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Authors: C. J. Cherryh
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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 mii,” 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
“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 mii,” 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
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