Chanur’s Legacy by C.J. Cherryh

For once she wished she could ask Pyanfar. But if leaks were happening, they would proliferate. If the mane agent knew, his crew knew something; if his crew knew something, it could get to the docks; if the kifish guard knew, the kif they might be in collusion with knew; and if things had gone out over station com, then the com operators in station control might know, and so might their associates…

In which case if she didn’t sign it and didn’t take the deal, and left here for Hoas, there were die-hards who would never believe they hadn’t the object aboard, and that it wasn’t all a ruse. So the minute one Haisi Ana-whatever knew anything about it—they were tagged with the stsho deal and the stsho object whether or not they actually had it.

At least if they signed the deal and took it, they got paid.

“Who we got to take the Hoas stuff?” she asked on com, when she got back to her office.

“We taking the deal, captain?”Chihin asked. “Looks as if. Who do we have?” “Mahen trader. Notaiji. Just in, reputable ship. Regular runs to Hoas. Plenty of time to make the schedule and looking for a load. They don’t usually bid, just take what’s going and ship when they’re full-but this is up to their cap. Good deal for them.”

She considered that an unhappy moment and two. Of course a mahen ship was all there was. Where was another hani ship, when a little obfuscation might have served them?

“There are kif outbound. And a t’ca may be. But I didn’t ‘t consider them as options.”

“No,” she said. Almost she had rather the t’ca. But getting the address and the disposition of cargo straight with a matrix brain was an exercise in frustration.

And it might send the cans to OVo’o’ai, for all any of them could tell. It didn’t bother a t’ca shipper so , as far as anyone could figure out their economics But it played hell with one’s reputation with oxy-breathers.

Chapter Three

The kid hadn’t had breakfast. He attacked the meat and eggs like a starveling, between trying to appreciate the kit, and the personal items.

“Thought you could use them,” Tiar said, standing by the door, and due to be on other duties. But Hallan Meras was alternately shoving food in his mouth and opening packages. She had brought in nothing contraband, so far as she could figure, nothing he shouldn’t be let loose with. The captain hadn’t said anything about any restrictions, or given any impression she feared the kid would sabotage them. The captain hadn’t thought overmuch about the kid, by what Tiar could tell, not delegated anybody to get him breakfast, even if the captain had remembered about the torn trousers and sent her off to the market to do something about his wardrobe. Small wonder—but still … where the kid sat, it hadn’t been a good morning.

“Everybody thought you were still asleep,” she said, by way of apology.

“I got up to work,” he said, and swallowed a hasty mouthful, looking at the silver-trimmed box. “It’s beautiful. What kind of writing is it?”

“Mahend. Formal. Probably lost in some dice game. Maybe in a mahen bar. Then down to the Rows. Somebody needed cash. Anything you want, you can find it in that market, that’s what they claim anyway. Anything you ever lose—ends up here eventually.”

“I got to see it,” the kid said.

“Got to see it, huh?”

Hallan’s ears dropped by half. “That’s where I got in trouble.”

“Swung on somebody, what I hear.”

“I didn’t intend to!”

“Yeah. The police probably hear that one a lot here.”

“I didn’t! Ker Tiar, … I wasn’t drunk. They said I was drunk, but I wasn’t. Somebody just started swinging, I don’t even know who.”

She found herself disposed to believe the boy—at least that he believed what he was saying; many the hani novice that had lost count of the cups. She could recall such a time. Or two.

“I want to work” the boy said. “I do. I have my license. I used to fix the farm equipment. …”

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