"Got it," he said, displaying a paper on the countertop. Gods, efficiency. She poured the whole matter out of her mind and got up and walked off.
Maybe — maybe the kif would hold off in Hilfy's case, until they had used the bait for everything they could get. Not Tully. No. Not with a chance to pull information about all humankind from him, and a week to do it in. The first time kif had had their hands on him he had had a word or two he could speak, and a handful more he could understand, and never admitted either to the kif.
Now he could get a hani sentence out. And Sikkukkut had fluency.
"Captain," Haral said when she walked out on the bridge. "Got a request from the repair chief.
They want to get column access from inside. I told them go ahead. I'm opening lower deck for that."
"Get their security down there." The thought of outsiders straying at random through The Pride's interior workings set her nerves on edge. But they were out of personnel. Out. Totally.
"Second item," Haral said. "A freighter turned up about 0300 last watch in approach to 29.
Our scan's been down. It just turned up, blink, on station output, at the one-zone. I didn't think it was worth waking you, but I queried station. They identified it as Eishait, said it came in during the Harukk business and security had it scan-blocked. I queried Prosperity. They had their scan shut down. They're too far round the curve for the cameras to help. I put in a call to Vigilance, begging your pardon-"
"They get it?"
Haral dipped her ears. "They said, quote, they had no authority to release information. I suggested they wake their captain. They suggested I wake you."
She drew a tight slow breath and leaned against the counteredge nearest the doorway.
"At that point," Haral said, "it was committed to dock and I figured there wasn't all that much to do about it that fast. Stationmaster's office stuck by the Eishait story. I called Prosperity back and suggested one of them take a walk down that way." "Should have waked me, gods rot it."
"Prosperity agreed. They say it's all security down there. Can't get past. Our work crew never stopped back there, no sign of any concern while that ship was inbound. Meanwhile there's nothing kifish on com.
I think it's a mahen hunter."
"Not friendly of station not to say. Wouldn't you think?"
"Worries me," Haral said. "Whole gods-forsaken place worries me." Her eyes shifted minutely aft, by implication including the repair work. Back again. "You still want that mahen security on our access?"
The breakfast lay uneasy at her stomach. "Put them on it. They're all we've got. And log those exchanges."
"They're logged." Haral powered her chair about and punched into the station comlink.
"Kshshti central, this is the watch officer, from the bridge, The Pride of Chanur. . Get me dock security."
Pyanfar stood away from the counter and looked left as Tirun came shambling in half asleep and nodded a courtesy.
"Morning," she said to Tirun. "Chur's doing fine. Get some breakfast."
"Huh," Tirun said, and went, blindly trustful. Down on lowerdeck they had a lock about to open.
Pyanfar sat down in Tirun's place at bridge ops, conscious of the pistol she kept in her pocket, its weight swinging against her leg. She started locking doors, putting the lift on key/bridge operation only, sealing every hold access but the necessary one that would get work crews to The Pride's vitals.
"Security's coming," Haral said.
Mahen workers came and went, an occasiona splatter of bare running feet, a rush of blacl and brown mahen bodies in the lower corri dors carrying this and that item the tech: wanted — honest mahendo'sat, Pyanfar con vinced herself. She came down to see the faces, to judge reactions, and the earnest look of the workers reassured her. Their speed reassurec her, and the surprised reflexes of respect. Some recognized her, blue breeches and all as she took the tour through ops, where mahen techs ran checks. Above, aft, the first new vane pane was moving up in the careful grasp of a pusher-ship, and suited mahendo'sat prepared the column to receive it.
It was a hundred ten panels wide to the old ninety and looked monstrous large. The olc drive could not have pushed it. The old drive The Pride's old heart, had gone off in the clutches of a mahen pusher and a new, mahen-made unit was coupled to the ship's alloy spine, struts recoupled — as good amputate a part of her, and put back some fancy foreign part. She watched the floods sparkle bright off the panel rim and glisten off the black panel surfaces as the pusher turned. A shiver prickled up her back, worry about telemetry complications, systems that might not mesh and set them, further back, despite the Voice's assurances. Topside, Tirun ran calculations and more calculations, had the third, this time sulphurous request in for raw specifications on the individual units. . "Make soon," the reply had come back from the supervisor, "give composite." And when Tirun objected that: "Got get security dear give that information."
"Good gods!" Tirun had screamed into com. "It's part of our ship, you gods-rotted lunatic!"
"I make request," the supervisor said.
Meanwhile the panel was moving in, and mahendo'sat ran their own checks in ops; and things felt — marginally in control. Not just the unit back there on the tail. The bill. The finance.
Nine tenths of The Pride's physical value, excluding her licenses and rights — and mahendo'sat picked up the tab.
Foreign hire. Vigilance had made that charge already. They were down there logging everything. There would be inquiry.
The han would have questions.A lot of questions. If they lived through Mkks.
She turned from the screens, walked past a cluster of chiso -babbling mahendo'sat who had their own instruments linked into auxiliary sockets on the ops board, headed out in the hall for fresh air.
They had the place chilled down for the mahendo'sat. The hall was frigid. A cold draft wafted in from the lower lock, with the flavor of Kshshti docks, oil and old beer and mahendo'sat as she passed that corridor. Workmen in their orange coveralls came in, some went out. She pursued her way to the lift.
Hilfy. The thought came nudging in whenever she let it, and she pushed it away.
"Captain," mane said. "Come."
She stopped, blinked at the workman who beckoned her to the lock, opened her mouth to refuse that imprudence, but the mane had flitted around the turn again, hasty as every mahe was hereabouts.
Some gods-rotted supervisor with questions. Her ship. Her access. She refused the jangling of her nerves and went after the workman. But her hand was in her pocket as she walked into the lock.
No one. She spun a look over her shoulder, looked back again as something dark came into her way, mahe-tall and spacer-ringed with gold.
Her finger tautened, hand cocked to aim through cloth and all. "Pyanfar!" the mahe cried, flinging up both hands; and the finger stopped.
"Jik!" she gasped, and her heart started up again. The mahe still held his hands up till she had gotten hand from pocket. "Where'd you come from?" And then she knew. "That's Aia Jin in 29, isn't it?"
"Same." Jik still looked nervous. "Make quick come here. Got trouble, huh?"