It was up to her to decide a course of action on a kif who had gotten his claws into someone on her ship—before they signed the contract. Surmise that the stsho contract was the kif’s interest: if it was, surmise that it had known about that contract, it had expected them to get it, and that it was up to its skinny elbows in the disappearance of Atli-lyen-tlas.
They had guns enough aboard—only prudent, never mind where they had bought them, or how, but it had involved a mahen trader; while weapons were such a cultural necessity among the kif, such a part of life-sustaining self-esteem, that the Compact peace treaty had had to except knives and blades from the weapons ban, figuring that kifish teeth were no less dangerous, and that it was far better to have the kif signatory to the peace than not…
Of course, it had taken considerable efforts in translations and cross-cultural studies to explain the word peace to all the several species. Granted, war did not translate with complete accuracy; but kif had understood neither idea. Kif weren’t wired to understand war, since they were at constant odds with each other, cooperated when hani least would, betrayed when hani would be most loyal, and hit the ground at birth competitive, aggressive, and (some scholars surmised) having first to escape their nest before they were eaten.
As to the last … that was speculation. But she did understand their minds better than most hani. It wasn’t to say she was forgiving. The kif weren’t either. Circumstances either changed or they did not. They had that in common.
She got up from the console, she walked back to where na Hallan was puttering about in the galley, and said, with a queasy feeling,
“NaHallan,—how do you feel about talking to the kif?”
“If you want me to,” he said.
“You take orders?”
“Aye, captain.” Dubiously.
“You foul this up, Meras, and I’ll shoot you myself. Lives are at risk, yours, mine, more than that, do you understand? You go out on the docks. And I’ll suggest a question you can ask this Vikktakkht—that is, if you can’t think of one of your own. Nothing comes to you yet, what he might have meant?”
“I’ve been trying to understand what he meant, captain. I don’t. I can’t imagine what he’s talking about. It doesn’t make sense. It didn’t then.”
“What would be important to ask him?”
“I don’t know …”
“Like in the myths, Meras. You get one wish. What would help us?”
His ears went down and lifted again, tentatively. “Knowing where the stsho is. Getting hold of him…”
“Gtst. Not him. They’re quite touchy on that score. But, yes, that’s the question—unless you think of a better one.”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t—“
“I’m sure if you think of one, you’ll tell me. I’ll find this Vikktakkht. And if we meet him, if knives or guns come out, you take orders, and you don’t act the fool. Do you hear me? Do you absolutely, beyond any question, understand?”
“Aye, captain,” he said faintly. But if she had said the local star is green, she had the uneasy feeling that na Hallan would have agreed.
Give him credit, he would have tried to see the star that way. But it didn’t make Yes the best answer. And it didn’t tell you what he’d do when the shots started flying.
She stared at him long enough to let him think about it. “I’ll see if this Vikktakkht is by any chance in touch with his ship.”
“You,” Hilfy said to Fala, in the lower deck main corridor, “work the hold. Can you handle that?”
“No trouble,” Fala said, “but …”
“No ‘but.’ I need you handling the loader.” Ears went down. “Because I’m the—“
“Because I have things on my mind, Fala! Gods!” She headed down the corridor toward the airlock, where, if Chihin and Tiar had gotten Hallan downside, their expedition was organizing.
The dockers had lost no time: the Legacy’s cargo lock was open, and Tarras, in the requisite coat, was out there going over the final customs forms.
There was no graceful way for a hani to wear a cold-hold coat on dockside: Tarras could justify it by going back and forth inside, and perspiring by turns. But they couldn’t. So that meant the lightest arms, lousy for accuracy, but they fit in a formal-belted waist with no more than a slight bulge … and it was their office-meeting, formal reception best they wore.