More kif ran from the scene, a scatter of black-robed streaks outward bound at speed.
"Khym!" Pyanfar yelled and flung herself in the path of his wild-eyed rush after the kif. Behind him Haral and Geran added themselves; Chur and Tirun followed. Hilfy jumped last, atop the heap on Khym's shoulders as it all came down in front of her.
They stopped him. They held him down until the struggles ceased.
There was mahen laughter, quickly hushed. In prudence, mahe drew back to perimeters, while the noise of looting went on in the market, the crash of glass, the splintering of plastics, the polyglot wails of outrage and avarice.
"Gods rot you!" Pyanfar yelled, with a claws-out swipe at anything too near. "Get!"
Mahendo'sat gave her room. A small knot of hani spacers stood facing her. Ears were back.
The Pride's crew gained their feet, Haral foremost, ears laid back and grinning. Khym levered himself to his feet with Tirun holding fast to his right arm and Hilfy locked to the other side. The last sounds of combat died inside the bar. A last glass broke.
"Pyanfar Chanur," a broadnosed hani said in stark, disapproving tones.
"Tell it to your captain," said Pyanfar. "Tell it proper. He's my husband. You hear? Na Khym nef Mahn. Hear me?"
Ears flicked. Eyes showed whites. The news had not gotten this far out, what lunacy she had done. Now it did. "Sure," a younger hani said, backing up. "Sure, captain."
And Chur, at her back: "Captain — we'd better get out of here."
She heard the sirens. She looked about past the melting crowd, who sought other bars.
Trampled bodies stirred within the doorway.
There were cars coming up the dock, with the white strobe flash of Security.
Chapter Two
The door hissed back and revealed two guards, which at Meetpoint might have been any oxy-breathing kind but stsho, considering the stsho's congenital distrust of violence. They hired all their security. Fortunately for the peace at present, these were both mahendo'sat.
Pyanfar stopped in her pacing of the narrow room — waiting area, they had called it: stsho euphemism. Other species had other names for such small rooms with doorlocks facing outward.
"Where's my crew?" she spat at the mahendo'sat forthwith, ears flattened despite herself. "Gods rot it, where are they?"
"Director wants," one said, standing aside from the door. "You come now, hani captain."
She pulled in her claws and came, since something finally seemed in movement, and since neither of the two mahendo'sat were armed with more than nature gave them and showed no desire for confrontation. They would not talk, not this pair; not threaten or swerve from duty: mahendo'sat at punctilious, honest best.
"Here," was their only other word, at a lift door some distance through the maze.
More traveling. The lift went a long zigzag distance through Meetpoint's bowels, and let them out again in white, pastel-decorated halls. Lights obtruded here and there in seeming random — stsho, this section, not making apology to other species' tastes, all pastels and opal colors, vast spaces, odd-angled panels riddled with random holes and alcoves. The tall black-furred, black-kilted mahen guards and the splash of her own scarlet trousers and red-gold hide were equally alien here.
A last door, a last hallway of twisting plasti-form shapes. She flicked her ears so that the rings chimed, flexed her claws with one deep breath as if she contemplated a leap from some height, and let herself be shown into a pearl-toned hall, a splendor of bizarre walls and white-upholstered depressions in the level, gleaming floor. One gossamer-clad stsho stood to meet them, recorder in hand. Another sat serenely important in the central bowl. Gtst — (stsho had three sexes at one time, and neither he, she, nor it was really adequate) gtst was ornamented in subtlest colors ranging into hues invisible to hani eyes, but detectible at the verges, whites with low violet shimmerings on the folds. Gtst tattooings were equally illusory on gtst naturally pearly skin, and shaded off into green and violets. Pearl-toned plumes nodded from augmented brows, shading moonstone eyes. The small mouth was clamped in disapproving straightness and nostrils flared in busy alternation.
Pyanfar bowed before this elegance, once and shortly. The stsho waved a languid hand and the servant-translator, it must be, came and stood near, gist own robes floating free on invisible breezes— stsho-silk and expensive.
"Ndisthe," Pyanfar said, "sstissei asem sisth an zis-" with the right amount of respect, she reckoned. Feathery eyebrows fluttered. The assistant clutched gtst recorder and drew back in indecision.
"Shiss." The Director motioned with one elegant jeweled hand. The translator stopped in gtst retreat. "Shiss. Os histhe Chanur nos schensi noss' spitense sthshosi chisemsthi."
"Far from fluent," Pyanfar agreed.
The Director drew breath. Gtst plumes all nodded in profound agitation. "Sto shisis ho weisse gti nurussthe din?"
"Did you know-" The translator flung gtstself into belated action. "-the riot in the market took four hours to stop?"
"— ni shi canth-men horshti nin."
"— Forty-five individuals are treated in infirmary-"
Pyanfar kept her ears erect, her expression sympathetic.
"Ni hoi shisisi ma gnisthe."
"— and extensive pilferage has taken place."
"I do share," said Pyanfar, drawing down her mouth in yet more distress, "your outrage at this disregard for stsho authority. My crew likewise suffered from this kifish banditry."
That got rendered, with much fluttering of hands.
"Shossmeinn ti szosthenshi hos! Ti mahen-thesai cisfe llyesthe to mistheth hos!"
"— You and your mahendo'sat co-conspirators have wreaked havoc-"
"Spithi no hasse cifise sif nan hos!"
"— involved the kif-"
"Shossei onniste stshoni no misthi th'sa has lies nan shi math!"
"— A tc'a ship has undocked and fled during the riot. Doubtless the chi are disturbed-"
"Ha nos thei no lien llche knnni na slastheni hos!"
"— Who knows but what this may also agitate the knnn?"
"Nan nos misthei hoisthe ifsthen noni ellyes-theme to Nifenne hassthe shasth!"
"— You and your crew within three hours of docking have created havoc with every species of the Compact!"
Pyanfar set her hands at her belt and lowered her ears deliberately. "As well say all victims of crime are guilty of incitement! Is this a new philosophy?"
A long silence once that was translated. Then:
"— I am put in mind of papers lately recovered, hani captain. I am in mind of heavy fines and penalties. Who will recompense our market? Who will see to our damages?"
"It's true," Pyanfar said with a direct, baleful stare. "Who dares charge the kif — excepting hani. Excepting us, esteemed Director. Tell me, what would happen without hani traffic here? Without mahendo'sat? How would the kif behave at Meetpoint then? Not simple pilferage, I'll warrant!"
Plumes fluttered. Round eyes stared, dark centered. "-You make threats without teeth. The han does not bend at your breath. Less so the mahendo'sat."
"Neither will the han look with favor on a hani ship beset, on a hani captain detained — I omit mention of the locked door!"
"— Have you such confidence you will relate to the han how a Chanur captain suffered such embarrassment? I have heard otherwise. I have heard Chanur's affairs are less than stable with the han in these days."