“Everybody thought you were still asleep,” she said, by way of apology.
“I got up to work,” he said, and swallowed a hasty mouthful, looking at the silver-trimmed box. “It’s beautiful. What kind of writing is it?”
“Mahend. Formal. Probably lost in some dice game. Maybe in a mahen bar. Then down to the Rows. Somebody needed cash. Anything you want, you can find it in that market, that’s what they claim anyway. Anything you ever lose—ends up here eventually.”
“I got to see it,” the kid said.
“Got to see it, huh?”
Hallan’s ears dropped by half. “That’s where I got in trouble.”
“Swung on somebody, what I hear.”
“I didn’t intend to!”
“Yeah. The police probably hear that one a lot here.”
“I didn’t! Ker Tiar, … I wasn’t drunk. They said I was drunk, but I wasn’t. Somebody just started swinging, I don’t even know who.”
She found herself disposed to believe the boy—at least that he believed what he was saying; many the hani novice that had lost count of the cups. She could recall such a time. Or two.
“I want to work,” the boy said. “I do. I have my license. I used to fix the farm equipment… .”
“That’s not exactly qualification.”
“… before I shipped on the Sun. I mean I learned mechanics. I can run the loaders, I can do anything with cargo… .”
“Not that we can’t use a hand, but part of the deal with the stsho was getting you off and out of here. I don’t think the captain wants you on the docks attracting attention.”
The kid’s countenance fell, his shoulders slumped. More than disappointment. It was a need of something, there was no time, and Tiar told herself she was a fool for asking.
“Upset you. Didn’t mean to. How?”
The kid shook his head. Interest in breakfast and the packages seemed gone. He didn’t seem articulate at the moment, so rather than embarrass him she answered her question with a question.
“You want out there for some reason? Kid, it’s romantic, but it’s hardly worth your neck. There’ll be other places.”
He gave her a hurt look. So it touched on the nerve but didn’t quite press it.
“Somebody you want to meet out there?”
Shake of his head, no.
“Something you want to find out there?”
Another shake of his head. Further and further from the sore point.
“You want to talk to me, kid?”
Third shake of his head, and a stare at the wall.
She never was able to walk away from a problem. She stood there, set hands on hips and looked at him a long, long time, figuring he’d collect himself.
“I want to work,” he said finally, without looking at her. “I’ll do anything.”
“I hate to bring this up,” she said, with the feeling she still hadn’t heard what she was after, and might not, now. They had circled somewhere away from the substance. “But you know we’re sort of ancestral enemies.”
“Not with Meras!”
“But with Sahern.”
“I know,” the kid said faintly.
“Hey, it’s not as if it’s active. A couple hundred years since. We’ve got no present grudge. We’ll get you back to your ship. We can be real civil to them, just let you off and wish them well. If we can’t do that, we’ll drop you at some station where they’re due.”
“How could I live? And I don’t want to go back to them!”
It was a question, how they were going to install a hani male on anybody’s quiet space station. Never mind he was a quiet, mannerly kid, the reputation of hani males for violence was well-established and the fear was there. And if anything did happen …
“Well, we’ll think of something. Don’t worry about it.”
He did worry. He looked at her as if he faced an execution. Then looked down and shoved his breakfast around the plate.
They’d locked the door on him. They hadn’t been certain of his disposition to stay put, or to take orders. They hadn’t been certain his sojourn in the station brig hadn’t been justified and they still didn’t know that.
But she had some judgment of the situation. And the captain might have her hide, but …
“What’s your skill entail, son? Your license says tech. You do anything else?”
“Cargo. Maintenance. Galley. —I want to stay with Chanur.”
Stay with Chanur. An unrelated male. Nobody’s husband. —Same mess he’d been in on the Sahern ship, to tell the embarrassing truth, and she wasn’t going to ask. Young kid like that, too anxious and too gullible, who knew what his skills had entailed?
“I can prove I know what I’m doing,” he said.
“I haven’t said you didn’t know what you were doing. I’m sure you do.”
“Then let me work!”
Plain as plain, his hope to impress hell out of them, to prove himself in some dazzling display and have the whole crew beg him to stay. And who wouldn’t rather a Chanur ship than Sahern? Perfectly reasonable choice. Perfectly engaging kid. She’d had two sons—had cursed bad luck, that way. They were probably dead. She hadn’t stayed planetside long enough to make it worse than it was. Had had them, one and the other, but the disappointment was there from the time the tests had shown they were male. Lot of women wouldn’t have carried them. She didn’t know why she had, tell the truth, but she was old-fashioned, and she had problems about that. Had regretted it for years. And here came this kid, about the age of her younger boy, in space, trying to overcome what Pyanfar Chanur and a lot of her own generation called stupid prejudice, and what a whole string of other generations from time out of mind called nature.
She wasn’t sure where she stood on that. If Pyanfar was right her boys had gone out in the outback and died for nothing.
If Pyanfar was right—it still made problems. Because the kid was unattached, he had a face you wouldn’t forget, particularly when he looked at you like that and stirred feelings that weren’t maternal at all. She tried to think about her own boys, telling herself it was Pyanfar’s new age and she was not supposed to think thoughts like that about lost, scared kids some clan had let stray out of a cloistered life to deal with people who hadn’t had to exercise their moral restraint in a long, long time.
“Tell you what,” she said, because she was ashamed of herself, “we got some mop-up to do, and if that fits your notion of work …”
“Anything that needs doing.”
“You finish that breakfast. Door’s unlocked, I’m right down the corridor, in the operations center. We’re calc’ing trim and we’re going to be taking on a fuel load. Sound familiar?”
“I can learn.” The animation that had left his face was back, his eyes were bright, his whole being was full of anxious energy. He looked strung tight, probably so scared he hadn’t been eating, scared now, too, of the word no.
“Eat your breakfast. Take a right and a left as you leave the room. You’ll know it when you see it.”
“Back again,” the kifish guards observed.
Hilfy had no comment for them, except, “I’m here to see gtst excellency.”
“Of course, of course, fine hani captain. This way, hani captain. We would never give offense to the great—”
“Shut up,” she said. And regretted losing her temper that far. But she had a bad feeling all the way to the audience hall.
“Tlsti nai,” the secretary said, with a lifting of augmented, plumed eyebrows. It might not be the same secretary. The pastel body paint looked subtly different. But it was hard to tell. Gtst gathered the contract and the requisite gift into gtst long fingers and performed three increasingly deep bows.
“Tlistai na,” Hilfy said, bowing once. “I send it by your undoubtedly capable hands. There is no need to disturb the excellency.”
“So gracious. Bide a small moment, most honorable.”
She bided. She felt her stomach upset—felt an insane and
thoroughly impractical urge to charge after the secretary and retrieve the contract before gtst passed the curtains.
But the deed was done. She thought after a moment that she might successfully escape back to the ship, but in that moment the secretary returned through the curtain to wave at her and to beckon her to come ahead. No’shto-shti-stlen wanted to see her, perhaps to hand the object into her keeping on the spot, for all she knew; and she was not eager to have the responsibility crossing the docks. An order to move the bank to action, on the other hand …
She had far rather the million on credit in her account, because there were cargo cans irrevocably destined for the Legacy’s empty hold; while the Hoas cans, already on their carriers, were scheduled for Notaiji, a very happy, very grateful Notaiji, who could not quite believe the good fortune that had landed in their laps, from ‘the good, the great hani captain.’
So they had stepped over the brink. Figuratively speaking. As she walked into the audience hall.
“We are exceedingly pleased,” said No’shto-shti-stlen as she seated herself.
“We have concurred with your excellency. We are pleased at our agreement on the contract and look forward to continued association with your illustrious self.”
“Your response is gracious. The elegance of your utterances and your circumspect behavior is a credit to your species.”
Then why are you back to using kifish guards? occurred to her, but stsho had rather elegance than truth.
“I am honored by your confidence,” she murmured instead; and bowed; No’shto-shti-stlen bowed, everybody bowed again, and No’shto-shti-stlen inquired whether she had time to take tea.
Two teas was a monumental sign of favor.
“Of course,” she said, with lading piled all about the Legacy’s cargo bay, with transports in scarce supply, thanks to the Hoas load, with a mahendo’sat scoundrel and probable agent of some power swearing to her that the contract was a supremely bad deal, and offering, of course, his services.
A tea in full formality, in the audience hall, in the bowl chairs, with stsho servants this time, and No’shto-shti-stlen reciting poetry:
White on white.
The distinctions thereof are infinite.
Upon white snow the eyes dream in pink and gold and blue.
Nothing is.
Everything might be.
Or something of the sort—in classical mode. Hilfy sipped tea and pricked up her ears and laid them flat in deference when it was done.
“Extraordinary view of a delicate perception,” she said. “How extraordinary to be afforded such an honor. Are you the poet, excellency?”
No’shto-shti-stlen positively glowed … for a stsho. Painted lids fluttered over moonstone eyes and long fingers made wave patterns. “I have that small distinction.”
“I am touched to the heart by such an honor. Would it be indelicate to ask your excellency for a copy?”
“Not in the least!” Fingers ripped at the aide, who fluttered off in a cloud of gossamer drape and nodding plumes. “You inspire me to thought. And …” No’shto-shti-stlen produced the gift box from among gtst gossamer robes, and delicately lifted the lid, on a little item she had brought from Anuurn—from Haorai, a carved alabaster box, and within it a single carved ua stone ball. And within that—another ball and another and another.
No’shto-shti-stlen opened it; and gtst crest flattened and lifted.
“An oji of sorts. The ball and box have passed hand to hand for a hundred sixty-three years since it left the artist, of Tausa, in Haor, in Sfaura’s eastern sept, on Anuurn. There’s a small card that traces its provenance, if your excellency finds it of interest.”
“Extraordinary!”
“Each is unique. One bestows the stone on ceremonial occasions. This stone came into the hands of Chanur and thus into mine as clan head—a Sfaura clan object, as the design indicates. Luran Sfaura had it made for her fifteenth birthday celebration; and it passed at her decease to her daughter, and so down to the end of that line in Haor; thus to Sfaura’s western sept, part of the unsecured gifts—the explanation is on the card—which has gone back and forth between Sfaura and its tributaries at weddings, oh, a hundred years before it came to me, as a birthday gift from my prospective husband.” It was white and it had a history, which she had written up in florid and dramatic detail. It had last been her late husband’s, and such historical trinkets impressed the stsho.
Clearly No’shto-shti-stlen was pleased. The creature bowed numerous times where gtst sat. Hilfy felt constrained to bow.
And there was, necessarily, yet another round of tea, after which she bade farewell for the second time, and walked out with the kifish guards and out into the foyer and took the lift down to the docks.
Feeling rather pleased with herself, truth be known. She had scored with that gift. She knew the stsho, in a way most hani did not. The governor had given her something monetarily valuable and ceremonially valuable in the cases of tea. But she had given gtst something ceremonially and personally and historically valuable—so there, she thought, walking out onto the dockside. So there. Remember me, stsho, remember me and my crew.
She was in such a good mood she decided against taking the public transport. It wasn’t that far, down to the Legacy’s berth. She was still in a good mood when she threaded her way through the maze of loaders and cargo transports to reach the Legacy’s personnel access. She walked on up the rampway into the yellow, uncertain tube, with its coating of frost, and she walked into the Legacy’s lower decks and operations area in an expansive, happy mood, after what she had had to do. She had at least an assurance it was going to work.
Then she put her head into ops and saw Hallan Meras.
“What in hell is he doing here?”
“Captain,” Meras said, standing up at once.
“Not bad, actually,” Tiar said; and Chihin, managing the number two console, said, “Begging the captain’s pardon.”
“Get him back to his quarters!”
“Aye,” Tiar said. “But he is a licensed spacer. And we are short-handed.”
She was not in a mood for reason. Disasters were still possible. “He’s not been out on the docks, has he?”
“No, captain,” Hallan said at once, and got up from the chair he was occupying, very respectful.
Which made her the villain in the case.
“Gods rot it, he’s not crew! He goes back to quarters!”
“Aye,” Tiar said. “But he’s a help, captain.”
“Not right now!” she said. Gods, they had outside messengers likely coming aboard. They didn’t need Hallan Meras underfoot. Even with that soulful look in his eyes.
“Captain,” he said.
“Don’t ‘captain’ me! You’re a passenger on this ship. Chihin, take him back where he belongs.”
“I—” he was still saying.
“Kid’s done all right,” Tiar muttered, as Chihin took him by the arm and drew him out the door. “He’s not had a good day, cap’n, go easy.”
“He’s not had a good day. We’re going with the number 1 load. Skip the alternates. Berths full of kif. Snooping police. I want the gods-rotted deck clear out there, I want the fueling done—we’ve got three loads coming in tonight and we’re going to be working straight through the watch!” She was on nervous overload, on her own way to the door. “I’m going to run the nav-calc, I want it checked and triple checked—we’re hurrying, if you haven’t noticed. We haven’t got time for shopping tours and mahendo’sat with a deal and stray boys who’ll be reporting our ship cap to Sahern, next thing we know, keep him the hell out of stations!”
“He doesn’t want to go back to Sahern.”
She swung around, hand on the door frame, finding herself in the middle of somebody’s completely foreign dealings, that possibly went against her own. “He says. Don’t cut him any deals, cousin! You don’t know what he did, you don’t even know he isn’t a total mistake—’Take this poor lost boy,’ the stsho sa
y. In the same gods-rotted conversation with their deal—and I don’t know what connection if any the two have, I don’t know why they didn’t give this deal to Sahern except their boy was out breaking up the station market, I don’t know what connection it has to anything, and maybe it doesn’t, but gods rot it! let’s not complicate matters. We get to Urtur, he goes off the ship, he waits for whoever he likes, his ship, somebody else’s ship, a passing knnn trader, I don’t care, but we don’t need to activate the feud with Sahern, and we will if we keep him—”
“How’s he going to live?”
She had not gotten that far. Not at all.
Tiar asked: “What’s he going to do? Urtur isn’t going to let any male hani aboard. Do we give him to the police to hold till his ship gets there? That’s no better than he had.”
She hadn’t exactly put that together either, in her concentration on the contract. “They can’t arrest him without cause.”
“They’ll find one.”
“Hell. —There’ll be a hani ship there. There always is… . Don’t make him any promises, don’t let him near our boards, don’t complicate our lives, d’ you hear me? He’s going off this ship!”
“Aye,” Tiar said, which didn’t mean a thing, except Tiar heard her.
“I have to lock the door,” Tarras said, looking apologetic, and that was better than had been this morning, at least. Hallan told himself so, and told himself that politeness was obligatory.
Even when he was shaking mad. He kept his ears up and murmured a thank you.
“Ship’s just real busy,” Tarras said. A smallish hani with a wavy mane that said eastern blood, from the viewpoint of someone from west of the Aon Mountains. Tarras had one ear notched, and a lot of rings that meant a lot of major voyages … you only got those when you’d risked your neck on a trip. Which meant Tarras for all her slight size was a person to respect. “Captain’s a little quick-fused just now. We’ll sort it out with her.”
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