Chanur's Legacy (6 page)

Paper, she keyed to the Do List. The thick stuff. It massed more but it didn’t fold up while one was reading or note-making, And she had done a lot of reading this morning, while the loaders were clanking and thumping away under Fala’s and Chihin’s supervision. Meanwhile Tarras was tucked down with the datadump from station files, looking for information—who might take the transship cans, who had what for sale and what the futures list and the methane-folk routings looked like.

The party initiating the contract requires of the party accepting the contract that in the event of the activation of Subclause 14 Section 2 the party accepting the contract shall perform according to the provisions of Subclause 14 Section 2, notwithstanding this shall not be construed as negating the requirements of Section 8 parts 3-15, provided that the party receiving the goods be the person stipulated to in Subsection 3 Section 1, and not a Subsequent of said person; if however the party qualified to receive the goods be the Subsequent of said person or Consequent of the Subsequent named in Subsection 3 Section 1, then the conditions set forward in Section 45 may apply.

She had a headache, and sipped gfi and put a purple clip on the side of the paper for
performance
and a blue one for
identity,
took another sip and winced as something hung up in the
Legacy’s
off-loading system. A new ship had glitches in common with an old one, systems with bugs in them.

One of the bugs was in the out-track, the very simple chain-driven system that should take one of the giant container-cans smoothly from the hydraulic lift to the hydraulic loader-arms. They had tried lasers to find a fault in the line-up, they had tried carbon-coated paper to turn up an imprecision in the teeth, they’d marked the places on the chain that jammed and the places on the wheel that jammed, and no joy. She had preferred the system because it was what
The Pride
used, it was old, it was tested, it was straight-forwardly mechanical, cheap to repair, but that gods-rotted chain was going to break and kill somebody someday. Every time it jammed like that she flinched.

A small problem, the outfitter swore. Easy to fix. Just pinpoint the problem, and we’ll make it right.

The loader started up again. So nobody was killed. Hope it wasn’t the mahen porcelain they were hauling. But the chain was intact. She heard it working.

If the party receiving the goods be not the person stipulated to in Subsection 3 Section 1, and have valid claim as demonstrated in Subsection 36 of Section 25, then it shall be the reasonable obligation of the party accepting the contract to ascertain whether the person stipulated to in Subsection 3 Section 1 shall exist in Subsequent or in Consequent or in Postconsequent, however this clause shall in no wise be deemed to invalidate the claim of the person stipulated to in Subsection 3 Section 1 or 2, or in any clause thereunto appended, except if it shall be determined by the party accepting the contract to pertain to a person or Subsequent or Consequent identified and stipulated by the provisions of Section5 ...

However the provisions of Section 5 may be delegated by the party issuing the contract, following the stipulations of Subsection 12 of Section 5 in regard to the performance of the person accepting the contract, not obviating the requirements of performance of the person accepting the contract...

Another sip of gfi. A chase through the stack of paper after subsection 12 of Section 5. She could Search it on the computer but that meant moving the output stacks, the notes, the reference manuals and the microcube case that was sitting in front of the screen. Somewhere in Library there was a reference work on Subsequents, at least as far as mahendo’sat understood stsho personality changes. She would have the computer look it up. When she found the monitor screen. She took another sip of gfi.

The Rows were the open market at Meetpoint— anything you wanted, you had a chance of finding scattered on the tables of a hundred and more smalltime merchants, stsho and mahendo’sat ... stsho and mahen hucksters shoving things into your attention and claiming miraculous potency for unregulated vitamins and curious effects for legal and peculiar compounds, offering second-hand clothes and trinkets, carvings by bored spacers and erotic items peculiar to mahendo’sat and curious to everyone else.

But to a hani in a hurry, with specific measurements and business already in the hands of a mahen tailor in a real established Rows shop, with a pressure-door and every indication of permanency and respectability, the glitter and gaud and traffic of the market were an obstacle—and Tiar tried to make time against it.

Though an honest hani watching her waistline
could
get distracted here, because among the glitter of cheap jewelry and real gold, the echoes of argument and the twittering of doomed kifish delicacies—came the smell of baked goods and spice; mahen pastries. And a number of worldbound hani might turn up their noses at sweets, but she was cosmopolitan in taste: truth was, there was a good deal about mahen sweets she found to like.

And maybe the kid did. And certainly Tarras had the habit.

Well, maybe a dozen. The captain liked some sweets. Fala might. Chihin favored salted things. She could manage that.

And if they were in a mortal hurry and did not get back to the market on this rare stop at Meetpoint (she had asked the tailor to deliver, at soonest) ... she could take a small detour.

She bought two dozen of the sweets. And decided, well, there were the fish done up in salt crystals, a crate of those, deliver immediately. And the smoked ones. Practical, and a welcome change in the menu aboard. The stsho merchant offered samples, and, well, a box of those. And there was the herb and spice section, right adjacent, where a hani could inhale her way along, collect a bottle or two—she did no small bit of the cooking, and she felt inspired, here.

Then she thought, with her arm considerably weighted with parcels, well, the poor kid had come aboard with nothing in hand. He could use a few toiletries—such things as a young man might like. Brushes, yes. A couple of combs. A mild cologne, something clean and pleasant.

A pair of scissors. A file—it was absolute hell to be without that, and have a claw that snagged. Tooth-brash. Of course. Creme for hands and feet—Meetpoint air was dry by hani standards, and he had been in it for days. A good conditioner for all over, while she was at it, not spicy, something like sweet grass. Any young man would like that.

A kit-case to hold it all. Second-hand, with real silver ornament. Never mind the inscription was in mahen script, and probably some love sentiment, it was a nice piece and if nobody but mahendo’sat could read it, who cared?

“Hani officer. A word?”

She looked around, at a brown mahen belly; and up, quite a distance up, at a sober mahen face.

“Legacy?”
the mahe said, laying a hand on his chest. “Friend to Chanur, I, long time, follow the Personage.”

Gods, another one.

“Look ...” Tiar shifted the packages in her arms and suddenly realized she was far along the Rows, she had spent longer than she intended collecting her odd items, and a mahendo’sat with religious enlightenment or a crackpot scheme either one was not going to get her home any sooner.

“I know, I know, too many come you ship talk crazy. Not me.” A hand larger than her head applied itself to approximately a mahen heart.

“Good
friend, name Tahaisimandi Ana-kehnandian, ship name
Ha’domaren,
dock right down there—“

“I’m late. Cap’n’s going to skin me as is. Send a message.”

“No, no.” Said mahen hand landed on her arm, and it was drop the packages or listen. As a third alternative, she laid back her ears and stared up at the owner of said hand, who protested, “Important you listen.”

“Important I get back, mahe.”

“Call me Haisi.”

“Haisi. Get the hand off or I’ll give it to you on a plate.”

“Very serious! Listen. What you name?” “Never mind my name! You got a message for the

Personage, save it for her! My captain’s got her own troubles!”

“You take stsho deal?”

She shouldn’t have reacted. But she had, she did, and she stood staring at the mahendo’sat. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Got ears.”

“Got ears. Great. You want a word with the captain? I’ll
get
you a word with the captain, you just go right down to berth 23 and use the com, like any civilized individual.” “What you name?” “Tiar Chanur.” “Ah!
Chanur
officer!”

“Chanur officer, gods-rotted right, Chanur officer! You want to
stay
friends with the Personage, you get down to 23 and say what you’ve got to say—“ “I carry package for you.”

“I’m doing fine! Get! Don’t walk with me! We got enough gossip!”

“You lot worry, Chanur officer. All fine. Name Haisi.
Respectable,
long-time come and go this station.”

“Get!” She aimed a kick. Haisi escaped it. But Haisi went.

“So where did you hear about this deal?” Hilfy asked, as the mahe sipped expensive tea and lounged in her shipboard office, foot propped.

“
When
did you hear it?”

“What deal you want know?” A large mahen hand balanced a tiny cup, and the mahe regarded it closely. “Nice porc’lain. Tiyleyn province, a? You got good taste.”

“What do you want?”

“You so ab-rupt. So ab-rupt. How you deal with stsho?”

“I don’t think you know anything. I swear to you, if you’ve talked your way onto my ship for some gods-rotted sales pitch, you can take yourself right out—“

Hand on throat. “You insult me?”

“I’m too busy to insult you! I have a ship to turn around, I have cargo all over my dockside because I can’t get enough gods-rotted transports! If you know something, spill it!”

The mahe leaped to his feet. “I leave! I don’t sit be insult!”

He
might be serious. She regretted that, just long enough for him to reach the door and look back.

“You stupid hani let me walk out.”

“I stupid hani let you sell me some damn deal! All right, all right, sit down, have another cup of tea.”

“You say nice.”

Rubbing salt on it. She pursed her mouth in pleasantness, pricked up her ears and made a gracious gesture toward the abandoned chair.

“Do sit down, Ana-kehnandian.”

“Nice.” The mahe, gods rot his hide, sauntered over to the chair and sat down again, leaned far back and crossed his foot over his knee. “Nice you ship, hani captain.”

“What deal?”

“You so sudden. I like more tea.”

“Sorry. My entire staff of servants jumped ship at Hoas. The pot’s right beside you.”

A mahen grin. Only humans and mahendo’sat did that. It was life-threatening on a hani ship. And Tahaisimandi Ana-kehnandian took his time.

“So,” Ana-kehnandian said, with a sip and a sigh. “You want know how I know?”

“I want to know
what
you know.”

“You got fat deal, stsho with stsho. No’shto-shti-stlen got kif work for him. Same Urtur stsho. Lot big thing with kif. You tell Personage she need take quick look.”

“Easy to propose. Not so easy to do. Why should the Personage be interested?”

“What word
hotai?”

“Bomb. Explosion.”

“Explos’. Damn right. Explos’ like hell. I tell you, make good deal with you, you let us look this cargo.”

She had felt a skip in her pulse from the instant the word
kif
came into the conversation. And this mahe was probing for information, playing a little information as if he was in it up to his ears. Let him look at this cargo indeed.

“Where did you learn about it, Ana-kehnandian?”

“Call me Haisi. We friend.”

“Haisi. Where did you learn about it?”

“Cousin on Urtur.”

“So this isn’t exactly unexpected.”

“No. Long time expect.”

“Tell me.”

“You let me see cargo.”

No spacer. Not any merchant captain, if he was a captain, which she suspected:
Ha’domaren,
Tiar said. And that fit: top of the line ship, fire-power concealed by panels, capable of dumping cargo and moving fast, with all the engine capacity of a freight-hauler. She’d seen mahen agents operate when she was with
The Pride,
and she folded her hands now easily on her middle, assuming a studied relaxation.

“Which Personage are you working for? Not my aunt. She’d not be so coy about it. And if you aren’t working for my aunt, why should I let you look at anything?”

“You assume lot.”

She pursed her mouth into a smile. “Gods-rotted right I do. Who
are
you working for, and is it anyone I should trust?”

“Absolute.” Give him credit, cornered, presented with the case, he shifted directions. Which meant he had some authority from someone.

“Name?”

“Paehisna-ma-to.”

Didn’t tell her a thing. And if the mahe had good research on aunt Py’s clan, he might know she had a slight sore spot about kif in general. So tell her the kif were interested.

But if the mahendo’sat were interested, and kif got wind of it, they would be sniffing around the situation. It was their nature. Like breathing.

“So who is Paehisna-ma-to?”

“Wise woman.”

“I’m glad. Tell her Hilfy Chanur keeps her contracts. Tell her if there’s anything untoward about this contract, her representative should tell me before I sign the thing.”

“You not sign yet?”

“Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t.”

“Don’t do!”

“Maybe will, maybe won’t. Right now I’m busy. No more time. Unless there’s something else I should hear.”

“My ship
Ha’domaren.
You want talk, you send. Don’t call on station com.”

“I gathered that.” She stood up and walked the mahe to the door and down the corridor toward the hatch, her crew being otherwise occupied—listening, and armed with a stranger on board, but occupied.

“You give my regards to your wise woman.”

“Will,” the mahe said, and bowed, and strolled off down the corridor to their airlock.

She stood there until she heard the lock cycle. “Is he gone?” she asked the empty air.
“Down the ramp,”
Tiar said via com from the bridge.
“Watching him all the way.
Sorry
about that, captain. I thought you ‘d better have a face to face.
“ “No question,” she said, and stared at nothing in particular, thinking how the most secret plans couldn’t remain a secret once anybody talked to anybody at all. Suspect anyone. The aide, the kifish guards, most especially them. Stsho refused, since the war, to take their ships out of stsho space, or. to trade anywhere with the younger species, except only at Meetpoint. But there was a stsho ambassadorial presence on Urtur. There was a stsho presence even at Mkks nowadays. There would be one at Anuurn, if the
han
would permit it, but the
han
let no one in, secretive and protective of the homeworld, with recent reason.