X

C.J. Cherryh. Chanur’s Venture

tone. “Considering they are perishable, I trust there is some care being taken.”

The translator relayed it. The Director waved a negligent hand. Gtst eyes were

unblinking, hard. “–Customs matters. Unfortunately the consignor in his haste

for departure left papers in disarray, lacking official stamps. Have you

suggestions, hani captain, that would prevent this property being sold at public

auction? There would, I am certain, be interested bidders — some very rich.

Some with backers. Unless the esteemed Chanur captain takes personal

responsibility.”

A blackness closed about the edges of the room, on everything but the graceful

nodding stsho.

“–Also,” the stsho continued, “the matter of papers lately cleared. This

station is dismayed . . . utterly dismayed at the betrayal of its trust. I am

personally distressed.”

“Let’s talk,” Pyanfar said, “about things good merchants like us both

understand. Like fair trade. Like deal. Like I take my small difficulty out of

Meetpoint within a few hours after getting my cargo in order, and I take it

elsewhere without a word to anyone about bribes and mahendo’sat. You want to

talk trouble, esteemed Director? You want to talk kif trouble, and word of this

getting back to your upper echelons? Or do you want to talk about the

merchandise, and finding my crew, and letting me take this off your hands —

with my permits in order — before it gets more expensive for your station than

it already is?”

The translator winced, turned and began to render it in one hand-waving spate.

“Ashosh!” the Director said; and other things. A flush came and went over gist

skin, mottlings of nacre. The nostrils flared in rapid unison. “Chanur sosshis

na thosthsi cnisste znei ctehtsi canth hos.”

Another flinch from the translator, a rounding of round shoulders as gtst

turned.

“Tell gtst,” Pyanfar said without waiting, “gtst is in personal danger. From the

kif, of course. Say it!”

It was rendered. The Director’s skin went white. “–Unacceptable. There is a

debt which in your doubtless adequate if unimaginative perception you must

acknowledge was incurred by your crew, to have released a member of your species

widely acknowledged to be unstable–”

“A member of my crew and my mate, you fluttering bastard!”

Nostrils flared. “–The debt stands. No agreement embraced such damages.”

She drew her own breaths with difficulty, trying to think, hearing words that

sent small fine tendrils into quite different territory. Goldtooth, blast you–

There was a setup, all the way….

And her ears sank, so that the translator edged back a pace, gtst eyes wide and

showing the whites about the moonstone round of them. The director’s plumes

fluttered, hands moved nervously.

“I make you a deal,” she said. “We get that cargo, we get the money for you.”

“–You will sign affidavits of responsibility.”

“Don’t push it, stsho.”

“–Your visa is canceled,” the answer came back. “And the visas of your crew and

this male hani, under whatever pretext you secured civilized permits for this

unstable person. You will forfeit your permission to enter our docks and forfeit

any Chanur ship’s clearance to dock here until this debt is paid!”

“And this cargo?”

“Do you doubt us? I make you a gift of it. In appreciation for your own damages,

of course.”

Pyanfar bowed. Gtst waved a hand at gtst attendant.

“Sthes!”

It was not at all the courteous farewell.

* * *

More corridors. There was an affidavit to be signed, the terms of which set a

cold misery at her stomach. She looked up from the counter and the stsho clerk

backed all the way around the desk dropping papers as gtst went.

“That do it?” she asked with, she thought, remarkable calm.

The stsho babbled, refusing to come closer.

“–Gtst say got more,” one of the guards translated. She had heard that much.

She wrinkled her nose and the stsho dropped more papers, gathered them, gave

them to the mahendo’sat to avoid bringing gtstself closer.

“Customs release, hani captain. All fine you sign this.”

“Wait, hani captain. Must secure permission to leave.”

She drew small even breaths, signed this, signed that, kept directing no more

than baleful stares at the stsho official and gtst fluttering aides.

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