She drew her own breaths with difficulty, trying to think, hearing words that sent small fine tendrils into quite different territory. Goldtooth, blast you - There was a setup, all the way….
And her ears sank, so that the translator edged back a pace, gtst eyes wide and showing the whites about the moonstone round of them. The director's plumes fluttered, hands moved nervously.
"I make you a deal," she said. "We get that cargo, we get the money for you."
"— You will sign affidavits of responsibility."
"Don't push it, stsho."
"— Your visa is canceled," the answer came back. "And the visas of your crew and this male hani, under whatever pretext you secured civilized permits for this unstable person. You will forfeit your permission to enter our docks and forfeit any Chanur ship's clearance to dock here until this debt is paid!"
"And this cargo?"
"Do you doubt us? I make you a gift of it. In appreciation for your own damages, of course."
Pyanfar bowed. Gtst waved a hand at gtst attendant.
"Sthes!"
It was not at all the courteous farewell.
More corridors. There was an affidavit to be signed, the terms of which set a cold misery at her stomach. She looked up from the counter and the stsho clerk backed all the way around the desk dropping papers as gtst went.
"That do it?" she asked with, she thought, remarkable calm.
The stsho babbled, refusing to come closer.
"— Gtst say got more," one of the guards translated. She had heard that much. She wrinkled her nose and the stsho dropped more papers, gathered them, gave them to the mahendo'sat to avoid bringing gtst self closer.
"Customs release, hani captain. All fine you sign this."
"Wait, hani captain. Must secure permission to leave."
She drew small even breaths, signed this, signed that, kept directing no more than baleful stares at the stsho official and gtst fluttering aides.
At last: "No more forms?"
"No, hani captain. All got."
"Crew," she demanded, for the third time and this time with a broad, broad smile.
"Ship, hani captain; they long time got release. Same got release Ayhar clan. We go you ship now."
"Huh," she said then, and took the open door, stalked out, with her mahen escort to key the lift for her.
No other word. None seemed apt. She stared at the uninteresting pearl-gray of the lift doors while the lift zigged and zagged its way through Meetpoint station.
She thought, during that interval. Thought very dark wordless thoughts that involved stsho hides and a certain mahe's neck, until the lift stopped and opened its doors on the cold air and noise of dockside.
She oriented herself with a quick glance at the nearest registry board, a black, green-lit square above the number 14 berth: Assustsi. She drew a cold, wide-nostriled breath of the dockside taint-oil and coolants, cargo and food-smells and all the mongrel effluvium of Meet-point, like and unlike every other station of the Compact.
Leftward was Vigilance's berth, number 18. Ehrran clan ship. Doubtless someone of the deputy's staff was nosedeep in reports, writing it all up for the han in the worst possible light. Gods knew what that white-skinned bastard had spilled to willing ears.
Or what Ayhar had had to say, to save its own skin. Gods-be-bound that Prosperity and Ayhar would never claim responsibility, financial or otherwise.
Chanur's enemies in council would pounce on it, first chance.
She started walking, constantly aware of the two dark shadows that stalked behind her, but ignoring them. Gantries towered and tilted in the curved perspectives of the station wheel. The dock unfurled down off the curtaining horizon as she walked, and she made out The Pride's berth, counting down from fourteen to six.
There should have been canisters outside The Pride's berth. She made out none, and thought further dark thoughts, still not looking back.
She passed berth 10, which had been Mahijiru. That berth was sealed completely, the gantry drawn back with its lines in store-position. Number ten board remained dark, not listing the name or registry of the outbound ship.
Malfunction. Indeed, malfunction.
Connivances, mahendo'sat with stsho-with stsho who ran before every wind that blew — and now, with Mahijiru on the run and Goldtooth unable to break the director's neck in person — was the prevailing wind kif-tainted?
It rankled, gods, it rankled, that stsho had dared confront her, stsho, that she could break with one swipe of her arm. And dared not. That was the crux of it. Stsho showed one face to the kif, one to the mahendo'sat-yet a third to hani: non-spacing, stsho law had regarded hani till a century ago, because (though hani preferred not to recall the fact) it was the mahendo'sat had given hani ships. An artificially accelerated culture. Hani were still banned from stsho space, on their very border. Trade was at Meetpoint only, or inside non-stsho space.
And hani in their good nature were patient with these fluttering dilettantes who bought and sold-everything. They backed Chanur to the wall. It was stsho doing. Everything. And the han being political, and the han being shortsighted, and most of all because she was a fool who expected otherwise, Chanur was in trouble at home. Of course the stsho knew it, sure as birds knew carrion-had gotten news even a hani ship like Prosperity had not; and threw it up in her face at first chance.
Gods, that the han fed stsho bigotry and wielded it for a weapon - A deputy of the han has shown concern - Or — a cold, fully sensible fear got past the outrage: the stsho had independent sources and played everyone for a fool — Goldtooth, the han, even the kif. They were capable of that.
Thoroughgoing xenophobes and slippery as oiled glass. Lately the stsho had a new xenophobia to keep them busy. They had humankind to worry about, with concerns and motives world-bound hani had no least idea of.
Goldtooth, rot you, how much does gtst know? How much the bribe? Nothing holds a stsho that's already paid.
Nothing persuades one against gtst own profit.
She walked past nine, eight, seven. She saw no activity outside The Pride. No sign of any loaders, the cargo ramp withdrawn, the canisters missing. The cans were inside, she hoped. She kept alert for any sight of kif on the docks and found none. The few passersby with business on the dock were mostly stsho, a few mahendo'sat, no hani. If they noticed the rare spectacle of a hani captain being trailed by two hulking mahendo'sat station guards, they gave no sign of it. This was Meetpoint, after all, where folk minded their business, knowing well how trouble tended to travel down line of sight. At the upward-curved limit of the horizon, only its bottom third visible, the great seal of the market zone was still shut, on gods knew what kind of damage. Money was being lost while that market was out of action.
Hourly the tab went up.
The Pride's ramp access gaped ahead, berth six. She ignored her escort, not even looking back at them as she took out the pocket com. "Haral. I'm coming in."
No answer.
"Haral." She walked up the rampway into the chill, yellow-lighted access, hearing no footsteps behind — walked warily, thinking of kif ambush even here. Ambush and stsho treacheries.