The Pride of Chanur

“But nothing for the kif?” Pyanfar returned. “Nothing for a kif adventurer who murdered hani and mahe and provokes a powerful Outsider species, with all that might mean? Ambition, Tahar. And greed. And cowardice. What have you got from the kif? A promise Tahar ships will be safe if this dies down? I turned down a kif bribe. What did you do when they made you the offer?”

It was a chance shot, a wild shot; and the Tahar’s ears went back and her eyes went wide as if she had been hit hard and unexpectedly. Everyone saw it. There was a sudden hush in the room, the Tahar visibly at a loss, the kif drawing ever so slightly together, the stsho holding onto each other. It was bitter satisfaction, the sight of that retreat. “Bastard,” Pyanfar said, with a sudden rush of sorrow for the Tahar, and for the Faha who stood there in that company, ears fallen. Akukkakk stood with his arms folded, kifish amusement drawing down the corners of his mouth and lengthening his gray, wrinkled face.

“He’s laughing,” Pyanfar said. “At hani weaknesses. At ambition that makes us forget we don’t trade in all markets, in all commodities. And at his reckoning we’ll trade again to get our ships moving again outside our own home system — because there are more kif out there than you see, and hani won’t all fight. Hani never do. Hani never have. And I’ve been stalled long enough. I was promised transport downworld and I’m taking it. I’m going home and I’m coming back, master thief, master killer — and I’ll see you in that full hearing.”

Akukkakk no longer laughed. His arms were still folded. The kif were all very quiet. The whole room was. Pyanfar made a stiff bow to the Llun, turned and walked for the door, but Goldtooth and his crowd lingered, facing the kif. Tully slowed and looked back, and Pyanfar did, scowling.

“Goldtooth. You come. I’m responsible for you, hear? As the Tahar’s made herself responsible for this kif onstation. Come on.”

The Tahar said nothing to the gibe. That was the measure of their disarray.

“Got friend,” Goldtooth said to Akukkakk. “This time, got friend, and not at dock. You docked good, kif, got you nose to station. Maybe you ask hani give you safe escort, a?”

Akukkakk scowled. “Perhaps. And perhaps Chanur will be so kind as to do that herself. When she comes back from Anuurn.”

A chill wind went wandering across Pyanfar’s back. She stared a moment at the kif, thinking over the odds. The Llun and the insystem merchanters were thinking likewise, surely, what they might logically do with seven kif ships and two mahe hunters.

“Give me,” Akukkakk said, “the Outsider. Or the translation tape. It’s not so much. I can get it from the mahe, sooner or later.”

“Ha, like you get from hani?” Goldtooth muttered.

“What hani give,” Pyanfar said darkly and with distaste, “is a matter for the han. Consensus. Maybe, hakkikt. Maybe we’ll talk this thing out, with assurances on all sides. Before it damages the Compact more than it has already.”

The quiet persisted, on all sides. The stsho stared back at her from haunted pale eyes, the kif from red-rimmed dark ones, hani from amber-ringed black. Kif faith. She turned her back, retreated as far as the door of the chamber, and this time Goldtooth and his crew were with her — and Tully, whose face was pale and beaded with sweat.

The door opened and sealed again at their backs. They passed Llun guards. The corridor stretched ahead, empty.

“Going to my ship,” Goldtooth said. “Going to back off and keep watch these kif bastard.”

“Going to the shuttle launch,” Pyanfar said. “Got business won’t wait. Got stupid son and trouble in Chanur holding. Life and death, mahe.”

“Kif find you go, make one shot you shuttle. Jik make you escort, a? Run close you side, make orbit, get you back safe.”

She stared up at the mahe’s very sober face, reached and clasped his dark-furred and muscular arm. “You want help after this, mahe, you got it. Number one help. This kif lies. You know it.”

“Know this,” Goldtooth said. “Know this all time.”

Their ways parted at the intersecting corridor. Pyanfar pointed the way back to the dock, a straight walk onward, and Goldtooth took it, his crew with him, a dark-furred, tall body moving off down the hall. Pyanfar motioned her own group the other way, which curved toward the shuttle launch.

Steps hurried after them, clawed hani feet in undignified haste. Pyanfar looked about as the rest of her party did, saw a young and black-trousered stationer come panting toward her. The youngster made a hasty bow, looked up again, ears down in diffidence. “Captain. Ana Khai. The station begs you come. All of you. Quickly and quietly.”

“Station gave me leave for my own pressing business, young Khai. I’m due a shuttle downworld. I’m not stopping for conferences.”

“I was only given that word,” the Khai breathed, her eyes shifting nervously over them. “I have to bring you. The Llun is there. Quick. Please.”

Pyanfar glared at the young woman, nodded curtly and motioned the others about to follow the messenger. “Quick about it,” Pyanfar snapped, and the youngster hurried along at the limit of her strides, hardly keeping ahead of them.

It was, as the Khai had said, not far, one of the secondary meeting rooms at which door a whole host of stationers and no few insystem spacers hovered, a crowd which parted at their approach and swarmed in after them.

The Llun indeed. The old man of the station, sitting in a substantial cushioned chair and surrounded by mates/daughters/nieces and a few underage sons, without mentioning the client familiars, the black-trousered officials, the scattering of spacer captains. Kifas Llun was there, first wife, standing near him, and there were others of other houses. A Protected house; the Llun could not be challenged, holding too sensitive a post, like other holders of ports and waterways and things all hani used in common, and he had slid past his prime, but he was impressive when he got to his feet, and Pyanfar exchanged her scowl for a respectful nod to him and to Kifas.

“This trouble,” he said, and his voice shook the air, a bass rumbling. “This Outsider. Let me see him.”

Pyanfar turned and gathered Tully by the arm. There was a panicked expression in Tully’s eyes, a reluctance to go closer to the Llun. “Friend,” she said. “He.”