Chanur's Venture

Chapter Seven

There were hazard lights blinking urgent alarm, and Harals voice protesting — "Captain-" — Plaintively, as if she had not heard the beeps and already begun to reach. There was perhaps some mercy in being human and drugged out of one's mind. .

"Got it," Pyanfar coughed, though her throat had gone to stone in the long slow leak of time past the instruments, in the inside out of jumpspace. "Location?" One went lethargic, grew fatally tranquil in that dizzy flow where one could do nothing, nothing but watch and take a subjective day moving a finger. There was an itch at the tip of her nose just as important as their collective lives. .

But the intellect knew what the will forgot. The mind was primed with a sequence of things she had waited two months to do. The right hand reached the control she had meant two months ago to reach and brought the field up while they still had power, long before they had gotten buoy signal. The eyes sought instruments, diverging lines that had to meet-

The fields of Mahn, yellow in the sun, the woods, the dappled shade. .

The vine outside the wall of Chanur, that branched like a river, from one great gnarled trunk; and generations of Chanur had climbed it, branch to branch to branch-

"We're on." That was Geran's mumble confirming destination. "We're in the jump range."

Location: need the vector.

"We're alive," Hilfy murmured. "We're going to make it, going to make it-"

— as if she were utterly surprised.

There it was, that red line trued right on.

"Huh." Pyanfar coughed her throat clear and blinked away the haze.

"Of course we did," Geran said. "Have any doubt, kid?"

There were safety procedures for a ship to follow when coming in from dust-ringed Urtur and they were not following them. They were coming into a system with C-charged dust in their company.

Some of it would slip the smaller field of their dump and go through Kshshti system like a hard-radiation storm.

"One more dump," she murmured, pleaded with the ship. "Stand by" — thinking of a ship she had seen die — of a ship which had had a vane shot to flinders, and jumped without a chance in a mahen hell of slowing down.

Nothing to do then but capsule the crew and hope-

She shoved the dump in and felt her eyes roll as the field cycled up. . come on, come on, ship, hold it-

More failure lights blinked and held steady. Branches on the wall. . "Got to be that Y unit," she muttered to Haral, to no one in particular, and had visions of that dying ship again.

None of that crew was alive now. Those the mahendo'sat had hauled down in their capsule and saved — they had died at Gaohn, standing off the kif.

She moved an arm and did a third dump, watching in blear-eyed fascination as the lines on the scopes crept together and merged like silken threads, red and blue, as The Pride dragged at the interface and let the bubble go.

Down again, and the wail of alarms calling her back to life.

"Still over mark," Haral muttered. "That's twenty."

"I know. We've got it, we've got it left with the mains." She shoved the jump drive off and sent The Pride into an axis roll, canceled G and threw the mains on to finish the job the drive had failed.

There was margin left. "Kif. Are there kif? Look alive back there."

"Scan's clear," Chur's voice returned. "Kshshti positive; got the beacon. Stand by course input."

Monitors changed priorities. The course change flashed in, very little off their present heading.

She put the bow down and trued up.

"That's luck," Haral said of the course they had been handed.

"Huh," she said. "That's priority for you." Rotational G picked up again as the vector change took effect. "Find out what we lost."

"Stand by," Tirun said.

There was long silence, while comp ran diagnostics under Tirun's hands.

"It didn't hold?" Khym's voice, sounding plaintive and a bit shaken. "Did we lose that vane again?"

"Didn't hold," Geran said. "But we're all right."

"Not leaving here real quick, are we?"

He was trying. And getting harder to deceive. Pyanfar swallowed hard, and took the damage summary as it came flickering to the screen. "We're all right," she heard Hilfy say, which was probably into the com, for Tully. "We're through. We just had trouble with that unit. Sit still down there."

"Blew two holes in final-backup," Pyanfar muttered to Haral, in conversation-tone.

"Gods," Haral said. That was all. And sent Kshshti system image her way, onto all the screens.

"Not much, this place."

"Huh."

It was not. A dull orange sun with only moons for company, moons and a station. Small mining, sufficient for its needs. Some trading. Mostly mahendo'sat maintained it because it would be someone's, situated as it was; and best it should be theirs, when it was a connection on a route straight for Maing Tol from Kefk, inside kif space. With a shipyard facility, thank the gods.

"Lot of traffic," Pyanfar muttered, picking up the com chatter. "Gods-rotted lot of traffic to be out here at this hole."

"Kita," Haral reminded her.

"Kita for sure. Word got spread uncommon fast, didn't it? Or we lost more time than we ought in that jump."

"Huuuhn." No comment. Not here, not now. Not with Khym on the bridge.

Twenty stars were The Pride's regular ports of call. Not Kshshti. It was not a port any hani sought.

"Nasty little place," Geran muttered from back along the counter. "Real nasty."

There was time. There was time for a great many things as The Pride came limping in toward Kshshti-

Time to hear the chatter of the station before their wavefront reached station and station's then-wave reached them: the chitter and wail of methane-breathers in confused conference, the clicking sounds of kif whose uncoded remarks were on ordinary kifish business, terse and uninfprmative. No hani voices. No sign of hani at all.

"Station answering," Hilfy said as that wave came in. The feed was routine, coldly businesslike transmission. It might have been any approach to a mahen station, less lively than some. "Queer quiet,"

Haral muttered. "I'd've expected a curse to a mahen hell and back again, the way we came in."

"Huh," Pyanfar said. "Bet you to a mahen hell all of this is set up from the start. We're expected and they're not rattling this thicket, no."

That got a look from Haral. Not a happy one.

So they glided closer and closer to Kshshti with the noise of methane-breathers whispering over com.

Rimstation. Border station. Kif claimed the star; mahendo'sat had built the station and held it with the tc'a and chi, whose mining had no particular profit. Nothing at Kshshti did. . except its nuisance value to kif ambitions across the line.

"Where's that shiplist?" she asked of Hilfy. "I want names, imp."

"I'm still trying," Hilfy said. "Station says they've got computer trouble."

"Sure they do. Like the board at Meetpoint."

"Beg pardon, aunt?"

"Gods-rotted lot of malfunctions lately. Get that list. Tell them read it off by voice and cut the nonsense."

"Don't know what we can do," Haral muttered beside her. And that was truth. The vane systems boards flickered steady disaster under Tirun's probes. It was all down. Everything.

"We'll manage," she said, "something-" but her gut was knotted up in one unceasing panic.

She fished the repair authorization out of safekeeping and shifted to put that in her pocket, braced for arguments with mahen officials. There would be outcries, howls, delays if she could not face them down.

And if there was no ship for Tully, if there were the wrong kif, and no help — Not leaving here real quick, no.

"List is in," Hilfy said.

"To your one," Haral said and put it to the screen.

14 Iniri-tai: Maing Tol

9 Pasunsai: Idunspol

7 Nji-no: Maing Tol

30 Canoshato: Kshshti: insystem

29 Nisatsi-to: Kshshti: insystem

2 Ispuhen: Maing Tol: repair

32 Sphii'i'o: V'n'n'u

34 T'T'Tmmmi: N'i'i

40 A'ohu'uuu: Tt'a'va'o

49 knnn

50 knnn

51 knnn

52 knnn

10 Ginamu: Rlen Nle

20 Kekkikkt: Kefk

21 Harukk: Akkt

22 Inikktukkt: Ukkur

8 Ehrran's Vigilance: Anuurn

15 Ayhar's Prosperity: Anuurn

3 The Pride of Chanur: Anuurn: enroute

"Gods," Haral muttered.

"Party, huh?" She drew down her mouth as at a bad taste.

"Kekkikkt. Remember that one?"

"Couldn't forget. A whole list of good news, isn't it?"

"Got help." She scanned the mahen section again. "Insystemers and short-hoppers. Ever hear of Iniri-tai?"

"No."

"Pasunsai?"

"No. Neither of them."

"Gods rot, there's supposed to be a hunter ship here."

"Got Vigilance," Haral said dryly.

"Huh." She rose to the humor, but there was ice at her stomach.

"What do we tell them?"

She remembered what she had told them at Meetpoint, the final message. Kif on our trail.

No explanation possible. "Something inventive. We'd better."

"Ayhar," Tirun muttered between her teeth. And that was the second good question.

"That scrapheap never beat us here on the Urtur route, that's sure."

"How'd they know?"

"Want to guess?"

Haral made a sound in her throat, not a pleasant one.

"Rhif Ehrran's got a lap pet."

"What do we do?"

"Huh. I'm thinking about it." Meaning she did not know. Meaning there was nothing they could do but bluff and Haral already knew that much. Vigilance had gathered itself a witness, that was what — footed the bill to divert a merchant carrier like Prosperity off its normal run. They had dumped cargo at Meetpoint, same as themselves.

And knew where to intercept them. Same as Harukk had known.

Gods, were they the only ones running blind in this business?

"Stsho? Stle stles stlen?

Gtst knew Goldtooth's plans.

If gtst had talked-

"Captain," Hilfy said. "Tully's asking to come up."

More questions. Pointed ones. She drew a deep breath and downed the panic. "Tell him yes.

Tell him-" — watch his step. But he knew how to move in a ship underway. He had felt the uncertainty in their dump, had understood more surely than Khym had that they were in trouble, and what kind they were in — that they had escaped dying outright. But they were lame — at Kshshti. With the kif.

Now what, now what we do, huh, Py-an-far?

Tully did not take long about it. Pyanfar turned her chair from his reflection overhead to the solidity standing in the doorway.

He looked worried. He glanced about him, scanned the monitors with an eye that knew what it was looking for, that could read more off the graphics than he could understand in words.

"Safe," she said to him. "We're safe in Kshshti. Got help here. Big hani ship."

He nodded. He did hope. That was in the look he gave her. But something else was in the slump of his shoulders as he turned and sought the seat Hilfy offered him, observer, beside her post.

Quiet, thank the gods..She was ashamed of herself, remembering that he never did go to masculine extremes. Professional. It was hard to remember that, that Tully, whatever else he was, was not prone to hysterics. There, she thought, Khym. That's how. That's how it's done. You can do it-

The way she had believed it once, having voyaged with Tully, so that she hoped-

Khym was looking at her now, one hard, unforgiving stare.

Sure, Khym. It's fixed.

Tully, perhaps, had never fallen for that lie in the first place.

And Khym had, perhaps, just seen that shiplist.

She turned back to controls. Blinking lights and mahen chatter had no accusations.

The metal speck that was Kshshti became a star, a globe, resolved itself into torus shape in the vid; became an aggregate of plates and flashing lights as The Pride moved in and fell into rotating pattern with the wheel. "In lane," Haral said. "Autos on."

"Take her in." Of a sudden the hours mounted up like leaden weight. She spun about and faced the bridge as a whole, saw Khym sitting there with his elbows on the console facing the scan.

Tully's pose was much the same. But he turned to face her, with that haunted look he had worn for days.

"We'll get that repair done here," she said. "Kshshti can handle it."

Hilfy looked her way. So did Khym. And Khym's stare was dark.

Another lie? she read the backslant of one ear, the flare of nostrils.

Her own pulse raced. She held herself in place, silent, with nothing to say to either of them.

Lies and lies and lies.

"When we get in," she said to Hilfy, looking straight at her, "I want a mahen courier in here. I don't care who it is. Dock manager will do. Don't shake things up, but get us someone who can get us someone else. Shouldn't be hard. Suggest we've got a cargo difficulty."

Khym sat there. It occurred to her that in his life he had never told a witting lie. . being downworld hani, dealing with hani and believing in the han. And it had never occurred to her that in dealings off-Annum she had had many faces — one for stsho, one for mahendo'sat. She was more hani with the kif.

"It isn't Annum," she said across the bridge in a low, hard voice. "Nothing's Anuurn but Anuurn itself, crewman, and we aren't home."

Maybe he understood that much. She saw a slight flicker in the eyes.

"Pyanfar," Tully said. "Maing Tol. Go Maing Tol."

She put the com plug into her ear. "I understand," she said. He was scared. Terrified. "Quiet, hear? We got you. We'll work it out. Fix, understand?"

He said nothing, neither he nor Khym.

"Gods rot," she muttered, and got up. "Take her in, Haral." She stalked off aft, caught the safety grip and looked back. "I'm going to clean up. Tirun, you wash up; I want you with me. I want that courier, niece."

It was not an easy thing to manage, a cleanup during dock approach. She had inhaled a bit of water and stung her nose, but that meeting was its own kind of emergency — to be presentable as possible, formidable; and there was not, here, the time to spend on it.

She overdid it, if possible — wore her finest red breeches, her most resplendent rings. She reeked of perfume. That was interspecies courtesy; and it was strategy, to drown subtle cues to sensitive alien noses.

Face the bastards down, by the gods.

It was The Pride at stake. And with it-

The Pride nudged her way into dock, smooth, smooth glide now; a last warning from Haral and another shift of G as all ship rotation ceased, only spin-match carrying them now. The sensation of fifty pounds extra weight eased off. She held on to the recessed grip by the cabin door, trusting Haral's skill, and dock came softly, a thump against the bow, a clang of grapples going on, the steadying of G force at a mahen-normal. 992 as they became part of Kshshti's wheel.

She gave her mane and beard a final combing, twitched the left ear's rings into order. The sudden silence of the ship at rest gave an illusion of deafness: the constant white noise had ceased.

"Aunt." That was Hilfy from the bridge. "I made that contact. We've got a customs official on the way."

"Good." She clipped a pocket com to her waist, tucked a pistol into her pocket-gods, no way for an honest hani to do business. But Kshshti, as she had said to Khym, was not Anuurn, and the universe was a lonely walk among species that had been at this hunt long before hani came.

Fix the rotted vane at Urtur; crawl up the column, indeed. Hilfy Chanur would have. Would do, when she inherited The Pride. Hilfy would make high and wide decisions, take the straight course, not the devious.

Perhaps she had done that herself once. She tried to remember. Perhaps age dimmed the recall.

She thought not. No, by the gods.

Young fool, in charge of her ship. Not for by-the-gods years yet. But the thought appalled her. . to go back to Chanur, sit in the sun and waste away. Haral, Tirun, no youngsters themselves, to give up their posts to bright-eyed youngsters who thought everything was simple-

Gods.

She latched the drawer tight, and walked out, a little rubber-kneed in Kshshti's heavier G.

"Captain." From the pocket com, Haral's voice. "Message from Vigilance. Rhif Ehrran's at our dock."

"Oh, good gods."

"They want the lock open."

She put a claw in the pocket com. "Where's that customs officer?"

"On the way. That's all we know. Stall?"

She thought about it. Gave it up. There was no need starting off hot. "No. Let her in. Due courtesy. You and Chur and Khym stay on the bridge and keep your eye on things. Hilfy: galley. Geran and Tully, half an hour to clean up and trade watch with first shift. Move it." Crew was tired. Exhausted.

Gods knew how much rest they would get. Or when.

"Aye," Haral said. "They're about to hook up the accessway."

"At your discretion."

She took the lift down, the while the ship-to-station connections whined and clanked away against the outer hull, the thunk! of lines socketing home, the portside contact of the access tube snugging into its housing on the hull.

Tirun joined her, swung along with a visible weight in her right-hand pocket and not a word of expectations.

Kshshti, after all.

"Ehrran's out there," Pyanfar said.

"Heard that." Cheerlessly. "Figured black-breeches would be quick about it."

There was the final thump, that was the seal in place.

"Stand by," Haral said.

"Ker Rhif," Pyanfar said-took up a pose facing the han deputy and her black-breeched crew-woman; not insolent, no. Just solid enough to invite no farther progress down the corridor.

"Ker Pyanfar." Rhif Ehrran took up a like pose, arms folded. Armed, by the gods: a massive pistol hung at the side of those black silk trousers. The crewwoman carried the same. "Sorry to trouble you this early. I'm sure you've got other things on your mind."

Pyanfar blew softly through her nostrils, comment enough.

"What caused the damage?" Ehrran asked in that friendly, official way.

She pursed her lips into a pleasant expression and glared. "Well, now, that's something we're still looking into, captain. Likely it was dust."

"You want to explain that last message at Meetpoint?"

"I think it's self-explanatory. I meant it. It would be a lot better if you avoided us right now.

We've got a problem. I don't pretend we don't. I don't think it ought to involve the han."

"You feel qualified to decide that?"

"Someone has to. Or the han's in it. I hadn't wanted that."

"You hadn't wanted that."

She refrained from retort. It was what Ehrran wanted. It was all she needed — if anything lacked at all.

"Where do you plan to go?" Rhif Ehrran asked.

"Nowhere, till I get that vane fixed."

"Then?"

"Maing Tol. Points beyond."

A silence then. "You know," Rhif Ehrran said, "you've had a lot of experience out here, a lot of experience. Do I have to tell you the convention regarding hiring a ship out?"

"You don't. We're not."

"You're sitting in a border port with your tail in a vise, Chanur. Are you still going to brazen it out? I'm giving you a chance, one chance before I suspend your license on the spot. You get that two-legged cargo of yours down here and turn him over."

"You're not referring to my husband."

Ehrran's ears went flat and her mouth opened.

"I didn't think so," Pyanfar said. "Who sent you? Stle stles stlen?"

"See here, Chanur. You don't negotiate with me. I've got a han ship eight light-years into the Disputed Territories because I figured you'd foul it up, I'm likely to get my tail shot up getting out of here, and I'm not in the mood to trade pleasantries. I want the alien down here. I want him wrapped up and ready to go, and be glad I don't pull your license."

"We aren't carrying any alien. You're talking about a citizen of the Compact."

"I'm aware of the fiction the mahendo'sat arranged. Let's not argue technicalities. Get him down here."

"He's a passenger on my ship. He has some say where he goes."

"He'll have no say if this ship has no license."

She drew a long, slow breath. The world had gone dark all round, excepting Rhif Ehrran's elegant person. "There's Compact Law, Ehrran. I trust you'll remember that."

"You're on the edge. Believe me that you are."

She stood there with her heart slamming against her ribs and the light refusing to come back.

She was aware of Tirun there, at her side. She could not see her. "Where will you take him? To the han?"

"Just leave that to us."

"No. You're talking about a friend of mine. I can be real difficult, ker Rhif. And we're not in hani space."

There was long, frozen silence. Rhif Ehrran's ears flicked then, breaking the moment. "You're a fool, Chanur. I can't say I don't respect your position."

"Where's he going?"

"Trust me, Chanur, that things go on in this universe somewhat remote from your interests.

Suffice it to say that this is not a unilateral action."

"Gods rot it, he's not a load of fish!"

"If you have such concern for his safety, captain, I'd suggest you distance you from him and him from you — considering the condition of your ship — and let me get him out of here."

She looked away, found no solace elsewhere. Glanced back again. "We'll bring him."

"I'll send a car."

"Someone of my crew will take the ride with him," she said quietly. "By your leave. He's not going to like this."

"I assure you-"

A dark figure appeared in the corridor, at the accessway: Ehrran's ears twitched round and body followed as Pyanfar reached for her pocket, but it was mahendo'sat, not kif.

"Customs officer," Pyanfar said.

"Advice," Rhif Ehrran said. "This is Kshshti. Not Meetpoint. If you can get this ship running, get back to Urtur and get on to Kura. Fast. If she won't stand it, sit tight"

"Same advice you give Prosperity?"

"Prosperity's on han business, Leave it at that. Stay out of things that don't concern you, Chanur."

"I hear you. I hear you very well."

"The car will be here in an hour. I don't want any foulups."

"Understood, captain."

Ehrran inclined her head in scant courtesy, collected her crewwoman and departed the corridor, past the mahendo'sat who turned and stared.

It was a small, worried-looking mahen official who slouched past the departing Ehrran with a backward look. Mahen female, this, a clerical with the usual clutter of clipboard and signatures and seals and notebooks hung about her chest; but the belt which held up the kilt about her rather pot-bellied person had the badges of middling authority.

Then the gut came moderately in and the head came up — no miraculous transformation, only the suddenly sharper look of this disreputable individual.

"Voice, I," she said.

"Huh," said Pyanfar, laying back her ears. She set her hands on hips, drew a neat quick breath, tried to reset her wits for another frame of reference. Gods. A Voice, yet. No dockside official.

"Ehrran know you? Whose voice?"

A second look back, this one taller and disdainful. The Voice — if voice it was — have no name, no particular identity, and yet a considerable one, being alter-ego to some Personage, speaker of the unspeakable, direct negotiator. She straightened round again. "Voice stationmaster Kshshti.

Stationmaster send say you number one fool come in like that."

"No choice."

"More fool deal with fool." The Voice gestured over her shoulder, where the Ehrran had vanished. "Where cargo?"

Pyanfar made a deprecating gesture toward the self-claimed Voice. "Where authorization?"

The mahe drew out one small object from her belts, a badge inlaid with gold and the Kshshti port emblem. "You keep this cargo aboard."

She laid her ears down, pricked them up again. "Look-"

"Keep. Not permit this transfer."

Pyanfar tucked her hands in her belt, turned a frown Tirun's way and looked back again. No time to start shouting. Not yet. She gestured toward lower-deck ops. "Look, you want go sit down, Voice? Get drink, talk?"

"What talk? Like got big cargo, got damage, got make foulup whole business?"

"Look Honorable." Now it was time to shout. "The Pride's no gods-blasted warship, got no weapons, hear? I risk my ship twice, got damage, and I got the promise of your government to make it good." She pulled the authorization from her pocket and handed it to the Voice. "We got downtime, got cargo lost-"

"We fix."

It was like leaning on a wall and feeling it go down. She was off her balance an instant, staring into those dark, earnest eyes.

Then it made sense. She drew in a breath and twitched her ears back in the beginnings of negation.

"Meanwhile," the Voice said, "you stall this fool deputy."

"No. Not possible."

"You want help, got."

"You bet I got. Got authorization." She retrieved the paper from the Voice's hand and waved it under the Voice's nose. "Un-con-di-tional. Code Hasano-ma! That mean anything to you?"

"We not permit this transfer."

"Well, take it up with the deputy. I can't stop it. It's my license. You understand that?"

The Voice came close, tapped her on the chest with a dull-clawed forefinger. "Hani. You we know longtime. This other fool we got no confidence."

"I can't do anything."

White rimmed the dark eyes. "You get number-one repair job, make quick. Want you back in action, Pyanfar Chanur. You listen. We got right now no ship here stop this bastard. Got delicate situation, got stsho upset — you know stsho bastard, know hani got young fool, old bastard stsho lot smart, lot timid, got own interest. Not say not-friend. Got own interest. Our interest got you fix up. You fix han."

Her jaw dropped. "Good gods! what do you think I am?"

"Maybe we talk, huh?"

"There's nothing to talk about." She waved a hand aft. "That's the Y unit out. The Y unit took the main column linkage. When the linkage failed-"

The mahe waved her own lank black-furred hand. "Get you fix, you take this cargo."

"I'm telling you you can't get that vane fixed fast enough. Two hundred, three hundred work hour fix that vane. We sit here we got kif positioned all round this system. Plenty time for that. Mahe, we've got knnn loose!"

"God-!"

"Not our fault. Mahendo'sat set this up, all the way. Your own precious Personage at Maing Tol. We got routed here. Number one usual mahen foulup, like Meetpoint, like got Kita blocked, like desert me with no support-"

"Ship come. Meanwhile get you fix. Lousy hani engineering, huh?"

"Gods rot, you route a ship through Urtur and throw a course change at it and see how it holds!"

Minuscule mahen ears twitched. The nose wrinkled and the Voice lifted a deprecating hand.

"Technical not my business. Personage say: Find damage, fix, send this fool away quick before got kif organize. We fix. You hold this cargo."

"Can't do!"

"Want repair?"

The breath strangled her. "I'm due repair, you bastard. I've got the paper says so. I can't stall the deputy. . "

The Voice frowned. Her small ears folded, twitched as she looked up and jabbed again with the finger. "We take care this cargo. We take him station center, big inquiry, lot fluff. Get you fix, bring back cargo — twenty hour."

"Can't be done in twenty hours."

The mahe lifted one finger. "Bet?"

She stared at the mahe, thinking treachery,

thinking double-cross; and all the same her pulse raced. She threw a look at Tirun, saw her cargo chief/engineer with that same wary, heart-thumping thought.

"They'd have to replace the whole gods-rotted tail to make that schedule," Tirun muttered.

"No patch job."

"Got good system," the Voice said. "Better. Mahen make. Match up you systems no trouble. Twenty hour, you run. We fix han deputy. We confiscate this cargo. Let deputy go Maing Tol make complaint."

"Gods, you know what you let me in for?"

"How much already, hani? You think. How much you got?"

"We'd still have kif." She gnawed a hangnail and stared at the Voice.

"Always got kif."

"You know a ship named Harukk?"

"Know. One bastard."

"He's been with us since Meetpoint. He knows what we've got. Ship named Ijir. Our backup. It's gone. Kif have got it."

"Damn, hani!"

"Kif got whatever it had. They know whatever it knew."

The mane's mouth made a hard line as she looked down and up again. "You run fast, hani. We get you fix, you burn tail get hell out Kshshti. Maybe arrange small accident this Harukk. Maybe skimmer bump vane, huh? Maybe multiple collision."

"All three? You want kif feud?"

"Raindrop in ocean, hani. You make deal?"

She gnawed her mustaches, looked at the deck plates, looked up at the mahe. "Deal. You handle the deputy. You stop her. Caught between local government and a han order-I can't very well contest a confiscation, can I — if it gets here first."

"We get car. Take custody." The mahe drew a watch from amid the clutter of her belts. "Time now 1040. You expect action, maybe — half hour."

"I want a Signature on that repair order."

Small ears twitched. "You doubt word?"

"Records get lost. I'd be in a mess later if that happened — wouldn't I?"

"So." The mahe wrinkled her nose, made a grimace more hani grin than primate, whipped up a tablet. She scribbled and affixed a Signature. "Repair authorize, charge Maing Tol authority. Got. You satisfied?"

Pyanfar took it, waved a hand toward the outbound corridor. "Speed, huh?"

"Twenty hour," the mahe said, fixed her with a hard stare that held something of mirth in it.

Then she turned on her heel and walked off toward the outbound corridor.

Pyanfar drew another breath, inhaled the mahe's lingering perfume. Blew it out again and looked at Tirun.

"Got a chance," Tirun muttered.

"Gods know what they'll pin on our tail. Or what they'll stand by when the inquiry board meets. We just agreed to get shot at. You know that?"

"Better odds than ten minutes ago."

"Huh." But her heart was still pounding against her ribs. It was hope, unaccustomed in. the last two years. The Pride, back in prime-condition. Finish this job, get the hold loaded on credit at Maing Tol before the other bills came in. It was a chance, one chance — and if the human mess settled down and the human trade materialized, if that came through — She waved an arm at the exit. "Shut that. We've got kif out there."

Meanwhile —

Meanwhile there was one difficult thing to do.

The smell of gfi went through the bridge, ordinary and comforting; voices drifted out of the galley, noisy and normal. But Haral was back at her post, damp from a hasty shower, and turned a solemn look back while Pyanfar slid the tablet's Signature codestrip into comp.

Comp talked to ship-record, to station comp, back and forth in a rapid flurry of codes.

"Checks out," Pyanfar said, while Tirun came and draped an arm over her sister's seatback, two sober, weary faces. Haral had heard. There was no question about that: Haral always listened when there were strangers on the deck.

"Tully listen in?" Pyanfar asked.

"No."

"Where is he?"

A nod toward the galley. "Everyone's there."

"Huh." She drew her shoulders up as against some cold wind and looked that way. She tucked her hands into the belt of her trousers. "Come on. Both of you. Let the damage list go."

They followed, two shadows at her back- Cursed lot of nonsense, Pyanfar thought, screwing her courage up. Gods, where was common sense, that breaking one small bit of unpleasantness upset her more than facing down the hem?

There was noise, chatter, Khym's deeper voice wanting something from the cabinet- "Sit down, Tully," Chur said. "For godssakes, na Khyrn - Hilfy, where's the tofi got to? Can you find it?"

And glanced around at Pyanfar. "Captain."

"Sit," Pyanfar said sharply, stilling voices, the tofi-search, the opening and closing of cabinets.

Geran came and put a cup in her hand. "You too. Sit down, Khym." — as he made one last foray into a cabinet. He snatched a substitute and subsided scowling into the middle of the benches, shaking the spice into his cup and concentrating on that while others found their seats left and right of him.

Pyanfar braced herself at the galley corner where stable footing existed in-dock, foot braced at the edge of the shifting step-up of the gimballed table section. Khym sulked, in general foul humor, and pretended full occupation. She leaned there, sipped the liquid and felt the warmth coil through a boding chill at her stomach. Others were still, not the rattle of a spoon, only a shifting as Tirun and Haral nudged Tully over and slid into the benches.

"I'll make this fast," Pyanfar said. "I've got to. Tully, is that translator picking me up?"

He touched his ear, where the plug was set. Looked at her with those bright, worried eyes. "I hear fine."

She came and sat down on the jumpseat, leaned her elbows on the table, the cup between her hands. She faced all of them. But Tully most directly.

"You'll know," she said, "we never did fix that thing at Urtur. Shut up, Khym-" before Khym could quite get his mouth open. "Tully, there wasn't a way to fix it. Hear? So we made it in. One vane is gone. Takes time to fix. Understand? Now we got a little trouble. There's a hani here wants to take you on her ship. You understand? Hani authority."

The pale eyes flickered with — perhaps — understanding. One was never sure. Fright: that, certainly. "Go from you?" he asked. "I go? Go new ship?"

"No. Now listen to me. I don't want them to take you. This is a mahen station. Mahendo'sat, understand? Mahendo'sat take you to the center of the station, keep you safe, fix the ship. Twenty hours.

You understand? They're going to take you with them into the center of the station."

"Kif. Kif here-"

"I know. It's all right. They won't get near you. The mahendo'sat will bring you back when we're ready to move. This way we keep the other hani from taking you to their ship. We keep you safe, understand?"

"Yes," he agreed. He held the cup in front of him, in both his hands, looking as if he had lost his appetite and his thirst.

"Got to move fast, Tully. Get down below. Take whatever you need. Clothes. A car is coming."

"Car."

"No nonsense this time. You'll be under guard all the way. Not like the stsho. Not like Meet-point. Mahendo'sat have teeth."

"One of us," Hilfy said quietly, "one of us could ride along. Make sure they understand him."

There were a lot of unspoken questions around the table, a lot of worried looks from hands who knew what damage existed in the vane. No one was questioning.

"Listen," Pyanfar said, moving the cup on the table out of her way. "Truth: twenty hours. We're going for a first-class job. Whole new assembly back there."

"Gods," Geran breathed in reverence. Chur blinked; and Hilfy stared.

"They say twenty hours. They want us headed out of here for their own reasons. Now move it.

We've got to have him down at the dock in ten minutes, packed and out."

"One of us ride along?" Chur asked.

"You and Hilfy." So the two of them had always fussed over Tully. Keep them both happy.

"Armed. This is Kshshti."

"I'll go," Khym said.

She glanced his way with a furrowing of the brow. Honest offer. Feckless lunacy.

"If there was trouble," he said.

"No."

"If-"

"No." She stood up and tossed the cup into the disposal. "Get it moving. Nine minutes."

Crew hurried. Haral took Tully in tow, her hand hooked about his elbow, and headed for the bridge.

"Pyanfar," Khym said, working his own way out from between bench and table. "Pyanfar, listen to me."

"If you want to sulk go to your quarters and get out of the way."

"Is it Ehrran?"

"I haven't time." She brushed past his arm and headed for the bridge, spun on one foot as she heard him following and brought him up short. "Use some judgment, Khym."

"I'm trying to help!"

She gave him one long desperate look, and watched his expression go from anger to desperation too. Anguish. She sorted a dozen jobs. All of them took skill. "You want to help, I want Kshshti data pulled from comp. Go do that." She spun about again and headed bridge-ward, for the papers she had under security.

That had to go. It was all one package, Tully and that envelope. If Ehrran knew about Tully she likely knew he came with documents. And all of it had to go into mahen custody. Fast. She could keep the deputy off the bridge: the law gave her that.

But since the kif hit Gaohn, since a great many changes had happened in the han-

One took no chances. Gods knew what Prosperity would swear to. It had gotten to that.

Distrust of foreigners. Distrust of hani who defied the conventions. Foreign ways, they said. Hani males outside Anuurn: the keepers of the home, learning there were things outside the hon, friends stauncher than other hani, outsider-ways of thought.

She reached the bridge, opened the security bin beside Haral and took out the precious packet-committed treason by that if not before. She slammed the bin shut.

Haral looked round at her, her scarred face quite, quite calm.

Khyrn was there too, just watching, from the side, as staunchly downworld in his own way as Ehrran's clan.

Worried. And silent now.

"Got something coming outside," Haral said, whose eyes and ears were partly The Pride's from where she sat. And whose discretion was absolute. "Two minutes, captain."