C.J. Cherryh. Chanur’s Venture

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

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