Chanur's Legacy (2 page)

“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.”