Chanur's Venture cs-2

by Caroline J. Cherryh

  "Bridge, gods rot it, it's 0400!"

  "Aye, captain." Haral's voice. "Nothing's going on. Thought we'd let you sleep."

  "Uhhhnn." She leaned her elbow on the bed-edge. "That tail set?"

  "They're welding now."

  "They're not going to make that deadline."

  "They've got techs working on the boards already. They're pushing it."

  "Gods." She let her head down on her arm, feeling as if a wall had come down on her yesterday and some of the bricks still lay there. Lifted it again. "How's Chur?"

  "Geran called, says she's doing all right. They both got a little sleep."

  "Huh. Good."

  "Got a call from Vigilance. They got our paper. Ehrran's chewing sticks."

  "Good."

  "Got a pot of something fixed in galley."

  Her stomach rebelled. "Fine." She passed a hand over her face, rubbing her eyes. "I'm coming." She punched the com off, rolled out and sat on the bed edge trying to convince her legs to work.

  Gods, Hilfy. Tully. That settled back on her shoulders. There was the packet in the security bin. There was Tt'om'm'mu's writhing shape in its violet glow and the mahendo'sat, together against the glass (don't ask about the knnn) and mahendo'sat making vital connections on her ship, when mahendo'sat incompetency had let kif do as they pleased.

  Incompetent? Kshshti stationmaster, and no better than that?

  Suspicions had tramped her subconscious half the night, rose up in memories of dreams of a kif in the shadows of that room. Of delicate connections in the column links, some mahen technician carefully making a sequence of mistakes that would send false readout to the boards. Gods, what if-

  A body could go crazy on what-ifs. Like treachery from Goldtooth from the start. Like Vigilance being in the right — for hani interests. Like Chanur on the wrong side of matters and about to become expendable in some mahen intrigue.

  Or traitorous.

  She got up, showered, dressed in a subdued way, a pair of old breeches she saved for rough work. No earrings but the plain ones, such as any spacer wore.

  Khym had done much the same, in a pair of silk breeches that had seen the Meetpoint riot and would never be the same. He met her in the galley with gfi and a dish of something overspiced-not good at cookery either. But the job got done and the stuff was far from fatal.

  "Good," she said, to please him, and coupled with that was the ugly thought that nothing mattered much, beyond Mkks. Tomorrow. Their tomorrow, and their next tomorrow, when they would come out the other side of jump.

  How much time-gain for a hunter-ship like Harukk and its ilk? Days faster than The Pride at absolute best. Harukk would be in port at Mkks as much as a week by the time their day-after-tomorrow came, and they spent time working up to dock at Mkks, and all the attendant nonsense. If they got that far.

  She shivered, swallowed an overspiced last mouthful and washed it down with gfi. Her ears kept going down despite herself. She pricked them up. Looked Khym's way. "There's a procedures list in comp," she said to him. "Checklist."

  "Got it," he said, displaying a paper on the countertop. Gods, efficiency. She poured the whole matter out of her mind and got up and walked off.

  Maybe — maybe the kif would hold off in Hilfy's case, until they had used the bait for everything they could get. Not Tully. No. Not with a chance to pull information about all humankind from him, and a week to do it in. The first time kif had had their hands on him he had had a word or two he could speak, and a handful more he could understand, and never admitted either to the kif.

  Now he could get a hani sentence out. And Sikkukkut had fluency.

  "Captain," Haral said when she walked out on the bridge. "Got a request from the repair chief.

  They want to get column access from inside. I told them go ahead. I'm opening lower deck for that."

  "Get their security down there." The thought of outsiders straying at random through The Pride's interior workings set her nerves on edge. But they were out of personnel. Out. Totally.

  "Second item," Haral said. "A freighter turned up about 0300 last watch in approach to 29.

  Our scan's been down. It just turned up, blink, on station output, at the one-zone. I didn't think it was worth waking you, but I queried station. They identified it as Eishait, said it came in during the Harukk business and security had it scan-blocked. I queried Prosperity. They had their scan shut down. They're too far round the curve for the cameras to help. I put in a call to Vigilance, begging your pardon-"

  "They get it?"

  Haral dipped her ears. "They said, quote, they had no authority to release information. I suggested they wake their captain. They suggested I wake you."

  She drew a tight slow breath and leaned against the counteredge nearest the doorway.

  "At that point," Haral said, "it was committed to dock and I figured there wasn't all that much to do about it that fast. Stationmaster's office stuck by the Eishait story. I called Prosperity back and suggested one of them take a walk down that way." "Should have waked me, gods rot it."

  "Prosperity agreed. They say it's all security down there. Can't get past. Our work crew never stopped back there, no sign of any concern while that ship was inbound. Meanwhile there's nothing kifish on com.

  I think it's a mahen hunter."

  "Not friendly of station not to say. Wouldn't you think?"

  "Worries me," Haral said. "Whole gods-forsaken place worries me." Her eyes shifted minutely aft, by implication including the repair work. Back again. "You still want that mahen security on our access?"

  The breakfast lay uneasy at her stomach. "Put them on it. They're all we've got. And log those exchanges."

  "They're logged." Haral powered her chair about and punched into the station comlink.

  "Kshshti central, this is the watch officer, from the bridge, The Pride of Chanur. . Get me dock security."

  Pyanfar stood away from the counter and looked left as Tirun came shambling in half asleep and nodded a courtesy.

  "Morning," she said to Tirun. "Chur's doing fine. Get some breakfast."

  "Huh," Tirun said, and went, blindly trustful. Down on lowerdeck they had a lock about to open.

  Pyanfar sat down in Tirun's place at bridge ops, conscious of the pistol she kept in her pocket, its weight swinging against her leg. She started locking doors, putting the lift on key/bridge operation only, sealing every hold access but the necessary one that would get work crews to The Pride's vitals.

  "Security's coming," Haral said.

  * * *

  Mahen workers came and went, an occasiona splatter of bare running feet, a rush of blacl and brown mahen bodies in the lower corri dors carrying this and that item the tech: wanted — honest mahendo'sat, Pyanfar con vinced herself. She came down to see the faces, to judge reactions, and the earnest look of the workers reassured her. Their speed reassurec her, and the surprised reflexes of respect. Some recognized her, blue breeches and all as she took the tour through ops, where mahen techs ran checks. Above, aft, the first new vane pane was moving up in the careful grasp of a pusher-ship, and suited mahendo'sat prepared the column to receive it.

  It was a hundred ten panels wide to the old ninety and looked monstrous large. The olc drive could not have pushed it. The old drive The Pride's old heart, had gone off in the clutches of a mahen pusher and a new, mahen-made unit was coupled to the ship's alloy spine, struts recoupled — as good amputate a part of her, and put back some fancy foreign part. She watched the floods sparkle bright off the panel rim and glisten off the black panel surfaces as the pusher turned. A shiver prickled up her back, worry about telemetry complications, systems that might not mesh and set them, further back, despite the Voice's assurances. Topside, Tirun ran calculations and more calculations, had the third, this time sulphurous request in for raw specifications on the individual units. . "Make soon," the reply had come back from the supervisor, "give composite." And when Tirun objected that: "Got get security dear give that informa
tion."

  "Good gods!" Tirun had screamed into com. "It's part of our ship, you gods-rotted lunatic!"

  "I make request," the supervisor said.

  Meanwhile the panel was moving in, and mahendo'sat ran their own checks in ops; and things felt — marginally in control. Not just the unit back there on the tail. The bill. The finance.

  Nine tenths of The Pride's physical value, excluding her licenses and rights — and mahendo'sat picked up the tab.

  Foreign hire. Vigilance had made that charge already. They were down there logging everything. There would be inquiry.

  The han would have questions.A lot of questions. If they lived through Mkks.

  She turned from the screens, walked past a cluster of chiso -babbling mahendo'sat who had their own instruments linked into auxiliary sockets on the ops board, headed out in the hall for fresh air.

  They had the place chilled down for the mahendo'sat. The hall was frigid. A cold draft wafted in from the lower lock, with the flavor of Kshshti docks, oil and old beer and mahendo'sat as she passed that corridor. Workmen in their orange coveralls came in, some went out. She pursued her way to the lift.

  Hilfy. The thought came nudging in whenever she let it, and she pushed it away.

  "Captain," mane said. "Come."

  She stopped, blinked at the workman who beckoned her to the lock, opened her mouth to refuse that imprudence, but the mane had flitted around the turn again, hasty as every mahe was hereabouts.

  Some gods-rotted supervisor with questions. Her ship. Her access. She refused the jangling of her nerves and went after the workman. But her hand was in her pocket as she walked into the lock.

  No one. She spun a look over her shoulder, looked back again as something dark came into her way, mahe-tall and spacer-ringed with gold.

  Her finger tautened, hand cocked to aim through cloth and all. "Pyanfar!" the mahe cried, flinging up both hands; and the finger stopped.

  "Jik!" she gasped, and her heart started up again. The mahe still held his hands up till she had gotten hand from pocket. "Where'd you come from?" And then she knew. "That's Aia Jin in 29, isn't it?"

  "Same." Jik still looked nervous. "Make quick come here. Got trouble, huh?"

  She looked him up and down., this lank solitary mahe with enough gaud in his dress to turn a hani envious. "Jik." It seemed half the troubles in the universe fell off her shoulders. "O gods. About time.

  "About gods-rotted time, hear me?"

  He flung up his hands again, pleading for quiet. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back toward the lift. "Come in here like this," she muttered, fishing up the key. She stuck it in. "Dressed like that." The lift doors hissed wide. "Get in." She snatched him inside, this mahe a third again her size.

  He leaned against the lift wall as it shot them up topside and the door shot open.

  Khym was in the hall. His mouth fell open at the sight.

  "Jik," Pyanfar identified him. "My husband, Khym. Old friend. Goldtooth's partner. Come on, Jik."

  Chapter Ten

  Nomesteturjai was his name: captain Keia Nomesteturjai. Jik to tongue-bound hani, this thin, anxious-looking mahe. "Sit," Pyanfar said and, spinning the com-post chair about, backed Jik into it. She leaned on the counter and one chair arm with not an arm's length between their noses. "Where's Goldtooth?"

  "Not know sure."

  "What, not know?"

  Jik's dark eyes shifted uncomfortably at that range. "Think near Kefk."

  "Kefk!"

  "Not know sure." The eyes shifted back and forth, bloodshot-rimmed. "Not good make guess."

  "Gods and thunders, what are we in?"

  "You go Mkks?"

  She stood back. "Khym. Get him a hot drink, huh?" Gods. Him. A weary twitch went through her nerves, a panic rage at biology.

  But: "Aye," Khym said and went. Pyanfar sat down on the counter edge. Haral settled one hip on the console near her station, to keep an eye to things, Tirun slouched onto the padded arm of observer two.

  "We talk," Pyanfar said. "Real slow. You understand me."

  "Not sleep," Jik said, wiping a lank, blunt-clawed hand over his face. His shoulders slumped.

  "God, lousy course change Urtur system."

  "It took us out," Pyanfar said. "Come on, Jik. What's going on out there? Hilfy and Tully are headed for Mkks, Chur's in hospital, they're dicing up my ship, the Personage says he's sorry and don't discuss the knnn I've had on my tail."

  The arm went stiff in mid-motion, eyes fixed on hers. "Knnn."

  "Out of Meetpoint. Maybe to here. I don't know. Kshshti stationmasters are nervous as stsho.

  What's going on?"

  "Got kif take human ship. Human lot upset."

  "Knnn take human ship, gods rot you, tell it straight! And I've got other news. Ship named Ijir. The other courier with other humans. Kif got it."

  "God." He leaned back against the leather seat, arms on either rest, and looked at her. "How you know?"

  "Message from Sikkukkut an'nikktukktin. Same as got Tully and Hilfy."

  "He got Ijir?"

  "Don't know."

  Jik let go a deep long breath. His reddened eyes traveled up again as Khym padded in with a tray. Khym offered him the first, stiffly courteous, and Jik took it without a flinch. "We not meet. Both Gaohn station."

  "Huh," Khym breathed, a grinding in his throat. But his ears came up with interest. He passed cups around, kept one for himself and settled, silent — gods, decorous — on the arm of the com-station seat, empty tray aside on the counter, quiet as Haral, as Tirun.

  "Hunter ship," Pyanfar said for Khym's benefit, while Jik drank gfi and wrinkled his nose, shuddering as he drank. Gfi was not a mahen favorite, but it was substance and Jik seemed to need that.

  The strength looked to have drained out of him as if he had run a long, long time. "Best pilot in mahen space," Pyanfar said, not lying. "You talk to the stationmaster, Jik?"

  Weary eyes lifted, guileless. "Go station center, talk." Another sip of gfi, another small shudder and grimace at the taste. "Got ask you — Pyanfar. Where packet?"

  She drew in a long, long sip of her own cup. "What packet?"

  Jik swallowed hard. The gfi was hot and tears sprang to his eyes, which acquired a heat of their own and a hard glitter of thought. "Bastard," he said. "No game."

  "It isn't. When they get my tail back working, huh? You know, it occurs to me with Aia Jin in port they might take me off priority. They got hunter ship, huh? Not need hani now."

  "Fix."

  "Sure, they will."

  He sat there a moment, breathing in and out and a good deal more rapid going on behind his eyes. "You got packet, huh? Kif got Tully, you got packet and you go Mkks. What want? Give both to kif?"

  "Maybe trade."

  The least uncertainty crept into his expression. "No. You no do." It became fear. "You got too much smart, Pyanfar."

  "No," she said, gazing deep into his eyes. "I got friends. Don't I, Jik?"

  He drew a breath, "You give packet. Damn, hani! You try hold this thing, Kshshti authority board and take!"

  "Stationmaster doesn't know it exists. Does he? Not Eseteno, not Tt'om'm'mu, not our pink-slippered cutthroat Stle stles stlen. But you know. And the fewer know it exists, the better. Don't you think?" She jabbed a claw at him, "How'd the kif know to move that quick, to set up an ambush on the docks? How'd we get set up, huh?"

  "You say Stationmaster?"

  "You say kif make lucky guess?"

  "I know this Eseteno. No. No, Pyanfar. Not. He honest, long time got post. Trust him."

  "All right. That's one. But how far down the line does honest go? How much does it take? Kif got some security agent's relatives, make deal, huh?"

  Jik's dark face was very sober, ears down. "All time possible."

  "Maybe same got agent repair crew, huh?"

  "Kif want you go Mkks. Want blow ship there got lot chance. Not need sabotage."

  It made sense. It was the cheerfullest
reassurance she had had since the docks blew up. She drew her mustache down, thinking on the odds.

  "Give packet," Jik said. "Got go Maing Tol, this packet. I ask. Number one important."

  "Goldtooth's observations, is it? His report — what's going on out there in kif space. Knnn stuff too."

  Jik's small ears went back. "You got no profit make guess, Pyanfar."

  "I make deal. I trust my honest mahe friend.

  That repair crew stays on the job and my engineer gets specs on those parts number one quick."

  "Got."

  "Got authority, do you? Lot of authority, same as Goldtooth."

  Jik's ears twitched. "Some thing yes."

  "Some thing, huh? You want this packet, you go with me to Mkks."

  "Hani, I guard you tail at Gaohn!"

  "Guard it at Mkks and you get the packet."

  Gently: "You bastard, Pyanfar."

  "You same kind bastard. You say, you do. I know this."

  "I go Mkks," he said.

  "Get the packet, Haral."

  Haral moved. Jik leaned back into the leather cushion and watched, bestirred himself to take it when it came, this largish several-times crushed envelope with a dark stain at one corner. "All here?" Jik asked.

  "Everything they sent me. What are you going to do with it?"

  "Try find honest captain."

  "In this port? Stay away from the hani."

  "A?" He looked her in the eyes and the ears sank slowly before they came up again. The face had no fool's look, not now. "Trouble, huh?"

  "Lot trouble."

  "You come."

  "Come where?"

  "Come with. We talk these hani."

  "No."

  Jik stood up. "I go. Sure thing we talk. Want share?"

  "Gods rot — Gods rot it, I've got enough trouble! Leave my name out of it!"

  "They got jealous, huh?"

  "Look, look, you earless lunatic, there's laws, there's regulations I already break- The han's after my hide, you understand me? Chanur's got troubles! You want to hand them proof, huh?

  It's illegal for me to work for foreign government, understand? Against the conventions!"