specifics here. He names ships he says are after us. Says we have mutual
enemies. He gets into kifish stuff here — pukkukkta.”
“Gods-rotted pukkukkta changes meaning in every context — get linguistic comp
on that. Get it on the whole thing — Keep alert up there.”
“Aye, captain. Sorry.”
“All right.” She sneezed and cut the com off, returned to the shower and
recycled the dryer.
“Captain. Captain.”
She left the staff and snatched up com. “For the gods’ sake, Haral–”
“–Captain, sorry. That request for scheduling — It seems we’re being sued. Got
six lawsuits against us and station says it can’t give clearance without–”
She shut her eyes a moment, composed her voice and kept it very calm. “Get the
station-master online. Tell gtst to issue orders.”
“By your leave, I’ve tried, captain. Call won’t go through. The stationmaster’s
office says gtst is indisposed. The word was gstisi.”
Personality crisis.
“That gods-rotted white-skinned flutterbrain isn’t going to Phase on us!
Countersue the bastards and start prep for manual undock as soon as they get
that cargo clear. Get everyone on it down there. And send a message to the
director and say if gtst doesn’t get this straightened out I’ll give gtst new
personality more damages to worry about, some of them to gtst person.”
“Aye,” Haral said.
She threw clothes on, her third-best trousers, green silk with moire orange
stripes in the weave; a belt with bronze bangles; the pearl for her ear. Her
best armlet, the heavy one. The alien ring was on the counter, from the pocket
of the red breeches. She considered, dropped it indecisively into her pocket,
pocketed the gun again, clipped on the com and pattered out into the hall in
haste, claws clenched, headed for the bridge.
“Captain.” The pocket com again, this time from her belt. “Captain, I got the
stationmaster on.”
“I’m coming,” she said, and hastened, down the corridor into the open door.
Haral looked about; Khym sat at the righthand station, intent on the scan, the
light flickering off his dutiful, martyred scowl.
Haral handed her the transcription. “Gtst is out. A new individual is in power.
I think it’s still the last one, in a personality shift. The new Director wants
payment in full. Says we got the better of the last director, drove gtst into a
crisis that wasn’t due for twenty years, and this one’s determined to get gtst
money up front. Intends to impound all offloaded cargo.”
“Gods rot–” She swallowed it, seeing the movement of Khym’s all-too-hearing
ears backward at her voice. She read the demand for payment. “Four hundred
million–”
“Nine hundred with the lawsuits. I think that’s the problem. Someone important
has sued and gtst has to do something.”
“I could guess who.”
“Gods. Kif. Possible.” Haral rubbed her scarred nose, looked up from under her
brow. “You thinking of breaking port?”
“Maybe.”
“If we do it they’ll blackball us. Every stsho port. Every stsho facility.
They’ll never lift the ban.”
“Same if we don’t pay.”
“Aye, captain,” Haral said morosely. And lifting her ears: “Captain, we could
offer them the profit. Earnest money, like. Offer to give them more’on next
trip. Gods know how we’ll pay off the shippers — but that’s tomorrow. And it’ll
be tied up in litigation anyway, soon as it hits Site’s warehouse.”
“Maybe.” Pyanfar combed her beard with her claws, looked distractedly toward
Khym’s broad back. Shook her head as at some heavy blow.
“How’s that unloading going?” She missed the sound of the conveyors of a sudden.
“Finished down there?”
“Sounds like.”
“Rot their eyes.” Meaning stsho. She sucked in her mustache ends and gnawed at
them. “Pukkukkta.”
“Captain?”
“Pukkukkta. What did comp say it meant?”
“Like trade of services.” Haral snatched up a printout and offered it to her
hand. “Like revenge. This is the item. Over regular channels, it was.”
Greeting, the message said, Chanur hunter. Beware Parukt; Skikkt; Luskut;
Nifakkiti. Most of all beware Akkhtimakt of Kahakt. These aspire; that one
aspires most. I Sikkukkut am with you in pukkukkta for this cause and speak to
you in words which precisely describe kif, therefore ambiguity of translation
lies at your feet.