Was that a change Pyanfar had wrought, the mekt-hakkikt, the leader of leaders, the power over powers, that had unified the kif for the first time in their existence?
Maybe they were all Vikktakkht’s. Those were the kind of kif to watch out for, the ones that came in large, strongly-led groups.
The doors opened. They walked into dim sodium light, into ammonia stink that stung the nose, and Hallan did sneeze, loudly in the silence. Black-robed kif kept nothing like a mahen office. It might have been a bar, a restaurant. There were tables, and one was in among them, and at the end of the room a kif with a silver-bordered robe beckoned to them.
That was Vikktakkht. She would lay money on it. As she would lay money there were guns beneath no few of these black robes.
They walked that far. “Good day,” the kif prince said. “So pleased you could come.”
“Admirable fluency on your side too.”
“I even have a little hani. Not much. But enough to resolve differences.”
It was disturbing to hear her own native tongue slurred over with kifish clicks and hisses. And one who learned your language might not be doing so for peaceful reasons.
“This is—“ she said, “Chihin Anify. And HaIIan Meras you know.”
“Delighted. Kkkkt. Na Hallan.”
“Sir.”
“You’ve done as I hoped—served as my introduction. My character witness, I believe your term is. I behaved well toward you, did I not? You’ve no cause to complain of me?”
“Not of any kif, sir.”
“Not of any kif.” A soft snuffling that set Hilfy’s nape-hairs up. Kifish laughter. Kifish mockery. They knew no other humor, that she had found. “You’re such a soft-spoken hani. Yet they do insist you’re quite aggressive.”
“No, sir, not by choice.”
“Don’t try him,” Hilfy said sharply. “You don’t understand us that well. Between species, one can make fatal assumptions. What do you want?”
There was a soft clicking, a stir of cloth, all about them. The orange light glistened wetly on an analytical kifish eye, black as space and as deep in secrets.
“I said that you would want to ask me a question,” Vikktakkht said quietly. “Kkkt. Do you have one, na Hallan?”
“Yes, sir,” Hallan said. “What are kif doing, transporting the stsho ambassador?”
Hallan’s question. Her wording. Don’t give the bastard a question he could answer with yes or no.
And Vikktakkht made a soft hiss and wrinkles chained up the leathery snout.
“Following gtst request,” the kif said. “And I will be more informative. I will answer a second question. —From na Hallan.”
Gods rot the creature. It was his territory, his terms. And if he spoke hani he likely knew what he was doing, insulting Meras, insulting Chanur.
Hallan stayed silent two, maybe three breaths, and she opened her mouth to say they were leaving; but Hallan said,
“What do you gain by doing that?”
Gods, good question, Meras.
“The good will of the stsho ambassador. Next question?”
Another small pause on Hallan’s part. Hallan might have exhausted the permutations of the question she had suggested. And she was curious what he would ask.
“Is that—all you want?”
“Kkkt. It would be very valuable.”
“But,” Hallan repeated quietly, respectfully, “is
“No,” the kif said. What else could a kif say?
But then Vikktakkht added: “The ambassador is at Kefk. Next question.”
It was beyond bizarre. In honor, she ought to object and pull na Hallan out of this game. But Hallan did not seem to need rescue.
“Are you a friend of the mekt-hakkikt?”
Gods, that was a mistake. Kif had no word for friend.
“My alignment, you mean? With the mekt-hakkikt. Next question.”
“What are you asking my captain to do?”
“To go to Kefk, where / have allies. There, I will have custody of the ambassador. There, you may ask me one more question.”
Hallan flicked an ear in her direction. It was not a time to dispute the matter. There was silence all around them. This is a dangerous kif, she thought.
“Yes, sir,” Hallan said.
“Chanur.”
“Hakkikt?”Hilfy asked, sure that was what she was dealing with.
“You flatter me.”
“I doubt it.”
“Kkkt. You’re free to go. At Kefk, Chanur.”