considered. “Thank her, huh?”
She laid the sack on the bridge counter, lacking the heart to delve into the
personal things. She drew the packet from it and checked inside.
Intact. Rumpled papers. Recordings protected in their cases. She put the lot
into security storage, closed the coded latch.
Sounds reverberated through the hull, horrendous sounds from aft as skimmers
performed their work and cut away the stern assemblies. The shocks went through
the very frame as a third of The Pride’s length was sheared away. “Py. Captain.”
She looked up and back. Khym was standing there.
“You didn’t mention me — when you talked about crew going to Mkks.”
“Khym–”
“I can fetch and carry. I can scrub galley. Lets skilled crew free. Doesn’t it?”
Protective instincts rose up. Another image did. Khym’s arm between her and the
Ehrran; Khym, whose mind had gone on working when hers quit.
“Good job,” she said, “that business on the docks.” She walked past him, patted
him gently on the arm.
“Captain.”
Not Py. . . . She looked back, saw rage, and hurt.
“For godssakes don’t dismiss me with that.'”
She stood there, trying to recall what she had said or done. “I’m tired,” she
said. “I’m sorry.”
He managed nothing, no answer.
“You want to go,” she said, “gods rot it, you’re in. Get killed with the rest of
us. Happy?”
“Thanks,” he said flatly. In a hostile tone.
She turned and walked off. It was the best way, when his tempers got obscure.
Gods defend him. Fool.
He was fond of Hilfy, that was what. Age got on him and he doted on
daughter-images, remembering his own. Theirs. Tahy. Who had been no defense to
him against her brother. Hilfy respected him. Called him na Khym. Fixed special
things for him and pampered him the way he was accustomed.
Gods rot.
She reached the galley, delved into cabinets and threw gfi into the brewer,
feeling the wobble in her knees. She had not cleaned up, except the scrub at the
hospital. She did not care to now, wanting only something on her stomach.
“Fix that for you?” Khym offered, having followed her. “Sit down, Py.”
Her arm tautened to slam the unit lid down. She lowered it carefully and looked
around, bland as he was. “Galley’s all yours.”
“How much did you put in?”
“One.”
He added more, going quietly about his business, So he had created a place for
himself, and truth, if he freed up crew on this one, he was useful.
Whatever they were doing to the tail rose to a distant shriek.
“Py.” He offered the cup and she took it. He poured the rest, capped them, to
deliver where Haral and Tirun were.
But Haral showed up, bathed and with her blue coarse breeches still showing wet
spots, her mane and beard hanging in ringlets. She had a paper in her hand.
“That mine?” she asked of the gfi, and laid down the paper in front of Pyanfar.
“That came in.”
Pyanfar looked at it. Sipped thoughtfully at the gfi.
Ehrran’s Vigilance, Rhif Ehrran captain, deputy of the han, Immune, to The Pride
of Chanur, Pyanfar Chanur captain, chief vessel Chanur company:
This will serve as legal notice a complaint will be filed regarding breach of
Charter, section 5: willful disregard of lawful order; section 12: hire of
vessel; section 22: illegal cargo; section 23: illegal arms; section 24:
discharge of arms; section 25: actions in breach of treaty law; section 30. . .
.
She looked up as Khym left on his errand. “They missed the illegal system
entry.”
Haral gave a short, dry laugh and sat down. The Pride shuddered to operations
aft, and the humor died a rapid death.
“We answer that?”
“Fills the time.” She drew a deep breath. “Sleep, rest, plot course. We take for
granted they’ll get us out of here.”
Haral’s eyes drifted to the clock. Hers too, irresistibly.
“Tully,” Hilfy murmured. The Gforce kept on. Her nose bubbled with every breath;
some blood vessel had popped inside, adding misery upon misery. Her hurts
throbbed, and might be pouring blood, but she could not tell and the cocooning