Marla quickly realized that “speaking to the bosun” meant staying out of her way. The bosun was a middle-aged Tavara, her luxuriant brown hair only showing the first signs of gray. The scars that showed through her fur spoke to an eventful life.



I wonder where she grew up? Marla thought. The Tavara were one of over a thousand of the known human derived species, modified by chance or intent from the original humanity that had appeared in the galaxy nearly 30,000 standard years ago. There were nearly a dozen candidates for the true homeworld of mankind, but at the time, they’d merely been a particularly useful servitor race and by the time enough free humans existed to care, the truth was hopelessly muddled.



“Move it in and don’t drop it or the captain will use your skin for the next log-book,” the bosun growled at the dockworkers. The last packages came floating in, suspended by the sorcery of the hooded figure walking behind them. “Put those by the front of the hold and don’t jostle them.” As the figure walked past her, the bosun reached up and snatched the hood from her head. “And keep that off when you’re working with me. I want to knew where you’re looking when I’m talking to you.”



“I-I hold the Bronze-”



“Yes, we know, Bronze Medallion. That was then and a dozen transits ago. Now you’re a crew member and this is my domain.”



Marla remained silent as the wizardress, a slight woman with an odd mask-like marking around her face glared at the bosun. Marla couldn’t tell if the markings were tattoos or if the woman was another human derived race. She glared at the bosun for a moment before dropping her eyes, unable to meet the bosun’s glare, her feral violet eyes gleaming in the light.



“I understand.”



“Good. Remember, it’s a damned safety issue. I need to see your face when I’m giving orders.”



Back stiff, the woman marched back to the front of the hold, the delicate surveying instruments held firmly in the spell.



“You’ll have to forgive our little Jessinan. She hasn’t adapted to galactic society yet. I’m Clarissa, or bosun if I’m yelling at you. You’re?”



“Apprentice Trader Marla.”



“No other name?”



“Not yet.”



“Ah. Will it be given or earned?”



“Earned,” Marla said. “Once I have become a Trader, I can take on a family name.” She looked around the small cargo hold. “Our own equipment has been loaded, so what else is there?”



“Foodstuff’s mostly. They’ll be put under preservative spells but the captain wants a lot. We have no idea if we can forage where we are going after all. But while we’re waiting, let me show you around and introduce the crew.”



Like most private ships, the Davon’s Hope was old. The reinforced wooden hull was covered with old graffiti while centuries of sailors had rubbed some of the furnishings smooth, nearly obliterating the old decorative patterns on the hatch handles and other fixtures.



Nobody had tried to replace the fittings— there was no better way to insult a ship than to try and erase its memory. The ship would certainly take revenge upon such an owner at some point.



Clarissa opened the hatch for Marla and pointed down the corridor. “Quarters are here for the crew and general passengers. The captain’s and main guest cabin is on deck but we stay below.”



“That would seem to cut into your cargo space.”



“Yeah, but it makes it easier to ward the ship from dangers if most of the crew is buried in the hull.” Clarissa waved at the bulkhead and by extension the world outside. “Not every silver lane leads to a nice safe world. Sometimes you come out in storms and sometimes you come out in clouds of acid. It’s rare, but it does happen, especially for a pathfinder ship like ours.”



Marla nodded. “Savastan claims that some of those worlds were habitable when the silver lanes were first created and that have since changed.”



“Heh, don’t say that to the Followers of the Roadbuilder,” Clarissa replied. “Kid, your boss may think that someone created them, but he can’t know— nobody can. The earliest records talk about them just…being there. Even the dragons don’t know, or at least none of them have ever claimed to know.”



“He did say it was his theory,” Marla said trying not to sound defensive at the way she had dismissed Savastan’s opinion.



“It’s one of the better ones,” Clarissa replied. “But I doubt anyone will ever know. But yeah, he is right that you occasionally get a world mentioned in some old record like this one. If they’ve fallen out of contact, we have to go and check the world out. Conditions can be rough, which is why we depend on the old Hope here.” She motioned for Marla to follow her. “Now let’s introduce you to the rest of the gang.”



The common room was at the end of the corridor. As Marla followed Clarissa into it, she noticed a compact galley in one corner, several storage lockers opposite it and a collection of tables and comfortable chairs, with a few individuals sitting in them.



“Okay everyone, this is Marla— she’s with Master Trader Savastan, so no pranks. Understand Vin?”



The woman looked up from where she was polishing her boltlauncher and smiled. “Me? When have I ever played a prank?” She grinned at Clarissa. “Well sometimes on you, but most of the accusations were baseless.”



She must be one of the guards, Marla thought. Vin was shorter than Marla, but her compact build spoke to her being very strong. Her dark hair was cut short and brown eyes looked out from a face that was more handsome than pretty, especially when one took the ugly knife scar falling down one cheek into account. She was dressed in flexible armor that could turn most non-magical weapons and had a fair resistance to mystical attack. Either the captain was very generous or she was very good at her job to be able to afford such armor.



Quite possibly both, Marla reminded herself.



“Innocence doesn’t become you, sister dear.” Her table partner said. The man rose to his feet and strolled over to Marla and Clarissa. He was dressed the same as Vin, but he gave Marla a bow that wouldn’t be out of place in a royal court. “You’ll have to forgive my sister. She occasionally lets her sense of humor get the better of her wisdom.”



“And you?” Marla asked, looking up at him. Unlike his sister, he was tall and thin, blond hair cut in the same style.



“I help to clean up her messes. I am Shelton. And you?”



“Apprentice Trader Marla,” she answered.



“And a lovely individual indeed.”



“Okay, I’ve laid down the law about Vin’s jokes— now it’s your turn. Don’t try and romance the Trader.”



“Of course not,” he said and bowed again.



“If he forgets, tell me. I’ll set him on fire,” The compartment’s third occupant said. When Marla looked over at him he waved, putting his pipe down in front of him. “Chief Ship’s Magus Lian Tomson at your service.”



Tomson looked older than the other two, at least thirty if Marla was any judge. He had the mask-like marking around his face that Jessinan had.



“Hello,” Marla said. “Are you related to Jessinan?”



“Ha!” Lian laughed. “No, and I’d not bring that up to her. She’s a holder of the-”



“Bronze Medallion!” Everyone else chorused.



“And I barely graduated,” Lian continued. “But here I’m her superior because I have more experience on the silver lanes. Oh, she’ll be my boss one day, but not now and the adjustment is hard.” He gestured at the table, “So sit! While your boss and our captain plot the moves that will define our lives, tell us about yourself!”



Marla sat down and tried not to frown. The problem was that as much as she wanted to demur, that would get her a lecture from Savastan and he was right. Dealing with people, not just when you were making a deal with them, but all the time was the core of what it was to be a Trader.



“Well, I’m the master Trader’s apprentice.” Marla smiled. “Which means I do the paperwork and learn what he teaches me.”



“Probably a lot. Does he teach you sorcery?” Lian asked.



“No…” Marla blushed. “One of his friends tried to tutor me. He finally said that he would state that only rocks have less aptitude for that than I do…but he can’t honestly make that claim because he hasn’t met all the rocks in the universe yet so one may be better than I am.”



“Well, magery isn’t the only skill,” Vin said. “Some of us need to keep the mages from falling over their own shoes.”



“I’ll have you know that was not falling over my own shoes, Lian said. “I had seen, with my mystic power, that I had to…stumble!” At the last he opened his eyes wide with a dramatic waggle of his eyebrows.



“And the drinking that lead to your stumbling?”



“My mystic power said I needed to do that, as well.”



“So it had nothing to do with not realizing how talasa fruit can sneak up on you?”



“Not at all, and that’s the story I’m sticking with.” The others burst into laughter at Tomson’s comments.



“So, where are you from?” Tomson asked.



“I… I live with Mentor Savastan,” Marla replied. “I came from Ploquon.” Temperature dropped slightly and Marla tried not to groan. She hated this part. “I was a slave, not a Master.”



“Well that’s alright then,” Tomson said. “Last time we were on Ploquon…” he shook his head. “There are nasty places and nasty places…and then there’s Ploquon.”



“I…” Marla’s back and wrists started to ache. “Agree.”



“But beyond that,” Clarissa said, giving Tomson a meaningful look. “How long have you been working with Master Trader Savastan?”



“Six standard years,” Marla replied. “Not all of them as an apprentice trader.”



“Well, there’s nothing like starting early,” Tomson said, getting back into the conversation. “It saves you the danger of forgetting how big the galaxy is.”



If I hadn’t come to Savastan, the only danger I would have been in was what type of death I would experience. Marla didn’t voice her thought. Regardless of their opinion about Ploquon or slavery in general, most people preferred to not talk about horrible facts when they couldn’t do anything about it.



“So…what about your world?” she asked Tomson. “Is it…”



“Nothing special. About twenty transits from here, in the Veil.” Tomson shrugged. “We’re just outside a big nebula, at night it’s actually brighter than our moons, so needless to say, just about every damned thing is named for some variant of veil. That’s why I don’t get too stuck up about my school— I just remember that the other Institute of the Hidden Veil was the standing diner where I took my lunches while I was avoiding homework.”



Marla laughed, as did the others, even though she bet that they’d heard that story more than once. With that, the group started to delve into the various stories about their homes, or experiences since they’d started to travel.



It’s nice to have people to just talk to, Marla thought as she leaned back into her seat.