Lost Era 06_ Catalyst of Sorrows - Margaret Wander Bonanno [109]
“Whatcha got to trade?” he leered hopefully, licking his spittle-flecked lips. “That’s a right fine pendant you’re wearing. That Vulcan?”
“It is.” Selar slipped it off and gave it to him to examine.
“Genuine garnet,” he appraised it, then gave it back. “But I’d have to give you a cartload of hilopon to be worth that.”
“Even for a miracle cure?” Selar asked dryly.
The little man’s eyes shifted sideways, as if he suspected a trap. “Well, how’s about I give you a free sample? Then I’ll take the pendant in trade for something, shall we say, more of interest to a beautiful young woman such as you. Perhaps a love potion for that… um, special Vulcan time?”
Tuvok, who had been hanging back in the crowd searching for the shill, who had melted away, suddenly materialized beside Selar. His appearance was sufficient to wipe the leer off the huckster’s face.
“Look, I don’t want no trouble!” he protested, raising his hands as if to fend it off, backing away from them. “I can tell you’re with the gov, but my permits are in order, and I ain’t selling anything that’s on the banned list. Okay, the hilopon is a little out of the ordinary line, but it ain’t illegal to sell it here, and you know it. Besides, I’m not the only one selling it, and it don’t hurt nobody. Want to look at it another way, I’m selling hope. There’s always a chance it might work.”
“We are more interested in what it is and where it comes from,” Tuvok said sternly, palming one small packet and secreting it in his specimen case as the huckster began hurriedly packing up his booth; if the little man wanted to believe Tuvok was a Sliwoni official, Tuvok would not inform him otherwise.
“It’s called hilopon. And if you’re with the gov, you know it comes from Renaga. That’s common knowledge. You’re trying to trip me up, make a liar out of me, but that’s the truth. And you got no jurisdiction on Renaga, so you got no hold on me.”
“Refresh my memory,” Tuvok said, distracting him while Selar ran her tricorder discreetly over his wares. “Why was it necessary for you to risk your life in order to obtain this substance?”
The little man had been snatching vials and jars and packets off the counter, tossing them into a carryall, lowering the curtains on the booth to indicate it was closed.
“Hey, you know how it is there. Natives are as backward as sheep. They think the stars govern their lives. They don’t like strangers, and they believe if you take so much as a handful of dirt off their planet, you’re making it smaller. Can you believe that? So I had to sneak this stuff off very carefully, even though it’s only dirt.”
He’d finished packing now, and was searching the gathering crowd furtively for a means of escape.
“But you know that!” he accused Tuvok, waving a finger in his face defiantly. “You’re just toying with me so I’ll leave town. All right, all right, I’m leaving, see?”
The uproar he was making was drawing a new and not entirely friendly crowd. Someone shouted, “Leave him alone!” Selar turned off her tricorder and quirked an eyebrow at Tuvok. It was time and past time to get back to Albatross.
Maybe it was working in the sometimes airless confines of the engine room all day, or maybe it was the unfamiliar dusts and pollens in the air of Sliwon, but Sisko had been bothered with a tickle in his throat all afternoon. Clearing his throat didn’t get rid of it, drinking water had no effect. By the time the Vulcans signaled their impending return, it had evolved into an annoying cough. In the ensuing attack by the villagers with their shortbows, he had almost forgotten about it, but now it was back. He cleared his throat.
“It would be unfortunate if your display of superior fire power upset the normal evolution of weaponry on this world,” Selar was suggesting to Tuvok as they came aboard.
“Dubious,” Tuvok remarked. “The villagers think nothing of space travel. Their use of the bow is merely traditional. On worlds where archery is a normal part of the weaponry, for example, the crossbow