C. J. Cherryh - Chanur 5 - Chanur's Legacy

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Chanur's Legacy

C.J. Cherryh

Chapter One

Meetpoint was in one sense the center of Compact space: in another sense, this

place where all the Compact met for trade was the hindside of every species'

separate territory, and, along with its cosmopolitan character, it had that

chancy watch-your-back kind of feeling on its dockside, even in these days

when weapons were discouraged and peace governed the dealings of species.

Meetpoint's oxygen docks were redolent of cold and oil and volatiles, its

dockside shops and bars echoed of trade and business and offered a selection

of vices. Its methane side -- the methane folk had to answer for, in their

multiple-brained thoughts and stranger songs: but on the oxygen side, the

stsho, who were the landlords of Meetpoint, traded in what pleased them. Among

those spindly, white-skinned merchants one could find hani, mahendo'sat, kif

and (at least when a certain ship was in dock) a stray human from a world

named, unenterprisingly, Earth.

That certain ship had been here. That certain ship had departed twenty-odd

days ago in pursuit of its own business, a circumstance which completely

satisfied Hilfy Chanur, captain of , newly in dock at Meetpoint and besieged

by her aunt's unreceived mail -- beset also by every hanger-on, would-be and

might-have-been politician, inventor, and academician with every offer of

favor, every piece of influence-peddling, every crackpot idea and complaint

for forty light-years about.

Being niece to the President of Compact space, the elected President of the

spacefaring amphictiony of Anuurn, the mekt-hakkikt of all the kif, the

Personage of Personages of the mahendo'sat (gods only knew about the methane

folk) ... in short, entailed a few liabilities.

It remained to be seen, with the Legacy past the initial formalities, whether

aunt Pyanfar's latest dealing with Meetpoint's governor was about to become

another of those liabilities. It remained imminently to be seen, because at

the top of the message stack which had landed in the Legacy's files at the

instant of their docking, sat a message from gtst excellency No'shto-shti-

stlen, requesting the presence of "the august niece of the most distinguished

(untranslatable) Pyanfar Chanur in the inner most hospitable (?)

administrative offices," and so on and so on, "omitting customs formalities

which this office will be delighted to obviate," and so on in that vein.

One didn't trust that those formalities were going to be ignored, by the gods,

one didn't. One set one's second-in-command to handling them, in case the

honorable or excellent No'shto-shti-stlen changed gtst mind and charged one's

ship with smuggling.

So Hilfy put on her administrative-offices best pair of black satin trousers,

and (acutely aware of her youth) combed the mane until it crackled with static

(and looked fuller) and the mustaches so that they somewhat covered the

youthful scantness of beard. Hilfy Chanur's ears at least had no scarcity of

rings to signify her voyages. Her red-gold coat was brushed to a sheen. Her

mood was even cheerful as she took the lift down from topside to the main

lowerdeck corridor and put her head in at lowerdeck ops.

"I'm off, cousin. You're in charge. How's it going?"

"Smooth so far. Are you sure you don't want one of us to go along?''

Tiar was harried, hurried -- they were a small crew, in a strange port,

dealing with officials they didn't personally know. The crew was eager to go

on liberty, which they couldn't do until the forms were filed and the cargo

was delivered.

"I'm fine. I know this place. I know exactly where I'm going."

"You've got the pocket com."

She patted the pocket of her trousers. "No problems. Just a walk down the dock

to the lift. You get those forms filed, make sure we're clear of customs ...

make them sign the forms anyway. Refer them to the governor's office. I'm not

taking any chances."

"Aye, captain," Tiar said, and Hilfy walked on and into the lock, cycled it

through to Meetpoint's biting air, and walked the frost-rimed yellow tube of

the ramp to the wide open docks.

It was a world of gray steel gantries, towering up into an overhead obscured

by blinding light, an overhead so tall it made its own weather, had occasional

haze about the lights, and rained condensation puddles on the utilitarian

decking. Neon glared from storefronts and bars, oxy-breathing species rubbed

shoulders in disregard of differences, and nowadays one could trust there were

no weapons-One could at least carefully hope there were no weapons. She

carried none. Since the Peace, guns on dockside were strictly for the police:

all species were civilized now. Law decided controversies, ships refrained

from piracy, as a historic source of provocation, and from cargo-pilfering, a

clear violation of treaties every known species but one now respected.

So Hilfy Chanur didn't hurry on her way -- or worry about the attention she

drew here. She cut a fair figure, red-gold hide and black silk breeches in a

world of dreary grays and garish neon light. Hani were fairly scarce at this

end of space, but most of all, the Chanur name on the Legacy would not have

passed unnoticed. She could imagine the whispers: the Personage's relative,

the mekt-hakkikt's niece, what's she up to? -- justified, since Chanur had a

habit of being up to things.

But, credit to Meetpoint's new ordinances, there was not a single interception

on her way across the docks, only ordinary traffic; and the lift coordinates

she punched in with the number gtst excellency's request had provided her were

a priority destination: no waiting for the car, not even fellow passengers to

deal with, just a g-shifting express ride into the great body of Meetpoint

Station, to a debarcation into that area the stsho landlords reserved unto

themselves, white halls draped in shades of nacre and pastel, and ornamented

with the writhing alabaster shapes the stsho called art.

She abandoned cautions, abandoned concerns for untoward encounters: this was a

safe place; quiet and peaceful, so harmonious that she no more than blinked in

dismay when black-robed kifish guards turned up in her path.

So the stsho were back at that foolish practice: un-combative themselves, so

fragile a single blow could crush them -- they engaged species who could

defend them against individuals who might do them violence, the most likely to

do violence, unfortunately, being the very species that they hired. One

thought that they might have learned that most expensive lesson about the kif

-- but the stsho made the choices the stsho made: the experiment with mahen

and hani guards had apparently not satisfied them, although Hilfy herself had

not heard about it; and the fact that the hair rose on a hani captain's nape

and that her vision hazed about the edges at the mere sight of these tall,

black-robed figures, the fact that a hani of otherwise peaceful intent

instantly entertained violent thoughts at meeting these creatures, did not

matter to the stsho. It was so polite. So civilized. The kif bowed; she bowed;

they said follow, and she followed these thin, long-snouted shadows, these

creatures that always, no matter what the circumstances, reeked of ammonia, if

only in her memory.

"Chanur captain," they called her, with their peculiar clicking accent, the

sound of double, deadly jaws, making consonants that no hani could exactly

duplicate. They spoke to her respectfully, for her aunt's sake, for their

employers' sake: they showed every sign of fearing her displeasure -- as kif

might, who had reason to think she had power and influence with their

employers. So these were no danger. They were not high in kifish rank or they

would not be working here, in alien employ. Kick them and they would estimate

you the higher for it.

But she was profoundly relieved to meet a stsho at the end of the corridor,

beyond the blowing gossamer curtains, and to leave the guards behind. The

spindly, fragile stsho, who was the personal aide, gtst told her, to gtst

excellency the governor No'shto-shti-stlen, drifted in draperies of almost

pink and almost gold, fluttered agitatedly along a corridor of blowing drapes

of almost-white -- wherein a gold-coated, red-maned hani, unsubtle intrusion

in a realm of faintest distinctions, refused to be rushed. The aide had not

deigned to come in person. She was in no imminent need of the governor's

approval. So in the game of diplomatic tit for tat, Hilfy Chanur walked at her

own pace into the governor's vast gossamer-curtained audience hall, where

multiple bowl-chairs, pastel cushioned depressions in the floor, defined the

stsho's sense of elegance, decorum, and, thereby, social status.

In one of these bowl-chairs governor No'shto-shti-stlen waited, plucking pale

green leaves from some sort of fruit and eating them one by one.

But the governor set down gtst lunch as they approached. Manners improved. The

aide, bowing, declared the presence of 'the great hani captain, the birth-

bond-relative of the estimable mekt-hakkikt' and so on and so on, worthy of

gtst attention, and so on.

"Sit," the entity lisped in the Trade, with a wave of white, long fingers.

Gtst excellency seemed half-transparent, hardly a touch of color in the body-

paint, to hani eyes, white on white. Gtst -- not precisely he or she, since

stsho had three genders, and two indeterminate states if frightened -- called

for something in gtst rippling planetary language. The attendant scurried to

comply, while stsho music played softly in the background, the occasional

chime of a single, same note.

Hilfy folded down into the bowl opposite gtst excellency No'shto-shti-stlen,

knowing better than to rush matters with the governor, as she had refused to

be hurried. But very quickly a servant showed up with a tray of crystal bowls

and a colorless, exquisitely flavored liquid in a crystal pitcher.

Thereafter, five tiny bowls, savored in silence. She knew the protocols -- and

knew the giddiness that could set in for a hani partaking of too much stsho

hospitality. She kept her ears up and her mouth pursed in hani pleasantness,

evidencing the right amount of cultured pleasure in each serving, all the

while she watched the minute flutter of feathery lashes and feathery brows,

the minute shifts in expression as No'shto-shti-stlen made slow estimation of

gtst guest and tried (it was second nature to the stsho) to guess her current

rank, her mood, and her expectations by her selection of jewelry and her

composure in the meeting. "Do you find it pleasant?"

"Delicate," she said, in the stsho's own trade-tongue, and feathery eyebrows

went up. "Very delicate. Very pleasant."

"We are astounded at your commendable fluency." "Your excellency flatters me.

And this is very fine." "Please accept a case lot in appreciation." Ye gods.

Appreciation. Of what, one wondered. It was no mean gift. But the obligatory

response, with precisely the right degree of gratitude: "Your excellency is

most kind. Please be understanding when a gift from my own ship arrives: after

seeing the grace and discrimination of your establishment, I can only hope my

personal token of admiration finds favor.''

"I could not possibly."

"Honor it with your ownership. Your discrimination is of wide repute."

"Your graciousness is most extravagant."

"Your excellency's delicacy and sensitivity amply justify our admiration."

It went on like that for two and three more rounds of compliments and

deprecations.

That case of tea was worth about 3000 on the market. A good merchant had her

figures in her head. The stsho certainly did.

"There is, however," said No'shto-shti-stlen -- (there was always the

"however") " -- a way in which we might favor ourselves with an opportunity to

amplify our association. More tea?"

Gods, the convolutions. One suspected a stsho was trying to lose an upstart

foreigner in the verbal underbrush. But one did not decline an offer of

further negotiation, not if one wished to remain on good terms. One only hoped

one's good sense held out and one's tongue did not trip.

"Of course."

Another round of platitudes, another period of quiet assessment, in which,

ample time to reflect on one's capacity for shis tea and on the extent of a

stsho's connivance. No'shto-shti-stlen was a stsho whom aunt Pyanfar called

moderately stable.

That meant both reliable for trade... and dangerous by reason of gtst long-

term personal interests.

"I would wonder," she said, setting down the third emptied cup of the second

round of shis-thi-nli. "I would ask why my illustrious and esteemed aunt was

not foremost to help such a deserving person, if your excellency would

enlighten me. Surely your trust in my junior self cannot exceed that you would

place in her august person."

"I hope that my request does not cause any -- " A flutter of the hands, a

hiding of the mouth behind a napkin, " -- awkwardness."

Kftli. "Awkwardness." Cognate relationship to "foreignness." Perhaps gtst

excellency was making a joke. Perhaps gtst excellency had not studied the

evolution of the trade-tongues.

"The august Director left here, perhaps you are aware -- deep -- into a

territory -- ahem -- of utmost secrecy. Yes, she might oblige us, she is so

extravagant in her good offices toward persons in distress. But we are

extremely fortunate in your arrival. We were searching records to find a

captain of sufficient -- mmm -- standing and respectability. Your arrival

insystem is a most delightful surprise."

One did not want another round of tea. And one could now regret one's youthful

enthusiasm for dealing in the other's language. Avoiding a request at this

point was something only a stsho could finesse -- and one suspected, not at

this disadvantage of rank. Did you want your ship to leave on time, your goods

to stay unpilfered, most of all, did you want your manifest not to display

some flaw four and five solar systems away that would cost you days and bribes

to straighten out?

Gods rot the scoundrel. She wished this one had landed in aunt Py's lap. Or

possibly it had been about to, and aunt Py had suddenly decided on a course

numerous light-years away.

"And how may we merit your good opinion?"

"I have a cargo," said No'shto-shti-stlen, " an object actually, which must

get to Urtur, time being of the essence."

"A precious object."

"Most precious."

"The favor of your trust overwhelms me. But may I ask? The nature of this

object."

Hands fluttered. Brows wavered. "An artwork."

"Not living. Not animate."

"Oh, no, no, no, nothing of the sort. But -- " Here it comes. They might have

an offer. She was by no means certain she wanted it.

" -- its delivery is, understand, liiyei."

A guess, based on the Trade. ''Ceremony. "

"Just so. Just so. But it must go immediately to Urtur."

"Immediately."

"Immediately. What will you charge? By no means be modest."

"Its mass?"

"Oh, very small. I could lift it. Of a dimension ..." Long, white fingers

described an object about the size of one's head.

"Fragile?"

''No more nor less than the cup you lately held. You are so modest. And

perhaps have other cargo. Let me name a figure. A million in advance."

Her throat stopped working. She extruded a claw and nudged the cup. The

attendant hastened to fill it, and No'shto-shti-stlen's.

"Is there some difficulty?"

No'shto-shti-stlen asked.

"By no means. If -- I hesitate to impose upon your excellency's already

considerable generosity, but I have consignments to pick up here for Hoas

port. -- I might perhaps arrange a transfer of those orders -- I've no

contractual problems..."

"No difficulty. None at all. I take it these were open market contracts."

"Open market, nothing illegal about an interline, but your excellency must

understand, I have bonds requiring that delivery ..."

"A trifle, a trifle. My personal guarantee. I personally will put a bond on

the interline carrier for your entire and unexcepted protection."

Too good to be true. "My ship certainly has the engines to make the jump, at

low mass. But a million, while most generous as an offer... does the contract

enjoin us from carrying other cargo?"

"Absolutely not. Whatever you can carry safely. And certainly -- certainly we

can assist you with priorities. Even -- hm -- information on low-mass stsho

goods. I have a contract already drawn up." From an alabaster box by the side

of the bowl-chair No'shto-shti-stlen whisked a sole spot of blackness, a data-

cube. "This has both the contract for transport and the authorization for the

disbursement."

"Cash at undocking."

"Cash at undocking. The whole sum to be paid to the bank on signature of the

contract, with no restriction on withdrawals once the oji is aboard." A waggle

of long fingers. And a tightly sewed-up set of conditions. "Of course one so

honorable as yourself would need no contract. But for our mutual protection."

"Of course."

"Please accept three cases of the tea, to salve the inconvenience of diverting

your ship."

"I do not of course guarantee signing the contract. Please make the gift

contingent on our agreement!"

"Your honor is impeccable in my eyes. No such stipulation. Please. Take it for

your help in an additional difficulty."

A sip of the tea. Definitely. Two sips. "Additional difficulty."

"A matter in which your honor might, if you will, be a solution."

"In what way might I be the solution of a problem so difficult?"

"A matter of delicacy. A member of your species is stranded here at Meetpoint

-- clearly an oversight on the part of the ship in question. But we are most

anxious to see this resolved."

"They left her."

No'shto-shti-stlen took a sip of tea, and fluttered eyelashes. "Him, if I may

be so entirely forward."

Him. Gods. Hilfy did a rapid resorting, with a distinct sense of alarm. "A

hani ship? Left a crewman?"

"There was -- your honor will please be understanding -- a slight

intoxication, a breakage of insignificant items of extremely bad taste --

most of all -- an altercation with a foreign national of -- em -- higher

status -- which I assure your honor had been harmlessly resolved."

"The nationality offended, excellency?"

"Kif."

Gods.

"A simple misunderstanding, a few hours detention and filling out of forms ...

but through some inadvertency, his ship -- simply claimed a cargo priority

and left without our office -- em -- aware of the oversight. We are

excruciatingly embarrassed. We believe that perhaps they believed he was

already back aboard, as did -- em -- an individual in traffic management, who

cleared the undock."

"Did no one advise them?"

"They were unalarmed. They sent back word that it was unfortunate, but they

had a contractual commitment and they urged us to send him along by the first

hani ship that might consent. Your esteemed aunt, of course, had already left.

Handur's Rainbow, which came in afterward and preceded you out ... did not

have a berth available."

A contractual commitment?

Read that Rainbow had refused to burden itself. Damn their down-the-nose

attitude.

But -- gods -- hit a kif of rank? Did one want to take aboard a hani with

that kind of grudge?

"Can we prevail upon your extreme generosity? His presence here is an

embarrassment. How do we care for him? How do we lodge him?''

"I quite understand." Think fast, Hilfy Chanur. "What was his ship's course?"

Fifty-fifty it was ...

"Hoas, as happens. But everything passes through Urtur."

"In any case -- " Gods, how did I get into this? But, damn it to a mahen hell

... you don't even ask his clan. He's hani. He's lost. He's been dumped here,

gods rot them -- if the kif claim him, the stsho can't resist that pressure.

Small wonder they want him out of here before there's an incident.

"We can pay his passage," No'shto-shti-stlen said.

"No. No. Forgive my unseemly distress. I could not possibly accept payment.

This is a question of ..." Stsho had no equivalent for species-honor. "...

Elegance."

"Another case of tea."

"Please." On the other hand. At three thousand the case. "On the other hand --

A flutter of distress.

No'shto-shti-stlen wanted this lad gone very badly. Very badly. And feared he

would have to pay heavily for it.

Which he might deserve to do ... except Hilfy Chanur was not dealing in hani

hides, under any circumstances.

"Your esteemed and wise influence might clear any legal obstacles, any defect

in his documents, that sort of thing. That would expedite matters."

"We are delighted to assist. There will be no impediments."

"No entanglements. No pending charges."

"You have my word. I have so enjoyed this meeting. Please give my regards to

your esteemed relative. Advise her that No'shto-shti-stlen admires her

exceedingly."

"I shall." There was a civilized way and a barbaric one to quit a bowl-chair:

the left foot on the unpadded line, the right onto the rim, no trick at all.

She made a small bow, the datacube in hand, and No'shto-shti-stlen nodded with

a graceful swaying of gtst white center-crest and gtst feathery, cosmetically

augmented brows.

"Most, most pleasant," No'shto-shti-stlen said.

"A memorable hour, most memorable."

Never underestimate a stsho.

So, so, she had a passenger -- but he was an inconsequence; the other

question, what was in the contract, took momentary second place to the heady

thoughts of a million credit haulage fee for some trinket she could juggle

one-handed, and with the hold, after discharging their cargo, altogether free

for what she could buy outright at Meetpoint for resale in a port whose fairly

recent futures and shortages list Legacy had in file?

Far too good to be true, was what it was. She had gotten too far into this.

Her disclaimer that she might not sign had not been early enough or forceful

enough, and it needed no kifish guards to upset her stomach on the way out.

"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 ...

Legacy was 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 -- immigration does, you understand?"

"No question," Tiar said.

"Ship left him?" Fala asked, her young face all seriousness.

"It's a long story. We're taking him out of here, is all we can promise. Catch

his ship if we can. Just be nice. Be nice."

She clapped Tiar on the shoulder, Chihin second, and deliberately did not hear

Chihin say, "That's what comes of letting men into space ..." Chihin was

conservative, so was Tiar, and you didn't change her overnight.

But things had changed. They had changed so far a hani ship could bring a hani

lad forty lights away from home and leave him to a station where kif were the

guards and stsho were the only justice.

She walked up the ramp and into the yellow-ribbed access tube, trod the chilly

distance to the lock and locked through. In the lowerdeck ops station, she

found Tarras working comp on the loaders, and she snagged Tarras for the

computer work.

One did not drop a strange cube into the ship's main computer or any terminal

in touch with it. Not that one didn't trust gtst excellency. Of course not.

So it was the downside auxiliary, the computer that suicided and resurrected

on command.

"I want a printout," she told Tarras. "One original, one through the

translator, stsho formal, but first I want you to diagnose the source. I don't

want the thing changing, erasing, or cozying up to our navigation. Ma'sho?"

"Sho'shi," Tarras said, ears pricked, all enthusiasm.

"Fast. Inside the hour."

Tarras' ears went to half. "Captain...''

"You can do it."

Tarras muttered another word in mahen trade, gave a shiver and took the cube,

looked at it on one side and another -- for obvious things like inbuilts.

"I need a laser on this."

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Chanur'sLegacyC.J.CherryhChapterOneMeetpointwasinonesensethecenterofCompactspace:inanothersense,thisplacewherealltheCompactmetfortradewasthehindsideofeveryspecies'separateterritory,and,alongwithitscosmopolitancharacter,ithadthatchancywatch-your-backkindoffeelingonitsdockside,eveninthesedayswhenweapo...

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C. J. Cherryh - Chanur 5 - Chanur's Legacy

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