knees and wrenched the lock lever down, tugged with all her might at the lid and
tumbled back as it came free.
A form like some insect in its cell lifted a pale, breather-masked face in a
cloud of steam as the inner air met outer. With a muffled cry Tully began to
writhe outward, in a frosting stench of heat and human sweat that almost
overcame the fish and fruit. Chur helped, kneeling — seized Tully’s
white-shirted shoulders and dragged him free in a tumble and slide of fruit, in
a cloud of breath and steam from his overheated body.
He gasped, struggled wild-eyed to his feet, hands flailing.
“Tully,” Pyanfar said-he was blinded by the lights, she thought; he looked
half-drowned in the heat that narrow confinement had contained. “Tully, it’s us,
it’s us, for the gods’ sake.”
“Pyanfar,” he cried and threw himself into her arms. “Pyanfar!” — losing
breather-cylinder and hoses and stumbling through the stinking fruit in which he
had slid outward. He pressed his steaming self against her, his heartbeat so
violent she felt it through his ribs.
“Easy,” she said. Hunter instincts. Her heart tried to synch with his. “Careful,
Tully.” She kept her ears up all the same, carefully disengaged his shaking arms
and pushed him back. His eyes were wild with fear. “You safe. Hear? Safe, Tully.
On The Pride.”
He babbled in his own tongue. Water poured from his eyes and froze on his face.
“Got,” he said. “Got–” and abandoned her to dive back into the can, pawing amid
the tangle of discarded breathing apparatus and trampled fruit, to stagger up
again with a large packet in his grasp. He held it out to her, wobbling as she
took it from his hands.
“Goldtooth,” he said, and something else that did not get past his chattering
teeth.
“He’s going to freeze,” said Chur, throwing one of the two coldsuits about his
thinly clad, hairless shoulders.
And perhaps he only then recognized the others, for he cried “Chur,” and
staggered a step to fling his arms about her, shivering visibly as the cold
disspated the last of his heat. “Hilfy!” –as Hilfy unmasked herself; he reached
for her.
But his legs went and he slid almost to the ground before Hilfy and Chur could
save him. “Hil-fy!” –foolishly, from a sitting posture on the burning cold
deck, with Hilfy’s arms about him.
“Get him up,” Pyanfar snapped at them both. “Get him to the lift, for the gods’
sakes!” –waving them that way with the packet in one hand, for her feet were
freezing and Tully’s wet clothes were stiffening, with crystals in his hair.
He made shift to walk when they had pulled him up. He hung on them the long,
long course down the tracks to the platform stairs, and labored the metal steps
with them supporting him on either side and Pyanfar shoving from behind. He
faltered at the top, recovered as they heaved him up with his arms across their
shoulders.
“Hang on.” Pyanfar reached the lift and punched the button for them, held the
door open on that blast of seeming heat and the glare of light while Hilfy and
Chur between them dragged Tully in and held him on his feet. A dull white frost
formed on the lift surfaces.
“Paper,” Tully mumbled, lifting his head.
“Got.” She closed the door after her and sent the car hurtling forward. Chur
held Tully tight against her body and Hilfy pressed close on the other side as
the car reached the forward limit and started its topside climb.
“Get him to sickbay,” Pyanfar said as it went. “Get him warm and for the gods’
sakes get him washed.”
That brought a lifting of Tully’s head. His beautiful golden mane was wet with
melting frost and clung to the naked skin about his eyes. He stank abysmally of
fish and fruit and scared human. “Friend,” he said. It was his best word. He
offered that, and that frightened look. In distress Pyanfar reached out and
patted his shoulder with claws all pulled.
“Sure. Friend.”
Gods, not to be sure of them. And to have come this far on hope alone.