Chanur's Venture

by C. J. Cherryh

  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.

  32

  Chanur's Venture

  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 worldbound 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.

  33

  Chanur's Venture

  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 passers-by 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.

  She met a shut hatch beyond the bend of the tube. She had expected that, and hit the bar of the com unit in the accessway. "Haral. Haral, gods rot it, it's Pyanfar. Open up."

  The hatch shot open at once, with a waft of warmer, familiar air. Tirun was there; and Chur, appearing armed from the lower-deck ops room down the corridor. Both showed the plasmed seams of recent wounds on their red-brown hides, Chur with a stripe of plasm visible across the leather of her nose, a painful kind of cut.

  "Huh." She walked in past the lock. "Close that. Everyone aboard?"

  "All accounted for, nothing serious."

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  Chanur's Venture

  She came to a stop and gave Tirun one long stare. "Nothing serious. Gods and thunders, cousin!"

  Tirun's ears fell. "On our side," Tirun said.

  "Huh." She turned and stalked for the lift, with their company as the inner lock hissed shut at her back. "Where's Khym?"

  " Na Khym's up in his quarters."

  "Good." She shoved that distress to the hindmost, swung about in the lift as they got in with her. Chur anticipated her reach for the button, tucked her arm behind her again in haste when she had pushed it. Pyanfar glared at her. "What else is wrong? What's Haral doing up there?"

  "Got a lot of messages in," said Tirun. "Still coming. Board's jammed."

  "Huh." The lift slammed upward. Pyanfar studied the door in front of her till it opened and spat them out on main, then strode for the bridge with a cousin on either side. "Who's called in?"

  "Stsho, mostly," Chur said. "One message from Ayhar's Prosperity. Banny Ayhar requests conference at soonest."

  "And some mahen nonsense," said Tirun. "No ship code."

  She gave Tirun a second hard look, caught the lowered ears, the tension round the nose. She snorted, walked on into the bridge where Haral stood to meet her, where Hilfy got up from com— o gods, Hilfy— with her side patched in bandages. Geran with her right ear plasmed along a rip.

  "You all right?" Haral asked. "We got a message from stsho central... said you were coming."

  "How courteous of them. They give you any trouble?"

  "Kept us locked up filling out forms," said Geran. "Sent us out about an hour ago."

  35

  Chanur's Venture

  "Huh." She sat down in her own place, at The Pride's controls, swung the chair about in its pit to look at the solemn row of faces. Hilfy, her niece, young and white about the eyes just now. Haral and Tirun, tall, wide shouldered, daughters of an elder Chanur cousin; Geran and Chur, wiry and deft, daughters to Jofan Chanur, her third cousins. A row of earnest, sober stares. She gazed last and steadily at her brother Kohan's favorite daughter, at Hilfy Chanur par Faha with a scratch down her comely nose and her ears, gods forfend— plasm on a nick in the left one. Heir to Chanur's mercantile operations, while-and-likely-after Kohan Chanur ruled at home. On the last edge of adolescence. Fearfully proud. Once and silently she wished Hilfy safe at home, but she did not say that. Home was a long, long way away and Chanur interests were at stake.

  "I want a watch on com," she said. "I want scan set to alarm if something comes in, if something budges from this station. I don't care what it is. I want to know."

  "Aye," said Haral.

  "Tully's back."

  Ears went up. Eyes went wide. Hilfy sat down.

  "Good gods," Chur said.

  " Mahijiru's here. Was here. Goldtooth's cut loose and run." There were other things to break to them, like being backed into agreements, like a fool of an aging captain who had believed for one moment in a way out of what she had gotten Chanur into, a way into human trade and all it meant.

  "He was going to slip us a canister with a special cargo. Don't blame me—

  " She waved a hand. "Goldtooth's originality, gods help us. But the stsho are playing power games. That can's tied up in red tape in customs. I think I've got it fixed."

  Chur and Tirun sank into seats where they were, ears back.

  "Sorry," Pyanfar said tautly. " Sorry, cousins."

  36

  Chanur's Venture

  "Got a chance?" Haral asked. Meaning lost t
rade. Lost chances. A whole variety of things, in loyalty too old to be completely blind. "The mahendo'sat've come through?"

  "Don't know. They just headed out and left us the package. There's worse news. The kif are onto it."

  "Gods." Geran leaned onto the back of Chur's couch. "And the bar fight—

  "

  "Set up. Absolutely it was a set-up." She recalled with chagrin the kif watcher while she had been on the docks. "Maximum confusion.

  Goldtooth kited out. Under what circumstances— gods know. Messages were going up and down that dock like chi in a fire drill. Maybe it was a kifish smash-and-grab. Maybe not. Likely it was targeted at the stsho.

  They've sure got the pressure on."

  "The kif know about that can?" Tirun asked.

  "Gods-rotted mahe shoved a shipment out in the middle of bolting dock like their tail was afire— what else could they guess? Gods know who's been bribed. Gods know how long the bribes will hold. Khym all right, is he?"

  Silence for a moment. Haral shrugged uncomfortably. "Guess he is," Haral said.

  "He have anything to say?"

  "Not much."

  "Huh."

  "Said he'd be in his quarters."

  "Fine." She bit it off. They were blood kin, she and the crew. All Chanur.

  All with the same at stake, excepting Khym, Mahn-clan, male, past his prime and his reason for living and belonging anywhere. Her brother 37

  Chanur's Venture

  Kohan Chanur relied on her, back home. Meetpoint in ruins. Kif on the loose. Stsho facing her down. The Pride nose-deep in it again. She had gone softheaded as well as softhearted. Hani everywhere muttered to that effect. Only her long-suffering crew would not say it, even yet. And Hilfy, of course Hilfy. Worship shone undimmed in those young eyes.

  Fool kid, she thought. And to the crew at large: "What happened with our cargo out there?"

  "Cans on the dock were gone when we got back," Tirun said. "We filed a theft report with station. Cans still inside are safe."

  "Kif are fast. Power her up. We go on using station's hookups, but we keep our own online. Look sharp, hear? Don't ask me how long this goes on. I don't know. Contact customs. I want to know where that incoming shipment is."

  No one mentioned costs or what the stsho might do. No one mentioned licenses, and the docking rights and routes it had cost too much to regain.

  No one mentioned Khym, a private folly that had long since become a public one. Not a backward look. No protests. Just a quiet moving toward stations, the whine of chairs receiving bodies all about her as she powered her own chair about and keyed in the old com messages.

  From a mahendo'sat, unidentified: "I leave paperwork, leave cans same station office. Good voyage. Got go quick. Same you."

  She drew one long, quivering breath.

  From Ayhar's Prosperity: "Banny Ayhar to Pyanfar Chanur: We have a matter between us. I suggest we keep it private. I suggest you bring your witnesses to my deck. Expecting immediate reply."

  "In a mahen hell."

  "Captain?"

  She restrained herself from violence to the board. "Reply to Ayhar: Tell it to the kif."

  38

  Chanur's Venture

  "Captain—"

  "Send it."

  Geran ducked her head and bent to the keys. Other messages crawled past, mostly stsho: a dozen threats of lawsuit from irate bazaar merchants; two scurrilous letters from stsho vessels in port, impugning Chanur sanity; others were rambling. Four were anonymous congratulations in mahen pidgin, some sounding inebriate, one babbling obscure mahen religious slogans and offering support.

  From Vigilance, not a word.

  "Tirun," said Chur behind her. "Got that customs contact." And a moment later:

  "Captain," Tirun said. "Got the customs chief on. Claims the papers aren't in order on that shipment."

  She spun the chair about. "The Director cleared that! Tell gtst so."

  "The customs chief says you have to come and sign."

  "I signed that god-rotted thing!"

  Tirun relayed as much, politely phrased. Amber eyes lifted. Ears flicked.

  " Gtst says that was the customs release. Now they want a waiver against claims by the consignor—"

  She punched it in on her own com. "This is Pyanfar Chanur. If I come over there I bring my whole ship's company. Hear? And you can explain that to the Director, you flat-bottomed bureaucrat!"

  Silence from the other end.

  She broke the contact. "Tirun: you and Geran get across that dock to that office and watch those cans all the way."

  39

  Chanur's Venture

  "Kif," Tirun said.

  "Gods-rotted right the kif. They've got their bluff in on the stsho."

  "Customs is back on," Chur said. "Give it to five." She punched it in.

  "Well?"

  "I have schedule, hani."

  "You just put us at the head of it. Hear? I'm sending my own security. I've been robbed once at this forsaken station. Not again!"

  She broke the connection, leaned back and exhaled a long, long breath, staring at Tirun. "Get!"

  "Aye!" Tirun and Geran scrambled up and headed for the door.

  "Arm and take a pocket com!" she shouted after them. "And be gods-rotted discreet about it!" She spun the chair left to Haral. "I want that forward hold warmed and pressurized."

  "How long's Tully been in there?" Hilfy asked.

  Pyanfar shot a glance at the chronometer overhead. "Figure six hours. At least."

  "How good's that lifesupport?"

  "The way Goldtooth's set up the rest of this mess— who knows?" She shoved her chair around and keyed up comp, hunting cargo lists, mass records. "This list updated?"

  "No," Hilfy said.

  "I need that list, gods rot it, niece."

  "I'm on it," Chur said. "Scan to your number four, captain."

  40

  Chanur's Venture

  She smoothed her nose with an effort, twitched her ears and heard the jingling of the several rings. Experience, they meant. Wealth. Successful voyages. She sat and watched for anything untoward, monitoring station com, scan, every pulse and breath of information Meetpoint central let them have. Their own systems showed live in a series of amber lights.

  "Pressure's coming up," Haral said.

  "Estimate of mass loss to three, captain."

  She shunted it to Records. Comp brought up the revision. "Fine that down, Chur. Navcomp's taking main five."

  "You've got them."

  Nav's five segments unified themselves in comp and shunted other programs to different banks: command screens acquired nav's displays.

  Maing Tol. From Meetpoint that was Urtur to Kita Point to Maing Tol at best.

  "We can't singlejump," she said at last. "Not with the cargo we've still got, not anything like it."

  Silence all round. "Aye,"— finally, from Haral.

  She sat staring at the graphs.

  "Aunt," Hilfy murmured, and turned her chair with a wide-eyed look and the comset pressed in her ear. "Aunt, it's Geran. Says customs has those cans loaded and out already; they have a bunch of mahen security on it, too."

  "Good gods. Something's going right. How long?"

  "How long?" Hilfy relayed; and her eyes flickered as she listened.

  "They're coming now."

  "How's that pressure?"

  41

  Chanur's Venture

  "Pressure's good," Haral said.

  "Captain—" Chur. "Someone's down at the access com— it's Banny Ayhar, captain. She wants to talk to you."

  "Gods rot!" She punched in all-ship com. "Ayhar, get clear, hear me!"

  "Who is this?"

  "Pyanfar Chanur, rot your eyes, and clear my dock! There's an emergency in progress."

  "What emergency? Chanur, I'm not in a mood for more connivances. You hear me, Chanur—"

  "I've got no time for this." She spun the chair about and left it. "Haral, stand by to open up th
at hold. And tell Ayhar get herself out of the way.

  Hilfy, Chur, come on."

  They heeled her down the corridor at an almost run, into the lift for downdecks. She hit the button.

  Com snapped from the panel above the lift controls, at the first lurch of the car down. "Captain." Haral's voice. "Geran's on. They've got kif out there."

  She put a claw in the slot before the lift had a chance to pass the next level and stopped the car right there, on a level with the airlock. "Hilfy!" she said in leaving, before Hilfy had a chance to follow her and Chur. "Go on below and get that bay opened up."

  "Aunt—" One youthful protest, hands lifted, before the door closed between.

  They ran all-out, she and Chur, stopping only for the weapons-locker and the com-panel in the hall.

  "Get that hatch open!" Pyanfar yelled at Haral, and headed for the lock.

  42

  Chanur's Venture

  Chapter 3

  They hit the access tube running and came round the bend head-on into hani coming up the accessway, a broad, scarred hani captain flanked by two senior crew.

  Pyanfar evaded collision.

  "Gods rot you—" Banny Ayhar yelled, and Chur cursed; there was the thump of impact.

  "Gods rot you!" Pyanfar yelled, whirling about, outraged, as Chur recovered from her stagger and spun about at her side. "I told you clear my dock!"

  "What's it take to bring Chanur to its senses?" Banny Ayhar yelled.

  "When's it stop, hey? You listen to me, ker Pyanfar! I've had enough being put off—"

  "We've got kif after my crew, blast your eyes."

  "Chanur!"

  She spun and gathered Chur and ran, with the thump of running Ayhar at their heels at least as far as the passageway's exit onto the downward ramp.

  "Cha-nur!" Banny Ayhar roared at her back, waking echoes off the docks; but Pyanfar never stopped, down the rampway and past the frozen cargo ramp and the gantry that held The Pride's skein of station-links.