Chanur's Legacy (9 page)

“Have we got a problem?” Fala asked.

Something ticked over, like a piece in a game falling. A roll of the dice. “I want an instrument scan.”

“What?” Tiar asked.

“I want a thorough read-out, I want a camera scan on the hull, I want to know if any skimmers have approached us during our stay here.”

A solemn stare from several pairs of eyes.

“Is something going on?” Fala asked.

The camera scan turned up negative. Nothing had approached their hull. Station skimmers always came and went, on such business as external inspections, catching the occasional chunk of something that escaped a ship’s maintenance systems, things nobody wanted slamming into their hull or catching on some projection, to be accelerated with the ship and boosted to lethal v. Trouble was, such skimmers had legitimate business back by one’s vanes and engines and up near one’s hatches; and if a ship with legitimate reason to worry didn’t have cameras to prove where such little tenders had access, that ship had far more reason to worry.

But being the Personage’s niece had convinced her before the
Legacy
was outfitted that the camera-mounts were a good idea and that motion-sensors and tamper-alerts were mandatory. So they didn’t have
that
to worry about—at least so far as they opted prudently to use them.

There wasn’t, of course, a way to monitor everything. But they were sure it was water that had gone into their water-lines and that that water was Meet-point ice-melt, the sensors above the valve had proved it or that valve would have shut.
Being
Pyanfar’s niece and having shipped aboard
The Pride,
she had been in ports where one had good reason to wonder about the lines; absolutely right, being sure was worth the cost. Unfortunately having solved all the high-tech means of sabotage, one still had to worry about the low-tech means at an enemy’s disposal. Certain things one could solve by carrying all supplies aboard, and by not refueling and not taking on water at certain ports: but carrying extra mass cost a ship, if one wasn’t paying somebody else’s freight plus station-cost getting it to the station. If it was local, you were financially ahead to buy it. If it wasn’t, and it massed much, you were ahead to freight it, and that was the sum-up and payout of it: if you operated otherwise you weren’t competitive, in a tightly competitive market.

But even if you did all of that, and even if you absorbed the cost of being as self-contained as possible, you were still vulnerable to your own cargo and to the legal claim of your ship to use a port and the station’s legal right to charge you for being there, and, after that was said, to a bank’s obligation to honor the claim of other banks on the funds you had in that all-important record you carried that the bank alone allegedly could access.

But banks themselves were not without their compromised accesses, where stsho were concerned, since stsho had set up the banking system, all through Compact space: stsho technology, stsho procedures, stsho rules of accounting and the stsho system of transfers and debits.

Hilfy Chanur preferred an old hani tradition: cash... and cargo; and as little as possible of the former, since it was not going to be drawing interest for the month you were in transit, but your goods were acquiring value during that transit, simply by moving closer to where they were in shortest supply.

Which left you vulnerable to piracy, but you always were; and at least that answer was in your own hands, and in the quality of the armament you carried and your skill to use it.

The hose connections clanked free, and that was one less problem on Hilfy’s mind. The
Legacy
was on its own power, cargo in its hold, and the cash from the station bank was on its way ... hand-carried, the bank insisted, since the bank did not trust any outsider either, and wanted a signature
at
the
Legacy’s
lock
by
the
Legacy
captain that said the money had transferred, all outstanding debts were paid, and the bank was legally absolved of claims against Chanur clan.

And at the same time, they were conveying the Cargo, the
oji,
No’shto-shti-stlen’s precious object, along with the funds. Logical enough.

So ... about time to get one’s self down to the lock, looking presentable.

She dusted oft her breeches, clawed her mane to be sure no hair was standing on end, and took a wet-fingered swipe at the mustaches and the (cursedly) juvenile beard. Impressions counted, especially with the banks,
which
one could need some dark day. Knees were clean, belt was straight. She picked up Tarras and Tiar for escort, and was still fussing with the beard when they cycled the lock and a blast of chill air from the temperature differential came rushing up the ramp-way and blew her fur and fluttered the fabric of her silk breeches-Just as a kifish guard was about to punch the call button outside, within the tube, a scant pace from the
Legacy’s
own deck. She did not snarl, did not acknowledge the presence, which she vaguely registered as bowing respectfully in realization of her arrival, she simply focused on the stsho approaching in the frost-coated tube and ignored the dark-robed guards… fancy, the stsho were, the group from the bank, with the tablet the nature of which she recognized at a glance, and the group with boxes and cases, in one of which might be—surely was—the precious Object. One could hardly pick out any outline, so extreme were the garments in that lot, a drift of pearlized gossamer, of white fronds and feathers. She bowed, they bowed, her crewwomen bowed, everybody bowed again, even the kif. It was supremely ridiculous.

“Of course the esteemed captain’s word would suffice,” the banker was constrained to say, in pidgin.

“We can only regret that your honor did not have sufficient time to take tea,” she answered,
not
in the pidgin, and augmented eyebrows shot up and the stsho in question clutched the signed tablet against
gtst
heart, or thereabouts, within
gtst
robes.

“Your most esteemed honor is inadequately recompensed in the press of time which requires our most distressing haste, At another moment we would achieve distinction by accepting your honor’s offer.” “Your honor has impressed us with outstanding courtesy.”

“Allow us however to present the honorable Tlisi-tlas-tin, most esteemed adjunct of
gtst
excellency No’shto-shti-stlen. The excellency has afforded us the most extreme honor of conveying
gtst
adjunct and the preciousness of
gtst
entrusted burden to this ship and into your most capable hands. We are abundantly satisfied of your honor’s most excellent character and elegance.”

The leader of the second band of stsho came fluttering across the threshold into the airlock, with an engraved case clutched to
gtst
heart—anxious, by the pursing of
gtst
small mouth, and the three increasingly agitated bows.

“We are so inexpressibly relieved, most honored captain, that you speak the civilized language. We have far less anxiousness to entrust ourselves and this preciousness into your ship.”

“What’s this ‘ourselves’?” For an instant all command of stshoshi language deserted her; but Tiar and Tarras hadn’t understood a word thus far. Only that. She said it in stsho: “Would your honor clarify the matter regarding one’s illustrious self and one’s presence on my ship?”

Another bow. “As
gtst
excellency’s most honored representative, of course, as guardian of the precious-ness which foreign hands must not touch.” A wistful curtsy. “I do hope the excellency did not omit the doubtless inconsequential matter of this absolute necessity, and that some provision has been made for my lodging and my meals of sufficient taste and decorousness not to offend my status as the excellency’s emissary.”

Possibly she did not control her surprise. Certainly her vision suffered that tunnel focus her ancestors used in hunting, and at the same instant the stsho officials and escort backed an identical number of paces—while in the gray fringe of her vision the kif reached for weapons. Consequently so did Tiar and Tarras.

But she did smile, a hani pursing of the mouth, not to show the teeth. And her ears did not flatten, nor her claws extend. Nor did her escort or the kif, fortunately, open fire. She said, sweetly, because they had the contract, and they had a hold full of cargo bought with its proceeds, “How extraordinary the excellency’s trust in our ability to adapt to unusual situations. How much baggage do you have?”

There was an amazing lot of coming and going next door, when Tiar had called down on com maybe an hour ago saying they were going to undock soon. Hallan put his ear to the wall, then backed off as someone began hammering and banging. It sounded as if someone were tearing into the paneling, and maybe taking the whole cabin apart.

That was a peculiar kind of thing to do, on a ship that was supposed to be in count to undock. He began to wonder if they had a malfunction of some kind, and if maybe the access to the conduits or something more critical was there.

But it was certainly an odd place to put an access. Something had leaked, maybe? The plumbing had given way?

It kept up a very long time. He heard them moving equipment in, he heard thumping and banging and hammering and hissing. He listened again, thinking maybe the whole compartment had flooded. Maybe— His door opened. A very dusty, contamination-suited Tiar Chanur put her head in and raked her hood back. “Kid?” All of Tiar came in and shed white dust on the floor. He had had his ear to the wall and could find no plausible excuse for himself standing in the corner. “Captain’s compliments and we got a very important passenger right next. She really wants me to impress on you be careful.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I understand.”

He was used to the idea foreigners were afraid of him. Every foreigner he had met was.

“Kind of short on space,” Tiar said. “We’d like to sort of move you. Except it’s not quite as comfortable. But there’s facilities.”

“All right,” he said, wanting to be accommodating. Really it didn’t matter that much. It would be nice to have another set of walls to look at.

“It’s kind of—minimal,” Tiar said.

“That’s fine. —There’s nothing to do here. There’s nothing to look at. I’d really like some books or something.”

“We can get you books,” Tiar promised. “I—don’t suppose you have to pack.”

“This is it. Except the kit.”

“The clothes came. We have those. We just haven’t had time—“

“That’s all right.” Anything was all right if it made them happy. And if it proved to the captain that he was obliging and knew how to take orders.

“You want to come with me? We’re between coats. I can set you up.”

“Sure,” he said, and went and got the kit she had given him. When he reached the corridor, Tiar had shed the contamination gear, and there was still a great banging and clattering coming from the closed door of the cabin next door.

“Stsho passenger,” Tiar said. “Important deal. Got to change the color, change the sleeping arrangements...”

It must be an important passenger, for sure. He followed Tiar past that area, and into the main downside corridor, and to a door there, which Tiar opened.

He truthfully had expected more of a cabin. At least a cot. It did have more to look at. And a blast cushion, with a swing track against the after wall. Otherwise it was a kind of a—laundry, he supposed. Or bath. There were facilities. That was about all. Bare conduits. Water-pipes. Whatever.

“Gods,” Tiar said, and pulled his shoulder down. “Watch your head.”

“It’s all right.” He was used to being tall, on ships built for women.

“There’s blankets,” Tiar said. She opened the wall locker and there certainly were, the whole ship’s supply, it must be. “I’ll get you a reader and some tapes. Gods, I’m
sorry
about this.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “It really is.”

Tiar stood looking at him, and finally shook her head. “The captain’s got a lot on her mind. She honestly does. You don’t understand.”

“Ker Tiar, I
understand.”

“Then / don’t,” Tiar snapped. And went and locked him in.

The blast cushion was one of those arrangements that let down and changed angles, according to which axis the ship might move, one of those emergency station affairs that you had to have in every corridor, in case. So he pulled it into level with the deck as was, and got himself a couple of blankets to prop himself with, and one to throw over him, because the thermostat must have only just been reset, and breath frosted. He was not actually uncomfortable once he settled down with the blanket over him. There was more to look at, all the lockers and pipes and such. He could keep his mind busy figuring out all those. He supposed he could warm me compartment up faster by showering, but it might not warm it that much, and he was not sure they were through coming and going in here. So he sat and tried to read the locker labels from here, hearing the thumping still going on that meant they were redoing things for the stsho.

Stsho wouldn’t like to meet him at all. People wouldn’t, everywhere he went. That was the biggest shock he had had when he got beyond Anuurn’s atmosphere, that it was the same Out There as it was at home, that no matter what Pyanfar Chanur said and no matter how you really acted, nobody waited to find out if you were the way they thought, they were just afraid. Even Hilfy Chanur didn’t know what to do with him. And he was glad to hear from ker Tiar that things were going on that didn’t give the captain time to consider his case. That was reasonable. He could understand that. He really could. It was just so important to him, and he told himself that Hilfy Chanur wouldn’t really sweep him aside without listening, he just had to be patient and quiet and prove his case by that. If he was patient and quiet they would notice. If he cooperated they would be appreciative. Ker Tiar had noticed.

But he waited and he waited, and the thumping and the carrying of things down the corridor went on, but Tiar didn’t bring the books. She didn’t even bring lunch. It would be easy at this point to feel really sorry for himself, but that got no points, either.