planned or done. Maybe the wavefront of that information was one lonely hani
ship. Or maybe Maing Tol had not trusted Kshshti security.
Coils within coils within coils. To pull the snake’s tail one had to know which
end was which.
“I got orders,” Pyanfar said, “mahe who gave me this job. He trust. You?”
The Personage said something the Voice did not render, and turned and gazed at
Tt’om’m’mu. The tc’a and chi were otherwise occupied, the chi busy waving its
limbs over the tc’a’s leathery hide. Speech, maybe. No oxy-breather knew.
The mahe turned round again. “You go where choose. Got no bill, no dock charge.
Kshshti give.”
“Gratitude.”
The mahe joined his hands in courtesy. The tc’a Tt’om’m’mu — remained occupied.
“Hurts,” Chur murmured. Her eyes cleared somewhat, looking up at them clustered
about her bed. “Want–” The rest of it faded out.
“Sedation’s pretty heavy,” Geran said, leaning forward from her low stool at the
bedside to brush at her sister’s mane. Pyanfar nodded, hands within her belt.
Geran had gotten the news outside the door, knew the contents of the message.
“Good treatment here. Kshshti medics get a lot of practice.”
It was a joke, desperately delivered. Eyes still closed, Chur gave a twitch of a
smile, as forced as the joke. “Get me out of here, captain. Gods-rotted dull
port.”
“Get your rest.” Pyanfar leaned over and closed her hand on Chur’s arm. “Hear?
We’ll be back.”
“Where’s Hilfy? Tully?” Chur’s eyes opened, far sharper than she had thought.
“You find them?”
“We’re working on it.”
“Gods rot.” Chur moved, a stir of her whole body. “Where are they?”
“Go to sleep. Don’t move about like that.”
“Something’s wrong.”
“Chur.” Geran slipped a hand in and held her arm. “Captain’s got work to do. Go
back to sleep.”
“In a mahen hell. What’s the news?”
There was no lying about it. Not to Chur. Not likely. The blood pressure would
go up and up. She would worry at it. “Mkks,” Pyanfar said. “Kif snatched them
both. One Sikkukkut. Says he’s talking deal. Wants us to go to Mkks to meet
him.”
“O gods.”
“Listen.” She held Chur’s arm, hard. “Listen. It’s not hopeless. We’ve got help
from the mahendo’sat. We’ll get them back. Both.”
“You going to let the mahendo’sat do it?”
She hesitated on that answer. Gave it up for the second truth. “Haral and Tirun
and I. We can handle The Pride. They’re going on the repairs.”
Chur’s ears went down against the pillow. Her eyes were shut. “Promised. You.”
“Can’t do it. Can’t do it now.”
“Tomorrow. I’ll be there. At the ship. Geran too.”
“You rest.”
“Huhhhhnn.” Chur’s eyes flashed open. “Patch will hold. I’ll stand jump just
fine. Captain.”
Pyanfar stood back, met Geran’s eye.
“See you at the ship,” Geran said.
Pyanfar laid her ears back. “Listen.” She set a hand on Geran’s shoulder and
drew her aside.
253
C. /. Cherryh
“We can handle it, much as we can do. Gods-rotted place to be left. Stay with
her, huh ?”
“Then what?”
Shipless. Two hani, stranded. She had no answer for that.
“See you,” Geran said.
One hani left behind. No better. Chur without Geran. They had never been apart,
never looked to be. It was a final shock, in what sense remained unnumbed.
“See you.” She dropped the hand and turned to gather up Tirun and Haral. Khym
stood by the door. No rifles. They had left those outside with a nervous stsho
medic and scrubbed up in a washroom. But the stench of smoke still hung about
their clothes. Strong soap and smoke. The smell turned her stomach. “Come on.
Better let her rest. –Chur. You take it easy, hear? We’ll fix it. Trust us for
it.”
Asleep, she reckoned.
“Captain.” Geran bent beside the bed and picked up a white plastic sack. Washed,
since Chur had had it beneath her head. “It’s in there. Packet’s intact.”
“Huh.” She took the white bundle and tucked it within her arm. Kif would have
killed for it, would have wiped the station to get it — if they knew. The
stationmasters themselves had not known. Knew comparatively little, all things