Chanur's Homecoming

Hilfy switched back in on the intercom channel Khym was on, leaned back in her chair and tried not to think at all. She worked her hand and extended claws and tried to keep her ears up and her expression matter-of-fact as Tirun’s down the row, while Khym nef Mahn sat there beside her with a new-won ring in his ear-a man, with a spacer’s ring; with his scarred face grim and glowering at the trouble belowdecks, and the certainty Pyanfar was bound for the kif.

What kept him in that chair and what kept the pressure-seal on that temper of his gods alone knew; Hilfy felt his presence at her right like boding storm, like something ready to erupt, but which never did.

“Fry Ehrran,” Khym muttered to himself. “Gods-be Immune. I want a few of them.”

Khym nef Mahn was not a swearing man. Hilfy turned a second misgiving look his way and saw the set of his face and his ears, which was a male on the edge. With not an enemy in reach.

“Health,” Pyanfar murmured-other salutations had loaded connotations in main-kifish. As more of the captains walked in on The Pride’s lower deck and joined the conference. With one of Sikkukkut’s kif to witness. Her own kif took up a wary stance with rifle in hands. Prudent; and ignorant and naive in his own kifish way, gods knew. “It’s all right,” she said in pidgin, and in hani: “Kerin, hau mauru.” Clanswomen, there’s no worry. “Haaru sasfynurhy aur?” Everyone understand the pidgin? She gave a meaningful glance up and about the edges of the ceiling. We’re being monitored. So you know. “This is Tully. And na Jik. Nomesteturjai. And his first officer Kesurinan.” No need for more than that. Since Gaohn, Aja Jin was famous among hani. Ears were up in respect, among these armed and vari-shaded hani, who came from every continent of Anuurn, mostly graynoses like Kaurufy Harun with younger escorts; Munur Faha being the exception, a red-gold smallish young woman with a graynosed and scarred old cargo officer beside her: that was Sura Faha, and a good and a steady old hand she was.

She knew most of them from docksides from one side of the Compact to the other, and the sight of familiar faces ought to have been a comfort. It was a mortal jolt, that sense of disconnection, how far she had come from civilization; it was like looking at it all through a window.

And Dur Tahar stood there to complicate it all, in a company that had individually and severally sworn to have her piratical hide, and carrying a heavier complement of weaponry than the rest of the captains, whose sidearms were all legal in the Compact.

“This is Skkukuk,” she had to say atop everything else, smooth and never stopping, with a gesture to her left hand. “He’s mine. Sha mhify-shau.”

My vassal-man. She bent the language to make a word that had never existed: and called a kif a man, into the bargain, because so far as she could figure, he was not female. Mhify was a word for a woman who came to link herself to a more powerful clan. Women could do that. Men just fought their way in, with their lives at risk and in the greatest likelihood of being driven off by the clanswomen before they ever got as far as challenging their lord for his place. Male vassal, indeed. Ears flicked and flattened all around the room; and frowns grew darker.

“He was a present,” she said. “The hakkikt, praise to him-” Another glance aloft: we’re not alone, friends- “I couldn’t explain anything when I sent that message out; but we’ve got a delicate situation in progress here. I’ll be honest with you: the han has signed some kind of treaty with the stsho; Rhif Ehrran may have been carrying it-she came through here. She may not have stopped.”

“Didn’t,” said Kauryfy, and drew a large breath, setting her hands in her belt. “But she blasted out a warning.” Kauryfy’s ears went all but flat, lifted, flattened again nervously. “Said there were kif coming; and us up to our ears in aliens. Godsrotted late news. We got caught here-I gather this hakkikt isn’t friendly with the other one.”

“You might say.” She flicked her own ears. Careful, Kauryfy. You’re no fool; don’t begin now. Watch the mouth. “Glad to see us, were you?”

“Crazy around here. Gods-be aliens. Mahendo’sat feuding with the kif. Stsho Phasing all over the place. Never know who you’re dealing with from one hour to the next. Gods know who’s maintaining station’s lifesupport. This Akkhtimakt-not a friend of yours?”

“No.”

“Well, none of ours either. A rotted mess, that’s what we’ve had here. Got stuck here with Urtur shut down, just kept running up dock charges and mortgaging our hides with the gods-be stsho, and everything going crazy-Five months, five months we’ve been stuck in this godsforedoomed lunatic port, Chanur! Then we get the kif. Came in all peaceful, and us knowing, by the gods, knowing what he’d done over by Urtur, and these godsrotted fool stsho putting it out over the com that they’d asked him in, that it was all treaty-”