The Slotter Key embassy was hardly larger than Belinta’s small legation—or so she thought, until she noticed the bustling staff and realized that it must also occupy the adjoining buildings.

“Captain Vatta,” said the desk clerk. “So nice to see you.” He was heavily tattooed and freckled around the tattoos. “We’re always glad to see Vatta people here. What can we do for you?”

“Trade and profit,” Ky said. “I’m on a contract run from Belinta, picking up agricultural machinery. Do you have performance files on repair yards?”

“Repair yards? For ag machinery?”

“No, for ships. I’m wondering whether to have a minor problem fixed here or wait until I get back to Belinta.” She was reluctant to reveal just how big the problem was.

“Oh, you’d want to do that here,” the desk clerk said. “Sabine has superb repair yards, and yes, we do have performance stats as reported by Slotter Key citizens who’ve used them. Would you like that now, or popped to your ship?”

“Both, please,” Ky said. “My engineer has the stats from Belinta for comparison, but I suspect you’re right.”

“Just a moment,” the clerk said, and blinked, accessing the legation’s internal database. “There,” he said. “Anything else?”

“Reputable sources of used farm machinery,” Ky said. “I already have contact with FarmPower, but they’re not selling used equipment anymore, they say.”

“No. They dropped their used equipment sales two years ago. Higher profit margin in new, and they’d just unloaded almost all their stock to the Chigwellin Combine anyway. Chigwellin got the contract for a twin-world system about eight jumps away, and they bought up just about all the used farm equipment anyone here had.”

“So… no one has used?”

“No one you’d want to buy from, Captain Vatta. FarmPower and the other manufacturers all quit taking old machinery in trade after that, and put the money into new manufacturing capacity. Our local agricultural unions sometimes have used machinery, but it’s low quality.”

“I see.” What she saw was the start of a problem she hoped wasn’t as big as it looked. If she was stuck buying new equipment at top price… but had no ship to get it back to Belinta… she might as well not buy it. On the other hand, fixing the ship—assuming she could—would leave her with no cargo to take to Belinta.

“Thank you,” she said, after a pause, and the clerk nodded.

“You’ll want to pay respects to the consul,” the clerk said. “He takes courtesy calls at 1600 local time on the second and fifth day of the local week… that’s tomorrow, which around here they call Umpord. Shall I put you down?”

“Yes, thanks,” Ky said.

“And here is a hardcopy of another file I loaded for you, local regulations and current warnings pertaining specifically to Slotter Key citizens. I call your attention to the Foreigners’ Curfew, underlined in red: they are serious about that, and you will require a local citizen escort to be abroad after curfew. You have an escort, I presume?”

“Yes,” Ky said.

“A licensed escort service suffices; if you choose to be out with an unlicensed escort after curfew, be sure he or she has his or her citizenship card. It is most inconvenient when our staff is asked to intervene in cases of curfew-related arrests and detentions. And things are rather tense just now.” The clerk, formerly so friendly, now seemed severe.

“I understand,” Ky said. “I have a licensed escort, and no intention of wandering about without one.”

“Good. And the most important local taboo, on page eighteen, is underlined in green. Never, under any circumstances, sneeze without using a sprayer immediately afterward.”

Ky had had no inclination to sneeze, but now her nose tickled. “But doesn’t that spread infection?”

“It’s symbolic. Don’t ask me, I think it’s stupid, but you’d better buy a sprayer. The cheap ones are actually considered in better taste.”

Ky rubbed her nose. “So… anything else?”

“No, I’ve put you down for the call tomorrow; the consul will expect to take tea with you. Allow a half hour, though it will probably be less; it depends on how many show up. Dress is afternoon business; your captain’s uniform is fine.”

“Thanks,” Ky said. She collected her escort outside the embassy, and called up a list of other ag machinery suppliers. None listed prices lower than FarmPower’s, but since a few listed no prices at all she put in queries.

“Where would I find a… er… sprayer?” she asked her escort.

“In general merchandising emporiums,” he answered. “There’s a shopping arcade just a few blocks away…”

“Fine,” Ky said. “That’s where I need to go…”

The shopping arcade, floored in tesselated stone laid out in floral patterns, had fascinating little shops on either side, and one large store with several doors. Her escort led her to the farthest, and then to a sales rack whose shelves were covered with items Ky would not have recognized as sprayers. She did recognize them as the rounded objects so many pedestrians carried. Pink, green, blue, yellow… painted with what must be intended as flowers… but how did they work?

“I don’t understand,” Ky said.

“The incense bead goes in here”—he pointed—”and the igniter is there, and you squeeze this—” This was an accordion pleated arrangement that Ky had not realized could flex. “These are all expanded to show the design,” he said. “But they compress to fit in a pocket.”

“Incense bead?” Ky said. “Igniter?”

“For the aroma,” he said. “If I might recommend—a neutral scent, like rainwater, is most appropriate for professional visitors. There are presumptions made about, for instance, honey musk or spiced fruit, no matter what your intentions.”

“So where are the incense beads?” Ky asked. He pointed out little packets of tiny round beads in various colors. Ky found “falling rain,” and then picked out the least garish of the sprayers—green with blue flowers. She paid cash for them, and then had her escort explain how to insert the incense bead, and how to compress and then operate the sprayer. He didn’t smile, but she could sense his approval. Stupid tourist does something right, for once.

When she queried her insert, she found a list of prices from other suppliers… none better than FarmPower. Drat. She had to hope now that either FarmPower or a repair yard would extend credit, based on her family name. She had better check again with her crew on the extent of necessary repairs.

Back at the Captains’ Guild, she called up to the orbital station.Quincyburst out laughing when Ky showed her the sprayer and explained its use.

“That’s the silliest thing I ever saw,” she said.

“I know. But what I need now is your best assessment of what repairs we absolutely have to make, and what we can defer. Nobody’s selling used ag equipment, and nobody’s prices—that I’d trust anyway—are lower than FarmPower’s.”

“The sealed unit, of course. But Ky, we can’t tell about the rest of it until we tear down the whole drive sequence. Depending on how much damage it did as it degraded, we could have cavitation in the main chambers. And once we start tearing it down, we’re committed to fixing whatever it is…”

“Yeah. I know. Well, tomorrow I have a courtesy call to pay on the consul—he only takes courtesy calls two days a week—and in the meantime I’ll see what I can do about arranging financing. There’s no way my cash on hand will pay for both the equipment and the repairs. We’ll have to find a cooperative soul who will trust our honest faces.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,”Quincysaid.

“I’m not,” Ky said. “It’s wishful thinking. But something has to work.”

“Captain’s problem,”Quincysaid. “Mine is diagnosing something without looking at it. But just for your planning—the going rate for a new sealed unit here is fifty thousand credits, installed.”

Something was going to have to give somewhere. Ky forced herself to eat a solid, stodgy meal in the solid stodgy dining room of the Captains’ Guild, and hoped none of the other captains could see past her face to her fears. No one spoke to her but the waiter. She signed the tab and went back to her room to wrestle with information available on the public ’net and the intractable number of zeros on her letter of credit.