Persistently. She cut in on that channel herself. “Chur, gods rot it, answer, we’re coming up on braking.”
No answer.
“Geran,” Pyanfar snapped. “You got backup, we’re stable; get back there.”
There was a snap from a released restraint. She did not look around to see. Did not try to talk to Khym, had no doubts of his safety, or Tully’s. They were no different from oilier crew, probably had reported in to com monitoring, as the Tauran would report, from crew quarters, going through frantic prep for shift change while they had this small inertial stretch for the generation systems to recharge. The machine was keeping Chur quiet. That was what it was. It was supposed to. That was all it was.
“No gods-be hope of Akkhtimakt being here,” she muttered to Haral.
“We ever expect it? Hope to all the gods those first ships of Sikkukkut’s cut ’em good. We got station output, no buoy, no ship-com. No tc’a, f’godssakes, tc’a miners don’t notice kit’ stuff. They’re not talking either. Something big’s been through here like thunder. Something that bothered them.”
“And a knnn comes in at Meetpoint. I want out of here. I want out of here real bad.” Pyanfar took another swallow at the bag, another listen at com off Chur’s cabin. There was the sound of the door opening. Geran’s voice desperately calling Chur’s name. She swept an eye over scan. All the ships behind them had dumped down. “We’re all on. How’re you doing, Haral?”
“I’m holding up.” The voice was hoarse as her own.
Then: “Chur’s coming out of it,” Geran said over com. ”Tell the captain.”
“I got that,” Pyanfar said, punching in. “How is she?”
”Weak,” the answer came back, which was not the answer she had wanted, not with what they had coming.
If Geran admitted that much, it was bad back there.
Pyanfar took another drink, emptied the noxious liquid into her mouth and swallowed hard. She threw com wide to all-ship. “We’re stable. We’re doing all right, high over the soup. If the two kif have jumped past us back to Sikkukkut, he’s welcome to ’em. . . .” She cut it off. “Gods,” she said to Haral. “Gods, I hope. What in a mahen hell’s keeping our backup crew? Query ’em.” The weakness came and went in waves. Her muscles had no strength left. They had awhile yet
to run before they reached their turn point. The Pride would query for a Confirm; but if it got no Abort it would make that final dump on its own, reorient, find its own reference star and head out to Kura, would do it if they were all dead or incapacitated, taking its log records and everything it had into hani space, to brake at Anuurn and wait to be boarded … by hani, pray the gods. The chance that the automatics could do all that flawlessly was about fifty-fifty; but it was their third-backup, failsafe to feeble living muscle and overtired brains. Haral had run all that calc, even had it plugged into one contingency courseplot for Kshshti to Maing Tol; and one for Tt’a’va’o as well, all while she had been tied up with the kif. Brain-bending, meticulous checks, run fast and by the gods accurately. And Haral like the rest of the crew, like Geran back there trying to keep her sister alive, had far overrun her physical limits.
“Tully’s on his way up,” Hilfy said. Internal-com was not her proper assignment; but it was a fair bet Sifeny had not understood him. ‘Na Khym’s up and headed out upper sec. Tauran crew is on its way.”
“Thank gods,” Pyanfar murmured. Things started to sort out. She could just about hold on that long. “Skkukuk.”
“Hakt’.”
“You’re offduty.” No, gods, no, can’t send him down the lift with Tauran crew coming up, they might shoot him. “Soon’s Tauran crew hits the bridge, you can go to quarters. See you at Kura.”
“Kkkkt. Yes, hakt.” Exhausted as the rest of them. “Hakt’, there is not adequate resistance here. Chakkuf has advised subordinates of this. Akkhtimakt has gone elsewhere. The two advance ships will have gone on. I queried regarding those courses. Our escort does not know.”