Balance of Trade by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Page A
Authors: Steve Miller, Sharon Lee
Tags: Science-Fiction
Ads: Link
sim-po-zium upon Kailipso. The ven'Deelin attends—the ven'Deelin will attend . The crew will be at leave." She moved her shoulders, not quite a Terran shrug, but not quite admiring of Kailipso Station, all the same.
"Don't like Kailipso much?" he ventured, and Gaenor's mouth pinched again before she turned and recommenced marching down the hall.
"It is cold," she said to the empty corridor, and then began to tell him of the latest developments in the novel she was reading. He had to catch up, hoping that she put his delay down to his being somewhat less fit, and not his taking a moment to admire her walk.
Day 65
Standard Year 1118
Kinaveral
BEFORE THEY CLEARED a freewing to fly, Kinaveral Central wanted to be assured that candidate could find her way through a form or six. That done, there were the sims to fly, then a chat with the stable boss, at the end of which a time was named on the morrow when the candidate was to return and actually lift one of Central's precious ships—and an observer—for the final and most telling part of the test.
In between now and then, Khat knew, they'd be checking her number and her ship, and verifying her personals. She'd hoped to have the test lift today, but, there, the stable boss needed to know if the applicant free-wing tended toward sober in the morning.
No problem for the applicant on that approach, Khat thought, walking down the dusty, noisy main street. Not to say that a brew would be unwelcome at the moment. Make that a brew and a handwich, she amended, as her stomach filed notice that the 'mite and crackers she'd fed it for breakfast were long past gone.
Up ahead, she spied the flashing green triangle which was the sign of an eat-and-drinkery, and stretched her legs, grimacing at the protest of overworked muscles. That'll teach you to stint your weight exercise , she scolded herself, and turned into the cool, comfortably dim doorway.
A lightscape over the counter showed a old style fin-ship down on a flat plain, mountains marking the horizon. Beneath, a tag box spelled out the name of the joint: Ship 'n Shore .
There was a scattering of folk at the tables—spacers, mostly—and plenty of room at the counter. It being only herself, Khat swung up onto a stool 'neath the tag box and waved at the barkeep.
"Dark brew and a handwich for a woman in need!"
The keeper grinned, drew the beer and sat it on the counter by her hand. "There's the easy part," he said. "What's your fondness for food? We got local cheese and vegs on fresh bake bread; potmeat on the same; 'mite paste and pickles; side o' fish—"
Khat leveled a finger. "Local cheese without the vegs?"
"We can do it," he promised.
"That's a deal, then. Bring her on."
"Be a sec. Let me know how you find the beer." He moved down counter, still grinning, and Khat picked up the mug.
The beer was cold, which was how she liked it. Bitter, too, and thick. She'd brought the mug down to half-full by the time her handwich arrived, two generous halves sharing a plastic plate with a fistful of saltpretzel.
"Brew's good," Khat said. "I'll want another just like it in not too long."
The keeper smiled, pleased, and put a couple disposable napkins next to the plate. "Just give a yell when you're ready," he said.
She nodded and picked up one of the halves. The unmistakable smell of fresh bake bread hit her nose and her stomach started clamoring. For the next while, she concentrated on settling that issue. The bread was whole grain, brown and nutty; the cheese butter smooth and unexpectedly spicy. Khat finished the first half and the brew, waved the empty mug at the barkeep and started in on the second round.
Couple times, folk from the tables came up to the counter for refills. A crew of three came in from the street and staked out stools at the end of the row. Khat paid none of them particular notice, except to register that they were spacers, and nobody she knew.
At last, the final saltpretzel was gone.
"Don't like Kailipso much?" he ventured, and Gaenor's mouth pinched again before she turned and recommenced marching down the hall.
"It is cold," she said to the empty corridor, and then began to tell him of the latest developments in the novel she was reading. He had to catch up, hoping that she put his delay down to his being somewhat less fit, and not his taking a moment to admire her walk.
Day 65
Standard Year 1118
Kinaveral
BEFORE THEY CLEARED a freewing to fly, Kinaveral Central wanted to be assured that candidate could find her way through a form or six. That done, there were the sims to fly, then a chat with the stable boss, at the end of which a time was named on the morrow when the candidate was to return and actually lift one of Central's precious ships—and an observer—for the final and most telling part of the test.
In between now and then, Khat knew, they'd be checking her number and her ship, and verifying her personals. She'd hoped to have the test lift today, but, there, the stable boss needed to know if the applicant free-wing tended toward sober in the morning.
No problem for the applicant on that approach, Khat thought, walking down the dusty, noisy main street. Not to say that a brew would be unwelcome at the moment. Make that a brew and a handwich, she amended, as her stomach filed notice that the 'mite and crackers she'd fed it for breakfast were long past gone.
Up ahead, she spied the flashing green triangle which was the sign of an eat-and-drinkery, and stretched her legs, grimacing at the protest of overworked muscles. That'll teach you to stint your weight exercise , she scolded herself, and turned into the cool, comfortably dim doorway.
A lightscape over the counter showed a old style fin-ship down on a flat plain, mountains marking the horizon. Beneath, a tag box spelled out the name of the joint: Ship 'n Shore .
There was a scattering of folk at the tables—spacers, mostly—and plenty of room at the counter. It being only herself, Khat swung up onto a stool 'neath the tag box and waved at the barkeep.
"Dark brew and a handwich for a woman in need!"
The keeper grinned, drew the beer and sat it on the counter by her hand. "There's the easy part," he said. "What's your fondness for food? We got local cheese and vegs on fresh bake bread; potmeat on the same; 'mite paste and pickles; side o' fish—"
Khat leveled a finger. "Local cheese without the vegs?"
"We can do it," he promised.
"That's a deal, then. Bring her on."
"Be a sec. Let me know how you find the beer." He moved down counter, still grinning, and Khat picked up the mug.
The beer was cold, which was how she liked it. Bitter, too, and thick. She'd brought the mug down to half-full by the time her handwich arrived, two generous halves sharing a plastic plate with a fistful of saltpretzel.
"Brew's good," Khat said. "I'll want another just like it in not too long."
The keeper smiled, pleased, and put a couple disposable napkins next to the plate. "Just give a yell when you're ready," he said.
She nodded and picked up one of the halves. The unmistakable smell of fresh bake bread hit her nose and her stomach started clamoring. For the next while, she concentrated on settling that issue. The bread was whole grain, brown and nutty; the cheese butter smooth and unexpectedly spicy. Khat finished the first half and the brew, waved the empty mug at the barkeep and started in on the second round.
Couple times, folk from the tables came up to the counter for refills. A crew of three came in from the street and staked out stools at the end of the row. Khat paid none of them particular notice, except to register that they were spacers, and nobody she knew.
At last, the final saltpretzel was gone.
Similar Books
