“Probably some load of frozen vegetables,” Tarras said.
“Funny thing they haven’t cleared anybody to leave the station,” Tiar said. “I’m surprised they cleared us.”
Station hadn’t been at all happy when they declared themselves outbound. Station had threatened them with legal action. But station was silent on that point now that they’d entered the all but vacant traffic pattern and declared course for Kefk.
“We’re getting the traffic advisories,” Tiar said.
“Guess they’ve decided not to sue,” Chihin said.
There was a markedly subdued atmosphere on the bridge—no Hallan hadn’t said a thing, Chihin had been remarkably quiet, and Fala maintained a business-only report on the comflow.
One could say one had foreseen this situation, one could toss na Hallan off the bridge and lock him in the laundry, except if anyone deserved to be locked in the laundry the senior scantech ought to be first for that accommodation.
“They’re saying,” Fala said with a sudden edge of alarm in her voice, “they’re saying there’s something electronic in the can. They’re taking it real seriously. Wondering if they should jettison it out the nearest lock.”
“Could be a pressure trigger,” Tarras said. “That’s a cold-hold can. Could be vacuum sets it off, could be thermal…”
“Thermal’s the better bet,” Tiar said, “rig it through the environmental sensors. Think they want advice?”
“They’ve probably thought of it,” Hilfy muttered, “but gods know … relay that, Fala. If they’re going to kick it out, better they maneuver it out sun-side. …”
“Thing could be thermonuclear for all we know,” Chihin said. “Somebody’s out of their godloving mind. They didn’t think we were going to let that thing aboard.”
“Enough if it’s sitting on our dock when it …”
“… goes off. Plain gods-be timer fuse. They should quit messing around and kick it out of there.”
Fala was relaying that, too, she could hear the gist of it. It was useless. Kshshti had to know its possibilities, a few more, maybe, than they could think of.
But the perpetrators had to be on the station or on one of those ships still at dock.
“Methane ship’s hit system.”
“Gods, that’s the brick too many on this load.”
Add the confusion of an inbound methane-breather to a stationside catastrophe and there was no telling what could happen.
“They are going to jettison the can,” Fala reported. Station wasn’t answering its traffic inquiries, wasn’t acknowledging calls, evidently … station’s internal calls were probably reaching crisis proportions. What was coming back to them was the ops channel station made available to nervous ships at dock.
“Tiraskhtiis breaking dock. The kif have given station five minutes to shut down their lines. Station isn’t happy.”
“One gets you ten Ha’domaren is next.”
“Won’t take that bet,” Tarras said.
“Oh, good … gods …”
Number two screen. A white light flashed on Kshshti’s side, flashed and died.
Like a lot of innocent station workers.
There was quiet on the bridge. Station ops com was dead. Then some other channel came through, reporting a major explosion, the decompression of sector 8, ordering Kshshti citizens to remain calm and stay put, ordering ships not to complicate matters by launching.
“Those sons are going anyway,” Chihin said. “Gods rot it, there’s—“
“Methane-breathers are going out,” Fala said.
“They’re talking to the one inbound, I’m not getting any sense on the translator—all that comes clear is destruction and hani and stsho, kif and mahendo’sat.”
Chilling message. You could read a methane-breather’s many-brained matrix output in any direction at all. And it all said the same thing.
Chihin said, “Got more than you bargained for, na Hallan. Nice quiet trading voyage …”
“Let him alone,” Fala snapped.
“Touchy. Touchy.”
“Cut it out,” Hilfy said. “You want to end up as a dust cloud, let’s just have an argument in ops.”
“She—“ Fala began.
“I don’t care!” Hilfy said. “I don’t care who did what. Shut it down! People are dead back there. Let’s have attention to what’s important, shall we? The ones that did that don’t by the gods care who else they kill. Does that fact reach you?”
“Tiraskhti’saway,” Chihin reported. “Going slow. No real hurry. Tc’a are away. Two of them. I’m looking for ID on our station chart. Station’s not giving good output, I think they’re confused. Hallan, double me, I’ve got my hands fall.”