“Evidently they think that. They’re here.”
“You see outside my ship the results of miscalculation.”
“I noticed, hakkikt.”
“You still consider Keia Nomesteturjai a friend, hunter Pyanfar.”
“Hakkikt, when you use that word it makes me nervous. I’m not certain we understand each other.”
“When you say subordinate I suffer similar apprehensions. What is that ship of yours doing?”
“Following my orders.”
“Which are?”
“Are we to Iater? I’m willing to discuss it if we are.” In the hakkikt’s stony silence she sipped at the cup. “On the other hand, we were talking about Meetpoint. That is where we’re going.”
“Do be very careful, hunter Pyanfar.”
She lowered her ears and pricked them up again. But a kif might not read that hani apology; and galling as retreat was: “I retract the question then.”
“Nankt.” The kif waved a hand; a door opened and someone moved; it was a name he had called. It sounded like one. The hand flourished and took up the cup again from the table. “Well that you learn caution, hunter Pyanfar.”
“It’s holding stationary,” Geran said, and Hilfy watched the development on her own number two monitor, where the limited sweep of their scan picked up a ship which had risen to station zenith, hanging where it had a free shot at everything.
“That’s Ikkhoitr,” Haral said. “One of the hakkikt’s oldest pets.”
“If they’re not talking,” said Tirun, “and they’re not moving, that means they’re at the limit of their orders.”
“Move and countermove,” Haral said.
Hilfy flexed her claws out and in again with an effort at control. Her stomach hurt. She felt a shiver coming on at the thought of that button near Haral’s hand. You going to tell us before you push it? Or just surprise us all, cousin?
With a mental effort she shifted her eyes back to the translation problem and got herself busy, leaving the ship over their heads to Haral’s discretion.
From Khym and Tully, not a word; silence; Chur had not cut in her monitor: Geran had gone back to Chur’s room briefly when it all started, and pushed a button on the machinery, ordering sedative, putting her sister out cold before it got to the noise of locks opening and the ship powering up. Or other things Chur might want to listen in on; and learn too much of situations that she could do nothing about. Geran quietly put her sister out, turned her back and walked back to the bridge to do her job, which she sat doing, businesslike and without a shake or a wobble in her voice or a trace of worry on her face.
Gods-be coward, Hilfy Chanur, do your own job and quit thinking about it.
It was Jik they brought into the hall-Jik, a dark, dazed figure between two kif who held him by either arm: who had to go on holding him on his feet after they brought him to the table. Jik lifted his head as if that took all his strength. Pyanfar’s stomach turned over; her ears twitched against her determination not to let them flatten, and then she let them down anyway: any hani smelling that much drug-laden sweat and pain would wrinkle up the nose and lay the ears down, even if it was not a friend held there in such condition before her eyes.
“Keia,” said Sikkukkut. “Your friends have come to see you.”
“Damn dumb,” Jik said thickly; and Kesurinan climbed slowly to her feet, stood there with her hands at her sides, a bolstered pistol brushing one of them. Kesurinan had the cold good sense to go no farther than that. Tahar tensed in her seat, but she made no further move either, and Pyanfar nodded in Jik’s direction.
“You don’t look too good.”
“Lot drug,” Jik said, head wobbling. “You damn fool. Go ship. Private, huh?”
“It is the drug,” said Sikkukkut. “I forgive his discourtesies. Do you want to cede him your place in our council, Kesurinan? Or not, as you please.”
Do you repudiate your captain? Do you want his post?
Perhaps Kesurinan had no idea what was being asked. She moved and took Jik’s arm from the kif who held it, flung her arm about him and gently eased him down onto the chair.