“Tully,” she said, leaning to look down the board where he had settled in. “We don’t know when the humans come, right? You record message: record, understand? We send it to system edge, wide as we can, and constant-” She remembered in dismay she was not dealing with Pyanfar. “Your permission, cap’n.”
“What?” the snapped answer came back. She had to explain it all again. In more detail. And: “Do it,” Sirany said. “Just keep us advised what you do. You got whatever you want.”
She drew a larger breath, activated com output and set about explanations, alternately to kif and to human and to The Pride’s interim captain. Then there was the matter of communicating with their mahen allies out there, whose disposition and intentions were another question: not many of the mahendo’sat ships had stayed insystem, but such as had were out there face-to-face with the kif, and nominally linked to the hani freighters who were also holding position out there in that standoff. So far they were letting the kifish ship move out where a kifish message with The Pride’s wrap on it had indicated it should go.
Blind acquiescence was asking a lot, of both mahendo’sat and hani. And even of the kif.
But things had to stay stable. More, they had to sort themselves out into some kind of defense, both internal and external. The next large group of ships to come in, at any given moment, could be Akkhtimakt’s kif in a second strike, which would swing the whole kifish allegiance in the other direction; or it might be Sikkukkut, having disposed of Goldtooth; or Goldtooth and the humans. Or either without the other. Gods knew what else. Panicked stsho, for all they knew. Or tc’a.
Far better that whatever-it-was should meet an already existing wavefront of information designed to provoke discussion instead of indiscriminate fire.
Handle the kif, the woman said.
She sent it wide. In half a dozen languages and amplified via whatever ships would relay it, to all reaches of the system, continuously, since Gaohn station relays and apparently those of the second outsystem station and both buoys were not cooperating. She was talking to more than those insystem and those arriving; she was talking also to a certain mahen hunter, who had lost himself and gone invisible.
Chanur is taking Gaohn Station. This solar system is under control of Chanur and its allies and its subordinates. You an’ entering a controlled space. Identify yourselves.
“Hold fire!” Pyanfar yelled, turning, her back to the sidewall, the AP up in both hands where it bore on a flat eared, white-round-the-eyes cluster of hani blackbreeches Immunes, who were framed in the corridor opening and vulnerable as stsho in a hailstorm. A shot popped past her, high; one streaked back. “Hold!” Khym yelled, and: “Hold it!” Kohan Chanur echoed, two male voices that rumbled and rattled off the corridor walls in one frozen and terrible instant where slaughter looked likely.
But they were kids who had run up on them. Mere kid-. Their ears were back in fright. None of them was armed except with lasers and they were staring down the barrels of
APs that could take the deck out. They thought they were going to die there. It was in the look on their faces.
“Don’t shoot!” one cried, with more presence of mind than the rest, and held her little pistol wide.
“Are you Ehrran?” Pyanfar yelled back at them, and one of them bolted and ran.
The others stayed still, eyes wide upon the leveled guns.
Prisoners we don’t need.
Gods-be groundling fools.
“Get out of here!” she yelled at the rest of them. “Out, rot your hides!”
They ran, scrambling, colliding with each other as they cleared that hall, no shot fired.
She turned again, saw weary faces, bewildered faces, saw dread in Rhean Chanur and the rest, spacers who had come home to fight against kif and ended up fighting hani kids. That was the kind of resistance there was. That was what they had come down to, trying to take their station back from lunatics who threw beardless children at them.
“Gods save us,” she said, and drew a ragged breath and shook her head and winced at the thump of explosion, which was Haral with their allies blasting their way through another pressure door that had been, with hani persistence, replaced with another windowed door after the last armed taking of Gaohn Station. Nothing bad would ever happen twice, of course. Not at civilized Gaohn. Not to hani, who had no wish to become involved in foreign affairs. Gaohn Station prized its staid ways, its internal peace, maintained by ceremonies of challenge and duel.