Chanur's Venture (5 page)

She met a shut hatch beyond the bend of the tube. She had expected that, and hit

the bar of the com unit in the accessway. "Haral. Haral, gods rot it, it's

Pyanfar. Open up."

The hatch shot open at once, with a waft of warmer, familiar air. Tirun was

there; and Chur, appearing armed from the lower-deck ops room down the corridor.

Both showed the plasmed seams of recent wounds on their red-brown hides, Chur

with a stripe of plasm visible across the leather of her nose, a painful kind of

cut.

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

"All accounted for, nothing serious."

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

thunders, cousin!"

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

"Huh." She turned and stalked for the lift, with their company as the inner lock

hissed shut at her back. "Where's Khym?"

"Na Khym's up in his quarters."

"Good." She shoved that distress to the hindmost, swung about in the lift as

they got in with her. Chur anticipated her reach for the button, tucked her arm

behind her again in haste when she had pushed it. Pyanfar glared at her. "What

else is wrong? What's Haral doing up there?"

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

"Huh." The lift slammed upward. Pyanfar studied the door in front of her till it

opened and spat them out on main, then strode for the bridge with a cousin on

either side. "Who's called in?"

"Stsho, mostly," Chur said. "One message from Ayhar's Prosperity. Banny Ayhar

requests conference at soonest."

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

She gave Tirun a second hard look, caught the lowered ears, the tension round

the nose. She snorted, walked on into the bridge where Haral stood to meet her,

where Hilfy got up from com-- o gods, Hilfy --with her side patched in bandages.

Geran with her right ear plasmed along a rip.

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

you were coming."

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

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

ago."

"Huh." She sat down in her own place, at The Pride's controls, swung the chair

about in its pit to look at the solemn row of faces. Hilfy, her niece, young and

white about the eyes just now. Haral and Tirun, tall, wide shouldered, daughters

of an elder Chanur cousin; Geran and Chur, wiry and deft, daughters to Jofan

Chanur, her third cousins. A row of earnest, sober stares. She gazed last and

steadily at her brother Kohan's favorite daughter, at Hilfy Chanur par Faha with

a scratch down her comely nose and her ears, gods forfend -- plasm on a nick in

the left one. Heir to Chanur's mercantile operations, while-and-likely-after

Kohan Chanur ruled at home. On the last edge of adolescence. Fearfully proud.

Once and silently she wished Hilfy safe at home, but she did not say that. Home

was a long, long way away and Chanur interests were at stake.

"I want a watch on com," she said. "I want scan set to alarm if something comes

in, if something budges from this station. I don't care what it is. I want to

know."

"Aye," said Haral.

"Tally's back."

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

"Good gods," Chur said.

"Mahijiru's here. Was here. Goldtooth's cut loose and run." There were other

things to break to them, like being backed into agreements, like a fool of an

aging captain who had believed for one moment in a way out of what she had

gotten Chanur into, a way into human trade and all it meant. "He was going to

slip us a canister with a special cargo. Don't blame me--" She waved a hand.

"Goldtooth's originality, gods help us. But the stsho are playing power games.

That can's tied up in red tape in customs. I think I've got it fixed."

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

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

"Got a chance?" Haral asked. Meaning lost trade. Lost chances. A whole variety

of things, in loyalty too old to be completely blind. "The mahendo'sat've come

through?"

"Don't know. They just headed out and left us the package. There's worse news.

The kif are onto it."

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

"Set up. Absolutely it was a set-up." She recalled with chagrin the kif watcher

while she had been on the docks. "Maximum confusion. Goldtooth kited out. Under

what circumstances- gods know. Messages were going up and down that dock like

chi in a fire drill. Maybe it was a kifish smash-and-grab. Maybe not. Likely it

was targeted at the stsho. They've sure got the pressure on."

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

"Gods-rotted mahe shoved a shipment out in the middle of bolting dock like their

tail was afire -- what else could they guess? Gods know who's been bribed. Gods

know how long the bribes will hold. --Khym all right, is he?"

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

"He have anything to say?"

"Not much."

"Huh."

"Said he'd be in his quarters."

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

with the same at stake, excepting Khym, Mahn-clan, male, past his prime and his

reason for living and belonging anywhere. Her brother Kohan Chanur relied on

her, back home. Meetpoint in ruins. Kif on the loose. Stsho facing her down. The

Pride nose-deep in it again. She had gone softheaded as well as softhearted.

Hani everywhere muttered to that effect. Only her long-suffering crew would not

say it, even yet. And Hilfy, of course Hilfy. Worship shone undimmed in those

young eyes.

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

out there?"

"Cans on the dock were gone when we got back," Tirun said. "We filed a theft

report with station. Cans still inside are safe."

"Kif are fast. Power her up. We go on using station's hookups, but we keep our

own online. Look sharp, hear? Don't ask me how long this goes on. I don't know.

Contact customs. I want to know where that incoming shipment is."

No one mentioned costs or what the stsho might do. No one mentioned licenses,

and the docking rights and routes it had cost too much to regain. No one

mentioned Khym, a private folly that had long since become a public one. Not a

backward look. No protests. Just a quiet moving toward stations, the whine of

chairs receiving bodies all about her as she powered her own chair about and

keyed in the old com messages.

From a mahendo'sat, unidentified: "I leave paperwork, leave cans same station

office. Good voyage. Got go quick. Same you."

She drew one long, quivering breath.

From Ayhar's Prosperity: "Banafy Ayhar to Pyanfar Chanur: We have a matter

between us. I suggest we keep it private. I suggest you bring your witnesses to

my deck. Expecting immediate reply."

"In a mahen hell."

"Captain?"

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

the kif."

"Captain--"

"Send it."

Geran ducked her head and bent to the keys. Other messages crawled past, mostly

stsho: a dozen threats of lawsuit from irate bazaar merchants; two scurrilous

letters from stsho vessels in port, impugning Chanur sanity; others were

rambling. Four were anonymous congratulations in mahen pidgin, some sounding

inebriate, one babbling obscure mahen religious slogans and offering support.

From Vigilance, not a word.

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

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

order on that shipment."

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

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

"I signed that god-rotted thing!"

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

says that was the customs release. Now they want a waiver against claims by the

consignor--"

She punched it in on her own com. "This is Pyanfar Chanur. If I come over there

I bring my whole ship's company. Hear? And you can explain that to the Director,

you flat-bottomed bureaucrat!"

Silence from the other end.

She broke the contact. "Tirun: you and Geran get across that dock to that office

and watch those cans all the way."

"Kif," Tirun said.

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

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

"I have schedule, hani."

"You just put us at the head of it. Hear? I'm sending my own security. I've been

robbed once at this forsaken station. Not again!"

She broke the connection, leaned back and exhaled a long, long breath, staring

at Tirun. "Get!"

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

"Arm and take a pocket com!" she shouted after them. "And be gods-rotted

discreet about it!" She spun the chair left to Haral. "I want that forward hold

warmed and pressurized."

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

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

"How good's that lifesupport?"

"The way Goldtooth's set up the rest of this mess -- who knows?" She shoved her

chair around and keyed up comp, hunting cargo lists, mass records. "This list

updated?"

"No," Hilfy said.

"I need that list, gods rot it, niece." "I'm on it," Chur said, "Scan to your

number four, captain."

She smoothed her nose with an effort, twitched her ears and heard the jingling

of the several rings. Experience, they meant. Wealth. Successful voyages. She

sat and watched for anything untoward, monitoring station corn, scan, every

pulse and breath of information Meetpoint central let them have. Their own

systems showed live in a series of amber lights.

"Pressure's coming up," Haral said.

"Estimate of mass loss to three, captain."

She shunted it to Records. Comp brought up the revision. "Fine that down, Chur.

Navcomp's taking main five." "You've got them."

Nav's five segments unified themselves in comp and shunted other programs to

different banks: command screens acquired nav's displays. Maing Tol. From

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

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

not anything like it."

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

She sat staring at the graphs. "Aunt," Hilfy murmured, and turned her chair with

a wide-eyed look and the comset pressed in her ear. "Aunt, it's Geran. Says

customs has those cans loaded and out already; they have a bunch of mahen

security on it, too."

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

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

coming now."

"How's that pressure?"

"Pressure's good," Haral said.

"Captain--" Chur. "Someone's down at the access com -- It's Banny Ayhar,

captain. She wants to talk to you."

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

"Who is this?"

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

progress."

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

Chanur--"

"I've got no time for this." She spun the chair about and left it. "Haral, stand

by to open up that hold. And tell Ayhar get herself out of the way. Hilfy, Chur,

come on."

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

She hit the button.

Com snapped from the panel above the lift controls, at the first lurch of the

car down. "Captain." Haral's voice. "Geran's on. They've got kif out there."

She put a claw in the slot before the lift had a chance to pass the next level

and stopped the car right there, on a level with the airlock. "Hilfy!" she said

in leaving, before Hilfy had a chance to follow her and Chur. "Go on below and

get that bay opened up."

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

They ran all-out, she and Chur, stopping only for the weapons-locker and the

com-panel in the hall.

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

Chapter Three

They hit the access tube running and came round the bend headon into hani coming

up the accessway, a broad, scarred hani captain flanked by two senior crew.

Pyanfar evaded collision.

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

impact.

"Gods rot you!" Pyanfar yelled, whirling about, outraged, as Chur recovered from

her stagger and spun about at her side. "I told you clear my dock!"

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

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