“All went well?” one had the temerity to ask her.
“Ask the one who feeds you,” she retorted, and the kif who had presumed, retreated, hissing.
No love lost, no. The kif knew an implacable enemy; but they had to let her pass back to the dockside.
And how did one at this point refuse the governor who sat at the junction of virtually all trans-sector trade—even if one’s aunt was the mekt-hakkikt of the known universe?
Appeal to Pyanfar’s influence?
By the gods, no. Not Hilfy Chanur. Not if she wanted to face herself in the mirror. Not if she didn’t want the story spread on every ship that dealt with No’shto-shti-stlen.
And the stsho would spread it. Not strike a blow in anger, oh, no, not the stsho. Their daggers were all figurative and theoretical. Or wielded by kifish hire-ons.
But, dear, featherless gods, if the offer was on the up and up …
Legacywas spitting up cans—had at least one truck full already, with the bright red stamp that meant warm-hold goods, and the trucks lined up that would take them to their various destinations, some for the station, some for interline to Kshshti, some on for ports no hani nor mahen ship could reach; and some of them were even destined for the methane-side—fifty more cold-hold cans: hani goods—bound for the t’ca. New markets. New prosperity—for ships that would take the risks and go the far and alien distances.
Competitive ships. Ships that carried clan wealth and clan business where hani clans had no on-world referent. Ships that brought back new ideas to Anuurn. Like the Compact itself. Like making the old women on Anuurn look up instead of inward, and making senior captains hide-bound in their ways admit that Chanur was not in exile, Chanur that had respect in every gods-be-feathered port of call in the Compact: make the naysayers believe that Chanur had more than a proxy head-of-clan in her, and that the head-of-clan had a right to replace The Pride and replace Pyanfar Chanur and survive by honest trade.
This run could be the break-even that would prove it. This contract could put them at a profit for the first time in the Legacy’s existence: the Legacy’s construction was entirely paid for and they were running free and clear, if they could take this break and go with it—a million for a ridiculously light haul and a 500,000 current clear take off the cargo, here, against a remaining indebtedness of 14,000,000, plus a turnaround with a mil and a half origin-point purchase for low-mass luxury goods and palladium offering a pay-out of 500% at Urtur above running costs; with, moreover, a price break on cargo guaranteed by No’shto-shti-stlen gtstself … not to mention the flat-rate hauls they could manage: she was already figuring what they could haul on that difficult long-distance jump including express mail; and trying over and over to admonish herself to caution as she walked up and took cousin Tiar quietly by the elbow.
“We have an offer. It involves a turn-around for Urtur. I’m inside to read the contract. If some station guards show up with a passenger, take him.”
“Passenger,” Tiar echoed. Chihin had stopped work, ears pricked. Veteran spacers, Tiar Chanur, Chihin Anify, both out of Rhean’s crew when Rhean retired. And “station guards” and “him” got Fala’s ears up.
“Him?” Tiar asked, wiping her hands. There were two other puzzled frowns.
“Why us?” Tiar asked. “Begging the captain’s pardon, of course.”
Meaning if “he” was mahe, there were mahen ships to take him, and if “he” was kif there were kif enough, not to mention the stsho.
“Because,” she said quietly, “he’s hani.”
“Gods …” Chihin’s ears went flat.
“I want him out of here. I want the hide of the captain that dumped him. Most of all, I want him away from the kif. If he shows up—when he shows up-check his papers. Make sure of those papers, if you have to keep him waiting to do it: get into station comp and make sure there’s no proliferating taint of any kind on his record, you understand. Above all, don’t take him aboard until they’re clear. The governor wants him out of here, and once he’s aboard we don’t have that leverage— immigrationdoes, you understand?”