“You running with Goldtooth? Or Sikkukkut?”
“Me? Gods upside down, Chanur, you got an exaggerated idea how fast we are. I got out on your tail, been following your emissions trail like a highway clear from Meetpoint, trying like hell to catch you up, but I blew two more systems making that gods-be Urtur shift: sorry if you had any fondness for that kif. Me, I owed him. Plenty.”
“You godsforsaken lunatic! You could have blown us all.”
This during two hours of timelagged exchange. And after a longer than usual pause, in which she had thought Tahar might have quit talking: “Chanur, if you ever trusted that kif, you got something yet to learn. He made you too powerful, haven’t you got it yet? So did the mahendo’sat. Do I have to tell you?”
She had sat there then, after Dur Tahar had in fact quit talking, a decisive signoff. She sat there receiving the information from Gaohn that a half dozen little light-armed freighters had scattered down the Ajir route with a precious cargo of hani lives, the men and children of the Syrsyn clans.
Seeds on a stellar wind.
And she looked Khym’s way, her husband sitting backup duty at a quieter time on the bridge, taking his time at scan while exhausted senior crew took theirs at washup and rest. He did not notice that glance: his face, dyed with the light from the scope, was intent on business.
Whatever we lose here, she had thought then. For all we failed in, one thing we did.
There was one other man there on the bridge. And he did look her way. She thought she had seen every expression Tully’s alien face had to offer. But this, that all the life seemed to have left him, no more of fight, as if something in him had broken and died. Except that the eyes lighted a moment, glistened that way they did in profoundest sorrow; and looked—O gods—straight at her. While Hilfy, leaving the bridge, paused to put her hand on his shoulder. For comfort. For—
“Come on,” Hilfy had said. “Tully.”
You know, don’t you? Pyanfar had thought then. You know she’ll leave you now. Her own kind, Tully. She’s Chanur now. The Chanur. And you’re ours; even when you go back, your people won’t forget that, will they? Ever.
Gods help you, Tully. Whatever your name really is. Whatever you think you are and wherever you go now.
Like Tahar. They don’t ever quite forget.
I’m no fool, that look of his said back to her. Neither of us are. We’re friends.
And perhaps some other human, unfathomably complicated strangeness she could not puzzle out.
Tully came with them onto the docks this time. It was the second time for him onto Gaohn station, among staring and mistrustful hani, in a confrontation where he was a showpiece, an exhibit, a pawn. They gave him weapons. The same as themselves. So he would know another important thing in a way the sputtering translator could not relay.
Last of all she had caught hold of him in the airlock, taken him by the arm and made sure he was listening: “Tully. You can go with the human ships. You’re free, you understand that. You know free?”
“I know free,” he had said. And just looked at her with that gentle, too-wise expression of his.
* * *
Down the docks where a line of grim-looking Llun had set the perimeters of this meeting, the towering section seals in place on either end of this dock. There were stationer clanswomen, spacer clans. And a delegation from the han had come thundering up from the world, only just arrived. There were weapons enough. And Llun guards enough to discourage anything some hani lunatic might try.
The Llun marshals were no protection against the hunter-ships which had come in, snugged their deadly sleek noses up into Gaohn’s vulnerable docking facilities, and disgorged their own guards and their own very different personnel. Three mahendo’sat, a human ship, and a trio of kif: besides The Pride and Harun’s Industry: that was the final agreement. Aja Jin, Mahijiru, then one other mahen ship named Pasarimi, that had come in after Jik; Nekkekt, Chakkuf, Maktakkt, and finally something unpronounceable that Tully said for them three times and they still could not manage. The Human Ship, they called it by default.
The gathering on the dock was very quiet, and all too careful. Even Jik, who had on a dark cloak and kilt so unlike his usual gaud it took a second look to know it was Jik. Only a single collar, a solitary bracelet. An AP on his hip and a knife beside it. That was usual. Soje Kesurinan was there, brighter-dressed and no less armed. And with them some Personage walked with the captain of Pasarimi, complete with Voice, with all the appropriate badges. Official, yes. Indisputably.
There was Goldtooth, in the same dark formality. And his own escort. Not a flicker of communication passed between him and his partner.
Harun and Llun, a tired crew in spacer-blues, with Kauryfy herself in green and the Llun all in Immune black.
Another lot came in black: a mass of shadow drifted out from the perimeters, all alike in their robes, their hoods, their utter sameness to hani eyes, all bristling with weapons. One of them would be Skkukuk, but she could not find him by the clues she knew, the gait, the small gestures. There was a tall kif evidently in charge, one the others evidently gave place to.
Who is that? Is it my kif?
She feared it was altogether another. In one sense or another.
And the humans, from whatever-it-was. She had seen the like once before: different kinds of humans; different shapes; any species had that. But these varied wildly, some handsome in a Tully-way; some just strange. They all wore dark gray, all glittered with silver and plastics, body-fitting, skin-covering suits: even the hands covered. Not one was armed with anything that looked like a weapon. Com equipment. Plenty of that. They remained an enigma. And stopped, at about the distance everyone else had stopped, like points of a star.
Fear grew thick on this dockside: it was evident in the set of hani ears, in the way kif and mahendo’sat moved. In the way that Tully stayed right at their side, and no human advanced beyond the mahen perimeter.
There was another thing in the system. There was a very real knnn and a tc’a out there, singing to each other in harmonics of which the computer-translators which were supposed to handle such things made no sense but positional data. It was significant and ominous that the matrix of the harmonics had the position of Gaohn station in it.
The knnn were interested. That was more than enough to account for the fear.
But the representatives from downworld would hardly comprehend that much: they would, most likely, be getting their first look at a mahendo’sat, let alone kif or humans. And perhaps they had a resolution in their hands; or perhaps the debating was still going on, and Naur and Tahy Mahn par Chanur and others of that worldbound mindset were still arguing protocols and policies. Gods knew. If she let herself think about it she grew cold, killing mad.
They had set out a huge table, for godssake, a table and chairs there on dockside, the Llun’s council furniture moved out, that was what it was, hani council furniture, as if all these factions could be gotten together, as if in all the chaos and amid ships moving in with major damage and injured, some fool (from Anuurn surface most likely) had time to insist on tables and chairs which would hardly even accommodate the anatomy of some of the invaders. With knnn running around the neighborhood, and ships still at standoff out there in the zenith range, over fifty of them determined to force an issue and get passage through, others determined to move kif who would literally die of the shame, and kif who were as doggedly determined to resist.
Gods-cursed groundling fools. If that knnn out there comes calling, we won’t survive it. Do your resolutions understand that?
Humans have fired on them. Tully says.
Jik’s played politics with the tc’a. Gods! does he know what that is out there, is it something that’s come for him, for the mahendo’sat?
Tables. My gods, we’re lucky to get these species within shouting distance of each other! The kif never do anything without the scent of advantage, they’re here on a thread, on the least thread of a suspicion
that I’m their best way out.
And Jik and Goldtooth aren’t talking, they’re not looking at each other, the crews don’t mix—and who in their own hell is the Personage Pasarimi came in with?
Came in with the ships out of mahen space, not the Kura route. Came in, my gods, from Iji, that’s where he’s from. That’s someone from the homeworld.
That’s Authority. That, with the Voice and the badges and the robes. And he hasn’t introduced himself. The Voice hasn’t spoken a word. The han’s been insulted and they don’t even know it.
They’re frozen. No one’s not moving. It’s the kif they distrust.
“Skkukuk,” she guessed, taking the risk. And the foremost kif lifted his face the least degree, then lowered it, belligerence and manners in two breaths. Even amiability. For a kif.
“Mekt-hakkikt,” that one said. So she knew it was Skkukuk. But he took it for a summons, and a panic seized on her, instinctive aversion as that band of kif crossed the deck plating and got between her and the mahendo’sat and the humans. And swung their weapons into line as they went.
“Weapons down, for godssake.” The panic made her voice sharp. Skkukuk instantly hissed and clicked an order to his company. Weapons lowered. She grabbed the chance two-handed. “There’s not going to be any shooting. On any side.” One of the Llun came too close and she flattened her ears and rumpled her nose. “Get back, gods rot it.” But the mahendo’sat had come closer too. Suddenly there were a great many guns, her own crew with their own rifles slung conspicuously toward level. “Back off!” Haral snapped at a graynosed hani who moved in with foolhardy authority. And shoved with the gunbutt.
“Chanur!” that hani shouted.
And faced three kifish rifles.
“Hold it! Sgokkun!” Her heart all but stopped. She physically struck a kifish rifle up, out of line; and that kif got back and stood clicking and gnashing its inner teeth, its fellows likewise confused.
“Mekt-hakkiktu sotoghotk kefikkun nakt!” Skkukuk snapped; there was quick silence.
Quiet then. Even the down world hani had it figured how precarious it was.
“We don’t need any shooting,” Pyanfar said, her own heart lurching and thumping and her knees shaking. Her voice gathered itself somewhere at the bottom of her gut. Khym was by her, close by her; between her and the hani, thank gods for his wits and his instincts. She waved a hand to clear the kif back and get a view of where the humans were, where the various mahendo’sat had gotten to; and the humans had stayed where they were, a good distance back. Goldtooth and his armed group had followed up all too close and Jik maneuvered to the side, both of them between the kif and the Personage. “Use your gods-be heads! Skkukuk, just stand there. Just stand. Goldtooth. Ana. We’re all right here. You’re not going to be using those guns; let’s just all calm down, can we?”
“We come here talk. Same settle this mess.” Goldtooth’s dark brow was knit. He waved a hand indicating the perimeters. “We got knnn out there all upset. You got lousy mess, Pyanfar. Now I talk with you, you make big mistake.”
“Yeah. I found out about that. Nice of you to tell me what you were doing. Nice of you to tell Jik, too.”
“Jik got no choice. Got important hani, got human, all same mess at Kefk. Try to pull you out. You got go pull Tahar out, we don’t ’spect same. Bad surprise, Pyanfar. Bad surprise. All same come out. We got Sikkukkut, got Akkhtimakt, both. We got no more worry with kif, a? So you let these fine kif go back to ship. They want go home, we let go. Best deal they got.”
“Have no dealings with this person,” Skkukuk said, beside her. “Our ships are the defense of this system. We are faithful, mekt-hakkikt.”
No threats, no untoward move. The hair prickled down her back. It was not subservience in this kif. Just quiet. The intimation of power, but not quite enough power: the kif was here, talking. It was a move Sikkukkut excelled at, but this kif was smoother, and Goldtooth was giving good advice, O gods, if there were a power that could shove the kif back to their borders and keep them there.
That power was standing right in front of her. A mahen-human association.
If she did not know what she knew, from Tully, about what humans stood to gain. About human powers currently at each other’s throats, and spread over an area that would, could! (a single look at the starcharts told that) dwarf the Compact.
“I have to know,” she said, quietly, reasonably, to Goldtooth, “what happened to the stsho.” Like it was gentle concern. It was desperation. It was suddenly their bulwark on that side, their trading-point. Without them—
Does he see? Does he suspect why I ask? He’s no fool, was never a fool, O gods, this is one of half a dozen minds that rules the whole godshelpus Compact, he always was, he’s one of those the mahendo’sat just turn loose to do things on the borders, things that echo years across civilized space. He still is. Even with a Personage here.
“We do fine.” An unlooked-for voice. Jik had pulled out one of his abominable smokes and was in the process of lighting it, as if those dark eyes of his were not alert to every twitch from hani and kif. “Ana tell me he get there number one fine, three, four day fight. Chew up Sikkukkut good. Fine for us here. Our friend Sikkukkut—” He capped the lighter and drew in a second lungful of smoke. “He know then damn sure he got trouble. We owe damn lot to Banny Ayhar. Same you, friend. Same all hani come spread alarm.”
“The stsho—”
“Little damage. Lot confuse. Methane-folk take care real good.” A gesture with the back of the hand with the smokestick, vaguely outward. “Same knnn. Offi-cial, a? With tc’a interpreter. Same be tc’a been long time with.”
“The same from Mkks?”
“A. Same all way from Kshshti. Tt’om’m’mu been real co-operative.”
“Then it is your agent.”
A wave of the fingers, amid a hani and a kifish murmuring. “Same talk lot people, a? I tell you, Ana—shoshi na hamuru-ta ma shosu-shinai musai hasan shanar shismenanpri ghashanuru-ma shesheh men chephettri nanursai sopri sai.”
Dialect, thick and impenetrable. It had as well be coded. But Goldtooth’s face went guarded, his eyes darker, with the least small shift toward the left.
Toward Tully. Just that little twitch.
It was a guess what Jik had said. Or how much. A second shift of the eyes, that little degree that showed a white edge around the brown. Back to her this time. “Nao’sheshen?”
“Meshi-meshan.” Jik tilted his head back, a gesture behind him. “Meshi nai sohhephrasi Chanuru-sfik, a?”
It did not please Goldtooth, whatever it was. “Shemasu. We talk. We talk plenty. We tell Personage. You tell these kif go. Now. We deal with methane-folk. You fix stuff here.”
“Fix stuff!” She caught her breath and her wits in the same gulp after air, saw backs stiffen left and right and lowered her voice instantly. The han was back there. The Llun. There was a deafening silence.
“Kkkt,” Skkukuk said. “Kk-kkt. This mahe does not dictate here. There will be no escort. There will be no mahen ships in our territory. Do not be deceived.”
“We talk later,” Goldtooth said, and got one step.
Weapons came up. In one move. So did mahen weapons.
“Hold it!” Pyanfar yelled, and shoved a rifle barrel. A kif’s. It was momentarily safer.
“Chanur,” a hani voice began.
“Shut up,” Tirun said.
“Let us begin it here,” Skkukuk said. While Jik put himself between the kif and Goldtooth. Carefully.
“Let’s not.” Out of the peripheries of her vision she saw a human movement, a quiet melting away of certain of that group toward cover. “Tully! Stop them.”
Tully shouted out, instant and shockingly alien and fluent. With an uplifted hand. And that motion stopped.
“Cease this!” the Voice snapped, and said something else in mahensi, too fast and too accented to follow.
“Withdraw them,” a hani said. Downworlder, graynosed. Elderly and overweight. My g
ods, Rhynan Naur. That gray, that old. The voice rang with something of its old authority in the han. “We will not have our space violated. We will not countenance—”
Skkukuk’s rifle swung that way. “Don’t,” Pyanfar said sharply. “Gods rot it—shut up, Naur. Everybody. Don’t anybody move.”
“You Personage,” Jik said at her left, at Skkukuk’s. “You want stop, you got stop. Shemtisi hani manara-to hefar ma nefuraishe’ha me kif.”
“Trust that we will do that,” Skkukuk said, all hard and with jaw lifted ominously. “We do not intend to take any voyage in your company.”
“We got solution.” Jik winced and pinched out the smokestick that had burned down to his fingers. “Pasuru nasur. Kephri na shshemura, Ana-he. Meshi.”
“Meshi ne’asur?”
“Lot better. Same I say.” Jik looked her way. “We got spacer hani, same. Sikkukkut be damn fool doublecross you, a? Damn fool. All time I say you lot smart. Got whole lot sfik, whole lot stuff, Pyanfar Chanur—same like I say. Same Ana here find you, same Sikkukkut want you—damn good. Now you got say like Personage, you got make decide.”
“Decide, decide, f’godssakes, there’s no decide. We got you and the kif trying to blow each other to the hereafter all through our solar system—”
“You Personage. You got kif. You want deal for the han?”
“I don’t deal for the han! I’m telling you, me, Pyanfar, you talk to your Personage and tell him what Tully told us.”
“I do.” Jik looked at her in a strange and maddening way. “You not be han. You be Personage. Send hakkikt back to kif—how you guarantee, a? Stoheshe, Ana.” With a glance at Goldtooth. And back again. “The han decide this, decide that. You do what you want with han. But the han be for Anuurn. You be Personage for hani, Personage for kif, same Tt’om’m’mu want save you life. You got the Person-thing. Born with. You understand this?”
Chanur's Homecoming Page 41
