hand. "Is this a custom we share?"

  "It is," I said, taking her hand.

  Her smile broadened; her grip lingered. So did mine.

  "Would you say your name again?" she asked.

  "Cecilia Grace," I said slowly. "Grace is my family name and Cecilia my personal name."

  "And what daughter are you that your name ends in -lia?"

  "Amongst my people, we do not name our children as you do. I have a younger sister."

  She released my hand, and I thought perhaps, as carefully as I schooled my features, she saw my disappointment. She gestured to my tablet. "Do you have paintings of your sister?"

  "I do," I said. I didn't mention that I also had pictures of my nephew, my great nieces, or my own children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. The Talmonese refused to believe I was old enough to have grown children, much less grown grandchildren with children of their own.

  "Well then," she said. "Tonight there is to be a-" and she used a word I didn't know.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I do not know that last word."

  She repeated it, and I nodded.

  From beside me, Chaladine explained. I could understand her accent more easily, anyway. "It is a party. There will be music and dancing."

  "Do you dance our dances?" Sartine asked.

  The Talmonese had two overall styles of dance. Each of those, of course, could be broken into far more styles. In the first overall style, called Ramarti, the dances were carefully choreographed. The other style was called Samarti, and was a lead/follow dance with proscribed steps, but the leader could order the steps as she found most pleasing.

  "Chaladine has taught me Samarti," I said. "But only the most simple of styles."

  Chaladine spoke quickly, far too quickly for me to understand, but I understood enough to know she was explaining further.

  Sartine turned back to me. She spoke simply, as one might to a child. "Tonight you will come. You will bring your tablet. You will show me these moving paintings. And we will dance."

  I smiled. "If I am invited, I will come."

  "You are invited," Baardorid said.

  "I look forward to it," I said.

  * * * *

  Sudden was much like I imagine a town was like in Medieval Earth, but far, far cleaner. The people understood sanitation and disease, although over years, the original devices of medicine had long worn out or broken. But they made good, cleansing soap and had an ingenious plumbing system to deliver water. There was a sewage system, and while it wasn't up to modern standards, it could have been worse.

  There was no surrounding wall; it wasn't a feudal society on an already overpopulated planet, dominated by conquest. And so, when I say that Baardorid's family lived in a castle, do not assume I mean a defensive structure meant to withstand a siege. I should really call it a large manor home, but that didn't fully do it justice.

  I didn't understand how it could be as big as it was, but Chaladine explained it simply. "Every vendart adds to the home. And there have been a great many vendarti."

  My delegation didn't live in the castle. The Empire had bought a large swath of land on the south side of town, paying for the purchase with a few crates of simple tools. It had been a good trade for both sides. The tools were high quality, and so the Talmonese were pleased. But anywhere else, and the tools that had been exchanged wouldn't have purchased one tenth of the land.

  But the Talmonese still had ample land, and the Empire could make tools. And so it was a good trade.

  We had not yet introduced other technology, and we would be careful when we did. The Talmonese were in awe of the few electronics we used, and they were coveted. But we had been very careful to retain control; they couldn't have recharged our devices, anyway. They literally had no means of producing electricity.

  Solar power generation would undoubtedly be amongst the first things we would give them, but it had to be done carefully. Every planet was different, and so what had been done elsewhere wasn't necessarily the right choice for Talmon.

  So, once Sartine and her delegation had left the meeting, Baardorid made sure I knew I was to attend the dance, along with my own small delegation. "This is a formal event," he explained carefully. "You should dress as you did when you first arrived to Talmon."

  We had all taken to dressing in Talmonese style, attempting to fit in and grow more accustomed to the culture. We wore a lot of simple cotton and wool, although we had also acquired formal clothing for the few formal events we had attended.

  "We were not dressed in formal clothing when we arrived," I explained. "We dressed in our business clothing. But we have formal clothing from our homes. Which would you prefer?"

  He smiled. "That is even better. I did not want you to dress in your Talmonese clothing."

  "You want everyone to know we are not Talmonese."

  He nodded. "Yes. Thank you."

  And so I hurried back to my office, sending messages to my staff to meet me there. The imperial grounds held a collection of small homes for each of us as well as a building we referred to as the embassy. As embassies go, it was a modest structure, but there were offices for each of us, two large conference rooms, and several large rooms we could use for our own entertaining.

  We had hosted a few dinners and even a dance of our own. The Talmonese had been awed.

  As intended.

  While we called the building the embassy, my title was n
ot ambassador. The Empire did not yet have a formal agreement with the Talmonese. I was an envoy without the trappings of an ambassador. And while I was listed as the mission commander, everyone on the delegation had her own area of expertise, and it was exceedingly rare that I would interfere and even less common to give orders. Instead, I was more likely to act as a coordinator of information.

  But still, when I summoned the staff, they came.

  There were, in all, nine of us. Madge and Jim Gleason were the staff biologists. Madge was also our doctor, with Jim acting as medic. Sunny Wilson was, through and through, a businesswoman, and at something over two hundred years old, the eldest of us on the mission. But while she was a businesswoman, she was far too blunt to serve as a diplomat, and she knew it. So she worked through her assistant, Danver Leed. Prior to the trip, they had both intentionally adjusted their apparent ages so that Sunny appeared to be in her younger twenties while Danver had kept his apparent age at nearly forty. In reality, he was a young sixty-seven and amongst the younger members of the team. Erica Mickem was a sociologist. She was going to be fascinated by the galatzi tradition. Her partner, Mallory, was the staff psychologist. Finally, the two youngest members of our team, and still showing their natural ages of upper twenties, were Aston Danes and Blaine Jerrod. Aston and Blaine were assistants to whomever needed them. They were both brilliant and could make or fix practically anything. But they were just... so... young!

  Everyone was already waiting by the time I arrived, although Blaine arrived seconds before I did, breathless and freshly scrubbed. "Sorry, Cecilia," he said. "There was a clog."

  I didn't want to know. I knew if he was working on it, it would be fixed.

  I got right to it, explaining how I had spent my morning. I glossed over some of the details, but Erica's ears perked up, and I knew she'd want details later. "And so," I finalized, "we're all expected in our home world formal attire. I shouldn't have to remind you, but I will. We are here to learn about them, not teach them too much about us."

  That was a frequent speech, and they hadn't truly required a reminder.

  "Are we taking our own transport?" Madge asked. "I can't sit a horse in my gown."

  "Neither can I," I said. "But no. Baardorid is sending carriages."

  I answered a few more questions then dismissed them. As I expected, Erica lingered. I laughed. "I'll shoot you my notes," I told her, "but you should talk to Chaladine. I'd do it soon, though. I think Baardorid agreed to trade her."

  "You know," Erica said, "this isn't that rare a custom. On Halfway, it is customary to kidnap a potential bride, but on Rorik's World, it is the grooms that are taken as tournament prizes."

  "Yes, but what do they do on more civilized planets?" I asked.

  She smiled. "This planet is quite civilized. But perhaps you mean more industrialized?" I nodded. "Well, it's not a planet wide custom, but on Farlandia, there's a region of the southern continent where the word for bride and slave are the same word."

  "That's barbarous!"

  "Not really. The custom is for the brides to negotiate their own selling price, and they are tough negotiators. Their goal is to pauper their future groom."

  "That seems contrary to self interest. Wouldn't you want to be well taken care of?"

  "It would seem like that," she said. "My point is simple. We can't always understand the customs of another culture."

  I knew that.

  "It sounds like Chaladine could have objected if she didn't wish to be traded in this fashion," Erica continued. "And Baardorid loves his children. You know that. He wouldn't let them be taken into a bad situation, especially not one against their will."

  "It sure didn't look like they had much say in the matter."

  "Do you believe no one knew the nature of the conversation before everyone sat down?" she asked. "I rather suspect Baardorid knew everyone's thoughts long before negotiations appeared to begin."

  I thought about it. No one had seemed surprised by the conversation, except me. "Maybe you're right," I admitted. "I should know not to cast judgment."

  "Well, I'll talk to Chaladine or even Rordano," she said. She grinned. "He's easy to squeeze for information."

  By that she meant that Rordano thought Erica and Mallory walked on water, and they had him wrapped around their fingers. I had talked to Chaladine about that once, too. "He does know they're never going to invite him into their exclusive relationship, doesn't he?"

  She had laughed. "He knows. But he is young, and they are both very beautiful and very sophisticated. He will outgrow this fascination the moment someone more appropriate crooks her finger in his direction."

  "Boys," I said.

  She laughed again. "Yes. Boys. So easily led by their noses." Then she laughed a third time. "Or perhaps by a body party somewhat closer to the ground."

  * * * *

  Fashion throughout human space was a vast and varied thing. We all descended from old Earth cultures, but even back then, Earth was not homogenous. There were great regional differences, and even differences within a particular region. But then we all dispersed, and fashion became dictated by a mix of origination and local conditions. Those who settled a hot, humid world would never dress in a fashion similar to those living on a colder planet. Some planets were entirely vegan, allowing for absolutely no exploitation of any animals for any purpose. Other planets, especially the less technologically advanced planets, were heavily populated by hunter-gatherers, and animal skins featured prominently in their clothing. Some planets had strict nudity taboos; others were quite casual about nudity and didn't understand the big deal. Some planets kept a clear distinction between fashions suitable for men and women, while others had no such distinction.

  Centos Four, my home world, was somewhere in between all of these extremes. We were more chaste than some, less chaste than others. In day-to-day clothing, what was important was that you were tasteful. Other than that, wear what you wanted. Men and women alike could be found in a wide variety of fashions. Dresses didn't look good on most men, and so you wouldn't see that, but you would often see men in skirts, especially if they had particularly good legs. Skirts could be formal, whereas no one had ever invented a pair of short pants that were ever considered anything other than exceedingly casual.

  I'd seen pictures of men in kilts from ancient Earth, and so I knew this wasn't an invention of Centos Four, although our styles were far more varied than the photos of kilts I had seen.

  In formal clothing, things became more, well, formal. As the formality of the event increased, the variety of fashions available to men remained nearly as wide as for less formal events, but anything resembling pants on a woman disappeared.

  My formal clothing was a gown, and judging by the pictures I had seen from ancient earth, it wasn't that different than a gown one might have seen any time in the hundreds of years prior to the great exodus.

  Well, they didn't have the materials we had on Centos Four. They didn't have smart material, readily programmed to take on a wide variety of appearances.

  I cleaned, primped, and dressed carefully. I spent the entire time mulling my choices for the gown. In the end, I kept it simple. We weren't here to flash our technology, after all. Nor was this reception in our honor, and I should not dress as if I wished to be the center of attention. I programmed the dress with a V-shaped neck, open in back with laces appearing to hold everything together, then set the color to a deep, forest green. It would be a unique look, but should not be considered garish or overly striking. I considered the hemline, then programmed it to a modest length, allowing my ankles to just peek out below the hem. Then I decided that was boring and gave it an asymmetrical cut, just above my right knee but descending along my left side to brush against my ankle.

  It felt odd as the clothing adjusted its fit.

  I tested a few simple dance moves, made a few more adjustments, and decided I liked it. Then I frowned at my chest, making small adjustments to disguise myself just a little more.<
br />
  Ah, perfect.

  * * * *

  Mallory took one look at me and frowned. "You're not going to catch yourself a good man if you don't display your assets."

  Erica smacked her arm with the back of her hand. "You're terrible."

  "Come on, Cecilia," Mallory said with a grin. "Give us a little more eye candy." She lowered her eyes slightly, and I knew she wanted me to open the neckline a little deeper, or perhaps a lot deeper.

  Erica smacked her again.

  Mallory could be very professional in her official duties, but she loved pushing Erica's buttons, and she was exceedingly good at it. She should be; they'd been together for sixty-two years.

  "How is it the two of you have survived so long if that's how you act in front of her?" Jim asked.

  "She says I can look at whomever I want," Mallory said. "But if I ever, even once, touch anyone else, she'll kill me and feed me to the screamen back home."

  "What's a screamen?" Blaine asked.

  "They're about this big," Erica said, holding her hands about a half meter apart. "They have eight legs, fangs like this, and-"

  This time, Mallory smacked Erica. "Ignore her. It's a fish." She held her fingers up. "Small, but voracious. If she drops me into a tank of them, they'll pick me clean in minutes."

  "They wouldn't," Erica said. "They'd get indigestion after two bites."

  "I love you, too," Mallory said before turning back to me. "Come on, Cecilia. You're our fearless leader. How can we dress like this-" she gestured to Erica, who looked quite good in her own gown, showing off far more of her own skin than I showed of mine, "if you're going to look like a prude."

  "I think she looks fine," Erica replied. "Leave her alone. You know how they are on Centos Four."

  I muttered something about a lack of respect and awfully childish behavior, but they both laughed. "Jim," Erica said, "we're still together because we know how to laugh at the world."

  I thought that was a healthy attitude. Maybe someday they'd teach me.

  * * * *

  When the various colonies slipped into less advanced science and industry, there was only one thing that remained a constant.