C.J. Cherryh. Chanur’s Venture

two leaves apart, and read something there that brought her head up and her ears

to level. She mutely flipped the holder closed and spun it back again. Jik

replaced it.

“Know you,” he said. “Rhif Ehrran. Where you course?”

“Han business.”

“A. Maybe got same business lot trouble kif. Maybe got invoke treaty.”

“Maybe you can get Chanur to do your work.”

“Maybe invoke treaty. Need you, Ehrran.”

Ehrran’s eyes smoldered. One claw came out, traced a pattern on the tabletop, a

clean green line amid the grime. “I’ve got business, mahe.”

“So. Maybe got. I got. Got hani citizen with kif. Got hani shot up, a? No, I

tell you, ker Ehrran. You in mahen space, inside mahen agreement–” Jik held up

one blunt-clawed finger, forestalling a word from the Ehrran. “You here, a? I

call other side treaty, got number-one emergency, got need ship run courier–”

“You want to buy other hani?”

“Gods rot–!” Pyanfar straightened and a dark-furred mahen arm landed slam! on

the table between her and the Ehrran.

“I make request,” Jik said. “Of-fi-cial, a? Treaty stuff. Now, we got

cooperative agreement, agreement like I tell you, Ehrran. You got say yes, say

no. You honor treaty?”

The ears were flat already, the fine fair nose rumpled, the eyes ruddy amber.

“What do you want?”

“You on hunt. Tell you this hunt go Mkks.”

“Mkks!”

“Mkks, hani. Got other thing Ayhar do.” He shoved the packet skidding at Ayhar’s

startled grasp. “You got priority undock, captain. You got. You run damn fast.

Know you. Know you, Banny Ayhar. You got lot year, lot smart. I know, huh?”

Ayhar’s ears sank. Her eyes showed white rims. “Where?” Ayhar asked.

“Maing Tol.”

Banny Ayhar drew the packet up in her hands, drew her mouth down taut, not

without a shift of her eyes Ehrran’s way. But Ehrran never looked. “No trouble,”

Ayhar said, all quiet.

“Good,” Jik said. “You go. Go fast, ker Ayhar. You not talk, you not wait. Got

six rny crew see you get car, see you car get ship. Dock crew already work get

you out.”

Ayhar stood up, the envelope still in her hands.

“You not open,” Jik said.

“Gods be feathered if I want to,” Ayhar muttered, and looked this way and that .

. . delayed then, with a look back. “Ker Pyanfar. You want that crewwoman

ferried out?”

“No,” said Jik ahead of anything. “You run. Run hard. Not ask why. You not got

safety. Not got choice.”

“See here–” But it faded. Whatever Ayhar had meant to say faded out. She looked

a moment at Jik and turned then, the envelope in her hands, and vanished out the

door.

Ehrran had gained her feet, ears flat. “Chanur,” she said, “out.”

Pyanfar leaned back and fixed Ehrran with a cold stare. “I’ll stay, thanks. I

can sit proxy to Chanur’s interests. Or is the mahen captain more privy to han

business than a member is? I’m here to witness. Formally.”

Ehrran drew a long, long breath, and her eyes were dark-centered. Perhaps she

considered the recorders. “Kshshti’s already had one security breach. . . .”

“My crew, my niece, my passenger, Ehrran. You want to talk to me about security

breach–”

“We’ll settle that. Elsewhere. This action of yours-” Ehrran looked at Jik, with

no more pleasant face. “My course is Kefk.”

Jik waved a loose, limp hand. “Now Mkks.” The hand returned to his hip above the

gun and rested there. “Ten, maybe twelve hour. You think got business Kefk. No.

Lousy place, Kefk. You no go.”

“To do what? To do what at Mkks?”

“You stay my tail, a? You dock left. Dock right, Chanur. Three number one

bastard go take walk Mkks docks, a?”

There was a long, long silence. Ehrran stood staring, hunter-fix. “Right,”

Ehrran said. “Ten hours. I’ll trust this gets authorized higher up, na Jik.”

She walked out, flat. The door whisked shut. “Pyanfar,” Jik said, and gestured

that way, in Ehrran’s wake.

“Huh.” Pyanfar got up with a grimace, collected herself and followed Jik

outside, where three of his crew waited, all of them gaudy as Jik himself, even

toward raffish; guns carried openly. An abundance of gold chains and armlets,

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