"Absolutely! That's the latest fashion, all the way from Eridanus Prime!" Which was even sort of true; it was the latest fashion twenty years ago. Hell, who knows; the way fashion works, it may be even back in again by now. Nobody who ever saw it would know the difference, and that's the main thing. It's all about the envy a lady can generate among the neighbors.

 

"Yes, I do have more revolvers back up on the mother ship. 'Bout a hundred, I reckon. Buy me out? Well, I don't know... I guess, for the right price..." Local warlord wants to keep his monopoly on power, it's hardly my place to object. Besides, now I can sell half a dozen more under the table at triple the price.

 

"Ration bars? Why, I've got cases." All past their sell-by, but I can blame that on time dilation. Besides, they never truly spoil; they just gradually pick up a certain cardboardy flavor.

 

"Toys? Certainly! Here's a hundred different wonders from all across the cosmos to fascinate the kiddies! One free gobstopper with every purchase." Cheap gimcrackery, sure, but kids love that stuff. It's shiny and colorful, low-tech and inexpensive as hell; sometimes I even give it away. There's no advertising quite like happy children playing with a yo-yo, kaleidoscope, cup-and-ball, whip-top, or pinwheel.

 

Besides, the little ones are a blast. One of my few regrets in this business is, I'll never settle down and raise a family of my own. So I do my best to spoil other people's kids whenever I can. Best kind anyway; you can wind 'em up and give 'em back.

 

"Credit? No. Cash only." Cash for the noggins and the piggins and the firkins, as they say. Besides, I never visit the same planet twice. I don't accept returns or give refunds, and rather than explain I prefer to spare them the whole uncomfortable experience. I'm considerate that way.

 

I know some traders that stay onworld for weeks, bouncing from spot to spot, but I like to pick one single settlement: Someplace prosperous that can afford my little luxuries; someplace with a local industry that sells wholesale. Last week it was uncut sporacles fresh from the mine, and I offloaded three tons of duranalloy tools at high retail. The world before, I'd bought out a failing couturier; I was selling his stock today and loading up on grain alcohol and a local specialty adhesive — one hell of a vacuum-proof superglue distilled from a native tree sap.

 

The secrets to success in my trade are to keep moving, keep trading, and keep your eyes open. It's part market savvy, part instinct, and mostly having a shuttle with a fast launch cycle.

 

Salesmanship helps too.

 

* * *

 

It took longer than usual to get off the ground; a tiny moppet in her Sunday best was solemnly "feeding the spaceship". The cover of the docking module cover has a proximity sensor, and it opens a crack if something comes close, let's say a leaf. Put it inside, it closes again just like a mouth. It was cute as hell and I had to laugh, but that girl sure made a mess. She'd stuffed the airlock with leaves and twigs and every bit of junk she could find.

 

I gave her a shiny red pinwheel to play with and a gobstopper the size of an apple, chucked her on the chin and sent her on her way. Then I spent a good hour sweeping greenery out of the machinery.

 

* * *

 

I got back in orbit and the docking ring wouldn't mate. Bits of debris had stuck in the gooey sap from the leaves, and it prevented the airlock sealing. I spent another three hours suiting up, going E.V.A., and picking out tiny twigs one at a time. It was well past my midnight when I staggered to my bunk.

 

What I woke up to was even worse. Turns out that sticky sap came from the very trees they use to make their superglue. Damn that kid! The shuttle was now all but welded to the ship. I radioed down to explain the delay and set to work. Fortunately I carry spares; unfortunately, that glue's impervious to every solvent in my inventory. It was so solid I needed a chisel. That's not an easy tool in zero-gee.

 

I made it back to the surface in the early evening, stopping first to offload the guns and then moving on to the town square. My outgoing shipments were all stacked and ready for loading, and the customers were lined up for three blocks. That same damn kid was busy playing with my cargo, and this time I was a lot less gentle chasing her away. She stuck her tongue out at me as she ran off. Waste of a gobstopper.

 

It was a grand night; I sold out of almost everything. While things were winding down, I got a couple of the local layabouts to give me a hand loading the cargo; they were happy to help in exchange for bottles of the local hooch. Then I finished with the last customers and buttoned up. Time to move on.

 

As I was taking off, I noticed that damn kid again. She was clear over on the other side of the square, but even at this distance I could have sworn she had an evil grin on her face. Enemy for life, that one. Ah, well; I'd never see her again. I stuck out my tongue and waved.

 

* * *

 

While unloading, I discovered that a single hole in the top five-gallon bucket had let glue ooze down over almost every other container in the stack. The entire pile was now solidly attached to my deck plating, and any brute-force approach would be sure to rupture one of the lower tubs.

 

There was a shiny red pinwheel anchored to the top.