“There may be a lot of kif, too.” Pyanfar leaned forward and checked the boards herself, the little data the computer got off passive recept. A rock hit them, a slow scream down the metal; a screen flickered to static and corrected itself, an impact on one of the antennae. “I won’t tell you, imp, just how close we came to losing our referents in that jump. If that kif ship did get here ahead of us, it’s considerably more powerful than we are. All power and precious little cargo room. That tell you anything?”
“It’s not a freighter.”
“Kif runner. Got a few false tanks strapped on, all shell and no mass to speak of, masking what she is. You understand? Ships like that do the kill; the carrioneaters come after, real freighters, that suck up the cargoes and do the dockside trading when they do get to some port. That’s what we’re likely up against. A runner. A hunter ship. They overestimated our capacity… overjumped us, more than likely, and incoming traffic may have been good enough to confuse the issue further. If that’s the case we’ve just used up all the luck we’re entitled to.”
“Are we just going to sit here?” Hilfy asked. “Ship after ship is going to come into this system not knowing what they’re running into… all those ships from Meetpoint that don’t go the stsho route—”
“Imp, we’re blind at the moment. We’ve dumped velocity… and maybe some of those hunting us haven’t; and maybe some are yet to come. You know what kind of situation that puts us in. Sitting target.”
“If they all stay to centerward,” Hilfy suggested cautiously, “we could just jump out again… be gone before they could catch us, take the pressure off these mahe before someone else gets hurt. Maybe we could get away with it again at the next jumppoint, get to Kirdu… after Urtur, couldn’t we maybe make Kirdu in two jumps? Get out of here. After this place, there are other choices. Aren’t there?”
Pyanfar stared at her. “Been doing some research, have you?”
“I looked.”
“Huh.” It was a sensible idea, and one she had had even before the jump; but there were loose pieces in this business. Moves not yet calculated. It remained to measure how upset the kif were. And why. “Possible.” She jabbed a finger at Hilfy. “First we take account of ourselves. We go down, shall we, and see what we have left of cargo.”
“I thought we dumped it all.”
“Oh, not what the kif want, not that, niece.” She leaned over the console, checked the pager link. “I think we can leave it a while. Come along. It’s all being recorded, all the com and scan up here. We’ll check it. Can’t live up here.” She set her hand on Hilfy’s shoulder. “We go ask some questions, that’s what.”
Their uninvited passenger had settled after jump — cocooned in blankets and sedated for the trip, now let go again, to huddle in that heap of blankets in the corner of the washroom. It had curled up in a knot and thrown one of the blankets over its head, showing nothing but the motions of its breathing to prove it was under there.
“The ankle restraint is back on it,” Chur said as they watched it from the doorway. “It’s been docile all along… but let me call Geran and we’ll be sure of it.” Chur was smallest of the crew, smaller than Geran her sister, who was herself of no great stature — with a thin beard and mane and a yellowish tint to her fur: delicate, one might say, who did not know Chur.
“There are three of us,” Pyanfar said, “already. Let’s see how it reacts.” She walked into the washroom and came near that heap of breathing blankets. Coughed. There was movement in the blankets, the lifting of a corner, a furtive look of a pale eye from beneath them. Pyanfar beckoned.
It stopped moving.
“It quite well understands me,” she said. “I think, Chur, you’re going to have to get Geran. We may have to fetch it out and I don’t want to hurt it.”
Chur left. Hilfy remained. The blankets stirred again, and the creature made a faltering effort to get its back into the angle of the corner made by the shower stall and the laundry.
“It’s just too weak,” Hilfy said. “Aunt, it’s just too weak to fight.”
“I’ll stand here,” Pyanfar proposed. “There’s a mahendo’sat symbol translator and some manuals and modules — Haral said she put it in the lowerdeck op; I want the elementary book. Here. Gods forbid someone put it into cargo.”
Hilfy hesitated, cast a look at the Outsider, then scurried off in haste.
“So,” Pyanfar said. She dropped to her haunches as she had before, put out a forefinger and traced numbers from one to eight on the flooring. Looked up from time to time and looked at the creature, who watched her. It reached out of its nest of blankets and made tentative movements of writing on the floor, drew back the arm and watched what she was doing until she stopped at sixteen. It tucked the blankets more closely about itself and stared, from bleak, blue eyes. Washed, it looked better. The mane and beard were even beautiful, silken, pollen-gold. But the naked arm outthrust from the blankets bore ugly bruises of fingered grips. There had been a lot of bruises under the dirt, she reckoned. It had a reason for its attitude. It was not docile now, just weak. It had drawn another line, staked out its corner. The blue eyes held a peculiar expression, analysis, perhaps, some thought proceeding at length.
She stood up, hearing Chur and Geran coming, their voices in the corridor — turned and motioned them to wait a moment when they arrived. She watched the Outsider’s pale eyes take account of the reinforcements. And Hilfy came back with the manual. “It was in the—” Hilfy broke off, in the general stillness of the place.
“Give it here,” Pyanfar said, holding out her hand without looking away from the Outsider.
Hilfy gave it. Pyanfar opened the book, turned the pages toward the Outsider, whose eyes flickered with bewilderment. She bent, discarding her dignity a moment in the seriousness of the matter, and pushed the manual across the tiles to the area the creature could reach. It ignored the open book. Another ploy failed. Pyanfar sat still a moment, arms on her knees, then stood up and brushed her silk breeches into order. “I trust the symbol translator made it intact.”
“It’s fine,” Hilfy said.
“So let’s try that. Can you set it up?”
“I learned on one.”
“Do it,” Pyanfar said; and motioned to Geran and Chur. “Get it on its feet. Be gentle with it.”
Hilfy hurried off. Geran and Chur moved in carefully and Pyanfar stepped out of the way, thinking it might turn violent, but it did not. It stood up docilely as they patted it and assisted it to its feet. It was naked, and he was a reasonable guess, Pyanfar concluded, watching it make a snatch after the blankets about its feet, while Chur carefully unlocked the chain they had padded about its ankle, Geran holding onto its right arm. Pyanfar frowned, disturbed to be having a male on the ship, with all the thoughts that stirred up. Chur and Geran were being uncommonly courteous with it, and that was already a hazard.
“Look sharp,” Pyanfar said. “Take it to the op room and mind what you’re doing.” She stooped and gathered up the symbol book herself as they led it out toward the door.
The Outsider balked of a sudden in the doorway, and Chur and Geran patted its hairless shoulders and let it think about it a long moment, which seemed the right tack to take. It stood a very long moment, looked either way down the corridor, seemed frozen, but then at a new urging — “Come on,” Geran said in the softest possible voice and tugged very slightly — the Outsider decided to cooperate and let itself be led into the hall and on toward operations. Pyanfar followed with the book under her arm, scowling for the cost the Outsider had already been to them, and with the despondent feeling that she might yet be wrong in every assumption she had made. They had paid far too much for that.