'I am pleased to hear it. So a xenos-cultured cereal strain would not be hard to market?'
'Naturally not. There are collective enterprises eager for assured crop yields. Especially those hot-housed by alien technology/
'Good/ I lied. 'But I want the best return. Saemon told me that House Glaw should be the first to approach/
'Saemon?'
'Saemon Crotes. The Guild Sinesias envoy I dealt with on Hesperus/
'Quite so! You wish me to arrange a trade meeting with House Glaw?'
'I think that's what I said, didn't I?'
We left the Guild Sinesias dock twenty minutes later. Bequin was still licking her lips from the birri.
As soon as our skiff was clear of the building, the vox-ceiver woven into my cuff began to twitch.
'Eisenhorn/
It was Lowink. 'I've just accepted a message from Tobius Maxilla. Do you want me to relive it?'
'Just a summary, Lowink/
'He says the ship that took Eyclone's Gudrun-Hubris run is at anchor here. Says he's done some probing. The Rogue Trader Scaveleur. The master, one Effries Tanokbrey, is already planetside/
'Signal Maxilla and thank him for his work, Lowink/1 said.
The identity of Eyclone's mysterious starship was now known to me.
We were taking lunch at a commercial tavern overlooking the Bridge of Carnodons when Macheles sent Sire Farchaval a private text message by vox-drone.
The drone, an oblate metal unit roughly the size of a small citrus fruit, came buzzing into the dining terrace like a pollen-insect, scudding from table to table at head-height on its tiny repeller motors until it found me. Then it hovered, chimed, and beamed its holographic cargo against the side of my crystal tumbler: the crest of Guild Sinesias, followed by a formal and obsequious text inviting Sire Farchaval and his entourage to a meeting at the Glaw estate the following afternoon. We were to meet Macheles at the guild building at four, where transport would be waiting.
The drone continued to project the message until I broke the beam with a wave of my hand and made a quick verbal assent, which it recorded. Dismissed, it bumbled away with its answer.
'How did it find us?' asked Bequin.
A pheromonal trace/ Aemos replied. The guild building's master systems will have sampled you both during your visit and then it would have come searching until it matched the record in its sensors/
Vox-drone messaging was common practice on higher tech Imperial worlds like this. It gave me an idea.
'You say the guild seemed comfortable dealing with xenos material?' Betancore was saying, raising his wine glass to sip.