I’m thinking Shogun in Space for the first book of the Compact Space series. Consider the setting: a merchant from an unknown nation is the sole survivor of the wreck of his ship, his companions captured and killed by a hostile, warlike nation. He escapes captivity and seeks refuge with another commercial and political group. He doesn’t speak the language, he doesn’t know the local customs, he is alone, weak and without resources.
Yet he becomes the catalyst of war and change in the Compact Space, with various groups / species fighting over control of this new creature.
A new species, revered mahe. That’s the prize that has the kif disturbed. They see the hope of profit the like of which they’ve not known before; and I have the sole surviving member of his company, a spacefaring people, communicative, civilized, wise mahe, and fit to tilt the balance of the Compact.
And because this is C J Cherryh at the helm, we are offered some of the most fascinating aliens ever invented, starting with the creatures on the cover: a ‘pride’ of sentient, bipedal predators with golden manes and violent tempers. The all-female hani crew of the ship Pride of Chanur is led by Pyanfar Chanur, an experienced merchant-adventurer captain.
She was hani, this captain, splendidly maned and bearded in red-gold, which reached in silken curls to the middle of her bare, sleek-pelted chest, and she was dressed as befitted a hani of captain’s rank, blousing scarlet breeches tucked up at her waist with a broad gold belt, with silk cords of every shade of red and orange wrapping that about, each knotted cord with a pendant jewel on its dangling end. Gold finished the breeches at her knees. Gold filigree was her armlet. And a row of fine gold rings and a large pendant pearl decorated the tufted sweep of her left ear.
I loved the word play of a proud race that can be read as a pride of lions, the clannish social order where the females are the hunters/ explorers and the males are the stronger, lazier, volatile and mostly useless rulers of home territory. This dynamic of the hani tribal homeworld will play a central role in the second half of the novel, but before we get there we have to deal with one of the most emblematic themes in all of Cherryh’s space operas: that of the Other, of the stranger who challenges the way we look at the world and even the way we look at ourselves, as into a revealing mirror.
No prejudices. No squeamishness about other species.
I hope these remarks are general enough not be considered spoilers. Because this story throws you right in the middle of violent confrontation and political machinations from the very first page, and doesn’t take it’s foot from the warp speed accelerator until the last page. Cherryh doesn’t let the messaging dominate the plot and the action of a proper space opera novel, coming up with a complex lattice of homeworlds [there’s even a map], waystations, mining stations, commercial hubs, hyperspace gates, jump drives in commercial and military spaceships.
The Compact Space is a loose commercial organization between several species that share established fast travel routes between star systems. The convention facilitates trade, but there is no central government body to settle territorial or military disputes between members.
Probably the most fascinating aspect of the Compact is the cohabitation between oxygen breathing and methane-based species, with hubs like Meetpoint Station providing docking facilities for hani, mahe, kif and stsho ships in one half of the orbital and for knnn, tc’a and chi in the other half. These species are better described in the book, and since Cherryh has her own special style of revealing information gradually, as the lead character progresses through the plot, I think it is best to let the author guide you through this complex web.
In the first chapter, all we really need to know is that Pyanfar Chanur, the proud captain of the hani ship, is bowled over by a strange creature just as she is descending the ramp into Meetpoint for the first time.
The intruder was not attractive. It had a bedraggled gold mane and beard, and its chest fur, almost invisible, narrowed in a line down its heaving belly to vanish into what was, legitimately, clothing, a rag almost nonexistent in its tatters and obscured by the dirt which matched the rest of its hairless hide. Its smell was rank. But a straight carriage and a wild-eyed invitation to its enemies ... that deserved a second thought.
Most of science-fiction we read is human-centric: we always like to see ourselves as the pinnacle of Creation, as the master race that was chosen to expand into space and conquer the unknown, or the less military developed neighbours.
Doesn’t it feel good to reverse the roles, and see humanity as the puny intruders used as pawns in the big games of stranger players?
As for the plot, there needs to be a powerful and despicable adversary for the hani to fight, a major threat to the stability and the peaceful trading in the Compact Space. This role is assigned to the kif, piratical long limbed rats that always wear dark hoods and utter susurrating threats, unless they are engaged in the business of blowing things up.
Kif had somehow missed killing one another off in their rise off their homeworld and into space. They had done it, hani had always suspected, in mutual distrust, in outright hatred. They had contested themselves into space, and hunted each other through it until they found easier pickings.
It is the kif who first came across the wreck of the human exploration ship and later tortured the survivor, whose name is later revealed as Tully, into disclosing the location of his home system.
Pyanfar Chanur didn’t ask for this piece of interstellar trouble to land in her ship. But she isn’t about to betray her crew and her own pride [both honour and tribe] to the grasping kif.
>>><<<>>><<<
Nature. Nature that made males useless, too high-strung to go offworld, to hold any position of responsibility beyond the estates. Nature that robbed them of sense and stability.
Or an upbringing that did.
A more subtle argument about nature versus nurture takes center stage later in the novel, when Pyanfar eventually reaches Anuum, the hani homeworld.
A different sort of trouble is rocking the Chanur lands, with the younger males attacking the older leaders of the clan, taking over mansions and engaging in blood feuds with rival clans. Pyanfar and the rest of the hani females are exasperated and hampered in their offworld ambitions by this recurrent and deadly tradition.
But is this struggle inevitable? Is this type of tribal social order cast in stone, immovable? What kind of future in space can the hani aspire to when they are unable to control their most basic impulses?
“I know what you are trying to do. But you can’t fight what is. Time, Pyanfar. We get old. The young have their day. You can’t fight time.”
“We’re born fighting it.”
I think this a good quote to end my review. I am, after all, too eager to jump into the second book in the series.