Wild Card Run

Shifting breeze lifted a sun-sparkled mist above the fountain in the bricked square. From somewhere a cascade of flute notes tinkled through the heat. I craned past the crowd of barter-day shoppers, scanning the vendors for a likely binding present.

Awnings covered the stalls on both sides of the square, running toward the steps of the closed hall. From the dim haven of shade a gleam of brass and copper shone among the rich-colored stacks of early produce. Baskets of scarlet ki-berries, big as your fist, overflowed into the sun at the edge of the veranda boards, flashing like the heart-jewels of Amaveura. Emerald-green melons from the seacoast spilled over the top of a low bench. A streamer of amethyst silk rippled from a supporting beam. Beneath its beckoning gesture, piles of cloth overflowed the tables in rainbows of brazen scarlet and pearl gray, hot orange and lustrous ebony, fresh green and night-dark indigo, and the gauzy flutter of a shimmery turquoise-blue, like the lri’an feather in the crystal egg.

I followed its summons.

Carrying my bag across the hot bricks to the shade, I stepped up onto rough boards and threaded my way past the crowded tables of the local women. The boards sagged under the weight of gleaming jars of fruit and vegetables, fresh herbs in bundles, woven mats and straw hats, hand-stitched bonnets, patterned quilts, painted miniatures, ceramic jugs, homemade toys.

I paused to peer over the shoulders of a knot of matrons and children who were exclaiming and laughing. On a table in front of her shelves of hand-carved, jointed wood dolls, a middle-aged woman set down a miniature, painted metal milker. It raised and lowered its head, uttered a low bleat, then wobbled across the table on its four small hooves.

The children screamed in delight. I smiled and dug into my pouch for credit-chips to buy one for Marda’s children. The vendor handed me a wrapped one and I was about to move on when I stopped, staring again at the toy being demonstrated. There was no windup key on it. And when the milker turned its head, I caught the flash of tiny amber lights in its eyes.

It was contraplan. It had to be.

“Don’t worry, Matron.” The vendor smiled serenely. “It’ll walk forever if you just connect it once in a while to the recharging clips of a rollcart. Aren’t they silly, now? But when I saw them at the regional fair, I thought the local children might just go for them.”

I muttered some answer and turned away, nearly knocking over a short matron.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I picked up her parcels for her and walked on, staring at my little package. The gadget, like Sam’s camera, had no place in the Poindros worldplan. Where were they coming from? And why weren’t they being detected and reported?

I found myself standing beside the tables of the silk merchant, staring at a rippling corner of the dark turquoise. I blinked and pulled out the shimmery silk. It was lovely, thin and gauzy, glinting with highlights of green and rich blue. It would have made a beautiful dressing gown for Helen, with her hair gleaming loose against it. But I knew she’d say it was too bright, that her hair was gaudy enough. I held the fabric against the light, seeing the lri’an’s vivid flight, and I didn’t want to part with it. It was too sheer for a wedding gift to a woman I didn’t know, but I impulsively tucked it under my arm. I’d keep it for myself.

For Marda, I chose a soft peach with a subtle pattern to its weave. Helen had said she was dark-haired, and I thought it would suit.

As the vendor extracted another customer’s IDisc from a portable transactor certifier, a pearly glint caught my eye.

I caught my breath and pulled out a cloth incredibly soft and light. It was dove-gray, woven with secret threads of dream, rainbows and clouds and spirit-wings. Its quiet surface only hinted at colors locked in its depths, but they shimmered elusively from a fold or at the chance touch of sunlight. I had seen such cloth before, among the spinners of Sethar. It was said that the beauty of the durable cloth brightened or dulled to reflect the soul of the wearer. It only waited for Helen to give it life.

“Afternoon. Mistress, and welcome to our little village.” The vendor smiled unctuously. “Hot enough to bake bread in the fields, isn’t it?” The local phrase rolled easily off his tongue, but his boots were too shiny, his work-shirt unworn.

I snorted. “Save it. Those boots never did any walking in the fields.” I indicated the folded cloth I held, the pearl-gray muted in contrast to the two brighter colors, but somehow making them look just a little garish. “Are these Southern Valley silks, or only local?”

He looked briefly dismayed, then grinned. “Sharp little number, are you?” He raised an eyebrow and his eyes traveled to my feet and back up. “That turquoise piece’ll look real nice on you.” He fingered the cloth, giving me an insinuating smile. “Those are the real thing, genuine Southern Valley weave. Going price is ten credits each, but for you, twenty-five for the three.”

Apparently he didn’t know the pearl cloth was of offworld make. I wondered how he’d come by it. “I’ll give you fifteen, and you’ll still make a decent profit.”

He raised his hands, palms up. “Hey, you trying to break my heart? I’ve got costs. I can’t take less than twenty.”

“Fifteen. And if you’re trying to pass as local, take my advice and get a worn coverall or something. You look like you ought to be hustling at the Spaceport.”

His eyes narrowed. “Think you’re smart? Well, I’ve got news for you, sweetheart. Certain customers expect shiny boots. Got it?”

He grinned at my look. “And I’ve got some other interesting items you might like. They’re a little . . . higher.” He raised his eyes quickly toward the sky, then winked

I blinked in surprise. “Oh.” He’d just given me the signal for the Spaceport black-marketeers, who traded in contraplan luxury goods that they managed to acquire through dubious channels from baggage confiscated during clearance. I wasn’t the only Poindran who was willing to bend the Rules. But I’d never seen a black-marketeer dealing so brazenly this far from the Spaceport.

He grinned again and glanced quickly around, then crouched and lifted a fold of cloth to reach into a box beneath one table. “I’ve been getting some really nice items lately. Things are really loosening up. But I’m sure you know. “ He winked as I stared in confusion. “Now, how about something exotic?” He discreetly displayed a small bottle, a beautiful little thing of bluish metal, round and tapering to a slender neck, elaborately chased and burnished to a soft glow.

He flicked a speck of dust from it. “A love potion from Amaveura, got the witch’s seal still on it . . .” He eyed me again. “Well, maybe I’ll save it for somebody who needs it. How about this, sweetie? Just your style.” He replaced the bottle and pulled out a silver oblong, inlaid with curious shapes and loops of colored enameling, with barely visible seams. “A puzzle box from Kopruun.” He scratched his head. “Damned if I can figure how to get it open. Something inside’s supposed to be valuable. Just the thing for you.” He winked. “You know, you and I could really get some fast deals going, we pulled a partner act. Why don’t we team up?”

I laughed and shook my head.

He replaced the box and straightened with a regretful look. “I’ve got more, but we’d have to arrange a private showing.” He laughed at my look. “Strictly business, of course.” He leered.

“Sorry, you’ve got the wrong customer.” I added ironically, “I’m strictly a Rule-abiding citizen.”

He looked disgusted as he took the cloth and wrapped it in paper. “Don’t give me that. I spotted you right off.”

“Pardon?”

“All right, play dumb.” He took the IDisc I’d pulled from my chain and inserted it into the transactor, which was plugged into a vendor outlet of the central village console. When he punched in his code, the green certified signal on the outlet lit up.

I punched in my account code and laid my palm on the sensor plate, mentally weighing designs for Helen’s pearl-cloth robe Maybe hooded, with flowing sleeves, if she didn’t think it too outlandish. Like the robes of the Setharian high plains nomads who had traded once with our tribe . . .

It took a moment for the blinking red light to sink in. The small screen lit up with the words: Account Closed. I stared blankly at it.

Behind me, the vendor made a rude noise. He snapped off the transactor and plucked out my IDisc, fingering it. I stared woodenly at the device, not quite believing it.

There was a new edge in the vendor’s voice. “Okay, toots, so what’s the game? You got the credits or not?”

I closed my eyes as a wave of cold fear washed through me. Account closed. The two simple words had suddenly scattered all my careful cards of strategy, and it was no longer a game. If I couldn’t access my accounts, I couldn’t signal Officer Hodge. And if my violation points climbed any higher . . .

“Don’t play pitiful with me.”

I opened my eyes to see him rubbing my IDisc between his fingers. He flicked it back to me and I caught it automatically.

“What you trying to pull here? You want the cloth that bad, we could work out a trade . . .” He smiled disagreeably, his gaze sliding down from my face.

I shook my head impatiently, reaching up to clip the IDisc back on its chain. He shrugged and reached for the wrapped package, starting to untie the string.

“Wait . . .” I had only a few credit-counters left, but I couldn’t insult Marda by showing up without a marriage gift. I couldn’t explain to Helen that my account was closed. That only happened when you were dead—or crazy. My hands touched my lucky necklace. They fumbled as I pulled it from around my neck. “I’ll trade this for the silk. It’s more than worth it.”

He gave me a suspicious look but took the chain, running the red-gold, scale-shaped segments through his fingers and examining the clasp, the head of the snake flashing its two tiny emerald eyes as it swallowed the end of its own tail.

Windy Poindros dissolved, and I could see the gleaming serpent dangling from the casual fingers of a friend in Casino as we lounged at the smoke table in a gambling hall. “Go ahead, take it. Don’t deny me the pleasure of seeing it around your neck. It’s my hobby—designing jewelry to suit intriguing women. I’d lose faith in myself if you could resist.” I hadn’t been sure I was comfortable as either the serpent or Eve, but he couldn’t have known the Poindran parable, so I’d let him fasten it around my neck. I’d liked him. He’d made me laugh, and besides, everybody knew his tastes ran to young men.

The green eyes winked again, in the more than casual grip of the vendor. He ran the chain through his fingers. He bit his lip and sweat gleamed on his forehead.

“Offworld work.” He hesitated, then handed me back the package, still looking uneasily at the chain.

I pulled my lips into the imitation of a smile. “Don’t worry, it won’t bite.” I moved to go.

“Hey, wait, what’s going on? Look, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for it, but I don’t wanna get involved in anything really—” He swallowed, eyeing me sideways.

“What?” All I could seem to register were those words. Account closed.

The vendor shook his head, his eyes gleaming a lot of white as he edged away from me and pocketed the chain.

I turned to make my way across the square, clutching the package and my IDisc, a twisted smile frozen on my face.