“It’s already loose, cousin, it’s already part of the record, what we got at Kita, what we’re doing, who we’re carrying, where we’re going … People watch us, people rake over everything we do … that message stack is in our files because every gods-be station assumes we’re in thick with Pyanfar’s doings, and all right, why don’t we just call up station central and tell them who we’ve got aboard, what we’re carrying, what we think Haisi’s up to, why don’t we just stand out there and see what happens then, cousin? So we lie to them, so we flash a few pieces of information and let whoever’s out there wonder if they’ve got the picture. If we told the gods-be truth they’d go insane trying to figure out which part of it was a lie.”
“I’m not for creating a war scare! I’m not for throwing the whole commodities market on its ear because we’ve got a problem!”
“So what if there is a war? What if, at least, the mahendo’sat and the stsho are maneuvering for position and somebody’s going to double-cross aunt Py and the whole glass house is going to come down? How many people are going to get hurt then? How fast will some kifish hakkikt appoint himself to grab power? The market’s a small casualty, cousin. A tick or two in the price of grain’s something the smart traders will ride smart and the amateurs are going to get stung with, but I’m not responsible for that. I can’t do anything about small investors’ mistakes, I’m trying to keep Chanur afloat, I’m trying not to let this blow up in aunt Py’s face—which it could—or let Chanur’s troubles with the han erode her influence to keep the peace, that’s where my thoughts are running, because if you’re right, Tarras Chanur, a good many more people can get hurt if the peace goes, than if the market bobbles.”
“We don’t know what side the stsho is on!” Tarras protested. “We could be doing harm rather than help for all we know!”
“People who do something can always make a mistake. So can people who do nothing.”
“That’s all fine. Do we know what we’re doing?”
“We rattle a few doors and see what puts its head out, cousin. And if you’ll do what I ask and publish us on the list, I’ll go rattle one in our own basement.”
“The stsho?”
“They’d better find out their ambassador here’s dead. And the other one’s missing. People have already gotten hurt, if you want the morality of it. They’re all stsho … but they still count. They’re still dead. Somebody was willing to kill them. And we’ve got a piece of the puzzle on our deck.”
“Aye,captain.”
So maybe Tarras was easier in her mind. She wasn’t. She walked out of the bridge and past na Hallan, who was doing a scrub-down and inventory of the galley cabinets, past Fala, who was doing a life-systems check, and got furtive stares from two eavesdroppers who’d probably rather be in the cold-hold.
Amazing the industry that appeared. She punched the lift button and rode down to lowerdecks, heard the clanks that meant Tiar and Chihin were busy in ops … their refueling and their readiness to move was the number one priority, ahead of cargo, ahead of customs, ahead of any other business.
Gods, she hated politics, she couldn’t believe she’d said what she’d said up there … no wonder
Tarras was confused.
She walked to the passenger corridor, signaled her intention to open the door, but while she was listening for a response, the door opened, and Dlima, quite nicely painted, gossamer-robed, quite gracious, bowed and let her in.
“Your excellency,” Hilfy began, “how have you fared?”
Tlisi-tlas-tin reclined in the bowl-chair, a cup in hand, and gtst beckoned her closer, quite at ease, quite pleased with gtstself and life in general, as seemed. “Will you take tea, captain?”
“Honored.” It was the only appropriate answer. She stepped in and settled herself as Dlima brought her a cup and filled it with graceful attention. “Most elegant.”
Dlima fluttered, and subsided, tea in hand, to snuggle up to gtst excellency, no trace of the confused person abandoned at Kita Point.