Chanur's Venture (9 page)

"Maybe that's why I lost. Maybe that's why I'm here. Still running."

"Maybe because you've always known it's nonsense and a waste. What happened to

those talks we used to have? What happened to the husband who used to look at

the stars and ask me where I went, what I'd seen, what outside the world was

like?"

"Outside the world's the same as in. For me. I can't get outside the world. They

won't let me."

"Who?"

"You know who. You should have seen their faces, Py."

"Who? The stsho?"

"Ayhar."

"Those godforsaken drunks?"

"Last thing they expected -- me in that bar. That's what the stsho owner said.

'Get away from me, get away from my place, don't go crazy here.' "

"Gods rot what they think!"

"So? Did I teach them anything? Stsho didn't want to serve me in the first

place. And I'd had -- well, two. To prove I wouldn't, you know -- go berserk.

And then the riot started. What good's that going to do you -- or Kohan?"

"Kohan can take care of himself."

"You're asking too much of him. No, Py, I'm going back downworld when we get

back."

"To do what?"

"Go to Sanctuary. Do a little hunting."

"--be the target of every young bully who's honing up his skills to go assault

his papa, huh?"

"I'm old, Py. It catches up with a man faster. It's time to admit it."

"Gods-rotted nonsense! You'll go back to Anuurn with a ring in your ear, by the

gods you will."

He gave a smile, taut laugh, ears up. "Good gods, Py. You want my life there to

be short, don't you?"

"You're not going downworld."

"I'll beg on the docks till I get passage, then."

"Gods-rotted martyr."

"Let me go home, Py. Give it up. You can't change what is. They won't let you

change. Gods know they won't let me. Whatever you're trying, whatever

grandstanding nonsense you've gotten into -- give it up. Stop now. While there's

time. I'm not worth it."

"Good gods. You think the sun swings around you, don't you? Ever occur to you I

have other business than you? That I do things that don't have a thing to do

with you?"

"No," he said, "because you're desperate. And that's my fault. Gods, Py--" A

small, strangled breath, a drawing about the mouth. "It's cost enough."

"You know," she said after a moment, "you know what's kept the System in power?

The young expect to win. Never mind that three quarters of them die. Never mind

that estates get ruined when some young fluffbrain gets in power over those that

know better and tries to prove he's in charge. The young always believe in

themselves. And the graynoses flat give up, give up when they've got the estate

running at its best -- They get beaten and it's downhill again with a new lord

at the helm. All the way downhill. You know other species pass things on, like

mahendo'sat: they train their successors, for the gods' sakes--"

"They're not hani. Py, you don't understand what it feels like. You can't."

"Kohan ignored you right well."

"Sure. Easy. I wasn't much. He still ignores me. How do you think I'm here?"

"Because I say so. Because Kohan's too old and too smart to hold his breath till

I give in. And by the gods the next time some whelp comes at him with challenge

we'll tear the fellow's ears off. First."

"Good gods, Py! You can't do that to him--"

"Keep him alive? You can lay money on it. Me. Rhean. Even his Faha wife. Not to

mention his daughters. Maybe some son, who knows? -- someday."

"You're joking."

"No."

"Py. You remember the fable of the house and the stick? You pull the one that's

loose and it gets another one--"

"Fables are for kids."

"--and another. Pretty soon the whole house comes down and buries you. You start

a fight like that in the han and gods know -- gods know what it'll do to us."

"Maybe it might be better. You think of that?"

"Py, I can't take this dealing with strangers. I get mad and I can't stand it, I

ache, Py. That's biology. We're set up to fight. Millions of years -- it's not

an intellectual thing. Our circulatory system, our glands--"

"You think I don't get mad? You think I didn't want to kill myself some kif out

there? And I by the gods held my temper."

"Nature gave you a better deal, Py. That's all."

"You're scared."

He stared at her, eyes wide in offense.

"Scared and spoiled," she said. "Scared because you're doing what no male's

supposed to be able to do; and guilty that maybe that makes you unmasculine; and

gods-rotted spoiled by a mother that coddled your tempers instead of boxing your

ears the way she did your sister's. He's just a son, huh? Can't be expected to

come up to his sister's standard. Let him throw his tantrums, and keep him out

of his father's sight. Makes him potent, doesn't it? And gods, never let him

trust another male. Rely on your sister, huh?"

"Leave my family out of this."

"Your sister hasn't done one gods-rotted thing to back you. And your worthless

daughters-"

"My sister did back me."

"Till you lost."

"What's she supposed to do? Gods, what's it like for her, living in Kara's house

with me running about as if I were still--"

"So she's uncomfortable. Isn't that too bad? Spoiled, I say. Both of you, in

separate ways."

His ears were back, all the way. He looked younger that way, the scars less

obvious.

"You want," she said, "the advantages I have and the privileges you used to

have. Well, they don't go together, Khym. And I'm offering you what I've got.

Isn't it enough? Or do you want some special category?"

"Py, for the gods' sake I can't work on the docks!"

"Meaning in public."

"I'll work aboard." A great, gusting sigh. "Show me what to do."

"All right. You clean up. You get yourself to the bridge and Haral'll show you

how to read scan. It's going to take more than five minutes." She sucked at her

cheeks. She had not meant to make that gibe. "You can sit monitor on that. Our

lives may depend on it. Keep thinking of that."

"Don't give me--"

"--responsibility? -- Nice, boring, long-attention-span jobs?"

"Gods rot it, Py!"

"You'll do fine." She turned and punched the door button with a thumb claw. "I

know you will."

"It's revenge, that's what it is. For the bar."

"No. It's paying your gods-rotted bar bill same as any of us would."

She stalked out. The door hissed shut like a comment at her back.

Chapter Four

Tully was at least on his feet -- seemed to be feeling like Tully, which meant

insisting on cleaning himself up if he wobbled doing it, crashing about the

lowerdecks washroom talking to himself (or thinking that he was being

understood) and generally insisting on his privacy from females even if they

were of different species. Hilfy dithered between communications from Haral

topside via the hallway com panel, frantic requests from Chur in the op room

down the corridor (Tirun and Geran were busy down in cargo offloading canisters,

with attendant booms and thumps up through the deck plates), and the barricaded

washroom into which disappeared a pair of Haral's blue trousers and out of which

issued steam and the indescribable mingle of human-smell, fruit, fish and

disinfectant soap.

"You all right?" Hilfy asked, when a hairless arm snaked the offered trousers

from around the corner of the door. "Tully, hurry it up. We've got other

problems. Fast? Understand?"

A mumbled answer came back and the door went shut as if he had leaned on the

control as soon as she had gotten her arm out. Hilfy looked round in desperation

as Chur came trotting back from ops waving a pair of pocket corns and with a

third clipped to her drawstring waist. "Got it," Chur said. "Translator's up and

running."

"Thank the gods." She pounded on the door again, whisked it open as Chur thrust

a pocket com and earplug around the corner to their passenger and drew her arm

back. "Tully--" she said to the unit Chur gave her. She put the earplug in with

a grimace. "Tully? You hear me now?"

"Yes," the sound came back, mechanical, from the com loop to the translating

computer. "Who talk?" The translator's syntax was far from perfect.

"Tully," Chur said, "it's Chur talking. Hilfy and I got other work, understand?

Got to go. You hurry it up; we take you to quarters, get you settled in."

"Got talk to Pyanfar."

"Captain's busy, Tully."

"Got talk." The door opened. He leaned in the doorframe, wearing blue hani

trousers, which fit, but barely; and shirtless like themselves. His all but

hairless skin was flushed from the heat inside and his mane and beard were

dripping wet. "Got talk, come # # talk to Pyanfar."

"Tully, we've got troubles," Hilfy said. "Big emergency." She took him by the

arm and Chur took the other, drawing him along despite his objections. "Got

cargo troubles, all kinds of troubles."

"Kif." He went stiff and stopped cooperating. "Kif are here?*'

"We're still at dock," Hilfy said, keeping him moving. "We're sitting at

Meetpoint and we're as safe as we're going to be. Come on."

"No, no, no." He turned and seized her arms with his bluntfingered hands, let

her go and shook at Chur. "# No # # #"

Hilfy shook her head at the static breakup. The translator missed those words.

Or never had them.

"Hilfy, Chur -- mahen # take # ship # human. I bring papers from #. They ask #

hani make stop these kif. Got danger. We're not safe # Meetpoint."

"What's he mean?" asked Chur, her ears gone lower, up again. "You catch that?"

"Go get hani fight these kif," Tully said.

"Good gods," Hilfy said.

"Friend," he said again, the hani word, that sent garble through the translator,

less forgiving of his mangled pronunciation. His strange blue eyes were aflicker

with fear and secrets. "Friend."

"Sure," Hilfy said. She felt a cold lump at the pit of her stomach, hearing the

clank and whine of cargo at work below. Things clicked into place of a sudden,

that her aunt had committed them to something more than running an illegal

passenger -- being desperate, with Chanur's financial back to the wall.

It was more than human trade Tully brought. Trade might save their hides.

But entanglements with kif, deals with a mahendo'sat who was not the trader he

gave out to be--

And the likes of Rhif Ehrran breathing down their backs all the while -- she had

heard it all from Chur.

The han would have their ears.

Pyanfar took the com to the shower with her, hung it on the wall outside. On the

day's record so far, she expected calamities.

The first call brought her dripping from shower to the mat outside undried, mane

and beard and hide cascading suds.

"Captain." Haral's voice.

"Trouble?"

"Na Khym's here. Says you said he should sit scan monitor."

"Show him what he needs."

Dead silence from the other end. Then: "Aye, captain. Sorry to bother you."

Back to the shower then, to wash the suds off. She slicked the mane back,

flattened her ears and squinched her eyes and nostrils shut, face-on to the

water-jet for one precious self-indulgent second. She sneezed the water clear

and cycled from water to drier, fluffing out her mane and beard, enjoying the

warmth.

The com beeper went off again.

"Gods rot." She left the heat and stood damp and shivering by the hook, fumbling

the answer slot. "Pyanfar."

"Captain." Haral again. "Got a kifish message couriered in. From one Sikkukkut.

Says it's for you personally."

"Open it."

A long silence. "He's offering partnership."

"Good gods." She forgot the physical cold for a deeper shock.

"Says he wants to talk with you face to face. Says -- gods ---he's talking

specifics here. He names ships he says are after us. Says we have mutual

enemies. He gets into kifish stuff here -- pukkukkta."

"Gods-rotted pukkukkta changes meaning in every context -- get linguistic comp

on that. Get it on the whole thing -- Keep alert up there."

"Aye, captain. Sorry."

"All right." She sneezed and cut the com off, returned to the shower and

recycled the dryer.

"Captain. Captain."

She left the staff and snatched up com. "For the gods' sake, Haral--"

"--Captain, sorry. That request for scheduling -- It seems we're being sued. Got

six lawsuits against us and station says it can't give clearance without--"

She shut her eyes a moment, composed her voice and kept it very calm. "Get the

station-master online. Tell gtst to issue orders."

"By your leave, I've tried, captain. Call won't go through. The stationmaster's

office says gtst is indisposed. The word was gstisi."

Personality crisis.

"That gods-rotted white-skinned flutterbrain isn't going to Phase on us!

Countersue the bastards and start prep for manual undock as soon as they get

that cargo clear. Get everyone on it down there. And send a message to the

director and say if gtst doesn't get this straightened out I'll give gtst new