“Gods,” Haral muttered.
“Party, huh?” She drew down her mouth as at a bad taste.
“Kekkikkt. Remember that one?”
“Couldn’t forget. A whole list of good news, isn’t it?”
“Got help. ” She scanned the mahen section again. “Insystemers and
short-hoppers. Ever hear of Iniri-tai?”
“No.”
“Pasunsai?”
“No. Neither of them.”
“Gods rot, there’s supposed to be a hunter ship here.”
“Got Vigilance,” Haral said dryly.
“Huh.” She rose to the humor, but there was ice at her stomach.
“What do we tell them?”
She remembered what she had told them at Meetpoint, the final message. Kif on
our trail. No explanation possible. “Something inventive. We’d better.”
“Ayhar,” Tirun muttered between her teeth. And that was the second good
question.
“That scrapheap never beat us here on the Urtur route, that’s sure.”
“How’d they know?”
“Want to guess?”
Haral made a sound in her throat, not a pleasant one.
“Rhif Ehrran’s got a lap pet.”
“What do we do?”
“Huh. I’m thinking about it.” Meaning she did not know. Meaning there was
nothing they could do but bluff and Haral already knew that much. Vigilance had
gathered itself a witness, that was what — footed the bill to divert a merchant
carrier like Prosperity off its normal run. They had dumped cargo at Meetpoint,
same as themselves.
And knew where to intercept them. Same as Harukk had known.
Gods, were they the only ones running blind in this business?
“Stsho? Stle stles stlen?
Gtst knew Goldtooth’s plans.
If gtst had talked–
“Captain,” Hilfy said. “Tully’s asking to come up.”
More questions. Pointed ones. She drew a deep breath and downed the panic. “Tell
him yes. Tell him–” –watch his step. But he knew how to move in a ship
underway. He had felt the uncertainty in their dump, had understood more surely
than Khym had that they were in trouble, and what kind they were in — that they
had escaped dying outright. But they were lame — at Kshshti. With the kif.
Now what, now what we do, huh, Py-an-far?
Tully did not take long about it. Pyanfar turned her chair from his reflection
overhead to the solidity standing in the doorway.
He looked worried. He glanced about him, scanned the monitors with an eye that
knew what it was looking for, that could read more off the graphics than he
could understand in words.
“Safe,” she said to him. “We’re safe in Kshshti. Got help here. Big hani ship.”
He nodded. He did hope. That was in the look he gave her. But something else was
in the slump of his shoulders as he turned and sought the seat Hilfy offered
him, observer, beside her post.
Quiet, thank the gods..She was ashamed of herself, remembering that he never did
go to masculine extremes. Professional. It was hard to remember that, that
Tully, whatever else he was, was not prone to hysterics. There, she thought,
Khym. That’s how. That’s how it’s done. You can do it–
The way she had believed it once, having voyaged with Tully, so that she hoped–
Khym was looking at her now, one hard, unforgiving stare.
Sure, Khym. It’s fixed.
Tully, perhaps, had never fallen for that lie in the first place.
And Khym had, perhaps, just seen that shiplist.
She turned back to controls. Blinking lights and mahen chatter had no
accusations.
The metal speck that was Kshshti became a star, a globe, resolved itself into
torus shape in the vid; became an aggregate of plates and flashing lights as The
Pride moved in and fell into rotating pattern with the wheel. “In lane,” Haral
said. “Autos on.”
“Take her in.” Of a sudden the hours mounted up like leaden weight. She spun
about and faced the bridge as a whole, saw Khym sitting there with his elbows on
the console facing the scan.
Tully’s pose was much the same. But he turned to face her, with that haunted
look he had worn for days.
“We’ll get that repair done here,” she said. “Kshshti can handle it.”
Hilfy looked her way. So did Khym. And Khym’s stare was dark.
Another lie? she read the backslant of one ear, the flare of nostrils.
Her own pulse raced. She held herself in place, silent, with nothing to say to