Chanur's Venture

by C. J. Cherryh

  "Pyanfar Chanur," a broadnosed hani said in stark, disapproving tones.

  "Tell it to your captain," said Pyanfar. "Tell it proper. He's my husband.

  You hear? Na Khym nef Mahn. Hear me?"

  Ears flicked. Eyes showed whites. The news had not gotten this far out, what lunacy she had done. Now it did. "Sure," a younger hani said, backing up. "Sure, captain."

  And Chur, at her back: "Captain— we'd better get out of here."

  She heard the sirens. She looked about past the melting crowd, who sought other bars. Trampled bodies stirred within the doorway.

  There were cars coming up the dock, with the white strobe flash of Security.

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  Chanur's Venture

  Chapter 2

  The door hissed back and revealed two guards, which at Meetpoint might have been any oxygen-breathing kind but stsho, considering the stsho's congenital distrust of violence. They hired all their security. Fortunately for the peace at present, these were both mahendo'sat.

  Pyanfar stopped in her pacing of the narrow room— waiting area, they had called it: stsho euphemism. Other species had other names for such small rooms with doorlocks facing outward. "Where's my crew?" she spat at the mahendo'sat forthwith, ears flattened despite herself. "Gods rot it, where are they?"

  "Director wants," one said, standing aside from the door. "You come now, hani captain."

  She pulled in her claws and came, since something finally seemed in movement, and since neither of the two mahendo'sat were armed with more than nature gave them and showed no desire for confrontation. They would not talk, not this pair; not threaten or swerve from duty: mahendo'sat at punctilious, honest best.

  "Here," was their only other word, at a lift door some distance through the maze.

  More traveling. The lift went a long zigzag distance through Meetpoint's bowels, and let them out again in white, pastel-decorated halls. Lights obtruded here and there in seeming random— stsho, this section, not making apology to other species' tastes, all pastels and opal colors, vast spaces, odd-angled panels riddled with random holes and alcoves. The tall black-furred, black-kilted mahen guards and the splash of her own scarlet trousers and red-gold hide were equally alien here.

  A last door, a last hallway of twisting plastiform shapes. She flicked her ears so that the rings chimed, flexed her claws with one deep breath as if she contemplated a leap from some height, and let herself be shown into a pearl-toned hall, a splendor of bizarre walls and white-upholstered depressions in the level, gleaming floor. One gossamer-clad stsho stood to 22

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  meet them, recorder in hand. Another sat serenely important in the central bowl. Gtst— (stsho had three sexes at one time, and neither he, she nor it was really adequate) gtst was ornamented in subtlest colors ranging into hues invisible to hani eyes, but detectible at the verges, whites with low violet shimmerings on the folds. Gtst tattooings were equally illusory on gtst naturally pearly skin, and shaded off into green and violets. Pearl-toned plumes nodded from augmented brows, shading moonstone eyes.

  The small mouth was clamped in disapproving straightness and nostrils flared in busy alternation.

  Pyanfar bowed before this elegance, once and shortly. The stsho waved a languid hand and the servant-translator, it must be, came and stood near, gtst own robes floating free on invisible breezes— stsho-silk and expensive.

  "Ndisthe," Pyanfar said, "sstissei asem sisth an zis—" with the right amount of respect, she reckoned. Feathery eyebrows fluttered. The assistant clutched gtst recorder and drew back in indecision.

  " Shiss. " The Director motioned with one elegant jeweled hand. The translator stopped in gtst retreat. "Shiss. Os histhe Chanur nos schensi noss' spitense sthshosi chisemsthi."

  "Far from fluent," Pyanfar agreed.

  The Director drew breath. Gtst plumes all nodded in profound agitation.

  "Sto shisis ho weisse gti nurussthe din?"

  "Did you know—" The translator flung itself into belated action "— the riot in the market took four hours to stop?"

  "— Ni shi canth-men horshti nin."

  "— Forty-five individuals are treated in infirmary—"

  Pyanfar kept her ears erect, her expression sympathetic.

  "Ni hoi shisisi ma gnisthe."

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  "— And extensive pilferage has taken place."

  "I do share," said Pyanfar, drawing down her mouth in yet more distress,

  "your outrage at this disregard for stsho authority. My crew likewise suffered from this kifish banditry."

  That got rendered, with much fluttering of hands.

  "Shossmemn ti szosthenshi hos! Ti mahen-thesai cisfe llyesthe to mistheth hos!"

  "— You and your mahendo'sat co-conspirators have wreaked havoc—"

  "Spithi no hasse cifise sif nan hos!"

  "— involved the kif—"

  "Shossei onniste stshoni no misthi th'sa has lles nan shi math!"

  "— A tc'a ship has undocked and fled during the riot. Doubtless the chi are disturbed—"

  "Ha nos thei no llen llche knnni na slastheni hos!"

  "— Who knows but what this may also agitate the knnn?"

  "— Nan nos misthei hoisthe ifsthen noni ellyes-theme to Nifenne hassthe shasth!"

  "— You and your crew within three hours of docking have created havoc with every species of the Compact!"

  Pyanfar set her hands at her belt and lowered her ears deliberately. "As well say all victims of crime are guilty of incitement! Is this a new philosophy?"

  A long silence once that was translated. Then:

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  "— I am put in mind of papers lately recovered, hani captain. I am in mind of heavy fines and penalties. Who will recompense our market? Who will see to our damages?"

  "It's true," Pyanfar said with a direct, baleful stare. "Who dares charge the kif— excepting hani. Excepting us, esteemed Director. Tell me, what would happen without hani traffic here? Without mahendo'sat? How would the kif behave at Meetpoint then? Not simple pilferage, I'll warrant!"

  Plumes fluttered. Round eyes stared, dark centered.

  "— You make threats without teeth. The han does not bend at your breath.

  Less so the mahendo'sat."

  "Neither will the han look with favor on a hani ship beset, on a hani captain detained— I omit mention of the locked door!"

  "— Have you such confidence you will relate to the han how a Chanur captain suffered such embarrassment? I have heard otherwise. I have heard Chanur's affairs are less than stable with the han in these days."

  Pyanfar drew a long, long breath, wrinkling up her nose so that the translator drew back a pace. "There is no profit in such a wager, esteemed Director."

  "— What profit to any dealing with Chanur? We restore your papers and see how you repay us. Where are our damages? Where will you obtain the funds, who claim to be a terror to the kif? We fine you. You dare take nothing from them."

  "They by the gods steal nothing from us except where we have relied on stsho authority."

  The moonstone eyes acquired wider, darker centers.

  "— You have brought a male of your kind here. I hesitate to breach this delicacy, but it is well known that this gender of your species is unstable.

  This surely contributed—"

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  "This is a hani affair."

  "— Other hani find the state of affairs on your ship disturbing and improper."

  "A hani matter."

  "— A deputy of the han has shown concern. The deputy has assured me that this is not new policy, that the han deplores this action—"

  "It's none of the deputy's gods-rotted business. Or anyone else's. Let's stay to the issue of safety on the docks."

  "— Hani have not found it wise to bring their males into foreign contacts, for which they are naturally unsuited and unprepared. Oth
er hani are shocked at your provocation."

  "The docks, esteemed Director. And public safety."

  "— You have violated law. You have brought this person—"

  "A member of my crew."

  "— This person has a license?"

  "He's got a temporary. All in order. Ask your own security."

  "— A permit granted at Gaohn station. By a Chanur ally, doubtless under pressure. He is here without permissions—"

  "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."

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  "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 gtst 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?"

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  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 kif! 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—

  perishable 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 28

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  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 gtst 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—"

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  "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.

  * * *

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  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 gtst self 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.

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  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 Meetpoint, 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.