already, hani. Don’t want profit too? Besides, you hurt his feeling. Hurt mine.”
She stood still, a long, long time. Her claws flexed out. She drew them in, with
a long slow breath. “Gods rot your–”
“Give you fair deal, Pyanfar. Number one fine deal. Know you got troubles. You
got han trouble. You promise human trade, you don’t got. Lose face. You got mate
troubles–”
“Shut up.”
“I keep promise, Pyanfar. You want share profit, you got share risk.”
“Share suicide. What you think I am?”
“You get human trade, your enemies can’t touch you, a, hani captain? The han —
don’t like you lose face. You get rich, keep your brother life, keep your mate.
Keep The Pride.”
A narrow darkness closed in on her sight, hunter-vision set on Goldtooth. It was
difficult to hear, so tight her ears were folded. She deliberately raised them,
looked about her, at Tully’s distressed face.
“I take him,” she said to Goldtooth, a small, strangled breath. “If–”
“If?”
“–if we get letter of credit at mahe facilities. Good anywhere. Unlimited.”
“God! You think I Personage?”
“I think you next best thing, you rag-eared conniving bastard! I think you got
that power, I think you got any gods-rotted credit you want, like what you
pulled on me at Kirdu, like–”
“You dream.” Goldtooth laid a blunt-clawed hand on his breast. “I captain. Got
no credit like that.”
“Good-bye.” She faced about, bared teeth at the crowd blocking her retreat. “You
going to move this lot? Or do I move them for you?”
“I write,” he said.
She faced him with ears flat. Held out her hand.
He held out his to one of the mahe at his side. “Tablet,” he said, and that one
vanished hurriedly into the inner corridor with a spatter of bare mahen feet and
non-retracting claws.
“Better,” said Pyanfar.
Goldtooth scowled, took the tablet the breathless mahe brought back to him,
removed its stylus and wrote. He withdrew a Signature from the belt that crossed
his chest and inserted it; the tablet spat out its seal-stamped document. He
held it.
“I’ll translate that,” Pyanfar said, “first thing.”
“You one bastard, Pyanfar.” Goldtooth’s grin looked astonishingly hani in his
dark mahen face. “One sure bastard. No–” He drew it back as she held out her
hand; he turned and handed it instead to Tully, who looked at them both
confusedly. “Let him hold. He bring. With other documents.”
“If that paper doesn’t say what it had better say–”
“You do what? Toss good friend Tully out airlock? You no do.”
“Oh, no. No such thing. I pay debts where they’re due, old friend.”
Goldtooth’s grin spread. He thrust the tablet into a crewman’s hands and clapped
her on the arm. “You thank me someday.”
“You can bet I will. Everything I owe. I find a way. How you going to get him to
The Pride? Tell me that! You walk him up to my lock, I fix your ears.”
“Got special canister.” Goldtooth held out his hand. “Customs papers,” he said,
and a crewman held out another tablet and stylus. “You take cargo, a? Shishu
fruit. Dried fish. Got four cans. One all rigged, number one good lifesupport.
Pass him that way.”
She shook her head to clear it, stared at him afresh. “I’m going mad. That
trick’s got white hairs. Why don’t you just roll him up in a carpet, for the
gods’ sake, and dump him on my deck? Deliver him in a basket, why don’t you?
Good gods, what am I doing here?”
“Still good trick. You want this honest citizen, you pay duty, ha?”
She drew her ears down tight, snatched the tablet and furiously appended her own
signature, handwritten. She shoved it back at the mahe crewman who dared no
expression at her at all.
“Fish,” she said in disgust.
“Cheapest duty. What you want, pay more? I tell you, got thing fixed.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
“Customs ask no question. Number one fixed.”
“I’ve got questions. I’ve got plenty of questions. You set me up, you
egg-sucking bastard. So I take this deal. But by-the-gods you tell me everything
you know. What kif trouble? Where are they working? Are they on your tail right