"All right, Vigilance." She shifted to Jik's channel. "Aja Jin, this is The Pride."
"Aja Jin here, got all personnel busy. This emergency?"
It's Pyanfar Chanur, rot your hide, get me Jik! But that was panic. Jik was in communication with Mahijiru, likely, Aja Jin's crew up to its noses in running codes and communications with Goldtooth as he continued on approach. Aja Jin was trying to keep track of that situation and take the whole operations load off Vigilance because they had no trust for that ship, and off The Pride because The Pride had no crew Available to carry it.
"No," Pyanfar told Aja Jin's com officer. "Put it through when things settle down."
There was a delicate question—how to get in touch with Jik and get Jik to twist Ehrran's ear for that medic without being too evident about it. They had made light of the stack of charges Ehrran accumulated. But they needed no more of them. Nothing to complete the pattern and damn them with the han.
Follow channels. Do it the safe way. Keep to protocols.
There had to be time. Even if that stsho had run for Meetpoint and babbled all gtst knew; even if knnn were stirring about. Goldtooth and Jik acted as if there were time. They laid plans. Goldtooth was still coming in to dock, which meant he expected at least a number of hours before trouble hit, at least personal business here to make the trip worthwhile.
But Chur—
Geran's covering for her, that's what. And Geran's scared. So am I. Gods rot it, I never should have let her come past Kshshti.
But we needed her. We still need her.
Gods, she's not getting better. She's worse.
Com chatter kept up, Kefk adjusting to the reality of its occupation. Methane-sector was settling down at last—only a small portion of Kefk's territory, but a precinct with which kif did not trifle and out of which little coherent information came: the chaos at least seemed less. And there were no more knnn involved.
Geran came back to the bridge. Came and leaned on Pyanfar's chair, and Pyanfar turned it about to face her. "She all right?" Pyanfar asked Geran.
No. Not all right, Pyanfar thought with a sudden chill. Geran's mouth was clamped tight, jaw clenched.
Tongue-tied again. Like in the hall. Like things that touched on resisting Chur. She watched Geran's mouth twist, the strain of her throat, just to get words out. "She couldn't keep it down, captain."
"Listen, cousin, I've already got a call in for a med."
"Aye," Geran said, and to her surprise made no argument. Then with a look more naked and more wretched: "I really think you'd better. Captain, she choked pretty bad trying to eat. She's that weak. She couldn't get her breath."
No words for a moment or so. Mortal equations. Points of no return. Healing in jump cost and cost. And if the wound drew too profoundly on Chur's resources and the jump-stretch went on—
There was another jump beyond this; it might come in a day—or hours; and if things went really wrong here, there might be jump and jump and jump with kif on their track and somewhere, somewhen down that course—having to send I he Pride into jump knowing of a certainty Chur would die in it. That was what they faced.
"All right," Pyanfar said quietly. "All right, we do it. We get that med in here right now. A hani med. Vigilance has got staff. I'll get one. I don't care what it takes."
Another convulsive effort to speak. "Let me. Captain, let me." And quietly, the dam broken: "Begging your pardon— but maybe I can talk to staff, go the quiet route, huh? Kin-right."
Without the arrogance of captains involved, Geran meant.
"Do it," Pyanfar said without rancor. "They've got a com-hold on. You'll have to get past it."
"Aye." Geran took com one post, sat down and went on the com, quietly, urgently.
It was not a thing Pyanfar cared to listen to—Geran pleading Chur's case with an Ehrran crewwoman who wanted to argue channels in the matter of a Chanur life.
/ should have done it before now. Begged them. Gods,-I don't care, we've got to get a hurry-up on this. But it was more likely Geran could win it. Doubtless it would come to captains and her having to plead with Ehrran personally before all was done; but something still had to be sacred among hani—like kin-right and the bond between sisters. A ship incoming with family crisis on Anuurn outranked all oilier traffic. A woman homebound in such events could hoard any plane, commandeer any conveyance without stopping for formalities like fares till later. Kin-right could unsnarl red tape, overcome barriers', silence opposition and objections. There was law higher than han law. There had always been. Vigilance had to respect that.
"Captain. They want your request on file."
Pyanfar turned the chair and met an anguished stare with a quiet one before she took the call. "This is Pyanfar Chanur," she said to com.
"Chanur." It was Rhif Ehrran in person. "You want your crewwoman transferred to our facilities?"
"Treated here, if you can do it." Gods, to put Chur in Ehrran hands. "I've got a next-of-kin request, ker Rhif." Humbly. Quietly. With as much of Chanur dignity as she could save. "Geran Anify par Pyruun: she's got the right to go with her sister if she has to be taken off." You'll have an able Chanur loose on your ship if you take them, you eggsucking Ehrran bastard, no luck getting your hands on one of us helpless and undefended—and we'll be two crewwomen down, blast your eyes, and you'll have two hostages and you know it. "I'd take it kindly, captain, if you could get a little speed on this. She's pretty sick."
A long delay. "Dispatch the case records. Such as you have. My medical staff doesn't work on suppositions."
"You know I haven't got a medical staff, Ehrran."
"You expect me to take on the liability without adequate records. I'll want a release from Geran Anify as next of kin and from you as clan senior here before my staff touches her."
"You'll get it." Cover your backside, you gods-be parasite. Protect yourself. You give-me the chance and it won't be a lawsuit when I go for you. "With respect, can we get this underway? We don't know how long we've got in this port."
"It's waiting on that release, Chanur. Or if you'd rather have the mahendo'sat or the kif see to your problem—"
"We'll get your release. Thank you, ker Rhif. I owe you one."
The contact went discourteously dead.
"Gods fry her," Geran muttered.
"By the gods," Pyanfar said, turning and matching Geran's look with one of her own, "we owe her one, Chanur owes her one for this."
"Aye," Geran rasped. The breath came from the depths of her gut, as if it strangled on its way. "Hearth and blood, captain. When we get a chance."
"When." Pyanfar flicked her ears. Rings chimed, reminder of voyages and experience. They dealt with an Immune. Unchallengeable, by every principle of civilized law. But Chanur was older than any Immune clan. Older than Ehrran in all senses. "Get that release. Get Khym in here. And get the automed and relay Chur's vital signs over to Vigilance; let's give the meds all the help we can and save the Ehrran for our own time, not Chur's."
Khym came onto the bridge and got to legal files; Tully strayed through the door: "Here.," Pyanfar said, called Tully over and leaned aside in her chair to fish a size three probe out of the under-console toolkit. She extended one claw in demonstration, punched a harmless button with the probe while Tully watched, and turned and slapped the probe into his palm. His blue eyes lighted with sudden understanding and he clenched his hand on the tool.