Chanur's Legacy (7 page)

Certainly whatever was going on between No’shto-shti-stlen and the stsho supposed to receive this whatever-it-was at Urtur had attracted someone’s attention, or leaked at one end of the deal or the other, Point: Haisi was here. He had come here from elsewhere at sometime—and Urtur was as good as anywhere. While chance and taking advantage of a local leak of information might have brought him to their ship, it was just as possible he was telling part of the truth—and he had known it and come here knowing it. Which meant others might

They were offloading canisters as fast as the
Legacy
could cycle them out; and by tomorrow they had to be taking others aboard. They had to know as early as next morning whether they were going to pass over the Hoas cans and let another ship take the Hoas load. And that meant making a decision ... that meant signing or not signing.

That meant solvency after this trip ... or
still
being involved in the deal even if they turned it down, dammit, because being Pyanfar’s niece, if she took the stsho object aboard, it said one thing; and if she refused, and it was some crazy stsho religious thing that brought down a friendly governor at Meetpoint—that was disaster.

For once she wished she
could
ask Pyanfar. But if leaks were happening, they would proliferate. If the mane agent knew, his crew knew something; if his crew knew something, it could get to the docks; if the kifish guard knew, the kif they might be in collusion with knew; and if things had gone out over station com, then the com operators in station control might know, and so might their associates...

In which case if she didn’t sign it and didn’t take the deal, and left here for Hoas, there were die-hards who would never believe they hadn’t the object aboard, and that it wasn’t all a ruse. So the minute one Haisi Ana-whatever knew anything about it—they were tagged with the stsho deal and the stsho object whether or not they actually had it.

At least if they signed the deal and took it, they got paid.

“Who we got to take the Hoas stuff?” she asked on com, when she got back to her office.

“We taking the deal, captain?”
Chihin asked. “Looks as if. Who do we have?” “Mahen trader.
Notaiji.
Just in, reputable ship. Regular runs to Hoas. Plenty of time to make the schedule and looking for a load. They don’t usually bid, just take what’s going and ship when they’re full-but this is up to their cap. Good deal for them.”

She considered that an unhappy moment and two. Of course a mahen ship was all there was. Where was another hani ship, when a little obfuscation might have served them?

“There are kif outbound. And a t’ca may be. But I didn’t ‘t consider them as options.”

“No,” she said. Almost she had rather the t’ca. But getting the address and the disposition of cargo straight with a matrix brain was an exercise in frustration.

And it might send the cans to OVo’o’ai, for all any of them could tell. It didn’t bother a t’ca shipper so , as far as anyone could figure out their economics But it played hell with one’s reputation with oxy-breathers.

The kid
hadn’t
had breakfast. He attacked the meat and eggs like a starveling, between trying to appreciate the kit, and the personal items.

“Thought you could use them,” Tiar said, standing by the door, and due to be on other duties. But Hallan Meras was alternately shoving food in his mouth and opening packages. She had brought in nothing contraband, so far as she could figure, nothing he shouldn’t be let loose with. The captain hadn’t said anything about any restrictions, or given any impression she feared the kid would sabotage them. The captain hadn’t thought overmuch about the kid, by what Tiar could tell, not delegated anybody to get him breakfast, even if the captain had remembered about the torn trousers and sent her off to the market to do something about his wardrobe. Small wonder—but still ... where the kid sat, it hadn’t been a good morning.

“Everybody thought you were still asleep,” she said, by way of apology.

“I got up to work,” he said, and swallowed a hasty mouthful, looking at the silver-trimmed box. “It’s beautiful. What kind of writing is it?”

“Mahend. Formal. Probably lost in some dice game. Maybe in a mahen bar. Then down to the Rows. Somebody needed cash. Anything you want, you can find it in that market, that’s what they claim anyway. Anything you ever lose—ends up here eventually.”

“I got to see it,” the kid said.

“Got to see it, huh?”

Hallan’s ears dropped by half. “That’s where I got in trouble.”

“Swung on somebody, what I hear.”

“I didn’t intend to!”

“Yeah. The police probably hear that one a lot here.”

“I didn’t!
Ker
Tiar, ... I wasn’t drunk. They said I was drunk, but I wasn’t. Somebody just started swinging, I don’t even know who.”

She found herself disposed to believe the boy—at least that he believed what he was saying; many the hani novice that had lost count of the cups. She could recall such a time. Or two.

“I want to work” the boy said. “I do. I have my license. I used to fix the farm equipment. ...”

“That’s not exactly qualification.”

“... before I shipped on the
Sun.
I mean I learned mechanics. I can run the loaders, I can do anything with cargo...”

“Not that we can’t use a hand, but part of the deal with the stsho was getting you off and out of here. I don’t think the captain wants you on the docks attracting attention.”

The kid’s countenance fell, his shoulders slumped. More than disappointment. It was a need of something, there was no time, and Tiar told herself she was a fool for asking.

“Upset you. Didn’t mean to. How?”

The kid shook his head. Interest in breakfast and the packages seemed gone. He didn’t seem articulate at the moment, so rather than embarrass him she answered her question with a question.

“You want
out
there for some reason? Kid, it’s romantic, but it’s hardly worth your neck. There’ll be other places.”

He gave her a hurt look. So it touched on the nerve but didn’t quite press it. “Somebody you want to meet out there?” Shake of his head, no.

“Something you want to find out there?”

Another shake of his head. Further and further from the sore point.

“You want to talk to me, kid?”

Third shake of his head, and a stare at the wall.

She never was able to walk away from a problem. She stood there, set hands on hips and looked at him a long, long time, figuring he’d collect himself.

“I want to work,” he said finally, without looking at her. “I’ll do anything...”

“I hate to bring this up,” she said, with the feeling she still hadn’t heard what she was after, and might not, now. They had circled somewhere away from the substance. “But you know we’re sort of ancestral enemies.”

“Not with Meras!”

“But with Sahern.”

“I know,” the kid said faintly.

“Hey, it’s not as if it’s active, A couple hundred years since. We’ve got no present grudge. We’ll get you back to your ship. We can be real civil to them, just let you off and wish them well. If we can’t do that, we’ll drop you at some station where they’re due.”

“How could I live? And I don’t
want
to go back to them!”

It was a question, how they were going to install a hani male on anybody’s quiet space station. Never mind he was a quiet, mannerly kid, the reputation of hani males for violence was well-established and the fear was there. And if anything did happen ...

“Well, we’ll think of something. Don’t worry about it.”

He did worry. He looked at her as if he faced an execution. Then looked down and shoved his breakfast around the plate.

They’d locked the door on him. They hadn’t been certain of his disposition to stay put, or to take orders.

They hadn’t been certain his sojourn in the station brig hadn’t been justified and they still didn’t know that.

But she had some judgment of the situation. And the captain might have her hide, but ...

“What’s your skill entail, son? Your license says tech. You do anything else?”

“Cargo. Maintenance. Galley. —I want to stay with Chanur.”

Stay with Chanur. An unrelated male. Nobody’s husband. —Same mess he’d been in on the Sahern ship, to tell the embarrassing truth, and she wasn’t going to ask. Young kid like that, too anxious and too gullible, who knew
what
his skills had entailed? “I
can prove
I know what I’m doing,” he said. “I haven’t said you didn’t know what you were doing. I’m sure you do.” “Then let me work!”

Plain as plain, his hope to impress hell out of them, to prove himself in some dazzling display and have the whole crew beg him to stay. And who wouldn’t rather a Chanur ship than Sahern? Perfectly reasonable choice. Perfectly engaging kid. She’d had two sons-had cursed bad luck, that way. They were probably dead. She hadn’t stayed planetside long enough to make it worse than it was. Had had them, one and the other, but the disappointment was there from the time the tests had shown they were male. Lot of women wouldn’t have carried them. She didn’t know why she had, tell the truth, but she was old-fashioned, and she had problems about
that.
Had regretted it for years. And here came this kid, about the age of her younger boy, in space, trying to overcome what Pyanfar Chanur and a lot of her own generation called stupid prejudice, and what a whole string of other generations from time out of mind called nature.

She wasn’t sure where she stood on that. If Pyanfar was right her boys had gone out in the outback and died for nothing. If Pyanfar was right—it still made problems. Because the kid was unattached, he had a face you wouldn’t forget, particularly when he looked at you like that and stirred feelings that weren’t maternal at all. She tried to think about her own boys, telling herself it was Pyanfar’s new age and she was not supposed to think thoughts like that about lost, scared kids some clan had let stray out of a cloistered life to deal with people who hadn’t had to exercise their moral restraint in a long, long time.

“Tell you what,” she said, because she
was
ashamed of herself, “we got some mop-up to do, and if that fits your notion of work ...”

“Anything that needs doing.”

“You finish that breakfast. Door’s unlocked, I’m right down the corridor, in the operations center. We’re calc’ing trim and we’re going to be taking on a fuel load. Sound familiar?”

“I can learn.” The animation that had left his face was back, his eyes were bright, his whole being was full of anxious energy. He looked strung tight, probably so scared he hadn’t been eating, scared now, too, of the word no.

“Eat your breakfast. Take a right and a left as you leave the room. You’ll know it when you see it.”

“Back again,” the kifish guards observed.

Hilfy had no comment for them, except, “I’m here to see
gtst
excellency.”

“Of course, of course, fine hani captain. This
way,
hani captain. We would never give offense to the great—“

“Shut up,” she said. And regretted losing her temper that far. But she had a bad feeling all the way to the audience hall.

“Tlsti
mii,” the secretary said, with a lifting of augmented, plumed eyebrows. It might not be the same secretary. The pastel body paint looked subtly different. But it was hard to tell.
Gtst
gathered the contract and the requisite gift into
gtst
long fingers and performed three increasingly deep bows.

“Tlistai na,”
Hilfy said, bowing once. “I send it by your undoubtedly capable hands. There is no need to disturb the excellency.”

“So gracious. Bide a small moment, most honorable.”

She bided. She felt her stomach upset—felt an insane and thoroughly impractical urge to charge after the secretary and retrieve the contract before
gtst
passed the curtains.

But the deed was done. She thought after a moment that she might successfully escape back to the ship, but in that moment the secretary returned through the curtain to wave at her and to beckon her to come ahead. No’shto-shti-stlen wanted to see her, perhaps to hand the object into her keeping on the spot, for all she knew; and she was not eager to have the responsibility crossing the docks. An order to move the bank to action, on the other hand ...

She had far rather the million on credit in her account, because there were cargo cans irrevocably destined for the
Legacy’s
empty hold; while the Hoas cans, already on their carriers, were scheduled for
Notaiji,
a very happy, very grateful
Notaiji,
who could not quite believe the good fortune that had landed in their laps, from ‘the good, the great hani captain.’

So they had stepped over the brink. Figuratively speaking. As she walked into the audience hall.

“We are exceedingly pleased,” said No’shto-shti-stlen as she seated herself.

“We have concurred with your excellency. We are pleased at our agreement on the contract and look forward to continued association with your illustrious self.”

“Your response is gracious. The elegance of your utterances and your circumspect behavior is a credit to your species.”

Then why are you back to using kifish guards? occurred to her, but stsho had rather elegance than truth.

“I am honored by your confidence,” she murmured instead; and bowed; No’shto-shti-stlen bowed, everybody bowed again, and No’shto-shti-stlen inquired whether she had time to take tea.

Two teas was a monumental sign of favor.

“Of course,” she said, with lading piled all about the legacy’s cargo bay, with transports in scarce supply, thanks to the Hoas load, with a mahendo’sat scoundrel and probable agent of some power swearing to her that the contract was a supremely bad deal, and offering, of course, his services.

A tea in full formality, in the audience hall, in the bowl chairs, with stsho servants this time, and

No’shto-shti-stlen reciting poetry:

White on white.

The distinctions thereof are infinite.

Upon white snow the eyes dream in pink and gold and blue.