And, yes, oh, yes, the mahe was ever so excited to learn that a relative of the great, the esteemed Pyanfar Chanur was indeed in port and had expressed an interest, and of course the mahe would be delighted to franchise his product via Chanur’s well-reputed trading company… .
Well-reputed at least where hani bankers weren’t taking a close look at the amount of debt Chanur was carrying.
But for a dock worker who’d had a geological grenade blow up in his face, gambled his life savings and had sudden interest from a Chanur ship, after months of advertising in the list at ruinous rates, gods, the fellow offered her everything but a pledge of marriage, and called on mahen divinities to look on Chanur with outstanding prosperity and confusion upon Chanur’s enemies unto a thousand thousand generations …
One would do, she thought. But the franchise offer was absolutely to the mahe’s liking, he was completely thrilled, he was sure the Chanur name would lend respectability to his enterprise … she could have had the marriage proposal if she’d written it in. Her proposal to put him in for a percentage of sales thereafter was, he professed, full of such real business terms he knew he was in honest hands… .
Gods protect the fellow, Hilfy thought. Real business words, indeed.
For the rest she was sure Haisi was investigating every deal she’d just made, and drawing conclusions about the degree of her understanding based on what she was buying.
Which meant Haisi’s personage was going to learn in short order, plans might well be laid in accordance with Haisi’s best guess about what she had learned from the stsho, and so much the better.
Aunt had used to din into her juvenile and unwilling ear: Trade isn’t about goods. Trade is about information. Goods sit in the warehouse until information moves them.
Gods, she hadn’t felt so alive since she was a teenager. She was in a situation up to her ring-bedecked ears, and by the gods she felt …
She felt something she hadn’t felt in years. She felt … as if she had suddenly understood what her aunt had been trying to make her feel, talking about responsibility to the ship and the responsibility of the merchant trade and things that had just gone into an over-hormoned young brain and out the other ear … she outright shared something with Pyanfar Chanur, over the absent years and across light-years of space.
A feeling aunt Pyanfar had given up, for …
For what aunt Pyanfar had sworn she despised—politics. Gods-rotted politics, Pyanfar had used to say, cursing the practitioners thereof.
And then she went and joined the forces.
Led them—was the truth. And why?
Hilfy began to see a certain sadness in that. Even to have sympathy for aunt Py, and to think that maybe having na Khym with her was a necessary consolation… .
And what was she doing wandering down tracks like that? What in the nine or so mahen hells was into her? And why had she called Haisi back to rattle him and make him do desperate things, when Haisi going away was what she wanted most?
Pyanfar-nerves, that was what she was experiencing. She’d learned from a past master at chicanery and if she weren’t convinced she was half-crazy, she’d say she’d waked up, come alive … that she’d challenged Haisi Ana-kehnandian because she was Pyanfar’s niece, not Kohan’s well-behaved daughter.
Gods, she’d just contracted for a can of exploding rocks. And a franchise on them.
She’d just sent a very dangerous mahen agent wandering through station computer records to ask himself why she’d bought what she’d bought, and why station life-support chemicals, basic foodstuffs, and exploding rocks nobody in Compact space had wanted to buy … all interested her in the light of what she’d learned from a stsho Haisi didn’t know had Phased out of gtst former identity and out of gtst sanity.
Did hani Phase?
She wondered. She wondered about mahendo’sat.
And listened to the sounds of the Legacy giving up cargo to create space for the deals she’d just made.
“I was terribly embarrassed,” Fala said. “I’m terribly sorry,” and Hallan, cornered in the crew lounge, with no excuse to leave, murmured what he hoped was a polite agreement and tried to think of somewhere else to look but Fala Anify’s face and something, anything, that could look like an assigned job.
“Tarras just jokes,” Fala said.
“I know,” he said.
“You’re awfully nice,” Fala said.
He tried desperately to find occupation in sorting through the tapes in the rack.
“Tarras and Chihin both joke a lot. It’s just their way of being friendly. They really like you.”
That didn’t exactly help.
“Where is Meras, exactly?”
“Ruun. Near the mountains. It’s a real small clan.”
“I ought to know. But I wasn’t at all good in geography. I can astrogate. That’s fine. But I just wasn’t interested in planetary stuff. My aunts went with The Pride. They used to send me things when they were in port.” She bounced down to sit on the end of the couch, which made it harder not to look at her. He must have sorted the tapes beyond twice. He looked stupid, he knew he did, and his ears twitched like a fool’s if he tried to keep them up. So he had to look like he was sulking, and that might make her mad.
She asked, in his silence: “Meras isn’t a spacing clan, is it?”
“No. No, it isn’t.”
“How come—?”
“I just wanted to.” Gods, they were around to that.
“Anify’s up in the mountains. My uncle’s a lump and my aunts walked out on him and I think they sort of drifted into ker Pyanfar’s business. But I’d get presents from space and Anuurn just didn’t matter to me. I wanted it so bad, to go to space, my mother used to box my ears about my lessons, and finally she just told me spacers had to know this and spacers had to know that and if I didn’t do my divisions and my tables and my geometry and my biology and my Compact history no ship was ever going to want me. But she couldn’t make me believe it about agronomy and geography and classical poetry.”
He liked classical poetry. But he could understand what she was saying.
“I just nattered my sisters into helping me,” he said. “They got me a ride to station. They said I wouldn’t last the first winter in the woods. They were right. I was a scrawny kid. And I don’t have any aptitude for politics or farming. So if somebody handed me a niche in the clans I’d foul it up.”
“I think you could do anything you wanted to.”
“You could learn geography. If you wanted to.”
He hadn’t thought that was particularly clever. But she started to laugh, until the all-ship blared out:
“Fala? Where’s that systems check? We’re in count, gods rot it!”
“I’ve got to go,” she said, and scrambled for the door. But she stopped there and looked back. “Can I bring you anything? Gfi? A sandwich?”
“No. No, I’m fine.”
“Fala!”
She ran for it—not using the com unit by the crew lounge door. The door shut. He found himself exhaling a pent breath and feeling as if he should adjust the cabin temperature.
So they were in count for leaving this port. That was fast. That was very fast. And he was anxious to get out in space where there was something maybe the captain would let him do, so he had an excuse not to be cornered.
They were in count and the clanks and thumps of offloading cargo kept going. That was a first too, so far as his experience went.
But usually crews wanted to take a few days’ rest and liberty on the docks. And the Legacy had urgent business, very urgent business, with two stsho aboard, now, one of them crazy and the other apt to go that way if gtst met him again.
He was absolutely, resolutely, positively resolved he was not going to make one single more mistake on this voyage and he was not going to do anything the captain would disapprove of… .
Which meant not getting caught with Fala Anify in the crew lounge. The door opened. Fala put her head in.
“You have the prettiest eyes,” she said. And ducked out.
He dropped his head into his hands. His career in space hung by a thread, he had nothing to think about but stupid tape dramas and the aux boards manuals he was trying to din into his reflexes so he wouldn’t foul up the next chance the captain gave him, and he had a junior and Chanur relative trying to get his attention.
Gods, please let the captain keep her busy.
Chapter Twelve
“Well, there’s Ha’domaren.”
That from Chihin, at scan. Four hours out from Kita docks and they were approaching jump.
“I don’t think I’m surprised,” Hilfy said, pursing her mouth. “I wonder what he made of the rocks.”
“One real happy mahe,” Tarras said. “Karpygijenon, I mean. Not our Haisi-lad.”
Laughter on the bridge. It was a good sound. Except it was a slightly off-color joke, involving Haisi’s morals, and na Hallan was probably mortified.
Well, let him be. He could adjust. He would have to.
“You know,” Tiar said, “whoever’s backing him has got to wish he’d carry cargo.”
“I wouldn’t bet where his mass is. He’s shorting his jumps. He probably could do Urtur-Kshshti direct.”
“Unless he’s carrying a mortal lot of armament,” Tarras said—their own gunner … if, the gods forbid, they ever had to use what they carried.
Propulsion stuff, Tarras was implying. And that jogged a very bad thought. “Heavy stuff is all government issue.”
“So they’ve got a permit?” Fala asked.
“If they’re running with a heavy missile load.”
“I wish,” Hilfy said, “that we had a source for this Paehisna-ma-to that son claims he’s with. I’d like to know if she’s in the government.”
“If she is,” said Chihin, “she’s a whole different kind of bad news.”
“Probably he’s just shorting the jumps,” Hilfy said. “Doesn’t want to show off to the locals.”
“They’ve got to ask,” Tiar said, “the local officials, that is … why this ship doesn’t offload or onload.”
“Gods, no, they’re not going to ask,” Chihin said. “That son reeks of influence. That ship’s probably real well known here and there.”
“Suppose ker Pyanfar knows him?” Fala asked.
“Wish ker Pyanfar would come get him,” Tarras said.
“I don’t like the idea he’s got government ties,” Chihin said. “If the mahendo’sat go unstable … and the stsho already are … that’s not good.”
“We’re out and away,” Hilfy said, “and I’ll tell you how I’m betting. We’re bought into staples and strategics, and as soon as sell it, I’d rather warehouse it on Kshshti for a sale when the stsho do go crazed … or find some reseller I can talk into taking the whole lot at enough profit.”
“Rocks and all?”
“Are we serious about the rocks?” Fala asked plaintively. People put jokes over on Fala. Long, elaborate, and sober-faced ones. And Fala wasn’t willing to fall for another one.
“They’re tc’a eggs,” Chihin said. “That’s what they really are.”
Wicked dig at na Hallan, that was. Hilfy looked in the reflection on a dark screen, and saw Hallan Meras trying to look as if he were utterly absorbed in the boards.
“No tc’a jokes!” Fala said.
“Was that a tc’a joke?” Chihin asked.
“Ker Chihin,” Fala said sternly.
Getting serious, it was. And Fala hadn’t the rank. “Chihin,” Hilfy said.
“Aye, captain. No tc’a.”
“Na Hallan?”
“Aye, captain?”
Kept his temper, he had. She saw his reflection looking at her, ears at half mast, then pricked up respectfully as she delayed answering.
“You may hear about tc’a from time to time. Do you take jokes, na Hallan?”
“Yes, captain.”
“Can you make them?”
“I—don’t think of one, off-hand, captain, I’m sorry.”
“Tc’a,” Chihin said.
“Chihin!” Fala said.
“I was just suggesting.”
“Chihin,” Hilfy said, and saw Chihin dip her ears and lift them again. No gods-be way to stop her but an AP at point blank range. Or losing her temper, which didn’t work with Chihin Anify, no more than it had with her cousins.
“Tc’a,” Hallan said gravely, and Tarras sneezed, or laughed. Chihin scowled, and Fala grinned at her boards.
“I think that was a joke,” Tiar said.
“You’ve got to tell me,” Chihin said.
“That was a joke,” Tarras said dryly.
Chihin’s ears twitched. Chihin’s mouth pursed into what might have been a smile. You could want to kill her. But Chihin was as ready to take it as give. Not from strange men, be it noted. Not from men in general, that she knew. Or most wouldn’t try: definitely old school, Chihin was, and radiated her willingness to notch ears. Not unlike her cousins.
Fact was, Hilfy thought suddenly, and for no particular reason but many bits and tags, Chihin was pushing in a very odd way, for Chihin. Gods-be patient, she was.
And she knew the looks young Fala threw in na Hallan’s direction.
It could get down to a sticky situation trying to get na Hallan’s highly attractive self off the ship. Which by the gods she was twice determined to do. They had a smoothly functioning crew. They got along. The ship didn’t need the scandal, Chanur didn’t need the gossip, Meras didn’t need it, and if she had her hands on ker Holy Righteousness Sahern at this moment she’d give her a lasting remembrance of Hilfy Chanur.
The crew was nattering at each other again. Quibbling over the jump, which was all right—exactitude saved fuel and saved money.
But they were coming up on the mark.
“Stow it. We’re away, on the count. Are our passengers set, Fala?”
“Gtst excellency says they are.”
“On the mark. How’s our shadow?”
“Just blazing right along. I wish that son’d give us more room. We don’t need to bump him in the drop.”
“That son or his pilot is probably just too gods-be good. He could jump that ship onto a dinner-plate, you want to lay odds? They don’t give just any captain a hunter-ship. And that’s by the gods what it is.”
“I’d lay odds our stsho passenger might know more about that son than gtst is saying.”
“I’d lay odds our other stsho passenger did know more than gtst is sane enough to say. But we’ve no guarantee gtstisi is going to sort out anything like the stsho that was.”
“Spooky,” Tarras said. “Spooky lot. I wouldn’t want to go through jump with a crazy person.”
“I wouldn’t want to be a crazy person in jump,” Tiar said. “Can you imagine?”
“I’d rather not,” Hilfy said. “Are we watching where we’re going, please? We’re coming up …”
The coordinates blinked.
She punched the button. The Legacy …
… dropped out of Kita Point space …
… “Well, well,” Pyanfar said.
“Go away,” Hilfy said. She didn’t want her aunt. It frightened her that it was her aunt who kept disturbing her dreams—and it was beyond any doubt a dream, it was that comfortable thing the mind did when it didn’t want to handle space that wasn’t space. Except her gods-rotted aunt wouldn’t stay out of them lately. Maybe it was the political stench about the Legacy on this voyage. Maybe it was her good sense trying to tell her she’d made a mistake. She wasn’t superstitious about the illusions.
Not much, anyway.
“You’re indulging yourself,” Pyanfar said, sitting on something or another—furniture and rocks materialized when you wanted to sit. And Pyanfar usually sat down when she was going to meddle, parked herself like a gravity sink and insisted on affecting things around her. “Woolgathering’s a bad habit, slows your reflexes, fogs your thinking… .”
She tried to imagine Pya
nfar into the encompassing gray haze.
Pyanfar said, obstinately present: “You live in jump, don’t you? Just your own little place where you can have your way with Tully and nobody can object. Not even Tully.”
Her subconscious was getting vicious.
“Try living in realspace,” Pyanfar said. “Try living where you are, Hilfy-girl. Try your own species, for starters.”
“Gods rot your interference!” She was as mad as she’d been in years. “If you’d stayed out of my business I wouldn’t have married that gods-cursed fool—”
“You’re not listening. This isn’t a life, niece. Life’s not this. Your cousin Chur doesn’t time out. Your cousin Chur sees the stars in a way I almost can. And you spend your time wishing for what wasn’t. Wasn’t, niece, wasn’t ever, and wouldn’t be, and couldn’t be in a thousand years, and if you want me to say more, I will.”
She didn’t. That rarely stopped Pyanfar Chanur. But her aunt tilted her chin up in that lock-jawed way she had when she knew she’d won a point, and changed subjects.
“That’s a hunter ship out there. And it wants what you’ve got. It could blame things on the kif. It could be rid of you, get hold of your passengers and the oji, pin the raid on kif pirates, and still show up in civilized ports smelling like a spring morning. Think about that. They could be lying silent when you show up at Kshshti. They could clip a vane and strand you, for a least thing they could do. Kshshti’s not going to investigate. You know what Kshshti is… .”
She was on Kshshti docks—red lights flashing, black-robed shadows closing in on them in some trading company’s dingy freight access, fighting for their lives, and Tully going down—
She didn’t want the rest of that memory. She tried to come out of it. She hadn’t flinched at going to Kshshti when she’d known she had to, she hadn’t let what had been affect what would be … she wasn’t a coward, she hadn’t been and wouldn’t run scared. She’d go there, she hadn’t given herself time to think and none to recall the jump out of there, the absolute black despair of a kifish hold… .