The ears sank. “They still got them hostage, captain.”
“Where?”
“Up in station. Ker Rhean and Harun and my captain, they’re working on it, but there’s some holdup, and they got fighting at the shuttleports downworld, some on our side and some on theirs, and they can’t launch, except a couple got away-The Llun are mediating that, captain says, trying to get the shuttles clear to launch, and some of the Immunes onworld, they’re trying to negotiate-”
“A mahen hell with that.”
“Meanwhile your crew is coming on, captain said they should take their orders from ker Haral, and ker Haral said-”
“The kif. Where’s the kif?”
“They’re just staying out there. That kif Skkukuk wanted to talk to them. My captain said no. Ker Haral said no.”
“No,” she said, and took a careful mouthful of soup as Khym moaned and rolled over and lifted himself on his elbows. “Food,” she said. “Khym.” The soup was hot as Ahr’s fires. Instant stuff. Wonderful stuff. They were still alive and the cabin was staying still and the worst things were far from as bad as they might be. No major confrontations. Kif staying where they belonged. Everybody where they belonged. Excepting Ehrran and a set-to at the shuttle-dock. And Ayhar; and gods knew where Sikkukkut was. Alarm bells kept going off all down her nerves. That bastard Sikkukkut pulled a surprise arrival at Meetpoint. Does he need originality? She shivered convulsively, blinked and guarded herself as Khym shook the mattress getting himself propped up. “Here.” She gave him her cup and took the other, the tray more convenient for her, then glanced up at Fiar’s anxious, dutiful lace. “Llun’s fending rocks, is she?”
“Lots of rocks,” Fiar said. And dipped her ears in nervous respect. Embarrassed, now that Khym was awake. She was young. “But my captain told them on station lines, about the* kif, about the methane-breather we saw. About all those stations shut down. About the humans and the mahendo’sat. Everything. Figuring they might not have had time to sort the log out, they better know.”
“Good. Thank her. I’ll be there fast as I can.”
“Yes, captain. You want anything-”
“You want to turn that monitor there on, on your way?”
“Aye, captain.” Fiar hugged her tray under her arm, flipped the switch on the wall monitor mounted next the bath and dived out again. The door shut.
“Uhhhn,” Khym moaned around a swallow of soup.
The system schema on the monitor showed what the young spacer had said: a lot of hani ships within spit of Gaohn station and a lot of kif and hani and a scatter of mahendo’sat staring at each other farther out on the fringes. All at relative stop.
No Jik. Not showing himself. He wouldn’t.
Not dead, not dead, gods rot it. He jumped and got himself after those bastards or he’s out there calling the moves and waiting for Sikkukkut. Has to be. We got too many mahendo’sat in this system just sitting there cooperating. He’s going to use my whole by the gods solar system for a mahen battlezone.
She reached to the console and punched the com. The tick and chatter of bridge operations invaded the cabin. Quiet talk. Reassuring in its monotony. Llun clan was in charge of the station, fair and sane: trouble in the corridors, but Llun had central, and sanity was making progress out there. Against Ehrran’s best efforts.
“We’re all right,” she said.
All right. My gods, Pyanfar. Where’s Kohan? What’s happening out on dock, onworld, what are we going to do?
“Uhhn,” Khym said again. Drinking soup in constant little sips as if it was going straight to the veins, direct transfusion. They had both shed all over the sheets. Fright. Exhaustion. Depletion.
“Bath,” she said. It was the thing she wanted most, more than food, more than sleep. She set the cup down on the table console, crawled out of bed and left her breeches on the floor on her way.
Straight into the shower cabinet and on with the water and the soap. Lots of soap. A deluge of soap and hot water.
A shadow showed up against the transparent door, tall and wide and hani. She opened the door and let him in.