Chanur's Venture

Chapter Four

Tully was at least on his feet — seemed to be feeling like Tully, which meant insisting on cleaning himself up if he wobbled doing it, crashing about the lowerdecks washroom talking to himself (or thinking that he was being understood) and generally insisting on his privacy from females even if they were of different species. Hilfy dithered between communications from Haral topside via the hallway com panel, frantic requests from Chur in the op room down the corridor (Tirun and Geran were busy down in cargo offloading canisters, with attendant booms and thumps up through the deck plates), and the barricaded washroom into which disappeared a pair of Haral's blue trousers and out of which issued steam and the indescribable mingle of human-smell, fruit, fish and disinfectant soap.

"You all right?" Hilfy asked, when a hairless arm snaked the offered trousers from around the corner of the door. "Tully, hurry it up. We've got other problems. Fast? Understand?"

A mumbled answer came back and the door went shut as if he had leaned on the control as soon as she had gotten her arm out. Hilfy looked round in desperation as Chur came trotting back from ops waving a pair of pocket corns and with a third clipped to her drawstring waist. "Got it," Chur said.

"Translator's up and running."

"Thank the gods." She pounded on the door again, whisked it open as Chur thrust a pocket com and earplug around the corner to their passenger and drew her arm back. "Tully-" she said to the unit Chur gave her. She put the earplug in with a grimace. "Tully? You hear me now?"

"Yes," the sound came back, mechanical, from the com loop to the translating computer.

"Who talk?" The translator's syntax was far from perfect.

"Tully," Chur said, "it's Chur talking. Hilfy and I got other work, understand? Got to go. You hurry it up; we take you to quarters, get you settled in."

"Got talk to Pyanfar."

"Captain's busy, Tully."

"Got talk." The door opened. He leaned in the doorframe, wearing blue hani trousers, which fit, but barely; and shirtless like themselves. His all but hairless skin was flushed from the heat inside and his mane and beard were dripping wet. "Got talk, come # # talk to Pyanfar."

"Tully, we've got troubles," Hilfy said. "Big emergency." She took him by the arm and Chur took the other, drawing him along despite his objections. "Got cargo troubles, all kinds of troubles."

"Kif." He went stiff and stopped cooperating. "Kif are here?*'

"We're still at dock," Hilfy said, keeping him moving. "We're sitting at Meetpoint and we're as safe as we're going to be. Come on."

"No, no, no." He turned and seized her arms with his bluntfingered hands, let her go and shook at Chur. "# No # # #"

Hilfy shook her head at the static breakup. The translator missed those words. Or never had them.

"Hilfy, Chur — mahen # take # ship # human. I bring papers from #. They ask # hani make stop these kif. Got danger. We're not safe # Meetpoint."

"What's he mean?" asked Chur, her ears gone lower, up again. "You catch that?"

"Go get hani fight these kif," Tully said.

"Good gods," Hilfy said.

"Friend," he said again, the hani word, that sent garble through the translator, less forgiving of his mangled pronunciation. His strange blue eyes were aflicker with fear and secrets. "Friend."

"Sure," Hilfy said. She felt a cold lump at the pit of her stomach, hearing the clank and whine of cargo at work below. Things clicked into place of a sudden, that her aunt had committed them to something more than running an illegal passenger — being desperate, with Chanur's financial back to the wall.

It was more than human trade Tully brought. Trade might save their hides.

But entanglements with kif, deals with a mahendo'sat who was not the trader he gave out to be-

And the likes of Rhif Ehrran breathing down their backs all the while — she had heard it all from Chur.

The han would have their ears.

Pyanfar took the com to the shower with her, hung it on the wall outside. On the day's record so far, she expected calamities.

The first call brought her dripping from shower to the mat outside undried, mane and beard and hide cascading suds.

"Captain." Haral's voice.

"Trouble?"

"Na Khym's here. Says you said he should sit scan monitor."

"Show him what he needs."

Dead silence from the other end. Then: "Aye, captain. Sorry to bother you."

Back to the shower then, to wash the suds off. She slicked the mane back, flattened her ears and squinched her eyes and nostrils shut, face-on to the water-jet for one precious self-indulgent second.

She sneezed the water clear and cycled from water to drier, fluffing out her mane and beard, enjoying the warmth.

The com beeper went off again.

"Gods rot." She left the heat and stood damp and shivering by the hook, fumbling the answer slot. "Pyanfar."

"Captain." Haral again. "Got a kifish message couriered in. From one Sikkukkut. Says it's for you personally."

"Open it."

A long silence. "He's offering partnership."

"Good gods." She forgot the physical cold for a deeper shock.

"Says he wants to talk with you face to face. Says — gods — he's talking specifics here. He names ships he says are after us. Says we have mutual enemies. He gets into kifish stuff here — pukkukkta."

"Gods-rotted pukkukkta changes meaning in every context — get linguistic comp on that.

Get it on the whole thing — Keep alert up there."

"Aye, captain. Sorry."

"All right." She sneezed and cut the com off, returned to the shower and recycled the dryer.

"Captain. Captain."

She left the staff and snatched up com. "For the gods' sake, Haral-"

"— Captain, sorry. That request for scheduling — It seems we're being sued. Got six lawsuits against us and station says it can't give clearance without-"

She shut her eyes a moment, composed her voice and kept it very calm. "Get the station-master online. Tell gtst to issue orders."

"By your leave, I've tried, captain. Call won't go through. The stationmaster's office says gtst is indisposed. The word was gstisi."

Personality crisis.

"That gods-rotted white-skinned flutterbrain isn't going to Phase on us! Countersue the bastards and start prep for manual undock as soon as they get that cargo clear. Get everyone on it down there. And send a message to the director and say if gtst doesn't get this straightened out I'll give gtst new personality more damages to worry about, some of them to gtst person."

"Aye," Haral said.

She threw clothes on, her third-best trousers, green silk with moire orange stripes in the weave; a belt with bronze bangles; the pearl for her ear. Her best armlet, the heavy one. The alien ring was on the counter, from the pocket of the red breeches. She considered, dropped it indecisively into her pocket, pocketed the gun again, clipped on the com and pattered out into the hall in haste, claws clenched, headed for the bridge.

"Captain." The pocket com again, this time from her belt. "Captain, I got the stationmaster on."

"I'm coming," she said, and hastened, down the corridor into the open door. Haral looked about; Khym sat at the righthand station, intent on the scan, the light flickering off his dutiful, martyred scowl.

Haral handed her the transcription. "Gtst is out. A new individual is in power. I think it's still the last one, in a personality shift. The new Director wants payment in full. Says we got the better of the last director, drove gtst into a crisis that wasn't due for twenty years, and this one's determined to get gtst money up front. Intends to impound all offloaded cargo."

"Gods rot-" She swallowed it, seeing the movement of Khym's all-too-hearing ears backward at her voice. She read the demand for payment. "Four hundred million-"

"Nine hundred with the lawsuits. I think that's the problem. Someone important has sued and gtst has to do something."

"I could guess who."

"Gods. Kif. Possible." Haral rubbed her scarred nose, looked up from under her brow. "You thinking of breaking port?"

"Maybe."

"If we do it they'll blackball us. Every stsho port. Every stsho facility. They'll never lift the ban."

"Same if we don't pay."

"Aye, captain," Haral said morosely. And lifting her ears: "Captain, we could offer them the profit. Earnest money, like. Offer to give them more'on next trip. Gods know how we'll pay off the shippers — but that's tomorrow. And it'll be tied up in litigation anyway, soon as it hits Site's warehouse."

"Maybe." Pyanfar combed her beard with her claws, looked distractedly toward Khym's broad back. Shook her head as at some heavy blow.

"How's that unloading going?" She missed the sound of the conveyors of a sudden. "Finished down there?"

"Sounds like."

"Rot their eyes." Meaning stsho. She sucked in her mustache ends and gnawed at them.

"Pukkukkta."

"Captain?"

"Pukkukkta. What did comp say it meant?"

"Like trade of services." Haral snatched up a printout and offered it to her hand. "Like revenge. This is the item. Over regular channels, it was."

Greeting, the message said, Chanur hunter. Beware Parukt; Skikkt; Luskut; Nifakkiti.

Most of all beware Akkhtimakt of Kahakt. These aspire; that one aspires most. I Sikkukkut am with you in pukkukkta for this cause and speak to you in words which precisely describe kif, therefore ambiguity of translation lies at your feet.

I Sikkukkut know about your passenger and likewise say this: wisest to give this passenger to me. You would then be rich. But I Sikkukkut know the sfik of hunter Pyanfar that this passenger has sfik-value and will be defended. Therefore I Sikkukkut say to the sfik of Pyanfar Chanur that she must give this word to this passenger: I Sikkukkut will speak with him at an appropriate time.

Shelter by my side, hunter Pyanfar. Together we might make a fine pukkukkta, and the cost is less today than tomorrow.

Signal me and I Sikkukkut shall come to the dock where we shall find a quiet place to talk.

"Kif bastard," Pyanfar said, and crumpled the paper. "He wants Tully. That's what he wants.

That's what would buy him status."

She looked at Khym, who sat listening to it all, saying nothing; but his ears were back.

"Consign a can at random to Harukk. Tell them and then tell the stsho."

"To the kif?" Haral gasped, and Khym turned round at his post with the whites of his eyes showing.

"As a gift. To one Sikkukkut, captain of Harukk. Let the stsho sue him."

A thoughtful, wicked look came into Haral's eyes, bewilderment to Khym's.

"No one sues the kif," Khym said.

"No," Pyanfar said, "they won't. And let Sikkukkut and the station worry what's in that can, whether it's valuable or not. If he won't take it he'll have to wonder. If he does and finds nothing but trade goods — kif have remarkably little sense of humor, where face is involved. Sfik. And gods know if he has one of his cronies pick it up he'll have to wonder whether he got all that was in it. Kif don't trust each other. They can't."

"But-" Khym said.

"No time. Do it, Haral."

"Aye." Haral sat down at com, stuck the receiver in her ear and punched out a blinking light.

"Captain, that's Tully again. He's called up here a dozen times. Keeps asking something about a packet of papers. He wants to come up here and discuss it with you."

"Gods." She raked at her beard distractedly and stared round her at the bridge, at Khym's broad back as he kept dutifully to the board, proving — proving things to her. Deliberately. Stubbornly.

Then she realized what she was thinking and thrust the thought away. Male and male, same space. Old ways of thinking died hard. He's not hani, for the gods' sakes. And they're on the same ship.

"Tell him come up," she said. "Tell everyone get up here soon as they secure the hold. Prep ops for undock. And send that message."

"Aye." Haral's voice droned the communications in sequence. She punched from one to the other channels without amenities. Then in snarling stsho: "Meetpoint Central Control, this is the hani ship The Pride of Chanur, berth 6, responding to your notification regarding cargo: must inform you can 23500 has already been consigned to berth 29, Harukk-"

"Get through to Sikkukkut," Pyanfar said to her back. "Tell him there's a shipment for him in the hands of the stsho."

"You can't afford to lose that cargo," Khym said, swinging round. "To stsho or to kif.

Pyanfar-"

"Captain," she said, folding her arms. His eyes burned. She stood her ground. "You're on the bridge. It's captain. Eyes to that board."

He visibly trembled. The sigh gusted through his nostrils like the breath of a furnace. And he turned back to the board.

"Huh," she said, her worst anticipations overturned.

"The stationmaster wants to talk to you," Haral said. "I think it's gtst interpreter."

"I'll take it." She sat down in her place at controls and stuck a com plug in her ear, leaned toward the board pickup and punched the blinking light. "This is Pyanfar Chanur. Have you a question, esteemed director?"

"The director informs you-" the reply came back "-this high-handed threat will not suffice.

We have your signed acknowledgment of responsibility, but this does not cover lawsuits and our liabilities. We wish payment now."

"Is that so?" Her lips drew back as if she had the director in sight. "Tell the director gtst new Phase is a scoundrel, a liar and a pirate."

A pause. "-Our demand is just. The damages of four hundred million must be paid and the lawsuits must be settled-"

"Collect it from the kif."

"— If The Pride of Chanur undocks without payment it will violate treaty and application for reparations will go to the hem. Now this message would be more convenient than usual to deliver."

She sucked in her breath. Gods. For a stsho, the old bastard had a certain flair.

"— Your response."

"Bargain. On the one hand we will countersue. If we lose we will appeal to the court at Llhie nan Tie, to Tpehi, to Llyene, and the case will go on for years — while gtst remain legally responsible for holding our goods in warehouse while litigation proceeds."

"— This might be acceptable."

"On the other hand-on the other hand, esteemed director-"

"— Get quickly to this other hand."

"If the request for payment were otherwise phrased, and if Meetpoint makes itself responsible for all present and future lawsuits out of the settlement, money might be forthcoming."

"— Please restate. Was this an offer of payment?"

"The station assumes full financial responsibility for present and future suits and reparations arising from the riot, releases all cargo claims, trades with our factors at listed station exchange rates, and provides us one unified bill for The Pride's damage repair."

"Please restate, Chanur captain. This translator understood 'ship damage repair.'"

"You have it right."

A delay. "-This smacks of illegality."

"Absolutely not. We will swear to damages suffered by The Pride during the disturbances.

Never mind what kind. I'm sure you have the talent to word it so we can both sign it."

"Please; please, this translator must be correct"

"You've got it. You clear our record, expedite us out, and pad that gods-rotted bill as much as you want. I'll meet you on the dock with the credit authorization in a quarter hour."

"— This is subterfuge. Chanur is known destitute."

"Revise your information, esteemed director. Chanur just called in a debt."

Prolonged silence.

"Well?"

"Excuse, esteemed Chanur captain. This will take consideration."

"You by the gods get me out of here."

More silence. "Please be discreet."

"Would the esteemed director contact me on an unsecure channel? The esteemed director is no fool. It would not be profitable for gtst to appeal to the han, in whatever form. This would surely tie up the funds in litigation." She turned and motioned furiously at Haral. "Legal release," she said into the pickup; and to Haral, and her eyes fell on Khym once-lord-Mahn, on a tense expression turned her way. She motioned at him, listening with one ear to stsho dithering. Do it, she mouthed. "-Listen, I told you, pad the bill all you want. I'm not coming to the office again. You're coming to the docks and you're going to sign a release for all damages, hear that?"

There was frantic activity to her right. Haral had comp reeling up legal forms and Khym was leaning over her shoulder muttering corrections and wordings.

By the gods, Mahn's ex-lord, ex-legal counsel. In his element.

She grinned at the mike and listened to more blather. "Simply put," she said to the director, once Stle stles stlen, "you sign ours, we sign yours, we get our papers clear and our cargo sold for top going rate, and you can show the High Director at Nsthen you got full compensation, right? Otherwise you report unpaid damages. Which do you want?"

"The director relays to you gtst profound distress that Chanur should have been slandered by fools. Gtst is sending you the papers at once and further sends you a gift to make amends for this misunderstanding."

"Chanur will reciprocate in acknowledgment of the director's wisdom in detecting these slanders." She searched rapidly through the data bin for the appropriate forms, copied those, snagged the one that Harai thrust into her hand, fully printed, bilingual in stshoshi and ham and ready for signature.

"Profound gratitude, yes." She broke the contact and flipped the documents looking for key clauses.

"Watertight?"

"Full release," Khym said.

"It had better be." She gathered up all the papers, spun the chair on its mechanism. "Eyes back to that scan, hear?"

"You need escort, captain?" Haral asked.

"You stay here. Tell Hilfy meet me at the lock. I gods-rotted don't need protection from the stsho and I want you at controls. In case." She flung herself out of the chair and headed for the door.

Tully was inbound, in great haste. "Pyan-far!" he cried.

"Sorry, Tully, no time." She brushed past, or tried. He caught her arm.

"Got talk! Pyanfar!"

"No time, Tully. Haral — see to him."

"No # listen I # go #!" He snatched again when she broke the grip and tried to overtake her in the hall. "Pyanfar!"

As she left him behind.

"Pyanfar- "

She made it into the lift and shut the door between. She punched com. "Haral. Get Tully under wraps. Get him his drugs for jump. And stay by those controls!" Not the most logical series of orders.

Gods, Tully and Khym loose on the same level of the ship, Haral busy-

The lift stopped on lower deck. The door opened, on Tirun, Chur and Geran, standing at the lift. Haral's voice rang through the lower corridor — "Who's free down there?"

"Get topside," Pyanfar said, coming through them, papers in hand. "Move it, hear?" Their fur was draggled, dark-tipped with sweat. They smelled of it. "Get Tully put somewhere."

"Aye."

The door closed and they went up. She headed down the corridor at a long stride, where Hilfy waited at the lock, slant-eared and with the whites showing round her eyes.

"Calm down, imp," she said, meeting that look. "It's just the stsho this time."

But she still had the gun in her pocket. It lately seemed a good idea.

The Pride's area of the dock was quiet now, ghostly quiet, with the giant doors to the market still sealed, with the cargo access shut and the station's cargo ramp drawn back and dark. No cans stood about the dock. Only the gantry remained, the huge air ducts socketed to the vent panel beside the water in- and outflow hoses, but those were in shutdown inside. The sensor-bundle, the sextuple power cables and the com lines: that was all that tied The Pride to station now, those and the access tube, the station personnel ramp, and the probe and grapples that, behind that triple-thick wall, added failsafe to The Pride's own steel-armed grip.

Not much, compared to the truck-wide cargo ramp. Not much to hold them now that that link was free. A ship could break away from grapples if it had to, taking damage and trusting station valves and gates to shut. Not even kif had done such a thing, reckless as they were of life, but stsho in their paranoia might think of such possibilities.

Pyanfar cast one narrowed look at that contact with their docking probe and thought such lawless thoughts. Like turning pirate.

Like what a desperate hani could do, if she lost a gamble with the mahendo'sat and the han and there were nothing left at home. Her crew would stay loyal and to a mahen hell with the han if Kohan Chanur died.

Good gods. The thought chilled. It came of advancing age.

Of having a male aboard. Put the mind in different modes. Like hunt and nest and kill the intruders instead of the polite surrender to the han on which civilization rested. Pulling sticks, Khym called it. Hani ships going far and wide across Compact space with males aboard and all the attendant mindset in the crews. Riot on station docks, interHouse brawls, crews at odds with other crews and hani born in space, never knowing Anuurn under their feet at all, with no Hermitage in reach.

Gods, what am I doing here? — standing by Hilfy, gun in pocket, watching a stsho official car come humming up the dock. Somehow she had gotten into this. The steps to it eluded her at the moment, but the steps that led from it-

A kif offered alliance — and for one fleeting moment it truly looked attractive. She was running out of friends.

The car rolled up and stopped humming; hummed again in a different key as the door slid down and Stle sties stlen's current persona put out a pink-shod foot. The translator got out the other door and hastened round with a flurry of robes like rainbow light, to offer gtst hand to the director.

Stle stles stlen (or whatever gtst called gtstself this hour) straightened to gtst feet and waved gtst limp-wristed, long-fingered hand. "Shoss."

A paper appeared from some depth of the translator's robes. Gtst offered it, gtst mooncolored eyes fluttering in wide nervousness.

"Take it," Pyanfar said to Hilfy, assuming the loftiness the stsho understood: assistants traded papers, perused them.

"Bill," Hilfy read in a small strangled voice, "for 1.2 billion credits, aunt."

"I figured. Let me see that."

Hilfy handed it over. Document-reading proceeded to a higher level as Stle sties stlen took the release forms into gist own pearly hands.

A long rustling of pages while the gantry lines thumped and hissed overhead.

"All right," Pyanfar said.

"Hesth," said Stle sties stlen, and in hani: "Where is this money?"

She held out the appropriate paper. Stle stles stlen took it in gtst own hands, and gtst

head came up and gtst eyes went wide.

"Well?" Pyanfar said, keeping her ears up, her expression confident and bland.

"— This is an extravagant power," the translator rendered.

"Of course it is. And I'm sure the esteemed director will want to file that copy. I keep the original."

"Esteemed hani friend," said Stle sties stlen.

"Got a pen?"

Stle stles stlen snatched it from the translator and offered it gtstself. If gtst had had external ears they would have pricked far forward.

She signed; gtst signed; documents changed hands and Chur and the translator signed.

Hectic flushes almost to pink chased nacre across Stle sties stlen's pearly skin.

Gtst looked up with adoration in gtst eyes, waved gtst hand and out of the inexhaustible rainbow robes, the translator brought a smallish presentation box, which Stle sties stlen proffered gtstself.

"Accept this trifle."

"Munificent." Pyanfar pocketed the box. "Your files have my manifest: do select a case of Anuurn honey for your table."

"Excellent hani."

"I go first on the departure list."

"Oh, yes." Gtst bowed, fluttered. "At earliest." Gtst backed toward the car and stopped, looking wide-eyed, then ducked inside.

The translator saw the director inside and the door raised, whisked gtst rainbow self around to gtst own side.

The car hummed to life, opaqued its windows, and hummed a quick u-turn, off down the docks.

"Aunt-" Hilfy said.

She turned, expecting one of the crew had come outside.

She saw instead a kit between them and the lock, and her hand twitched toward her pocket —

prudently stopped with a mere twitch. She stood stiff-legged, hearing Hilfy sotto voce beside her, the belt-com doubtless thumbed: "Haral, for the gods' sakes — Haral — there's a kif out here-"

The kif flourished a hand among its robes, billowing the hem like the edge of some dark wing.

It sauntered forward with the ease of an old, old friend.

"That you, Sikkukkut?"

"Strange. I can tell hani apart."

"Get off my dockside."

"I came to follow up my message. The ring. How did your passenger receive it?"

"I forgot. Frankly, I forgot."

"Can it be he couldn't receive it? Damaged in shipment, might he be? That would distress me."

"I'm sure it would. Get out of my way."

"Your crewwoman's calling help, is she?"

"You won't want to stay around to see."

The thin wrinkled snout acquired a chain of wrinkles. "So you're putting out. Beware of Kita Point."

"Thanks."

More wrinkles. "Of course. There are such limited ways out of Meetpoint. Except for those the stsho permit. Except for us — who go where we like. I wonder where Mahijiru is."

"Don't know, then? Good."

"Your sfik will kill you."

"My ego, is it? — Come on, Hilfy." She started forward, picking a course to The Pride just out of kifish long-armed reach. But he moved to intercept them.

"We are both hunter-kinds, hunter Pyanfar." And with a twitch of that long hairless nose: "Kif are better."

"Hani are smarter." She had stopped, hand in pocket. "I have a gun."

Sikkukkut's long black nose gained wrinkles and lost them. "But being hani — you dare not use it unless I prove armed. This is the burden of a species its hosts fear not."

"It's called civilization, you earless bastard."

A dry kifish sniffing, like laughter. "The stsho are grass to us. You will not join with me."

"In a mahen hell."

He lifted both hands, palm outward. "I do not challenge, hunter Pyanfar."

Her hand tensed on the gun, to be quick; but the tall kif turned his black-cloaked back and walked off with that peculiar stalking gait.

"Sfik," Hilfy muttered, who was the linguist among them. "Means like pride, like honor, if the kif had any."

"If," Pyanfar said, staring after the kif and not forgetting a sweep about to see if there were confederates lurking: there were not. "That mouth may speak hani; that brain's pure kif. Move it. Get out of here."

"I have a gun," Hilfy said, backing away as she was told. "Come on, aunt. Let's both get out of here."

"Huh." She backed, turned, grabbed Hilfy by the arm and both of them hastened up the rampway into the access, headon into Tirun and Chur who were coming out.

"Good gods," she said when her heart had restarted.

"Sounded like you had trouble," Tirun said.

"It walked off," she said, and gathered them all up, marched them ahead of her past the safety of the airlock. Chur shut the door.

"Kif?" asked Tirun then.

"Kif," she said, and looked around sharply at movement to her left, where Geran stood, with Tully.

"Got talk," he said.

"Geran, for the gods' sakes I said settle him."

"It's urgent, captain."

"Everything's urgent. Get in line."

"Aunt," Hilfy said, with that kind of look Hilfy could get when something was utterly out of joint.

"Got paper," Tully said, breathless. "Got-" The translator garbled over mangled hani words.

"Get me a plug, will you?" One materialized out of Hilfy's pocket, and she put the audio into her ear. "Tully, what are those papers?"

"Got paper say human come fight kif # # need hani."

"Rot that translator. I'm losing that." "Human come fight kif." A very cold lump settled to her stomach. "Why, Tully?"

"Make kif #. Friend, Pyanfar. Bring lot human come fight kif." The cold grew colder still.

"Sounds like," said Tirun, "more than one ship involved."

"They want help," said Hilfy. "That's why he came. That's what I think he's saying. It's nothing to do with trade."

"Gods," she muttered, and looked up, at an earnest human face, at four crew-women with iaces taut with the same kind of thoughts. "Kif know this, Tully?"

"Maybe know," he said. He drew a great breath and let it go, held out his hands as if appeal could get past the translator. "Come long way find you. Kif — kif make trouble # one time fight Goldtooth friend."

"Goldtooth," she said. The name was a bad taste in her mouth. "What am I supposed to do with you? Huh?"

"Go Maing Tol. Go Anuurn."

"Gods rot it, Tully, we got kif up to our noses!"

His pale eyes locked on hers, desperate. "Fight," he said. "Got make fight, Py-an-far."

She lowered her ears and brought them up again, glancing round at her crew. Scared faces.

Looking to her for answers.

"Ought to give him to Vigilance," she muttered, "and advertise it to the kif."

No one said anything. She imagined the consequences for herself if she did that. The fragile Compact broken wide open, kif chasing a han deputy ship.

Or Ehrran leaving him on a stsho station, where not a hand would be raised to prevent kif from walking in and doing what they liked. Kif would do anything, if profit in doing it outweighed the profit in restraint.

"Where we taking him?" Tirun asked. "Maing Tol, Goldtooth says."

"Captain — We do that and that blackbreeches'll have our ears. Begging the captain's pardon."

More questions of her orders. She stared at Tirun, at a cousin, an old comrade; at another Chanur whose life was at risk.

"You want to turn him over to Ehrran, Tirun?"

Tirun stood there with her ears down, with rapid thinking going on behind her eyes. "We could send another can to Vigilance," she said. "Let that kif bastard wonder."

The idea struck her fancy. But: "No," she said, thinking of those same consequences. "Can't risk it. Come on." She seized Tully by the arm and dragged him into motion, then abandoned the grip as she headed for the lift. "Get Tully settled. Get his drugs for him and get up to the bridge."

"Go?" Tully asked, close at her heels. "Pyanfar go Hoas?"

"Urtur," she said, reaching the lift. She looked back as Chur and Hilfy took him by the arms.

Tirun punched the door and held it. "Going to Urtur. Going fast. Take the drugs. Stay out of the way.

Understand?"

"Got," he said, and let them pull him off down the hall. She stepped into the lift and Tirun got in and pushed the buttons.

One worried look from Tirun. That was all.

"I know," she said, which summed it up. She pulled the presentation case from the pocket where she had put it, opened it as the car shot upward.

A note. Beware Ismehanan-min, it said.

Meaning Goldtooth.

She handed it to Tirun.

The door opened on the upper corridor.