Chanur's Venture (18 page)

-- one for stsho, one for mahendo'sat. She was more hani with the kif.

"It isn't Annum," she said across the bridge in a low, hard voice. "Nothing's

Anuurn but Anuurn itself, crewman, and we aren't home."

Maybe he understood that much. She saw a slight flicker in the eyes.

"Pyanfar," Tully said. "Maing Tol. Go Maing Tol."

She put the com plug into her ear. "I understand," she said. He was scared.

Terrified. "Quiet, hear? We got you. We'll work it out. Fix, understand?"

He said nothing, neither he nor Khym.

"Gods rot," she muttered, and got up. "Take her in, Haral." She stalked off aft,

caught the safety grip and looked back. "I'm going to clean up. Tirun, you wash

up; I want you with me. I want that courier, niece."

It was not an easy thing to manage, a cleanup during dock approach. She had

inhaled a bit of water and stung her nose, but that meeting was its own kind of

emergency -- to be presentable as possible, formidable; and there was not, here,

the time to spend on it.

She overdid it, if possible -- wore her finest red breeches, her most

resplendent rings. She reeked of perfume. That was interspecies courtesy; and it

was strategy, to drown subtle cues to sensitive alien noses.

Face the bastards down, by the gods.

It was The Pride at stake. And with it--

The Pride nudged her way into dock, smooth, smooth glide now; a last warning

from Haral and another shift of G as all ship rotation ceased, only spin-match

carrying them now. The sensation of fifty pounds extra weight eased off. She

held on to the recessed grip by the cabin door, trusting Haral's skill, and dock

came softly, a thump against the bow, a clang of grapples going on, the

steadying of G force at a mahen-normal .992 as they became part of Kshshti's

wheel.

She gave her mane and beard a final combing, twitched the left ear's rings into

order. The sudden silence of the ship at rest gave an illusion of deafness: the

constant white noise had ceased.

"Aunt." That was Hilfy from the bridge. "I made that contact. We've got a

customs official on the way."

"Good." She clipped a pocket com to her waist, tucked a pistol into her

pocket-gods, no way for an honest hani to do business. But Kshshti, as she had

said to Khym, was not Anuurn, and the universe was a lonely walk among species

that had been at this hunt long before hani came.

Fix the rotted vane at Urtur; crawl up the column, indeed. Hilfy Chanur would

have. Would do, when she inherited The Pride. Hilfy would make high and wide

decisions, take the straight course, not the devious.

Perhaps she had done that herself once. She tried to remember. Perhaps age

dimmed the recall.

She thought not. No, by the gods.

Young fool, in charge of her ship. Not for by-the-gods years yet. But the

thought appalled her . . . to go back to Chanur, sit in the sun and waste away.

Haral, Tirun, no youngsters themselves, to give up their posts to bright-eyed

youngsters who thought everything was simple--

Gods.

She latched the drawer tight, and walked out, a little rubber-kneed in Kshshti's

heavier G.

"Captain." From the pocket com, Haral's voice. "Message from Vigilance. Rhif

Ehrran's at our dock."

"Oh, good gods."

"They want the lock open."

She put a claw in the pocket com. "Where's that customs officer?"

"On the way. That's all we know. Stall?"

She thought about it. Gave it up. There was no need starting off hot. "No. Let

her in. Due courtesy. You and Chur and Khym stay on the bridge and keep your eye

on things. Hilfy: galley. Geran and Tully, half an hour to clean up and trade

watch with first shift. Move it." Crew was tired. Exhausted. Gods knew how much

rest they would get. Or when.

"Aye," Haral said. "They're about to hook up the accessway."

"At your discretion."

She took the lift down, the while the ship-to-station connections whined and

clanked away against the outer hull, the thunk! of lines socketing home, the

portside contact of the access tube snugging into its housing on the hull.

Tirun joined her, swung along with a visible weight in her right-hand pocket and

not a word of expectations.

Kshshti, after all.

"Ehrran's out there," Pyanfar said.

"Heard that." Cheerlessly. "Figured black-breeches would be quick about it."

There was the final thump, that was the seal in place.

"Stand by," Haral said.

"Ker Rhif," Pyanfar said-took up a pose facing the han deputy and her

black-breeched crewwoman; not insolent, no. Just solid enough to invite no

farther progress down the corridor.

"Ker Pyanfar." Rhif Ehrran took up a like pose, arms folded. Armed, by the gods:

a massive pistol hung at the side of those black silk trousers. The crewwoman

carried the same. "Sorry to trouble you this early. I'm sure you've got other

things on your mind."

Pyanfar blew softly through her nostrils, comment enough.

"What caused the damage?" Ehrran asked in that friendly, official way.

She pursed her lips into a pleasant expression and glared. "Well, now, that's

something we're still looking into, captain. Likely it was dust."

"You want to explain that last message at Meetpoint?"

"I think it's self-explanatory. I meant it. It would be a lot better if you

avoided us right now. We've got a problem. I don't pretend we don't. I don't

think it ought to involve the han."

"You feel qualified to decide that?"

"Someone has to. Or the han's in it. I hadn't wanted that."

"You hadn't wanted that."

She refrained from retort. It was what Ehrran wanted. It was all she needed --

if anything lacked at all.

"Where do you plan to go?" Rhif Ehrran asked.

"Nowhere, till I get that vane fixed."

"Then?"

"Maing Tol. Points beyond."

A silence then. "You know," Rhif Ehrran said, "you've had a lot of experience

out here, a lot of experience. Do I have to tell you the convention regarding

hiring a ship out?"

"You don't. We're not."

"You're sitting in a border port with your tail in a vise, Chanur. Are you still

going to brazen it out? I'm giving you a chance, one chance before I suspend

your license on the spot. You get that two-legged cargo of yours down here and

turn him over."

"You're not referring to my husband."

Ehrran's ears went flat and her mouth opened.

"I didn't think so," Pyanfar said. "Who sent you? Stle stles stlen?"

"See here, Chanur. You don't negotiate with me. I've got a han ship eight

light-years into the Disputed Territories because I figured you'd foul it up,

I'm likely to get my tail shot up getting out of here, and I'm not in the mood

to trade pleasantries. I want the alien down here. I want him wrapped up and

ready to go, and be glad I don't pull your license."

"We aren't carrying any alien. You're talking about a citizen of the Compact."

"I'm aware of the fiction the mahendo'sat arranged. Let's not argue

technicalities. Get him down here."

"He's a passenger on my ship. He has some say where he goes."

"He'll have no say if this ship has no license."

She drew a long, slow breath. The world had gone dark all round, excepting Rhif

Ehrran's elegant person. "There's Compact Law, Ehrran. I trust you'll remember

that."

"You're on the edge. Believe me that you are."

She stood there with her heart slamming against her ribs and the light refusing

to come back. She was aware of Tirun there, at her side. She could not see her.

"Where will you take him? To the han?"

"Just leave that to us."

"No. You're talking about a friend of mine. I can be real difficult, ker Rhif.

And we're not in hani space."

There was long, frozen silence. Rhif Ehrran's ears flicked then, breaking the

moment. "You're a fool, Chanur. I can't say I don't respect your position."

"Where's he going?"

"Trust me, Chanur, that things go on in this universe somewhat remote from your

interests. Suffice it to say that this is not a unilateral action."

"Gods rot it, he's not a load of fish!"

"If you have such concern for his safety, captain, I'd suggest you distance you

from him and him from you -- considering the condition of your ship -- and let

me get him out of here."

She looked away, found no solace elsewhere. Glanced back again. "We'll bring

him."

"I'll send a car."

"Someone of my crew will take the ride with him," she said quietly. "By your

leave. He's not going to like this."

"I assure you--"

203

C. J. Cherryh

A dark figure appeared in the corridor, at the accessway: Ehrran's ears twitched

round and body followed as Pyanfar reached for her pocket, but it was

mahendo'sat, not kif.

"Customs officer," Pyanfar said.

"Advice," Rhif Ehrran said. "This is Kshshti. Not Meetpoint. If you can get this

ship running, get back to Urtur and get on to Kura. Fast. If she won't stand it,

sit tight"

"Same advice you give Prosperity?"

"Prosperity's on han business, Leave it at that. Stay out of things that don't

concern you, Chanur."

"I hear you. I hear you very well."

"The car will be here in an hour. I don't want any foulups."

"Understood, captain."

Ehrran inclined her head in scant courtesy, collected her crewwoman and departed

the corridor, past the mahendo'sat who turned and stared.

It was a small, worried-looking mahen official who slouched past the departing

Ehrran with a backward look. Mahen female, this, a clerical with the usual

clutter of clipboard and signatures and seals and notebooks hung about her

chest; but the belt which held up the kilt about her rather pot-bellied person

had the badges of middling authority.

Then the gut came moderately in and the head came up -- no miraculous

transformation, only the suddenly sharper look of this disreputable individual.

"Voice, I," she said.

"Huh," said Pyanfar, laying back her ears. She set her hands on hips, drew a

neat quick breath, tried to reset her wits for another frame of reference. Gods.

A Voice, yet. No dockside official. "Ehrran know you? Whose voice?"

A second look back, this one taller and disdainful. The Voice -- if voice it was

-- have no name, no particular identity, and yet a considerable one, being

alter-ego to some Personage, speaker of the unspeakable, direct negotiator. She

straightened round again. "Voice stationmaster Kshshti. Stationmaster send say

you number one fool come in like that."

"No choice."

"More fool deal with fool." The Voice gestured over her shoulder, where the

Ehrran had vanished. "Where cargo?"

Pyanfar made a deprecating gesture toward the self-claimed Voice. "Where

authorization?"

The mahe drew out one small object from her belts, a badge inlaid with gold and

the Kshshti port emblem. "You keep this cargo aboard."

She laid her ears down, pricked them up again. "Look--"

"Keep. Not permit this transfer."

Pyanfar tucked her hands in her belt, turned a frown Tirun's way and looked back

again. No time to start shouting. Not yet. She gestured toward lower-deck ops.

"Look, you want go sit down, Voice? Get drink, talk?"

"What talk? Like got big cargo, got damage, got make foulup whole business?"

"Look Honorable." Now it was time to shout. "The Pride's no gods-blasted

warship, got no weapons, hear? I risk my ship twice, got damage, and I got the

promise of your government to make it good." She pulled the authorization from

her pocket and handed it to the Voice. "We got downtime, got cargo lost--"

"We fix."

It was like leaning on a wall and feeling it go down. She was off her balance an

instant, staring into those dark, earnest eyes.

Then it made sense. She drew in a breath and twitched her ears back in the

beginnings of negation.

"Meanwhile," the Voice said, "you stall this fool deputy."

"No. Not possible."

"You want help, got."

"You bet I got. Got authorization." She retrieved the paper from the Voice's

hand and waved it under the Voice's nose. "Un-con-di-tional. Code Hasano-ma!

That mean anything to you?"

"We not permit this transfer."

"Well, take it up with the deputy. I can't stop it. It's my license. You

understand that?"

The Voice came close, tapped her on the chest with a dull-clawed forefinger.

"Hani. You we know longtime. This other fool we got no confidence."

"I can't do anything."

White rimmed the dark eyes. "You get number-one repair job, make quick. Want you

back in action, Pyanfar Chanur. You listen. We got right now no ship here stop

this bastard. Got delicate situation, got stsho upset -- you know stsho bastard,

know hani got young fool, old bastard stsho lot smart, lot timid, got own

interest. Not say not-friend. Got own interest. Our interest got you fix up. You

fix han."

Her jaw dropped. "Good gods! what do you think I am?"

"Maybe we talk, huh?"

"There's nothing to talk about." She waved a hand aft. "That's the Y unit out.

The Y unit took the main column linkage. When the linkage failed--"