Free Chanur's Venture by C. J. Cherryh

station's going to sue--"
    "They say that?"
    "Somewhere in the process. Py -- I don't put my nose into Chanur business. But I
    know accounts. I was good at it. I know what you've put into this trip, I know
    you've borrowed at Kura for that repair--"
    "Don't worry about it." She patted his arm, turned for the door in self-defense,
    and stopped there, her hand on the switch. She faced about again with a courtesy
    in her mouth to soften it; and met a sullen, angry look.
    "My opinion's not worth much," he said. "I know."
    "We'll talk later. Khym, I've got work to do."
    "Sure."
    "Look." She walked back and jabbed a claw at his chest. "I'll tell you
    something, na Khym. You're right. We're in a mess and we're short-handed, and
    you gods-rotted took this trip, on which you've gotten precious few
    calluses...."
    The eyes darkened. "It was your idea."
    "No. It was yours. You gods-rotted well chose new things, husband: this isn't
    Mahn, you're on a working ship, and you can rotted sure make up your mind you're
    not lying about on cushions with a dozen wives to see to the nastinesses. That's
    not true anymore. It's a new world. You can't have it half this and half that --
    you don't want the prejudice, but you gods-rotted well want to lie about and be
    waited on. Well, I haven't got time. No one's got time. This is a world that
    moves, and the sun doesn't come round every morning to warm your hide. Work
    might do it."
    "Have I complained?" The ears sank. The mouth was tight in disaste. "I'm talking
    about policy."
    "When you know the outside you talk about policy. You walk onto this ship after
    what happened in that bar and you walk into your quarters and shut the door,
    huh? Fine. That's real fine. This crew saved your hide, gods rot it, not just
    because you're male. But you sit in this cabin, you've sat in this cabin and
    done nothing-"
    "I'm comfortable enough."
    "Sure you are. You preen and eat and sleep. And you're not comfortable. You're
    eating your gut out."
    "What do you want? For me to work docks?"
    "Yes. Like any of the rest of this crew. You're not lord Mahn any more, Khym."
    It was dangerous to have said. So was the rest of it. She saw the
    fracture-lines, the pain. She had never been so cruel. And to her distress the
    ears simply sank, defeated. No anger. No violence. "Gods and thunders, Khym.
    What am I supposed to do with you?"
    "Maybe take me home."
    "No. That's not an option. You wanted this."
    "No. You wanted to take on the han. Myself -- I just wanted to see the outside
    once. That's all."
    "In a mahen hell it was."
    "Maybe it is now."
    "Are they right, then?"
    "I don't know. It's not natural. It's not--"
    "You believe that garbage? You think the gods made you crazy?"
    He rubbed the broad flat of his nose, turned his shoulder to her, looked back
    with a rueful stare.
    "You believe it, Khym?"
    "It's costing you too much. Gods, Py -- you're gambling Chanur, you're risking
    your brother to keep me alive, and that's wrong, Py. That's completely wrong.
    You can't stave off times. I had my years; the young whelp beat me."
    "So it was an off day."
    "I couldn't come back at him. I didn't have it, Py. It's time. It's age. He's
    got Mahn. It's the way things work. Do you think you can change that?"
    "You didn't see the sense in another fight. In wasting an estate in back and
    forth wrangling. Your brain always outvoted your glands."
    "Maybe that's why I lost. Maybe that's why I'm here. Still running."
    "Maybe because you've always known it's nonsense and a waste. What happened to
    those talks we used to have? What happened to the husband who used to look at
    the stars and ask me where I went, what I'd seen, what outside the world was
    like?"
    "Outside the world's the same as in. For me. I can't get outside the world. They
    won't let me."
    "Who?"
    "You know who. You should have seen their faces, Py."
    "Who? The stsho?"
    "Ayhar."
    "Those godforsaken drunks?"
    "Last thing they expected -- me in that bar. That's what the stsho