Chanur's Legacy

by C. J. Cherryh

  Kshshti was where it had started. That was where she had made the worst mistake of her life, when the kif had been waiting for nothing so much as a chance at any of them.

  Leave it to the kid.

  She’d been younger then. Hormones in full spate. A fool.

  A kif leaned close to the cage, and talked to her, its speech full of clicks from inner and outer rows of teeth.

  A kif reached into a cage and devoured small live creatures that squealed and squeaked pathetically. Kif were delicate eaters. Their appetites failed, with other than living food. And nothing went down their gullets but liquids—of whatever viscosity.

  She wanted out of this dream.

  … But it was forever before she heard the beep of the alarm, telling her they were making the drop …

  … here and now.

  “That’s first dump,” she said. And remembered the hunter-ship. “Where’s Ha’domaren? Look alive! Can you spot him?”

  “Got the buoy,” Fala murmured.

  And from Chihin and a deeper voice almost simultaneously, a set of coordinates, as Tiar’s switching sent the buoy system-image to her number one screen.

  She was relieved to know where that son was, damned sure.

  Meanwhile Fala was talking to gtst excellency, who seemed to be alive, and Tiar was handling a message to station.

  “Rocks didn’t blow,” Tarras said.

  “That’s nice. Advise gtst excellency we’re going down again.”

  Pulling the dumps close together. But they’d come in close. Showy precision. She pulled a nutrient pack from the clip and downed it in three gulps.

  “Kshshti Station,” Tiar was saying, talking to a station central that wasn’t going to hear them for another hour. “This is Chanur’s Legacy, inbound.”

  Not The Pride. Now wasn’t then. Maybe on Kshshti docks a stsho was running for cover. Maybe they’d caught Atli-lyen-tlas this time, maybe gtst hadn’t had time to get out of port. A stsho didn’t have the constitution for consecutive spaceflights. Gtst had to be feeling the strain of the chase by now. Gtst had to be saying to gtstself that maybe running wasn’t worth it.

  Gods-for-sure certain no kifish captain had provided gtst the comforts they’d given Tlisi-tlas-tin. That kifish ship held the dark kifish eyes preferred, the sullen glow of sodium lights, the perpetual stink of ammonia …

  … on anyone who dealt with them… .

  A stsho couldn’t flourish in the dark. Gtst sanity would go.

  On the other hand … considering Kita Point … maybe it already had. Maybe there wasn’t an Atli-lyen-tlas by now, just a body, and compliance to kifish orders, and no knowledge who gtst had been.

  Disquieting thought.

  One she refused to deal with until she had found their recipient.

  They traveled at insystem V now, good, peaceful citizens of the Compact. They had the output of the buoy computer that, constantly updated by real events in its vicinity and events transmitted from Kshshti Station, maintained a time-warped reality of its own, shading from the truly real and contemporaneous, or at least minutes-ago truth to the many-minutes-ago truth of Kshshti Station.

  The station schema was, at the time they got it, some 52 minutes old. That was a benefit of the peace: stations were no longer so paranoid as to think that two enemies might go at each other in full view of a station—or with one linked to its fragile skin. Kshshti Station showed Ha’domaren ahead of them … where else? And a ship named Nogkokktik, captained by one Takekkt, at dock since yesterday.

  Closing the gap, by the featherless gods.

  Hani traders didn’t even go to Kshshti. But there were sixty-seven messages for aunt Pyanfar here, one outstanding legal paper suing for information, and a stray package pickup (from a mahen religious foundation?) postage due.

  Meanwhile the kifish ship Nogkokktik remained at dock—wasn’t talking to anyone except station, and claimed, through station communications, not to know anything about any stsho passenger.

  Likewise Ha’domaren received their salutations, welcomed them to Kshshti, and, no, Ana-kehnandian was not available. Ana-kehnandian was in his sleep cycle and could not be disturbed. Amazing how the watch officer’s command of the pidgin declined as soon as he’d said that.

  And was there a stsho ambassador or anything of the sort on Kshshti?

  No. The ambassador had taken ill and died last month.

  “Gods rot it!” Hilfy cried.

  “There’s something,” Tarras said, “going on.”

  Notable understatement. She gave Tarras the stare that deserved.

  “I mean,” Tarras amended that, “major.”

  A long breath, slowly exhaled; unwelcome reminiscence of ship stalking ship, the chill of hearing a safety go off behind one’s back. Of seeing a ship die in a silent fireball, and hearing the voices over com …

  She didn’t want those days back again. She didn’t want to be in this port playing tag with a kif.

  But gods be. She hadn’t the habit of giving in. Not even to her aunt. And never in a mahen hell to outsiders, notably not the kif.

  She sat with her chin on her hand, thinking through their options, since no one was talking. Kshshti authorities were no reliable source of help—unless someone had come in here and swept out every official who had ever taken a bribe, and she had never heard that that had happened.

  Of resources they had …

  “Deal with customs,” she said. “Offer the cans for sale … except the rocks. We’re keeping the rocks.”

  “Keeping the rocks,” Tarras echoed. “Right.”

  “If we get a decent offer, let me know. If we don’t get a decent offer, look us up an honest warehouse …”

  “At Kshshti?”

  “Best we can do. I want everybody on Kshshti to know what we’re carrying; and that we’re willing to warehouse it if we don’t get our offer.”

  Tarras gave her a curious, thoughtful look.

  “Why would a Chanur ship come in carrying strategics and staples, and insist on warehousing … if we don’t get a top price?”

  A line developed between Tarras’ brows. “You’ll panic the market,” Tarras protested. “Captain, … begging your pardon …”

  “They know they’re dealing with Chanur. The dockside bartenders probably know we’re carrying an important stsho object. We’re in this to make a living, cousin. So are they.”

  “You’ll shove the market into a war scare. It’ll proliferate. Captain, people can get hurt.”

  “There’s nothing they’ll buy they won’t need. And that’s the market, isn’t it, cousin?”

  “Not starting gods-be rumors!” Tarras cried, and immediately lowered her voice. “Captain. This isn’t right.”

  She scowled at Tarras, at disloyalty, at a clear challenge to her methods, her character and her ethics. They had had doubts under aunt Py’s command, too, there had been scary, sticky moments, a good many of them here at Kshshti, but, by the gods, the whole crew had stood by her.

  Py had a few more gray hairs, be it known. Py and the four senior crew had been in tight spots before they had ever gotten into the mess at Kshshti, and they’d known Pyanfar was smart enough to think her way through it.

  But Tarras didn’t know that about her. Tarras knew she’d gotten the captaincy because she was Pyanfar’s niece, that was what Tarras knew about her, the same thing all Chanur’s rivals knew about her.

  “If we let this loose,” Tarras began.

  “It’s already loose, cousin, it’s already part of the record, what we got at Kita, what we’re doing, who we’re carrying, where we’re going … People watch us, people rake over everything we do … that message stack is in our files because every gods-be station assumes we’re in thick with Pyanfar’s doings, and all right, why don’t we just call up station central and tell them who we’ve got aboard, what we’re carrying, what we think Haisi’s up to, why don’t we just stand out there and see what happens then, cousin? So we lie to them, so we flash
a few pieces of information and let whoever’s out there wonder if they’ve got the picture. If we told the gods-be truth they’d go insane trying to figure out which part of it was a lie.”

  “I’m not for creating a war scare! I’m not for throwing the whole commodities market on its ear because we’ve got a problem!”

  “So what if there is a war? What if, at least, the mahendo’sat and the stsho are maneuvering for position and somebody’s going to double-cross aunt Py and the whole glass house is going to come down? How many people are going to get hurt then? How fast will some kifish hakkikt appoint himself to grab power? The market’s a small casualty, cousin. A tick or two in the price of grain’s something the smart traders will ride smart and the amateurs are going to get stung with, but I’m not responsible for that. I can’t do anything about small investors’ mistakes, I’m trying to keep Chanur afloat, I’m trying not to let this blow up in aunt Py’s face—which it could—or let Chanur’s troubles with the han erode her influence to keep the peace, that’s where my thoughts are running, because if you’re right, Tarras Chanur, a good many more people can get hurt if the peace goes, than if the market bobbles.”

  “We don’t know what side the stsho is on!” Tarras protested. “We could be doing harm rather than help for all we know!”

  “People who do something can always make a mistake. So can people who do nothing.”

  “That’s all fine. Do we know what we’re doing?”

  “We rattle a few doors and see what puts its head out, cousin. And if you’ll do what I ask and publish us on the list, I’ll go rattle one in our own basement.”

  “The stsho?”

  “They’d better find out their ambassador here’s dead. And the other one’s missing. People have already gotten hurt, if you want the morality of it. They’re all stsho … but they still count. They’re still dead. Somebody was willing to kill them. And we’ve got a piece of the puzzle on our deck.”

  “Aye, captain.”

  So maybe Tarras was easier in her mind. She wasn’t. She walked out of the bridge and past na Hallan, who was doing a scrub-down and inventory of the galley cabinets, past Fala, who was doing a life-systems check, and got furtive stares from two eavesdroppers who’d probably rather be in the cold-hold.

  Amazing the industry that appeared. She punched the lift button and rode down to lowerdecks, heard the clanks that meant Tiar and Chihin were busy in ops … their refueling and their readiness to move was the number one priority, ahead of cargo, ahead of customs, ahead of any other business.

  Gods, she hated politics, she couldn’t believe she’d said what she’d said up there … no wonder Tarras was confused.

  She walked to the passenger corridor, signaled her intention to open the door, but while she was listening for a response, the door opened, and Dlima, quite nicely painted, gossamer-robed, quite gracious, bowed and let her in.

  “Your excellency,” Hilfy began, “how have you fared?”

  Tlisi-tlas-tin reclined in the bowl-chair, a cup in hand, and gtst beckoned her closer, quite at ease, quite pleased with gtstself and life in general, as seemed. “Will you take tea, captain?”

  “Honored.” It was the only appropriate answer. She stepped in and settled herself as Dlima brought her a cup and filled it with graceful attention. “Most elegant.”

  Dlima fluttered, and subsided, tea in hand, to snuggle up to gtst excellency, no trace of the confused person abandoned at Kita Point.

  So, so, and so, Hilfy thought. Gtst excellency was not suffering. One wasn’t so certain about Dlima’s mind.

  “Tell the captain,” Tlisi-tlas-tin said, with a gentle nudge of gtst elbow. “Or shall I?”

  Feathery white lashes veiled moonstone eyes, and gtstisi squirmed deeper into the nook against gtst excellency. “I have the rare pleasure to make your honor’s acquaintance.”

  “This is Dlimas-lyi,” Tlisi-tlas-tin said, with gtst arm about gtsto and a look of thoroughly foolish contentment on gtst face.

  Good, living gods, Hilfy thought in despair.

  “Gtsto is a person of such inestimable quality, such wonderful refinement… . beyond a consolation. I am beyond fortunate.”

  So Dlima was something like male … as Tlisi-tlas-tin gtstself was something no other sapient species on record had.

  “I am ineffably honored by the event.” One didn’t refer to gender in polite conversation. What she was seeing was intimacy verging on the indecent, by every book on stsho etiquette she had read. How did one deal with stsho in this condition?

  Don’t refer bluntly to the integration, the books said.

  Don’t use the gtsto pronoun without clear permission. Use the universal gtst.

  Don’t refer to mating.

  Don’t act embarrassed.

  “That gtst excellency has discovered such happiness as my guest,” she added desperately, “is a delight and an exquisitely unexpected honor to our hospitality.”

  Gods rot it. She had business to discuss. Urgent business.

  But gtst was pleased. Gtst sipped gtst tea and gtsto was quick to refill the porcelain cups.

  “Such excellent kindness,” she said, and gtsto fluttered with pleasure. A spidery white hand reached out to stroke her probably frazzled mane, and she valiantly refused to flinch.

  “What a curious and unexpected texture.”

  If gtsto proposed a threesome she was going to run for it.

  “Dlimas-lyi,” Tlisi-tlas-tin said gently. “Would you absent yourself? There is such tedious business at hand.”

  Dlimas-lyi bowed, and bowed, on the retreat from the bowl-chair. Tlisi-tlas-tin sipped gtst tea and Hilfy did the same.

  Thank the gods … the third gender was the one that dealt with outsiders, business, and stress.

  But outsiders didn’t meet the sexed genders—or most rarely did.

  “I am vastly moved by the trust gtst excellency has bestowed.”

  “Your tastefulness fulfills my extravagant expectations of a foreigner. If I had not come on this voyage I should never have met Dlimas-lyi. As a result of your hospitality I have … iiii … no, I shall be daring … affected a person of such exquisite worth as I could not dream of. Gtsto was the offspring of Atli-lyen-tlas, gtsto, ruthlessly abandoned, gtsto, hitherto gtste … who most valorously hid from gtst enemies until Chanur had come to port. Then, seeing my magnificence, and surely to afford me comfort, gtstisi became gtsto… .”

  So Atli-lyen-tlas’ daughter had hid from assassins, and, attracted to Tlisi-tlas-tin had become … call it male. It didn’t bear offspring in this hormonal condition. If she presented what gtst had said to the universities at Anuurn or Maing Tol, she could justify a second certificate in Foreign Studies. Scholars would kill, to hear what gtst confided to her … but scholars were not going to hear it. That was the other thing you learned in Foreign Studies—not to sell out your source.

  And in Protocols … never to let your source know you had.

  “I am overwhelmed,” she said honestly. “You are a most gracious guest. Admiration of your virtues has compelled me to personal efforts to fulfill our promises. And I must tell you—we are again frustrated in our attempts to reach Atli-lyen-tlas. The kif ship is here. It will not give us any information about passengers. But we have not abandoned effort.”

  “They are offensive individuals.”

  “I concur. Also the mahe about whom I spoke, Ana-kehnandian, aboard Ha’domaren, is notable by his presence at this station and his clear intention to meddle in your excellency’s affairs.”

  “What does your honor propose to do about this annoying person?”

  “This is Kshshti. We have no confidence in the authorities to do anything. We shall attempt creativity. Has your excellency any advisement? We would receive it with all attention. Or had your excellency rather wait on further information—” Never press a stsho for decision. “—we should certainly attempt to obtain it.”

  “As a hani, are you contemplating … iiii … viole
nce of some sort?”

  “By no means! But we are dealing with kif. Therefore it is a possibility, if instigated by them.”

  “The Preciousness must be safe!”

  “At all costs.”

  “I am then willing to wait on your wisdom.”

  Gods rot the son.

  “I have one other … em … distressing piece of information. Your ambassador here is dead.”

  “Wai! This is beyond all coincidence!”

  “Is there possibly any advice your excellency could impart?”

  “I will think on it.”

  “Perhaps … your excellency could step into that lately vacated place, and advise station authorities from that authority that you disapprove the silence of this kifish vessel?”

  “Ambitious.”

  “But within your excellency’s scope. Well within your abilities.”

  Gtst moon-pale eyes blinked, and blinked a second time, and gtst expression never changed.

  Until gtst took a deep breath. “What would your honor do?”

  “I admire the extraordinary graciousness of your excellency to consult a foreigner and understand your excellency is merely curious. I would deliver a message to the station of extreme displeasure, assuming the authority of the late ambassador, without leaving this ship, and demand that information on Atli-lyen-tlas be forthcoming at once.”

  “This is a very sudden step.”

  “It will startle them. But no more tasteful approach could gain notice from the authorities of Kshshti.”

  “A bold venture.”

  “You have been bold in defense of propriety before this.”

  Tlisi-tlas-tin’s eyes were wide. Gtst nostrils flared in rapid breathing. “You instill in me a most curious excitement, distinguished captain.”

  Emotional imbalance, the book said, is to be avoided at all costs.

  “I have never before perceived elegance in such reciprocity of hostility. I feel a poetry in it. Dare I take such advice?”

  “Modified of course by your excellency’s own wisdom.”