"All three? You want kif feud?"
"Raindrop in ocean, hani. You make deal?"
She gnawed her mustaches, looked at the deck plates, looked up at the mahe. "Deal. You handle the deputy. You stop her. Caught between local government and a han order-I can't very well contest a confiscation, can I — if it gets here first."
"We get car. Take custody." The mahe drew a watch from amid the clutter of her belts. "Time now 1040. You expect action, maybe — half hour."
"I want a Signature on that repair order."
Small ears twitched. "You doubt word?"
"Records get lost. I'd be in a mess later if that happened — wouldn't I?"
"So." The mahe wrinkled her nose, made a grimace more hani grin than primate, whipped up a tablet. She scribbled and affixed a Signature. "Repair authorize, charge Maing Tol authority. Got. You satisfied?"
Pyanfar took it, waved a hand toward the outbound corridor. "Speed, huh?"
"Twenty hour," the mahe said, fixed her with a hard stare that held something of mirth in it.
Then she turned on her heel and walked off toward the outbound corridor.
Pyanfar drew another breath, inhaled the mahe's lingering perfume. Blew it out again and looked at Tirun.
"Got a chance," Tirun muttered.
"Gods know what they'll pin on our tail. Or what they'll stand by when the inquiry board meets. We just agreed to get shot at. You know that?"
"Better odds than ten minutes ago."
"Huh." But her heart was still pounding against her ribs. It was hope, unaccustomed in. the last two years. The Pride, back in prime-condition. Finish this job, get the hold loaded on credit at Maing Tol before the other bills came in. It was a chance, one chance — and if the human mess settled down and the human trade materialized, if that came through — She waved an arm at the exit. "Shut that. We've got kif out there."
Meanwhile —
Meanwhile there was one difficult thing to do.
The smell of gfi went through the bridge, ordinary and comforting; voices drifted out of the galley, noisy and normal. But Haral was back at her post, damp from a hasty shower, and turned a solemn look back while Pyanfar slid the tablet's Signature codestrip into comp.
Comp talked to ship-record, to station comp, back and forth in a rapid flurry of codes.
"Checks out," Pyanfar said, while Tirun came and draped an arm over her sister's seatback, two sober, weary faces. Haral had heard. There was no question about that: Haral always listened when there were strangers on the deck.
"Tully listen in?" Pyanfar asked.
"No."
"Where is he?"
A nod toward the galley. "Everyone's there."
"Huh." She drew her shoulders up as against some cold wind and looked that way. She tucked her hands into the belt of her trousers. "Come on. Both of you. Let the damage list go."
They followed, two shadows at her back- Cursed lot of nonsense, Pyanfar thought, screwing her courage up. Gods, where was common sense, that breaking one small bit of unpleasantness upset her more than facing down the hem?
There was noise, chatter, Khym's deeper voice wanting something from the cabinet- "Sit down, Tully," Chur said. "For godssakes, na Khyrn - Hilfy, where's the tofi got to? Can you find it?"
And glanced around at Pyanfar. "Captain."
"Sit," Pyanfar said sharply, stilling voices, the tofi-search, the opening and closing of cabinets.
Geran came and put a cup in her hand. "You too. Sit down, Khym." — as he made one last foray into a cabinet. He snatched a substitute and subsided scowling into the middle of the benches, shaking the spice into his cup and concentrating on that while others found their seats left and right of him.
Pyanfar braced herself at the galley corner where stable footing existed in-dock, foot braced at the edge of the shifting step-up of the gimballed table section. Khym sulked, in general foul humor, and pretended full occupation. She leaned there, sipped the liquid and felt the warmth coil through a boding chill at her stomach. Others were still, not the rattle of a spoon, only a shifting as Tirun and Haral nudged Tully over and slid into the benches.
"I'll make this fast," Pyanfar said. "I've got to. Tully, is that translator picking me up?"
He touched his ear, where the plug was set. Looked at her with those bright, worried eyes. "I hear fine."
She came and sat down on the jumpseat, leaned her elbows on the table, the cup between her hands. She faced all of them. But Tully most directly.
"You'll know," she said, "we never did fix that thing at Urtur. Shut up, Khym-" before Khym could quite get his mouth open. "Tully, there wasn't a way to fix it. Hear? So we made it in. One vane is gone. Takes time to fix. Understand? Now we got a little trouble. There's a hani here wants to take you on her ship. You understand? Hani authority."
The pale eyes flickered with — perhaps — understanding. One was never sure. Fright: that, certainly. "Go from you?" he asked. "I go? Go new ship?"
"No. Now listen to me. I don't want them to take you. This is a mahen station. Mahendo'sat, understand? Mahendo'sat take you to the center of the station, keep you safe, fix the ship. Twenty hours.
You understand? They're going to take you with them into the center of the station."
"Kif. Kif here-"
"I know. It's all right. They won't get near you. The mahendo'sat will bring you back when we're ready to move. This way we keep the other hani from taking you to their ship. We keep you safe, understand?"
"Yes," he agreed. He held the cup in front of him, in both his hands, looking as if he had lost his appetite and his thirst.
"Got to move fast, Tully. Get down below. Take whatever you need. Clothes. A car is coming."
"Car."
"No nonsense this time. You'll be under guard all the way. Not like the stsho. Not like Meet-point. Mahendo'sat have teeth."
"One of us," Hilfy said quietly, "one of us could ride along. Make sure they understand him."
There were a lot of unspoken questions around the table, a lot of worried looks from hands who knew what damage existed in the vane. No one was questioning.
"Listen," Pyanfar said, moving the cup on the table out of her way. "Truth: twenty hours. We're going for a first-class job. Whole new assembly back there."
"Gods," Geran breathed in reverence. Chur blinked; and Hilfy stared.
"They say twenty hours. They want us headed out of here for their own reasons. Now move it.
We've got to have him down at the dock in ten minutes, packed and out."
"One of us ride along?" Chur asked.
"You and Hilfy." So the two of them had always fussed over Tully. Keep them both happy.
"Armed. This is Kshshti."
"I'll go," Khym said.
She glanced his way with a furrowing of the brow. Honest offer. Feckless lunacy.
"If there was trouble," he said.
"No."
"If-"
"No." She stood up and tossed the cup into the disposal. "Get it moving. Nine minutes."
Crew hurried. Haral took Tully in tow, her hand hooked about his elbow, and headed for the bridge.
"Pyanfar," Khym said, working his own way out from between bench and table. "Pyanfar, listen to me."
"If you want to sulk go to your quarters and get out of the way."
"Is it Ehrran?"
"I haven't time." She brushed past his arm and headed for the bridge, spun on one foot as she heard him following and brought him up short. "Use some judgment, Khym."
"I'm trying to help!"
She gave him one long desperate look, and watched his expression go from anger to desperation too. Anguish. She sorted a dozen jobs. All of them took skill. "You want to help, I want Kshshti data pulled from comp. Go do that." She spun about again and headed bridge-ward, for the papers she had under security.