Chapter 164 · Genuine Goods

In the afternoon, Eli discovered that installing additional security locks was considerably less satisfying than purchasing them.

Not that there was anything particularly wrong with the locks. The assemblies were solid, the control unit was compatible with the ship's existing systems, and the installation instructions were reasonably intelligible. The problem was that the Faded Glory had been built before anyone had imagined combining those particular components, and her previous owners had shown considerable imagination when modifying the ramp.

By three in the afternoon, they had installed the new control unit, prepared both locking assemblies and discovered that the mounting brackets supplied with them were almost, but not quite, suitable for their intended purpose.

Eli examined the offending brackets on the workbench. "Almost."

Stent looked up from the maintenance diagrams. "We have already established that."

"I'm expressing my disappointment."

"You have expressed it several times. It is redundant."

"And I expect to express it again."

Tee rolled closer to inspect their progress. He had taken a personal interest in the project and was supervising with an enthusiasm he had conspicuously failed to demonstrate during the previous day's engine cleaning. Eli suspected he considered the improvements long overdue.

Stent brought up the specifications of a machine shop located several streets from the commercial terminal. They had enough equipment aboard for ordinary maintenance, but adapting the brackets properly would require precision machining, and Eli had no intention of improvising something that might fail the next time somebody took an interest in their ship.

The workshop was open, fortunately, although the proprietor could not guarantee that the military restrictions would not interfere with his schedule.

"Tomorrow morning," Eli decided. "We'll take the brackets over, have them finished and get the ramp working properly."

Stent nodded and began putting the tools away. Tee expressed his dissatisfaction at the interruption, but Eli assured him that he could spend the afternoon testing the new control unit as much as he liked, provided he refrained from locking them both out of the ship.

That appeared to improve his mood.

They spent the rest of the day attending to smaller jobs, checking their supplies and making themselves sufficiently visible around their berth that the neighboring crews had ample opportunity to conclude that the two men aboard the Faded Glory were exceptionally devoted to maintenance.

Nobody came to question them.

Eli considered that an encouraging development.

——

The machine shop was operating at full capacity when they arrived the following morning. Its proprietor, a broad-shouldered human with a gray beard and an extraordinary collection of burns on his work apron, examined the brackets with an expression of mild professional disapproval. "Who sold you these?" Eli told him. "Of course they did. Wrong mounting kit for that ramp."

"We noticed."

The machinist took the specifications from Stent and compared them with the components. He turned one of the brackets over, measured it twice and eventually nodded. "Can do it. You'll have to leave them with me for a few hours, though. I've got two jobs ahead of yours."

Eli looked toward the workshop, where several industrial machines were running simultaneously and an enormous engine component occupied most of the central workbench. "How many hours?"

"Three, maybe four. Depends whether the idiot working on that thing manages to finish it without breaking another cutting tool."

The idiot in question looked up from the machine and made an offensive gesture.

The proprietor ignored him.

Eli paid the deposit, obtained a collection receipt and stepped back outside with Stent.

They had four hours to occupy and, for once, nothing particularly urgent to do.

He considered their options. They could return to the ship, spend an hour getting there, annoy Tee by leaving again and repeat the entire journey in the opposite direction. Or they could find something more interesting.

"Market?" he suggested.

Stent looked toward the commercial streets beyond the workshop. "Do we need anything?"

"Not particularly. But we're in a new city, we've got several hours, and I haven't given up on finding that kriffing quince."

Stent considered this for a moment. "The probability of finding a specialist Lysatran product in an ordinary industrial market remains low."

"Yes, thank you. I'm aware."

"We have already searched several comparable locations."

"And someday I'm going to find a shop that sells it, purely to prove you wrong."

Stent started walking. Eli took that as agreement.

The market occupied several interconnected streets behind the commercial terminal. Much of it catered to the crews and passengers passing through Stygeon: cheap clothing, replacement electronics, travel accessories and an impressive number of establishments offering meals that could be consumed in less than ten minutes.

They passed a stall selling roasted nuts, another specializing in dried fish and a third whose proprietor was attempting to convince a particularly skeptical Rodian that his collection of antique navigation instruments represented an excellent investment.

Eli bought a packet of roasted nuts.

Stent declined. Five minutes later, he accepted a handful.

Their first attempt at finding quince took them into a provisions shop that appeared to stock preserved fruit from every major trading region in the galaxy. The proprietor listened patiently while Eli explained what they were looking for, then directed them toward a shelf containing several varieties of quince paste.

None came from Lysatra. One claimed to reproduce a traditional Lysatran recipe. Eli had learned to be suspicious of that particular wording.

"Have you ever stocked the genuine product?" he asked.

"Years ago. Haven't seen it since before the war."

"Any idea who might still carry it?"

The proprietor shrugged. "Try the specialty shops near the passenger terminal. They get all sorts of strange things."

It was not much, but it was better than another flat refusal.

They continued through the market, eventually finding a second shop specializing in imported delicacies. This one was considerably more promising, with products from dozens of worlds displayed in neat rows and prices high enough to suggest that at least some of them were genuinely difficult to obtain.

Unfortunately, it did not have Lysatran quince either.

The woman behind the counter was apologetic. "We used to order it through a distributor in the Core, but they stopped supplying us. Something about the trade routes. I've no idea whether they're still in business."

Eli suppressed a sigh. "Do you remember the distributor's name?"

She did not.

He was about to thank her and leave when a man examining a display of imported wines turned toward them. "Did you say Lysatran quince?"

Eli looked at him. "Yes. The genuine article, not the stuff made on Garel."

The man smiled. "Oh, I know exactly what you mean."

He was perhaps in his fifties, neatly dressed in a dark civilian jacket with the insignia of a commercial passenger fleet on the breast pocket. Eli recognized the rank markings of a captain and the stylized silver compass of Crescent Passage Lines, one of the companies operating long-distance passenger services through several Core and Inner Rim sectors. Now that was someone who might know where expensive imported food ended up. "You're looking for the preserve?" the man asked.

"Desperately."

"Then you're looking in the wrong part of the planet."

Eli glanced at Stent. Stent raised an eyebrow.

The captain appeared amused by their expressions. "There's a shop in Caldris that specializes in imported food from the more remote systems. Proper luxury establishment. Terribly expensive, but they usually have things nobody else can find. I bought a jar of Lysatran quince there myself about six months ago."

Eli stared at him. "You did?"

"Of course. My wife adores the stuff. I bring her a jar whenever I find it."

"And you're absolutely certain it was from Lysatra?"

The captain looked mildly offended. "My friend, I spend half my life carrying wealthy passengers who can tell the difference between two varieties of wine produced on opposite sides of the same valley. Believe me, I've learned to read a label."

Fair enough.

"What's the name of the shop?"

"Maison Alaris. Central shopping district, not far from the old concert hall. You can't miss it. All polished stone and ridiculously expensive window displays."

Eli brought up the address on his datapad. Caldris. The main city was less than an hour away by public transport. They had time. Plenty of time.

He thanked the captain, who wished them luck and returned to his shopping.

Stent glanced at the address. "An hour each way."

"Forty-five minutes, according to the transport schedule."

"We still need to collect the brackets."

"The machinist said four hours. We can make it."

Stent studied him for a moment. Eli grinned.

"Come on. When are we going to get another chance to visit a proper city?"

Caldris turned out to be an entirely different Stygeon.

The industrial districts around the port had prepared Eli for more warehouses, freight terminals and functional architecture designed by people who regarded windows as an unnecessary expense. Instead, as their transport crossed the outer districts and approached the city center, the buildings became progressively taller, newer and rather more attractive.

Wide avenues replaced the crowded access roads. There were trees along the pedestrian streets, carefully maintained gardens between public buildings and an extensive network of covered walkways connecting shops, offices and residential towers. The transport passed a large public square dominated by an elaborate fountain, then continued through a district of restaurants and theaters whose facades had clearly been designed to impress visitors.

Eli watched the scenery through the window. "Well, would you look at that."

Stent followed his gaze. "Architecture?"

"Civilization."

"We have visited several inhabited planets."

"Yes, and on most of them we spent our time in freight terminals, repair yards or establishments where the chairs were bolted to the floor."

Stent considered the buildings passing outside. "This district does appear considerably more prosperous than the port."

"That's one way of putting it."

They had been living in a succession of cargo holds, industrial districts and cheap commercial berths for so long that Eli had almost forgotten what a comfortable city center looked like. Caldris had boutiques, proper restaurants, a theater whose entrance was decorated with illuminated sculptures, and pedestrians who appeared to be out shopping for pleasure rather than desperately attempting to acquire replacement engine components before their departure slot expired.

Eli was beginning to feel positively extravagant, and they had spent less than twelve credits on the journey.

The little girl sitting across the aisle had been staring at Stent for the better part of ten minutes.

Eli noticed her when she leaned so far out of her seat that her mother had to catch the back of her jacket to prevent her from falling into the aisle. She couldn't have been more than seven or eight, and appeared absolutely fascinated by their fellow passenger. "Mum, why are his eyes red?"

Her mother looked up from her datapad, followed the direction of her daughter's finger and immediately appeared to wish she hadn't. "Don't point at people, sweetheart."

"But they are red!"

"I'm terribly sorry," the woman said, looking at Stent. "She's at that age when absolutely everything requires an explanation."

"There is no need to apologize," Stent assured her.

The girl took this as permission to continue her investigation. "Are you Pantoran?"

"No."

"Then where are you from?"

Eli turned toward the window, concealing a smile. He was rather interested in hearing the answer himself.

"A planet considerably farther away than Pantora."

The girl considered this information. "Does everyone there have eyes like yours?"

"Yes, they do."

"That's brilliant!"

Her mother finally managed to persuade her to sit properly and leave the nice gentleman alone, although the child continued casting occasional glances across the aisle for the remainder of the journey.

The effects of the Imperial operation were still visible. There were additional security personnel at major intersections, a few shops remained closed, and one of the large public information displays carried an official announcement concerning the restoration of public order. Nevertheless, the city seemed determined to continue operating as normally as possible.

They got off near the old concert hall. It was an impressive building, all pale stone, enormous windows and carefully restrained ornamentation. Eli stopped long enough to examine the facade before checking the address again.

"Maison Alaris. Two streets over."

Stent fell into step beside him.

Eli waited until they had walked away from the transit station before bringing it up. "A planet considerably farther away than Pantora?"

"It was an accurate answer."

"You've got to admit, she has a point. You do rather stand out."

"I had noticed."

"At least she didn't ask why your hair isn't white."

Stent gave him a sidelong look. "I suspect she would have, had the journey been longer."

They passed a jeweler, a shop selling formal clothes that probably cost more than the Faded Glory's latest repairs, and a restaurant whose menu listed prices Eli considered deeply offensive. "Do you think people actually eat here?"

"Presumably."

"Look at that. Forty-eight credits for a starter."

"It may be very good."

"For forty-eight credits, it had better be able to repair a hyperdrive."

Maison Alaris occupied the ground floor of an elegant building on a broad pedestrian avenue. Its windows displayed carefully arranged collections of imported preserves, confectionery, bottled drinks and beautifully packaged gift assortments. Everything was illuminated by discreet lighting that made even the most ordinary jar of fruit look like a valuable cultural artifact.

Eli stopped outside. "Well, this is encouraging."

Stent examined the display. "There are products from several relatively isolated systems."

"Exactly. And if our captain friend knows what he's talking about, this place is about to become my favorite shop in the galaxy."

They went inside.

The temperature was carefully controlled, the lighting subdued and the shelves arranged with the sort of precision Eli normally associated with military equipment inventories. A faint fragrance of expensive spices hung in the air.

Behind a polished counter stood a young man in an immaculate dark suit. He looked up when they entered. Then he looked at their clothes. Then, rather more pointedly, at Eli's boots.

Eli had made an effort to look respectable that morning. His clothes were clean, his jacket was in reasonably good condition and he had even trimmed his beard. Unfortunately, several months of travelling had taken their toll on his wardrobe, and his boots had been selected for their ability to survive industrial landing pads rather than complement the interior of a luxury provisions shop.

Stent looked considerably better, although even his understated elegance could not entirely conceal that he had spent the previous day doing mechanical work aboard an elderly freighter.

The clerk's expression suggested that he would have preferred them to remain outside.

"Good afternoon," Eli said.

"Good afternoon, sir. May I help you?" The tone implied that assistance was available, although not necessarily desirable.

"We're looking for Lysatran quince preserve. A passenger captain told us you might have some."

Something changed in the clerk's expression. Recognition. Followed by a rather unpleasant assessment of Eli's likely ability to pay for it. "We do carry a limited selection of authentic Lysatran products."

"Excellent. Could we see them?"

"Of course."

The clerk emerged from behind the counter and led them toward the rear of the shop, where a separate display occupied an illuminated cabinet. Eli noticed several familiar names among the imported goods, although none were particularly relevant to their search.

Then he saw it. Lysatran quince. Genuine Lysatran quince. The unmistakable label. The proper producer's mark. A small gold emblem identifying the geographical origin. After weeks of false leads, inferior substitutes and shops whose proprietors had never even heard of the stuff, Eli was almost reluctant to believe his eyes.

He picked up one of the jars and examined it carefully. There was no mistaking it. He turned toward Stent, grinning. "Found it."

Stent examined the label over his shoulder. "Apparently."

"Don't sound so enthusiastic."

"I am pleased that your search has finally produced a result."

“That's practically a celebration coming from you.”

Eli reached for one of the jars and examined the label, checking the producer’s mark and the geographical certification. Everything appeared to be in order. He was about to ask the clerk whether they had any more in stock when he noticed the small price label attached to the edge of the shelf.

Three hundred credits.

He looked at the label again, then at the row of perfectly ordinary jars above it.

“Excuse me,” he said, turning toward the clerk. “Is that price for the entire shelf?”

The young man approached with an expression of carefully maintained patience. “Three hundred credits per jar, sir.”

“Three hundred? They sell for between two and five credits on Lysatra!”

“Naturally, sir. But we are rather a long way from Lysatra.” The clerk straightened one of the jars that Eli had apparently failed to return to its precise original position. “The price reflects the rarity of the product, the difficulties associated with its transportation and the expectations of our clientele.”

Behind Eli, Stent had moved along the display and was examining some of the other imported products. Eli barely noticed. He was still trying to work out how anyone could justify charging three hundred credits for a small jar of preserved fruit.

“I know what the transport costs are,” Eli said. “I've travelled some of those routes myself. Unless you're bringing each jar here in its own private shuttle, I can't imagine how you arrived at that figure.”

“Our suppliers operate through exclusive distribution agreements, sir. We do not cater to the ordinary freight market.” The clerk's glance at Eli's jacket made his opinion of the ordinary freight market perfectly clear.

Eli folded his arms. “And does your exclusive distribution agreement include a certificate signed by the Emperor himself?”

“I'm afraid our prices are not negotiable.”

“I wasn't negotiating. I was trying to understand whether there was something particularly remarkable about the contents.”

“The preserve is authentic Lysatran quince, as you requested.” The clerk offered him a thin smile. “Perhaps one of our more economical products would be better suited to your requirements.”

Eli stared at him. Somewhere behind his shoulder, Stent was still quietly browsing the shelves, apparently fascinated by the selection of imported preserves. “Thank you, but I know what I came here for. I'm simply not paying three hundred credits for it.”

“Of course, sir. Our products are intended for a rather particular clientele.”

That settled it. Eli returned the jar to the display, taking considerable care to place it exactly where he had found it. “Come on, Ren. We're wasting our time.”

Stent glanced up from the far end of the cabinet, at the imported sweets section. “Are we leaving?”

“Yes. Unless you've found something else you fancy spending a month's wages on.”

“Nothing in particular.”

“Wonderful.”

Stent joined him, adjusting his jacket as they headed toward the entrance. The clerk returned to his counter without offering any further assistance, although Eli could feel the man's eyes following them all the way to the door.

He thanked him anyway. It took considerable restraint.

They were halfway down the avenue before Eli stopped complaining about the clerk long enough to start complaining about the price again. "Three hundred credits. For quince. I've paid less than that for actual ship components, and those came with considerably more complicated manufacturing requirements."

Stent walked beside him with his hands in his jacket pockets, listening with the faintest smile on his lips.

Eli noticed. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. Personally, I don't find it particularly amusing that we've finally located the one thing we've been looking for and it's being sold by a man who apparently believes he's doing us a favor by allowing us into his shop."

"I thought you handled him reasonably well."

"Reasonably well? I was the very picture of restraint. I didn't even tell him where he could put his exclusive distribution agreement."

The smile became slightly more pronounced. Oh, wonderful. Stent was actually enjoying this.

Eli shook his head and continued walking, occasionally glancing into the windows of the other expensive establishments along the avenue. Caldris had seemed considerably more charming before he discovered that its merchants expected customers to finance their retirement. "And the worst part is that he actually has the stuff. Genuine Lysatran quince, proper producer, proper certification. We've been chasing that kriffing fruit halfway across the galaxy, and the first time we find it, somebody wants three hundred credits for a jar that probably cost him four."

"Perhaps less, if he purchases in sufficient quantities."

Eli turned to look at him. "You're not helping."

Stent's expression remained entirely innocent.

They rounded the corner toward the transport stop just as their return service pulled into the station. Eli checked the destination on its illuminated display and quickened his pace, only to see the boarding indicator change to the boarding warning.

"Oh, come on. That's ours!"

He broke into a trot, with Stent following at a considerably less undignified pace. They reached the vehicle just as the doors began to close, and Eli managed to get them both aboard with a few seconds to spare. He tapped their fares at the reader, found two empty seats toward the rear and dropped into one with a sigh.

"Well, at least we won't have to wait another half hour."

Stent sat beside him, still wearing that irritating little smile.

Eli looked at him. "You know, I distinctly remember you telling me the chances of finding genuine Lysatran quince in an ordinary market were very low. You could at least have the decency not to look so pleased about being right."

Stent glanced around the transport. A handful of passengers occupied the seats ahead of them, most absorbed in their datapads or looking out at the city. Nobody appeared particularly interested in the two men who had just hurried aboard.

"Eli," he said, voice low

"What?"

Stent opened one side of his jacket just enough for Eli to see what was tucked inside.

Two jars. Both bearing the unmistakable label of authentic Lysatran quince preserve.

Eli stared at them. Then he looked up at Stent, who was watching his reaction with an expression of quiet satisfaction. For several seconds, Eli was completely speechless. "You didn't…"

Stent closed his jacket. "I did."

"Stent!"

"Lower your voice."

Eli glanced toward the other passengers and leaned closer, struggling to keep his own voice under control. "You stole these? With the clerk standing right there?"

"Apparently, he was otherwise occupied keeping an eye on you."

Eli stared at him again. The faint smile was back, and now he finally understood why Stent had been so unusually entertained throughout their walk to the transport stop.

"You let me spend the last twenty minutes complaining about that bastard while you had six hundred credits' worth of stolen fruit in your jacket!"

"I saw no reason to interrupt you. You appeared to be enjoying yourself."

Eli opened his mouth, then closed it again. He was torn between indignation, disbelief and a rapidly growing desire to laugh.

They had just spent two days convincing Imperial security that they were perfectly ordinary freight traders who had become involved in an unfortunate coincidence. There were still stormtroopers crawling all over the industrial district, an entire Rebel network had been raided, and the last thing they needed was to attract attention by committing petty theft in one of the most expensive shopping districts on the planet.

And Stent, of all people, had just shoplifted these two jars of quince.

Eli rubbed a hand over his face. "I cannot believe you."

"We required the preserve. It was available."

"That doesn't mean you can just take it!"

Stent regarded him with mild curiosity. "Would you have preferred to pay six hundred credits?"

Eli looked at him. He could think of several entirely reasonable responses to that question, but none that he particularly wanted to give while sitting beside the evidence.

“Why two, anyway?”

Stent gave him a mildly incredulous look. “Eli, nobody sends a package halfway across the galaxy with one miserable jar of preserve in it.”

Eli stared at him for a moment, then started laughing again.

“Of course. My mistake. We have to make sure our stolen fruit looks like a respectable gift.”

Prudent. Of course. Very him. Stent had just committed theft in broad daylight and was presenting it as a perfectly ordinary logistical precaution.

Eli glanced at his jacket again, then out of the window at the elegant streets slipping past. Their transport was already several stops away from Maison Alaris, and nobody had come running after them.

He began to laugh. Not loudly. He managed to keep it to himself, although it took considerable effort, and by the time he had recovered, Stent was looking rather pleased with the result.

"Six hundred credits," Eli muttered. "I hope you realize that if you'd been caught, I would have had to explain to the local authorities why my business partner was stealing expensive fruit."

"I was not caught."

"Yes, thank you. I had noticed." Eli settled back into his seat, still grinning despite himself. "You know what really annoys me? I was looking forward to spending the entire journey back figuring out how to get hold of the stuff without paying that ridiculous price. And you had the bloody jars all along."

Stent adjusted his jacket, making certain that its contents remained securely concealed, and turned his attention to the view outside. "Then we can devote the journey to something more productive."

"Such as?"

"Determining how to properly contact Admiral Faro."

Eli shook his head, unable to suppress another laugh.

The worst part was that Stent was absolutely right.