Haral’s voice, instruction-giving again.
And Pyanfar’s: Gods-be fool.
Fire hit, tracing smoke puffs on the deck where Khym ran.
Pyanfar darted behind the cans of volatiles and kept running, feeling the ache in bones and head with every jolt of her feet on the deckplates. The air was too thin and burned the lungs, the ammonia-smell cut with acrid smoke and laced with ozone. She sobbed another breath in a glance back and stopped to wave Gilan and Naur on with a pass of her hand, covering them without firing-wanting no notice they could avoid, but keeping her finger hard on the trigger. Vihan had Canfy by the arm, guiding her; Nif and Tav sprinted after, and hindmost, Haral with Haury flung over her shoulder, jogging along at what pace she could make, Haury no small woman and Haral not smallish either. “Go,” Pyanfar yelled at Gilan’s back, and ran back to intercept Haral as Haral struggled away from the explosive cans, grabbed Haury as Haral ducked out from under her body-no word of debate from Haral. Haral ran; and Pyanfar shouldered Haury to a carry and jogged on, all but blind for want of air. Fire suddenly burst on the far side of the cans-evidently kif saw the hazard marker-not hitting them. They kept going, reached a tentative shelter behind a cargo-loader. But next was an open space, and a run to scant shelter by the stress-supports. After that, another run, and another and another.
And if Jik had not reached them by now, there was something impassable in the way.
“Na Khym!” Hilfy cried, beckoning her uncle to safety, and he heard, by the gods he heard, and spun about and came sliding in by the gantry-side beside her all reeking of sweat while Geran slid in beside.
“Gods,” Geran said, pointing ahead, and there was Skkukuk still going, face on with a kif who stood frozen in his path as if it were trying to analyze the matter; then it fired, twice, zig and zag, where Skkukuk had been, but not where he was, which was coming down right onto the kif and taking it in a rolling tangle of black robes.
“Uhhn,” Khym said.
The uppermost kif’s head was bearing down and down at its enemy-gods knew what it was at. Hilfy shuddered and looked back as Tully came sliding in, -and Tahar and Tirun with him, Tully desperately out of breath and white and gasping in the kifish air. “Where’s Skkukuk?” Tirun asked. “Gone Over?”
“Gods know which one’s alive over there,” Hilfy said. “I don’t and I don’t care.” She lifted the gun then, not clear she was going to shoot, but not clear she was not going to either.
Tirun’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. “What are you into? What are you into, Hilfy Chanur?”
The fury on Tirun’s face bewildered her; and came home slowly. Hani. Home. And civilized behavior.
“It’s a gods-be kif!”
“Who’s in command out here?”
She let go the tension in her arm and lowered her ears in silent deference. Tirun let go her hand, ears flat.
“Py-anfar,” Tully said, and took her by the shoulder, hard. “Hilfy, Py-anfar-”
She threw off his hand.
“Can we for godssakes move it?” Dur Tahar asked.
“Move,” Tirun said, and led this time, until others of them outstripped her, Hilfy among the first. Like a shadow in the tail of her eye she saw the kif leap up and run into the shadows on the far dockside, saw him weave out again and into cover, and afterward, vanish.
Pyanfar stumbled, hit the deck on her knees and threw herself to save Haury’s skull-but Haral and Tav were quick enough-both of them to save Haury, and Haral to grab
Pyanfar by the belt and haul her into shelter of a metal console.
“O gods,” Pyanfar moaned, and made shift to get her torn knees under her. Her chest and gut ached, her loins were water, the knees long gone. She leaned on Haral’s arm and on Haral for a moment. “I’m too old for this-o gods-”
“Aye,” Haral panted, the two of them braced against each other, holding to each other.