The Agent Gambit by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee

and be able to reorder." She looked up at the larger of the two aliens, who seemed to be the boss of the venture. "Will fifty percent up front and fifty percent on delivery be satisfactory?"
    "Quite satisfactory, " Edger replied politely. "But it appears that I have not made myself perfectly clear. I am mortified to display such a lack of proficiency in your language. The case is this: 'Immediately,' as I understand you to mean the word, is not possible. It takes a space of time to encourage knives to grow in the desired form for the proper edge to be induced, for handles and sheaths to be formed and grown . . . ."
    The manager frowned. "How long?"
    Edger waved a hand. "For such a knife as that, do we notify those at home this day-twenty of these Standard Years."
    "Twenty-" She swallowed and stared down at the lovely thing resting on the velvet. "What if you were to-ah, encourage -a smaller knife? Say one half as large as this? How long would that take?"
    Edger considered. "Perhaps fifteen years. Some effort, you understand, cannot be hastened, though there is a saving in time due to the fact that the knife need not be encouraged to grow so large."
    "There's nothing you can do to hurry the process a little? I mean-twenty Standards . . . " The bell rang in the front of the shop, announcing the arrival of another customer. Two customers, she saw around the curve of the silent turtle's shell, both well-dressed and cultured.
    "Excuse me," she murmured to Edger and moved a bit down-counter. "Yes, sir? Is there something in particular you'd like to see?"
    The older of the two smiled and flipped a hand. "Nothing particular. A birthday gift for my daughter. I'd like to look around, if you'd care to finish with those gentles."
    She smiled and nodded. "Please take all the time you need. And if I can be of any assistance . . . ." The phrase drifted off as she walked back to Edger and Selector.
    "You must understand that it's not possible for a-a human -to wait twenty Standards for the filling of an order. Are you certain," she asked Edger very earnestly, "that there is nothing you can do to speed the process up?"
    Edger moved his massive head from side-to-side in the gesture that he understood to mean negation. "I regret not. Were we to attempt such a thing-as has been done in the past, when knives were encouraged at a lightning pace-perhaps three Standards from thought to blade . . . " He sighed a huge sigh. "Such knives are flawed. They do not withstand the rigors we of Middle River Clan demand of our blades.
    "That one before you-it will not shatter, no matter the provocation. Excluding, I should say, massive trauma, such as one would expect in the wreck of a land vehicle or collision of asteroid and starship. A flawed blade will shatter and be only dust upon the second strike against ordinary stone. We cannot, as craftpersons proud of our work, encourage a blade ahead of its time, knowing that it will perform as poorly as that."
    He motioned, and Selector stepped forward to return the sample to its sheath of soft vegetable hide.
    "Well," the manager said, putting her bravest face on it. "I'm sorry. I would've loved to have had some of your knives in the shop." She dredged up a smile. "Thank you for your time."
    Edger inclined his head. "Our time has been well given. My thanks for the gift of your own." He and Selector turned-carefully, in this place crammed with fragile things-and started for the door.
    "Your pardon, Gentles," the elder of the two well-dressed men said. Edger paused. Behind him, Selector paused also, there being no place to go with his brother blocking the aisle.
    The man made a slight bow, as would a resident prince upon greeting another traveling through his country. "My name is Justin Hostro. I could not help overhearing your conversation just now. Much that you have said interests me, and I believe I see a way in which we both may prosper. I would be very happy, were you to have time to walk with me to my place