Chanur's Venture by C. J. Cherryh Read Free Book Online Page A

into better position, several dark shadows at
    the peripheries of her vision, two of them remaining in front of her and behind
    the kif.
    "You carry weapons," that foremost kif observed, not in the pidgin even the
    cleverest of mahe used. This kif had fluency in the hani tongue, spoke with
    nuances -- dishonorable conceaied weapons, the word meant. "You have
    difficulties of all kinds. We know, Pyanfar Chanur. We know what you are
    transporting. We know from whom it comes. We understand your delicate domestic
    situation, and we know you now possess something that interests us. We make you
    an offer. I am very rich. I might buy you -- absolution from your past
    misjudgments. Will you risk your ship? For I tell you that ship will be at risk
    -- for the sake of a mahendo'sat who is lost in any case."
    She heard the carrier growling its way out of the arena, out of immediate
    danger. Chur had stayed at her side. So had the six mahendo'sat station guards.
    "What's your name, kif?"
    "Sikkukkut-an'nikktukktin. Sikkukkut to curious hani. You see I've studied you."
     
    "I'll bet you have."
    "The public dock is no place to conduct delicate business. And there are
    specific offers I would make you."
    "Of course."
    "Profitable offers. I would invite you to my ship. Would you accept?"
    "Hardly."
    "Then I should come to yours." The kif Sikkukkut spread his arms within the
    cloak, a billowing of black-gray that showed a gleam of gold. "Unarmed, of
    course."
    "Sorry. No invitation."
    The kif lowered his arms. Red-rimmed eyes stared at her with liquid thought.
    "You are discourteous."
    "Selective."
    The long gray snout acquired a v-form of wrinkles above the nostril slits, a
    chain slowly building, as at some faint, unpleasant scent. "Afraid of
    witnesses?"
    "No. Just selective."
    "Most unwise, Pyanfar Chanur. You are losing what could save you . . . here and
    at home. A hani ship here has already witnessed -- compromising things. Do I
    hazard a guess what will become of Kohan Chanur -- of all that Chanur --
    precariously -- is, if anything should befall The Pride? Kohan Chanur will
    perish. The name will have never been; the estates will be partitioned, the
    ships recalled to those who will then take possession of Chanur goods. Oh, you
    have been imprudent, ker Pyanfar. Everyone knows that. This latest affair will
    crush you. And whom have you to thank, but the mahendo'sat, but maneuverings and
    machinations in which hani are not counted important enough to consult?"
    The transport's whining was in the distance now. She heard another sound, the
    hollow escaping-steam noise of the cargo hatch opening up, the whine of a
    conveyer moving to position and meshing; old sounds, familiar sounds: she knew
    every tick and clank for what they were. "What maneuverings among kif?" she
    asked the gray thief. "What machinations -- that would interest me, I wonder."
    "More than bears discussion here, ker Pyanfar. But things in which a hani in
    such danger as you are would be interested. In which you may -- greatly -- be
    interested, when the news of Meetpoint gets to the han. As it surely will.
    Remember me. Among kif -- I am one who might be disposed toward you, not
    against. Sikkukkut of Harukk, at your service."
    "You set us up, you bastard."
    The long snout twitched and acquired new wrinkles in its papery gray hide.
    Perhaps kif smiled. This one drew a hand from beneath its robe and she stepped
    back a pace, the hand on the gun in her pocket angling the gun up all at once to
    fire.
    It offered her a bit of gold in its gray, knobbed claws. She stared at it with
    her finger tight on the trigger.
    "A message," it said, "For your -- cargo. Give it to him."
    "Probably has plague."
    "I assure you not. I handle it. See?"
    "Something hani-specific, I'm sure."
    "It would be a mistake not to know what it is. Trust me, ker Pyanfar."
    It was dangerous to thwart a kif in any whim. She saw this one's pique, the
    elegant turn of wrist that held the object -- it was a