Chanur's Legacy (40 page)

“In the lift,” she said, and did not say, Would your honor care to dress, we are not in that great a hurry. But she was unsure of the proprieties, and only put the door at Open-Hold.

“I remind your excellency that a face-upward reclination on any safety cushion is safest during any sustained engine use, to keep breathing passages unobstructed.”

“This is a dire contemplation!” “Think of it as a hopeful one, as in the worst and most violent eventuality your excellency and
gtst
companion will rest in a serene and safe nest.”

“Your concern and foresight on behalf of your passengers is most greatly appreciated! You are white to my eyes!”

“I am deeply touched.” Actually, she was. It was a far step for Tlisi-tlas-tin. “I have profound regard for your excellency’s opinion.”

As pillows and airbags arrived in great abundance, hasty waddling bundles of them, on two different-hued sets of legs.

The filters were all right, except one: Hallan pulled that one to wash it in the galley, which had to serve, since the downside was proscribed stsho territory. He rinsed it clean and looked around in startlement as someone strolled into the galley.

Oh, gods. Chihin. He didn’t want to be here. He even considered flight. Locking himself in the crew quarters. But dignity kept him set on his job, and he only hoped she’d come after a sandwich or something and wouldn’t say anything.

He kept working at the sink, drying things off. Chihin leaned past him after a bag of chips from the cabinet over his head, bodily leaning on him, resting her hand on his shoulder. And he didn’t believe then it was chips she was after—but he didn’t know whether it was affection, a joke at his expense, or whether she was asking him to reciprocate or what. She got the chips. She opened them and she left, and he didn’t yet know what to do or what he should have done. His stomach was upset. He wanted to make sense of things and not to make matters worse, and now he didn’t know at all what was going on, except just having her near him was enough to send his temperature up a point and make him short of breath, forget any clear sense, and she might have wanted him, and she might have thought he was trying to ignore her.

And if
that
was the case Chihin wasn’t going to come back for another rejection, if she felt rebuffed. He could have hurt her feelings ... if he even had a hope of understanding somebody like her. He was lost. He was just lost.

* * *

The sensors read what was going in as untainted and completely proper. And to Hilfy’s small surprise, the station paid for the datadump like a civilized port, a relatively fair price, fifty-fifty with
Tiraskhti’s
competing arrival; and deducted it from the fuel bill, which likewise wasn’t exorbitant for a place like Kefk, which didn’t have overmuch surplus.

No trouble on the bank certificates: the kif sent a representative to the airlock to accept the certificates; and sent again at each major fraction of the load— which was more cooperation than you might get at Urtur. Tarras, delivering the certificates, was armed; the kif was clearly armed: Hilfy watched the entire exchange from the lower deck ops station on vid, with a pistol beside her hand, quite ready to shut the lock from there and trap a kif bent on mischief of any kind.

Not a hint of trouble.

And of Pyanfar’s purified mail,
here,
among kif, the religious cases were completely absent, the entrepreneurs were nonexistent—there were numerous individuals offering the assassination of whatever enemies she might designate, some on speculation. There were numerous individuals listing their credentials, which might read like a police report in another society; but murder was not a prosecutable offense under kifish law. There
were
no prosecutable offenses between individuals under kifish law, only offenses against necessary collective institutions. It was, for instance, against the law for a kif or a group of kif to attack the bank and rob it; or to take independent action against a foreign government or against the kifish government, or to attack a space station in contravention of the dignity of the
mekt-hakkikt.
Pyanfar had probably dictated that one herself—since there
was
no kifish legislature, as such, merely a general consent to follow a given
hakkikt
so far as it looked advantageous, and what the
hakkikt
said
was
law so far as the
hakkikt’s
influence went. Violate it and find oneself delivered to the offended
hakkikt,
who might demonstrate his or her
sfik
above that of the offender by having the offender for dinner. Literally.

And of all the ranks aunt Pyanfar held, that she leaned the most heavily on her authority among the kif—might simply be that she had to exert it, constantly, to stay
mekt-hakkikt,
without which—all her laws were null and void; and that without her in that post, there would be no peace.

But it occasioned no few shakes of the head among hani on Anuurn, who were only disturbed that kif were constantly
about
Pyanfar Chanur. Of the realities inside kifish space, no one came here to learn.

Except Pyanfar Chanur.

Did she ever
take
any of these offers, Hilfy found herself wondering uneasily. If you were offered universal peace, and someone was in the way of that peace, grievously in the way of it, and you had this many offers, from a species that truly, earnestly didn’t mind murder, either of its own kind or someone else— would one begin to weigh relative evils?

Oh,
gods,
aunt, what a daily set of choices, what a difficult No, to say time after time—or is it always No, with the peace at stake ... when the potential violator might be kif?

What a narrow ledge to walk, aunt. Why ever did you take it?

Except no one else could have, in that day, at that time...

Pyanfar,one message said, got talk you. Got wife no sense. A.J.

A.J? Who went by A.J? Why no header? No date. She didn’t know any—

AJ? Aja Jin?

Jik?

That was a Personage among the mahendo’sat. And
Aja Jin
was a hunter ship. Wife no sense? Woman no sense? It was ambiguous in mahendi.

Jik wasn’t married, last she knew. Jik ... with more turns than a tc’a ... was still, if he had held loyal, one of aunt Py’s number one agents, and
Aja Jin
was one of those ships that didn’t file its course with any trade office, or carry cargo.
Aja Jin,
like
The Pride,
just showed up here, and showed up there, and how far it could go at a jump and where it refueled was something aunt Py probably knew, but probably nobody else did.

Not even the bother to code it. And left
here,
at Kefk, across a border only fools crossed?

What in a mahen hell was this she’d let herself be maneuvered into? Aunt Py’s private mailbox? A place ... if one thought about it ... where a ship like
Aja Jin
could kite in on the sudden, drop a message in plain mahen Trade, not even troubling to code it, beyond the necessity to know who A.J. was ... because kif had no motive to go to anybody but another kif with the news: kif high up enough to use it were either loyal to aunt Py or outright plotting against her, but in no case would they deliver what they knew to empower any random outsider. It was just not in their interest to do so.

And make a move against the
mekt-hakkikt,
where she picked up her mail? Consider all those messages of hopeful underlings, desperate for some credit with the highest authority in kifish space.

But Vikktakkht wanted Hilfy Chanur
here?

Necessary to tread very, very carefully. You flatter me, Vikktakkht had said when she addressed him as
hakkikt
at Kshshti—but here his message before docking had used the title: The
hakkikt
Vikktakkht an Nikkatu, no quibble about it.

The
hakkikt
said here they would find Atli-lyen-tlas, and here he would assist them, and here was where everything had to be, in what if an absolutely wild guess was right, was a place Pyanfar came, and a place presently/w// of hunter ships, and nothing else; and a place it was going to be very difficult for the
Legacy
to leave against this
hakkikt’s
will.

On the one hand, it was possible a mahen lunatic with domestic problems had left Pyanfar an inane appeal for assistance.

But there were 248 messages already in Pyanfar’s message stack, and more were backed up waiting for the computer’s version of bomb detection. This was not a place that had low expectations of seeing Pyanfar Chanur. No few of said messages had points of origin like Mkks, and Akkti, and distant Mimakkt, all in kifish space—messages sent to Kefk.

On the one hand this could be Pyanfar’s kifish base of operations.

On the other hand—it might not be. And that ‘might not be’ held the most dire possibilities.

The screen flashed blue: the computer spat up a message with a keyword.

Thehakkikt Vikktakkht to captain Hilfy Chanur, at dock at Kefk: Contact me.

The message before dock was halfway cordial. This, after dock, was terse, guarded against insult, a simple and moderate demand which a mere captain would be extremely ambitious to refuse.

On kifish terms, a very clear and entirely reasonable warning: fueling was
nearly
complete. The
hakkikt
gave her a way to both comply and save her own
sfik,
having held off a superior force this long.

Definitely time to comply, if one didn’t wish to challenge him outright.

Step by step down the kif agenda. And no question but that the kif wanted her, in person.

She didn’t let her mind dwell on that scenario. It would come. It wasn’t on her to-do list at the moment. She swung the chair around and keyed in the com function.

The hani ship, at dock at Kefk, captain Hilfy Chanur, head of Chanur clan, her hand, to the hakkikt Vikktakkht an Nikkatu, the kif hunter Tiraskhti, at dock at Kefk: We are pleased to open communication.

A moment, then:

Thehakkikt Vikktakkht to captain Hilfy Chanur, at dock at Kefk: I have the person you seek. Bring Meras.

She did
not
like that juxtaposition. And every second of delay was a possibility of a blow-up, a loss of
sfik,
an unwanted challenge of the kif s intentions ... the ramifications were wide and rapid.

The hani ship, at dock at Kefk, captain Hilfy Chanur, head of Chanur clan, her hand, to the hakkikt Vikktakkht an Nikkatu, the kif hunter Tiraskhti, at dock at Kefk: When?

Her hand was shaking as she keyed it out. Thank the gods the kif couldn’t see that. She couldn’t flinch aboard
Tiraskhti.
Not if she wanted to get out alive.

Thehakkikt Vikktakkht to captain Hilfy Chanur, at dock at Kefk: An escort is on the way to your lock now.

Gods rot the bastard! They weren’t prepared for this. It was an ultimatum. They could refuse it. But you measured every such action and bet everything you had on it. She had made a play, coming in here. The hakkikt was making his throw, now, and it was a test or it was an outright kidnapping.

The hani ship, at dock at Kefk, captain Hilfy Chanur, head of Chanur clan, her hand, to the hakkikt Vikktakkht an Nikkatu, the kif hunter Tiraskhti, at dock at Kefk: I look forward to the meeting.

Let
him
wonder if she was going to shoot him on sight—because
he
would have to raise the level of threat to tell her she wasn’t going in there armed.

She was in formal dress now. There was the mini-pistol in her belt. There was the gun on the counter, its holster in the wall-clip, and she punched in all-ship while she was getting out of the chair. “Hallan Meras, Fala Anify, report to lower main
now,
formal dress, code red, Fala. Hallan, just wash off, clean clothes, and get yourself down here.”

“I’m going,”
Fala said from somewhere.

“Hallan, answer the gods-be com!”

“Yes, captain! I’m on my way!”

Tarras arrived, full of protests. “The kif? You’re going out there? With those two kids?”

“The Rules, Tarras. The Rules. I want the gunner, the pilot, the scan officer on the bridge. You don’t deal with the kif solo, I’ve got to have somebody, he wants to talk through Meras: Fala’s the only expendable, that’s the way it is, Tarras. I’m
sorry,
cousin. It’s the way it adds.”

Tarras stood there in silence, hard-breathing. Then: “Tell them the gunner’s unstable and gods-be upset about this.”

“I’m telling them we want Atli-lyen-tlas. Or a good excuse. Keep
Chihin
on the ship. Read the Rules at her till she hears you.”

“Aye,” Tarras said. Thank the gods for Tarras’ basic intelligence. Tarras left, grim and upset; and collided with Tiar inbound.

“Captain,—“

“Won’t work this time, Tiar. Crew to stations, by the Book.
Trust
me I know what I’m doing.”

“Risking your gods-be neck, captain!”

“That’s fine. Neither Fala nor I navigate. Your course is Meetpoint by Lukkur or Tt’a’va’o, if that’s the only route open—if I get into trouble, run for it and let somebody know besides the kif, does this make sense to you?”

Tiar didn’t like it. Not in the least, but she went with Tarras, and both of them were going to have their hands full with Chihin, bet on it. For the first time this crew was going to make the hard choice and do what they were told, by the ever-living gods. And she was deeply sorry to be taking two kids into this mess, but it was exactly as she’d told them: no choice.

She heard the lift descending. That was either Tarras and Tiar on their way up—or ...

She heard the shouting. That was Chihin. Protesting, she could figure, that she’d calc’ed all the possible courses already, and she was going. Hilfy couldn’t hear the words, but she could pick the argument out of the rhythm. The voices went quiet then—muted by the doors, perhaps; the lift ascended. But someone was coming down the corridor, she heard the hurrying approach.

“Captain,” Fala panted, still damp from the shower. Scared, no question of it.