Chanur’s Homecoming by CJ Cherryh

Wish I’d known my son.

Maybe I could find him. If his father’s still alive. If he’s like na Khym, if- Maybe, maybe if I could’ve talked to him he’d have sense like na Khym.

Never asked that man-never much talked to him. Never occurred to me to talk to him. Isn’t that funny? Now I’d wonder what he was thinking. I’d think he was thinking. I’d find me a man and make love to him and gods, I’d ask him what he was thinking and he’d-

-I’d probably confuse him all to a mahen hell, I would; aren’t many men like Khym Mahn, gods-rotted nice fellow, wished I’d known him ‘fore the captain got him. If he was ever for anybody but her. If a clan lord like him could’ve ever looked at an exile like me. I’d like to’ve loved a man like him. I’d have got me a daughter off him, I would’ve.

But what’s the captain got of him? Gods-rotted son like Kara Mahn and a gods-forsaken whelp of a daughter like Tahy, no help there, gods fry ’em both, no sense, no ears to listen, no respect–doublecrossing gods-be cheats.

Want to find me a man. Not a pretty one. A smart one. Man I can sit and talk with.

If I ever get home.

She pursed her lips and spat.

“You all right?”

“Sure, I’m sleeping, get out of here. I’m trying to get my rest. What in the gods’ name are those black things?”

“Don’t ask. We don’t.”

The lift opened belowdecks, and Hilfy Chanur, coming back onshift, stepped back hastily as the doors whisked back and gave her Skkukuk all unexpected, Skkukuk clutching a squealing cageful of nasty black shapes, which apparition sent her ears flat; but Tirun and Tully were escorting the kif, which got Hilfy’s ears back up again and laid the fur back down between her shoulderblades. She stepped aside in distaste to let the kif out and stood there staring as the door waited to her hold on the call button.

“We think we got ’em.” Tirun said.

“They got,” Tully said, amplifying his broken pidgin with a gesture topside. “Eat fil-ter. Lousy mess.”

“Good gods, what filter?”

“Airfilter in number one,” Tirun said. “Sent particles all over the system: we’re going to have to do a washdown on the number two and the main.”

“Make electric,” Tully said.

“We made it real uncomfortable in that airshaft,” Tirun said.

“Kkkkt,” Skkukuk said, “these are Akkhtish life. They are adaptive. Very tough.”

The creatures started fighting at the sound of his voice. He whacked the cage with his open hand and the Dinner subsided into squeals.

“Gods,” Hilfy said with a shudder of disgust.

“Two of them are about to litter,” Tirun said. “Watch these gods-forsaken things. They’re born fighting.”

“Tough,” Skkukuk said conversationally, and hit the Dinner’s cage again, when the squeals sharpened. There was quiet, except for a hiss. “Kkkt. Excuse me.” He clutched the cage to him and headed off down the hall with the Dinner in his arms, happy as ever a kif could be.

Hilfy’s lip lifted; an involuntary shiver went through her as Tirun turned and went to keep an eye on the kif. Tully stayed, and set a hand on her shoulder, squeezed hard.

Tully knew. He had been with her in the hands of the kif, this same Sikkukkut who was their present ally; who sent them this slavish atrocity Skkukuk to haunt the corridors and leave his ammonia-stink everywhere in the air, a smell which brought back memories-

A second time Tully squeezed her shoulder with his clawless fingers. Hilfy turned and looked at him, looking up a bit; but he was not so tall, her Tully, that she could not look him in the eyes this close. Those eyes were blue and usually puzzled, but in this moment there was worry there. Two voyages and what they had been through together had taught her to read the nuances of his expressions.

“He’s not bad kif,” Tully said.

That was so incredible an opinion from him she blinked and could not believe she had heard it.

“He’s kif,” Tully said. “Same I be human. Same you hani. He be little kif, try do what captain want.”