Chanur's Venture (4 page)

"Since when does Compact law require permissions for listed crew?"

"--Since when does listed crew take liberty during unloading and visit bars?"

"This is my ship and my affair!"

"--It became a stsho affair."

"Indeed it did! And any other question is utter persiflage. Let us stay to the

issue: a kif attack on personnel of my ship; on personnel of my ship, who relied

on the security assured by stsho law and custom. We have suffered outrage; I

have suffered personal outrage in being detained for hours while kif assassins

doubtless do as they please on the docks, to the hazard of life and property,

some of which is mine -- and who guarantees the safety of my goods waiting

loading, when we are the victims of this outrage? I hold the station

responsible. Where are my crew, esteemed Director? And who pays the indemnities

we're due?"

This was perhaps too much. The translator wrung gist hands and stammered on the

words, bowed like a reed in the wind on receiving the reply.

"--Why not ask the mahendo'sat you conferred with?"

Pyanfar's ears went tight against her skull. She brought them up with utmost

effort, smoothed her nose and assumed a bland expression. "Would the director

mean perhaps the mahendo'sat whose registry board malfunctioned in this

well-ordered station?"

Another exchange. The translator's skin lost its pearly sheen and went dead

white. "--The director says gtst knows about this board. A subordinate has been

disapproved in this malfunction."

"It would be impolite to suggest higher connections. It would be stupid to doubt

them."

The translator made several gasps for air and performed, with further

hand-wringing. "--The subordinate in question had no inkling of higher

complicities, such as you and your co-conspirators arranged. This mahen ship has

elected departure during the disturbance. The disturbance reached also to the

methane-breathers. The director asks -- are you aware of this? Are you aware of

hazards with tc'a and chi?"

"Not my affair. Absolutely not my affair."

"--The director asks -- do you want the merchandise this person left?"

Pyanfar took in her breath, feeling an impact in the gut.

"--It is," the translator rendered the next remark, "perishable."

"I take it then station will deliver this merchandise . . . recognizing its

obligation."

"--There are entanglements. There is, for instance, the question of our damages.

This shipment is impounded."

"I refuse to be held to account for thieving krf! Take it up with the

mahendo'sat you dealt with!"

"I cannot translate this," the translator said. Gtst eyes were round. "I beg the

esteemed hani captain--"

"Tell gtst if I behaved as the kif did gtst would not be speaking to me about

damages."

"Ashosh!" the Director said: the translator turned and folded gtst hands on gtst

breast, lisped in softest tones, turned with moonlike eyes at widest.

"--We will speak of damages later. Now this merchandise, this -- perishabie

merchandise."

Pyanfar set her hands within her belt, stood with feet set. "In the estimable

Director's personal keeping, I trust."

"--Four canisters. Am I a menial, to keep such goods personally?"

"Gods rot it-" She amended that, flicking up her ears, trying for a quieter

tone. "Considering they are perishable, I trust there is some care being taken."

The translator relayed it. The Director waved a negligent hand. Gtst eyes were

unblinking, hard. "--Customs matters. Unfortunately the consignor in his haste

for departure left papers in disarray, lacking official stamps. Have you

suggestions, hani captain, that would prevent this property being sold at public

auction? There would, I am certain, be interested bidders -- some very rich.

Some with backers. Unless the esteemed Chanur captain takes personal

responsibility."

A blackness closed about the edges of the room, on everything but the graceful

nodding stsho.

"--Also," the stsho continued, "the matter of papers lately cleared. This

station is dismayed . . . utterly dismayed at the betrayal of its trust. I am

personally distressed."

"Let's talk," Pyanfar said, "about things good merchants like us both

understand. Like fair trade. Like deal. Like I take my small difficulty out of

Meetpoint within a few hours after getting my cargo in order, and I take it

elsewhere without a word to anyone about bribes and mahendo'sat. You want to

talk trouble, esteemed Director? You want to talk kif trouble, and word of this

getting back to your upper echelons? Or do you want to talk about the

merchandise, and finding my crew, and letting me take this off your hands --

with my permits in order -- before it gets more expensive for your station than

it already is?"

The translator winced, turned and began to render it in one hand-waving spate.

"Ashosh!" the Director said; and other things. A flush came and went over gist

skin, mottlings of nacre. The nostrils flared in rapid unison. "Chanur sosshis

na thosthsi cnisste znei ctehtsi canth hos."

Another flinch from the translator, a rounding of round shoulders as gtst

turned.

"Tell gtst," Pyanfar said without waiting, "gtst is in personal danger. From the

kif, of course. Say it!"

It was rendered. The Director's skin went white. "--Unacceptable. There is a

debt which in your doubtless adequate if unimaginative perception you must

acknowledge was incurred by your crew, to have released a member of your species

widely acknowledged to be unstable--"

"A member of my crew and my mate, you fluttering bastard!"

Nostrils flared. "--The debt stands. No agreement embraced such damages."

She drew her own breaths with difficulty, trying to think, hearing words that

sent small fine tendrils into quite different territory. Goldtooth, blast you--

There was a setup, all the way....

And her ears sank, so that the translator edged back a pace, gtst eyes wide and

showing the whites about the moonstone round of them. The director's plumes

fluttered, hands moved nervously.

"I make you a deal," she said. "We get that cargo, we get the money for you."

"--You will sign affidavits of responsibility."

"Don't push it, stsho."

"--Your visa is canceled," the answer came back. "And the visas of your crew and

this male hani, under whatever pretext you secured civilized permits for this

unstable person. You will forfeit your permission to enter our docks and forfeit

any Chanur ship's clearance to dock here until this debt is paid!"

"And this cargo?"

"Do you doubt us? I make you a gift of it. In appreciation for your own damages,

of course."

Pyanfar bowed. Gtst waved a hand at gtst attendant.

"Sthes!"

It was not at all the courteous farewell.

* * *

More corridors. There was an affidavit to be signed, the terms of which set a

cold misery at her stomach. She looked up from the counter and the stsho clerk

backed all the way around the desk dropping papers as gtst went.

"That do it?" she asked with, she thought, remarkable calm.

The stsho babbled, refusing to come closer.

"--Gtst say got more," one of the guards translated. She had heard that much.

She wrinkled her nose and the stsho dropped more papers, gathered them, gave

them to the mahendo'sat to avoid bringing gtstself closer.

"Customs release, hani captain. All fine you sign this."

"Wait, hani captain. Must secure permission to leave."

She drew small even breaths, signed this, signed that, kept directing no more

than baleful stares at the stsho official and gtst fluttering aides.

At last: "No more forms?"

"No, hani captain. All got."

"Crew," she demanded, for the third time and this time with a broad, broad

smile.

"Ship, hani captain; they long time got release. Same got release Ayhar clan. We

go you ship now."

"Huh," she said then, and took the open door, stalked out, with her mahen escort

to key the lift for her.

No other word. None seemed apt. She stared at the uninteresting pearl-gray of

the lift doors while the lift zigged and zagged its way through Meetpoint

station.

She thought, during that interval. Thought very dark wordless thoughts that

involved stsho hides and a certain mahe's neck, until the lift stopped and

opened its doors on the cold air and noise of dockside.

She oriented herself with a quick glance at the nearest registry board, a black,

green-lit square above the number 14 berth: Assustsi. She drew a cold,

wide-nostriled breath of the dockside taint-oil and coolants, cargo and

food-smells and all the mongrel effluvium of Meet-point, like and unlike every

other station of the Compact.

Leftward was Vigilance's berth, number 18. Ehrran clan ship. Doubtless someone

of the deputy's staff was nosedeep in reports, writing it all up for the han in

the worst possible light. Gods knew what that white-skinned bastard had spilled

to willing ears.

Or what Ayhar had had to say, to save its own skin. Gods-be-bound that

Prosperity and Ayhar would never claim responsibility, financial or otherwise.

Chanur's enemies in council would pounce on it, first chance.

She started walking, constantly aware of the two dark shadows that stalked

behind her, but ignoring them. Gantries towered and tilted in the curved

perspectives of the station wheel. The dock unfurled down off the curtaining

horizon as she walked, and she made out The Pride's berth, counting down from

fourteen to six.

There should have been canisters outside The Pride's berth. She made out none,

and thought further dark thoughts, still not looking back.

She passed berth 10, which had been Mahijiru. That berth was sealed completely,

the gantry drawn back with its lines in store-position. Number ten board

remained dark, not listing the name or registry of the outbound ship.

Malfunction. Indeed, malfunction.

Connivances, mahendo'sat with stsho-with stsho who ran before every wind that

blew -- and now, with Mahijiru on the run and Goldtooth unable to break the

director's neck in person -- was the prevailing wind kif-tainted?

It rankled, gods, it rankled, that stsho had dared confront her, stsho, that she

could break with one swipe of her arm. And dared not. That was the crux of it.

Stsho showed one face to the kif, one to the mahendo'sat-yet a third to hani:

non-spacing, stsho law had regarded hani till a century ago, because (though

hani preferred not to recall the fact) it was the mahendo'sat had given hani

ships. An artificially accelerated culture. Hani were still banned from stsho

space, on their very border. Trade was at Meetpoint only, or inside non-stsho

space.

And hani in their good nature were patient with these fluttering dilettantes who

bought and sold-everything. They backed Chanur to the wall. It was stsho doing.

Everything. And the han being political, and the han being shortsighted, and

most of all because she was a fool who expected otherwise, Chanur was in trouble

at home. Of course the stsho knew it, sure as birds knew carrion-had gotten news

even a hani ship like Prosperity had not; and threw it up in her face at first

chance.

Gods, that the han fed stsho bigotry and wielded it for a weapon--

A deputy of the han has shown concern--

Or -- a cold, fully sensible fear got past the outrage: the stsho had

independent sources and played everyone for a fool -- Goldtooth, the han, even

the kif. They were capable of that. Thoroughgoing xenophobes and slippery as

oiled glass. Lately the stsho had a new xenophobia to keep them busy. They had

humankind to worry about, with concerns and motives world-bound hani had no

least idea of.

Goldtooth, rot you, how much does gtst know? How much the bribe? Nothing holds a

stsho that's already paid.

Nothing persuades one against gtst own profit.

She walked past nine, eight, seven. She saw no activity outside The Pride. No

sign of any loaders, the cargo ramp withdrawn, the canisters missing. The cans

were inside, she hoped. She kept alert for any sight of kif on the docks and

found none. The few passersby with business on the dock were mostly stsho, a few

mahendo'sat, no hani. If they noticed the rare spectacle of a hani captain being

trailed by two hulking mahendo'sat station guards, they gave no sign of it. This

was Meetpoint, after all, where folk minded their business, knowing well how

trouble tended to travel down line of sight. At the upward-curved limit of the

horizon, only its bottom third visible, the great seal of the market zone was

still shut, on gods knew what kind of damage. Money was being lost while that

market was out of action. Hourly the tab went up.

The Pride's ramp access gaped ahead, berth six. She ignored her escort, not even

looking back at them as she took out the pocket com. "Haral. I'm coming in."

No answer.

"Haral." She walked up the rampway into the chill, yellow-lighted access,

hearing no footsteps behind -- walked warily, thinking of kif ambush even here.

Ambush and stsho treacheries.