"You want to tell me which?"
"I say, you not listen, true?"
Not dull-witted. No.
And not, adding up the asked and not-asked, not knowing everything Goldtooth had planned or done. Maybe the wavefront of that information was one lonely hani ship. Or maybe Maing Tol had not trusted Kshshti security.
Coils within coils within coils. To pull the snake's tail one had to know which end was which.
"I got orders," Pyanfar said, "mahe who gave me this job. He trust. You?"
The Personage said something the Voice did not render, and turned and gazed at Tt'om'm'mu.
The tc'a and chi were otherwise occupied, the chi busy waving its limbs over the tc'a's leathery hide.
Speech, maybe. No oxy-breather knew.
The mahe turned round again. "You go where choose. Got no bill, no dock charge. Kshshti give."
"Gratitude."
The mahe joined his hands in courtesy. The tc'a Tt'om'm'mu — remained occupied.
"Hurts," Chur murmured. Her eyes cleared somewhat, looking up at them clustered about her bed. "Want-" The rest of it faded out.
"Sedation's pretty heavy," Geran said, leaning forward from her low stool at the bedside to brush at her sister's mane. Pyanfar nodded, hands within her belt. Geran had gotten the news outside the door, knew the contents of the message. "Good treatment here. Kshshti medics get a lot of practice."
It was a joke, desperately delivered. Eyes still closed, Chur gave a twitch of a smile, as forced as the joke. "Get me out of here, captain. Gods-rotted dull port."
"Get your rest." Pyanfar leaned over and closed her hand on Chur's arm. "Hear? We'll be back."
"Where's Hilfy? Tully?" Chur's eyes opened, far sharper than she had thought. "You find them?"
"We're working on it."
"Gods rot." Chur moved, a stir of her whole body. "Where are they?"
"Go to sleep. Don't move about like that."
"Something's wrong."
"Chur." Geran slipped a hand in and held her arm. "Captain's got work to do. Go back to sleep."
"In a mahen hell. What's the news?"
There was no lying about it. Not to Chur. Not likely. The blood pressure would go up and up.
She would worry at it. "Mkks," Pyanfar said. "Kif snatched them both. One Sikkukkut. Says he's talking deal. Wants us to go to Mkks to meet him."
"O gods."
"Listen." She held Chur's arm, hard. "Listen. It's not hopeless. We've got help from the mahendo'sat. We'll get them back. Both."
"You going to let the mahendo'sat do it?"
She hesitated on that answer. Gave it up for the second truth. "Haral and Tirun and I. We can handle The Pride. They're going on the repairs."
Chur's ears went down against the pillow. Her eyes were shut. "Promised. You."
"Can't do it. Can't do it now."
"Tomorrow. I'll be there. At the ship. Geran too."
"You rest."
"Huhhhhnn." Chur's eyes flashed open. "Patch will hold. I'll stand jump just fine. Captain."
Pyanfar stood back, met Geran's eye.
"See you at the ship," Geran said.
Pyanfar laid her ears back. "Listen." She set a hand on Geran's shoulder and drew her aside.
"We can handle it, much as we can do. Gods-rotted place to be left. Stay with her, huh?"
"Then what?"
Shipless. Two hani, stranded. She had no answer for that.
"See you," Geran said.
One hani left behind. No better. Chur without Geran. They had never been apart, never looked to be. It was a final shock, in what sense remained unnumbed.
"See you." She dropped the hand and turned to gather up Tirun and Haral. Khym stood by the door. No rifles. They had left those outside with a nervous stsho medic and scrubbed up in a washroom.
But the stench of smoke still hung about their clothes. Strong soap and smoke. The smell turned her stomach. "Come on. Better let her rest. -Chur. You take it easy, hear? We'll fix it. Trust us for it."
Asleep, she reckoned.
"Captain." Geran bent beside the bed and picked up a white plastic sack. Washed, since Chur had had it beneath her head. "It's in there. Packet's intact."
"Huh." She took the white bundle and tucked it within her arm. Kif would have killed for it, would have wiped the station to get it — if they knew. The stationmasters themselves had not known.
Knew comparatively little, all things considered. "Thank her, huh?"
She laid the sack on the bridge counter, lacking the heart to delve into the personal things. She drew the packet from it and checked inside.
Intact. Rumpled papers. Recordings protected in their cases. She put the lot into security storage, closed the coded latch.
Sounds reverberated through the hull, horrendous sounds from aft as skimmers performed their work and cut away the stern assemblies. The shocks went through the very frame as a third of The Pride's length was sheared away. "Py. Captain."
She looked up and back. Khym was standing there.
"You didn't mention me — when you talked about crew going to Mkks."
"Khym-"
"I can fetch and carry. I can scrub galley. Lets skilled crew free. Doesn't it?"
Protective instincts rose up. Another image did. Khym's arm between her and the Ehrran; Khym, whose mind had gone on working when hers quit.
"Good job," she said, "that business on the docks." She walked past him, patted him gently on the arm.
"Captain."
Not Py... She looked back, saw rage, and hurt.
"For godssakes don't dismiss me with that.'"
She stood there, trying to recall what she had said or done. "I'm tired," she said. "I'm sorry."
He managed nothing, no answer.
"You want to go," she said, "gods rot it, you're in. Get killed with the rest of us. Happy?"
"Thanks," he said flatly. In a hostile tone.
She turned and walked off. It was the best way, when his tempers got obscure. Gods defend him. Fool.
He was fond of Hilfy, that was what. Age got on him and he doted on daughter-images, remembering his own. Theirs. Tahy. Who had been no defense to him against her brother. Hilfy respected him. Called him na Khym. Fixed special things for him and pampered him the way he was accustomed.
Gods rot.
She reached the galley, delved into cabinets and threw gfi into the brewer, feeling the wobble in her knees. She had not cleaned up, except the scrub at the hospital. She did not care to now, wanting only something on her stomach.
"Fix that for you?" Khym offered, having followed her. "Sit down, Py."
Her arm tautened to slam the unit lid down. She lowered it carefully and looked around, bland as he was. "Galley's all yours."
"How much did you put in?"
"One."
He added more, going quietly about his business, So he had created a place for himself, and truth, if he freed up crew on this one, he was useful.
Whatever they were doing to the tail rose to a distant shriek.
"Py." He offered the cup and she took it. He poured the rest, capped them, to deliver where Haral and Tirun were.
But Haral showed up, bathed and with her blue coarse breeches still showing wet spots, her mane and beard hanging in ringlets. She had a paper in her hand. "That mine?" she asked of the gfi, and laid down the paper in front of Pyanfar. "That came in."
Pyanfar looked at it. Sipped thoughtfully at the gfi.
Ehrran's Vigilance, Rhif Ehrran captain, deputy of the han, Immune,
to The Pride of Chanur, Pyanfar Chanur captain, chief vessel Chanur company:
This will serve as legal notice a complaint will be filed regarding breach of Charter,
section 5: willful disregard of lawful order;