give it up. Stop now. While there's time. I'm not worth it."
"Good gods. You think the sun swings around you, don't you? Ever occur to you I have other business than you? That I do things that don't have a thing to do with you?"
"No," he said, "because you're desperate. And that's my fault. Gods, Py-" A small, strangled breath, a drawing about the mouth. "It's cost enough."
"You know," she said after a moment, "you know what's kept the System in power? The young expect to win. Never mind that three quarters of them die. Never mind that estates get ruined when some young fluffbrain gets in power over those that know better and tries to prove he's in charge.
The young always believe in themselves. And the graynoses flat give up, give up when they've got the estate running at its best — They get beaten and it's downhill again with a new lord at the helm. All the way downhill. You know other species pass things on, like mahendo'sat: they train their successors, for the gods' sakes-"
"They're not hani. Py, you don't understand what it feels like. You can't."
"Kohan ignored you right well."
"Sure. Easy. I wasn't much. He still ignores me. How do you think I'm here?"
"Because I say so. Because Kohan's too old and too smart to hold his breath till I give in. And by the gods the next time some whelp comes at him with challenge we'll tear the fellow's ears off. First."
"Good gods, Py! You can't do that to him-"
"Keep him alive? You can lay money on it. Me. Rhean. Even his Faha wife. Not to mention his daughters. Maybe some son, who knows? — someday."
"You're joking."
"No."
"Py. You remember the fable of the house and the stick? You pull the one that's loose and it gets another one-"
"Fables are for kids."
"— and another. Pretty soon the whole house comes down and buries you. You start a fight like that in the han and gods know — gods know what it'll do to us."
"Maybe it might be better. You think of that?"
"Py, I can't take this dealing with strangers. I get mad and I can't stand it, I ache, Py. That's biology. We're set up to fight. Millions of years — it's not an intellectual thing. Our circulatory system, our glands-"
"You think I don't get mad? You think I didn't want to kill myself some kif out there? And I by the gods held my temper."
"Nature gave you a better deal, Py. That's all."
"You're scared."
He stared at her, eyes wide in offense.
"Scared and spoiled," she said. "Scared because you're doing what no male's supposed to be able to do; and guilty that maybe that makes you unmasculine; and gods-rotted spoiled by a mother that coddled your tempers instead of boxing your ears the way she did your sister's. He's just a son, huh?
Can't be expected to come up to his sister's standard. Let him throw his tantrums, and keep him out of his father's sight. Makes him potent, doesn't it? And gods, never let him trust another male. Rely on your sister, huh?"
"Leave my family out of this."
"Your sister hasn't done one gods-rotted thing to back you. And your worthless daughters-"
"My sister did back me."
"Till you lost."
"What's she supposed to do? Gods, what's it like for her, living in Kara's house with me running about as if I were still-"
"So she's uncomfortable. Isn't that too bad? Spoiled, I say. Both of you, in separate ways."
His ears were back, all the way. He looked younger that way, the scars less obvious.
"You want," she said, "the advantages I have and the privileges you used to have. Well, they don't go together, Khym. And I'm offering you what I've got. Isn't it enough? Or do you want some special category?"
"Py, for the gods' sake I can't work on the docks!"
"Meaning in public."
"I'll work aboard." A great, gusting sigh. "Show me what to do."
"All right. You clean up. You get yourself to the bridge and Haral'll show you how to read scan. It's going to take more than five minutes." She sucked at her cheeks. She had not meant to make that gibe. "You can sit monitor on that. Our lives may depend on it. Keep thinking of that."
"Don't give me-"
"— responsibility? — Nice, boring, long-attention-span jobs?"
"Gods rot it, Py!"
"You'll do fine." She turned and punched the door button with a thumb claw. "I know you will."
"It's revenge, that's what it is. For the bar."
"No. It's paying your gods-rotted bar bill same as any of us would."
She stalked out. The door hissed shut like a comment at her back.
Chapter Four
Tully was at least on his feet — seemed to be feeling like Tully, which meant insisting on cleaning himself up if he wobbled doing it, crashing about the lowerdecks washroom talking to himself (or thinking that he was being understood) and generally insisting on his privacy from females even if they were of different species. Hilfy dithered between communications from Haral topside via the hallway com panel, frantic requests from Chur in the op room down the corridor (Tirun and Geran were busy down in cargo offloading canisters, with attendant booms and thumps up through the deck plates), and the barricaded washroom into which disappeared a pair of Haral's blue trousers and out of which issued steam and the indescribable mingle of human-smell, fruit, fish and disinfectant soap.
"You all right?" Hilfy asked, when a hairless arm snaked the offered trousers from around the corner of the door. "Tully, hurry it up. We've got other problems. Fast? Understand?"
A mumbled answer came back and the door went shut as if he had leaned on the control as soon as she had gotten her arm out. Hilfy looked round in desperation as Chur came trotting back from ops waving a pair of pocket corns and with a third clipped to her drawstring waist. "Got it," Chur said.
"Translator's up and running."
"Thank the gods." She pounded on the door again, whisked it open as Chur thrust a pocket com and earplug around the corner to their passenger and drew her arm back. "Tully-" she said to the unit Chur gave her. She put the earplug in with a grimace. "Tully? You hear me now?"
"Yes," the sound came back, mechanical, from the com loop to the translating computer.
"Who talk?" The translator's syntax was far from perfect.
"Tully," Chur said, "it's Chur talking. Hilfy and I got other work, understand? Got to go. You hurry it up; we take you to quarters, get you settled in."
"Got talk to Pyanfar."
"Captain's busy, Tully."
"Got talk." The door opened. He leaned in the doorframe, wearing blue hani trousers, which fit, but barely; and shirtless like themselves. His all but hairless skin was flushed from the heat inside and his mane and beard were dripping wet. "Got talk, come # # talk to Pyanfar."
"Tully, we've got troubles," Hilfy said. "Big emergency." She took him by the arm and Chur took the other, drawing him along despite his objections. "Got cargo troubles, all kinds of troubles."
"Kif." He went stiff and stopped cooperating. "Kif are here?*'
"We're still at dock," Hilfy said, keeping him moving. "We're sitting at Meetpoint and we're as safe as we're going to be. Come on."
"No, no, no." He turned and seized her arms with his bluntfingered hands, let her go and shook at Chur. "# No # # #"
Hilfy shook her head at the static breakup. The translator missed those words. Or never had them.
"Hilfy, Chur — mahen # take # ship # human. I bring papers from #. They ask # hani make stop these kif. Got danger. We're not safe # Meetpoint."
"What's he mean?" asked Chur, her ears gone lower, up again. "You catch that?"