He turned again to Grayson. "It is we who are grateful to you, young Lord."
Grayson had remained silent Scientific method held out little hope to a people faced with raids by bandit BattleMechs. Technology and rational thought had a nasty way of vanishing in the funeral pyres of cities.
Berenir had long been an enigma to those of Carlyle's Commandos who had followed events in Sarghad. He was one of the rich city merchants who dealt with the infrequent traders who called at the spaceport, handling their cargoes and dickering with them for shipments of Trellwan's mineral woods and spices. In the wave of anti-Commonwealth rioting and propagandizing, he had kept a low profile, but continued to deal with the men from the stars, selling Carlyle's Commandos food, oil for their machines, and commodities as varied as soap and salt. None could tell whether his attitude was one of greed, practicality, or simply a cosmopolitan acceptance of the starmen as people like everyone else.
If the population learned the whereabouts of the son of the man who had engineered the Trellwan Pact with Hendrik, Grayson might well find himself facing the brunt of their simmering resentment. The Trells were not particularly vindictive or bloody-minded, but they were human. Grayson shuddered, remembering the story he'd heard of a rapist set free in the desert just as Trell began to flare.
His first thought had been to use Berenir to contact the next offworld freighter that called at Trellwan. The merchant explained that offworld traders called but rarely this far out along the Periphery, and that he was fearful of what would happen when the next one arrived. As he rubbed his hands together the overhead lights caught at the jeweled rings on his fingers. "Business has taken a turn for the worst, I suspect."
"But a ship will come?"
"Oh, yes, eventually. But it will be a while. The trader ships do not fill the skies as they once did...
But they'll come?
Oh, certainly they'll come!"
"Will your government let them come? With this policy of hate the offworlder..."
Berenir made an impatient gesture. "If there's one thing I've learned in three hundred threedays on the Streets of Merchants, it's that business will turn again. How long do you think Trellwan will get along without the traders from the stars, eh?"
"I don't know. You have water here... you grow your own food... you could do without them." What Grayson didn't say was that, by his standards, Trellwan's level of civilization was
scarcely removed from barbarism. They had no electronics technology to speak off. Power was drawn from tidal generators powered by burning petroleum distillates. Why, transportation in the streets was as likely to be by harnessed desert laniks as it was to be self-powered.
Berenir made an impatient gesture. "The government doesn't care about food and water. It's tariffs, import duties, and taxes they're concerned about. Give the politicians oh... ten... maybe 20 threedays, and the ships will come again."
Berenir rubbed his chin ruefully. "But in the meantime, we're going to have a bit of trouble figuring out what to do with you."
Listening to all this, Grayson had suppressed a groan. Ten Trell threedays was something like two and a half standard years. In the past six months, the only commercial DropShips to set down on Trellwan had been from the Mailai trader that had been handling the runs between Oberon and Trellwan. How much longer would it be before another called? And how could he reach it, with Hendrik's bandits at the port, and the people of Sarghad ready to kill him on sight?
Berenir looked thoughtful. "I have contacts in the government," he said. "A merchant in my position has to, nowadays. The Chief Minister is a friend of mine..."
"Stannic? Chief Minister Stannic?"
"Yes. Do you know him?"
"I... know his daughter. Quite well. I've met the Minister a time or two..."
"Stannic is one of King Jeverid's most trusted aides. He's also the man to know for trade licensing, that sort of thing."
"Will he help?"
Berenir pulled at his lower lip. "He has always approved of Jeverid's policies of strengthening ties with the Commonwealth. Lately, it's been Stannic and Jeverid against the rest of their government, and their desertion by the Castle garrison no offense, young Lord their desertion has left the government up against something of a wall. I... trust him as much as I trust any of that pack of animals. You say you know his daughter?"
Grayson nodded.
"Well, I'll see what I can do."
A meeting had been arranged at Mara's apartment to avoid attracting atttention to the merchant. Berenir's son gave Grayson clothes to replace his grey Commonwealth 'Mech uniform, a plain, light brown tunic, loose-fitting pants, and halfboots that were at least a size too small. Though it was getting well on towards Periasteron and the heat was rising rapidly, he also wore a cloak and hood that covered his light hair. There had been some discussion about whether or not to dye his hair to match the glossy black of most native Trells, but Grayson had decided against it in the end. He would see Mara as himself.