Though the KDM was no longer supersonic, it made sufficient noise in landing to bring a number of people out of the warehouse.
The building had a galvanized roof, propped up by pillars of cinder blocks, but the facade was lined with local stone. As Jax cut the en-gines, Zainal and Jelco took places at the hatch until it was safe to open and extend the ramp. Several men, dressed in the long skirts used for cool comfort on this continent, came forward to greet them.
"Hi there, I am Jelco, representing Dan Vitali, Newark Airport Coordinator," Jelco said, holding the pharmaceutical package up so it was visible.
A very tall black man grinned, his teeth so white in his face that Bazil, standing by his father, was astonished and automatically came out with a Masai greeting.
Startled, the man halted midstride, staring first at Bazil and then at Zainal.
"Catteni?" he demanded, his nostrils flaring, smile disappearing. Whatever Bazil said in response relieved the man, and he resumed his welcoming grin. He said something else and Bazil gave what was obviously a very courteous reply.
"He did not think our race could speak his language," Bazil said in a proud aside to his father. "He feels honored for his entire tribe." "Good," Jelco murmured. "We have the medicines that were re-quested."
A second man, a stethoscope lying around his neck and sweat dripping down his shoulders, heaved a dramatic sigh of relief and stepped forward. "You cannot know how many lives you will be sav ing with this. Welcome, and thrice welcome. I'm Dr. Standish." He looked through the contents, sighing with relief as he identified the various packages. "Will you excuse me if I dash ofl?"
"Certainly," Jelco said. "We understand the need for haste." "What I don't understand is how you got here so fast. My coordi-nator only got the radio message an hour ago."
"This ship is hypersonic, Doctor," Zainal said, "and we under-stood that time was critical."
"You have no idea," the doctor replied, somewhat distracted. "Fa-ther Simeon's prayers are the most efficacious I have ever encoun-tered. Excuse me." He dashed off to a waiting jeep that bore a faded Red Cross insignia and some other emblems that neither Kris nor Chuck could identify.
"Please to come inside. Coffee is available for your pleasure," said the African. "I am Chief Sembu."
Bazil then suavely introduced the arrivals and included Floss, who was hovering, slightly out of sight. Sembu was once more astonished when Floss gave him a greeting in the Masai's Swahili dialect. Kris ur-gently gestured for her to accompany the party.
Jelco strode into the warehouse and into what was obviously a tasting room. The smell of rich, dark coffee was a fragrance everyone inhaled, and there was a small pot of brown sugar fragments to sweeten the fine brew. Underlying the coffee odor was something else, fruity, which she couldn't identify.
Jelco and Sembu sat opposite each other and began the dickering. "A plane we could load easily," Sembu was saying, gesturing to the contents of the warehouse, glimpsed through the separating win-dow. "That: aircraft looks as if it could take all we have bagged." "And roasted?" Jelco asked.
"Well, not all are roasted," Sembu had to admit. "For one thing, we counted on an average-sized plane. Secondly, our buyers usually have their own roasters and prefer to have their people supervise such a delicate operation."
"Will Barevi appreciate 'careful' roasting?" Kris asked Zainal. She knew the process took time but did they have any to spare?
"How much is already roasted, Chief Sembu?" Jelco asked.
"We surmised that you would bring the largest aircraft you have," Sembu said with an understanding grin. "A 747, perhaps. We have sufficient to fill that size craft that have been roasted, as we agreed with Coord Vitali."
"And enough for a two-thousand-ton capacity?" Chuck asked. "Hmm, but not all would be roasted."
"Beggars can't be choosers."
"Nor winners poor losers," Sembu said and extended his hand to Chuck. "I can provide you with a roaster and instructions, but roast-ing is a delicate business."
"We'll take the roaster, and the mistakes will be ours," Chuck said, taking the hand. "In all fairness to Jelco here and the green coord," he added, "they'd no idea we'd be dropping the KDM in their lap, so to speak."
The deal was struck and the chief gave orders to his workers to start loading. At which point Zainal called back to the ship to bring out the lifts. He suspected they'd be needed to load the roaster, though he'd no idea what size the thing would be.
That was providential because the large and bulky roaster could accommodate three sacks of beans at a time. It was loaded onto the KDM. Sembu was fascinated by the lift, even after Zainal warned him that its power pack was half-drained, but trading it bought them all the fresh produce they could store as well as four twenty-five-pound sacks of the rough brown sugar that Kris and Floss found in the local market. Kris also bought some lengths of a blue fabric displayed at the market so that Floss could finally have some new dresses. The girl was touched that Kris remembered such a detail amid all the others she was currently handling. Kris tried to find cinnamon and raisins but no one paid her much mind in the scurry to load the coffee beans. The entire warehouse of coffee bean sacks fit neatly into two of the three KDM cargo holds.
"Having all robustas is great," Kris said, "but we could use some of the milder arabicas, too." She had listened to enough of the spiel to have absorbed some details about the romance of coffee.
"They are grown elsewhere than Kenya," Sembu replied. "How-ever, as ours are often used in combination with arabicas, and considering that trade is nonexistent, you might be able to exchange robus-tas for a few sacks of arabicas in, say, Santa Lucia in the Caribbean. If that's on your way, of course."
"That's an island," Kris said, trying to place it.
"In the Caribbean. There are many plantations on it. One, in fact, not far from the volcano."
"Volcano?" An acceptable landmark, certainly.
"Oh, it's not active. Or wasn't when I last had news, but you might do a deal with them. Their beans are very good-for arabicas," he said with a slightly deprecating smile for a lesser breed, "but excel-lent in its category."
Kris grinned.
"Asante sana," Bazil said politely, bowing slightly to the man.
"I never thought I'd hear a Catteni speaking Swahili. It is worth much to have you here," Sembu said, smiling benignly down at the sturdy boy.
"Would you know, sir, where we can get some Alkoriti?" Kris asked.
"But of course." Sembu was really surprised.
"We found some bushes the last time we were here," she said, "for the Masai tribe that now resides on Botany. They require the plant for a rite of passage."
"You have Masai on Botany?"
"Yes," and when the man frowned, Kris hurried on. "They have their own settlement on the southern peninsula and we brought them some acacia bushes, but there is always a need for more Alkoriti."
"The children grow well?" Sembu asked, interested. He had also beckoned a worker to his side and gave him a low command. The man raced down the hill at such speed Kris worried that he would do himself damage.
"Well and strong," Bazil said proudly, "so that my father wanted me with him on this trip."
Shortly, Zainal reappeared, having finished securing the cargo, and joined Peran.
"Sembu has offered to bring us Alkoriti," Kris said.
"Ah, very good. Our thanks, Sembu. We promised to find more for Chief Materu " He also winked at Kris, for now they could hon-estly answer queries-if there were any-as to why they had de toured to Kenya instead of departing spaceward from Newark. Jelco joined them while they waited for the return of the messenger, who came back panting somewhat from a quick round-trip, but carrying a pouch that he turned over to Sembu. Who, in his turn, passed it over to Kris.