It was the knife in Geran’s mind now.
Bloodfeud. Pyanfar knew. She gnawed her mustaches with dread of what might already exist on The Pride, and fretted at the delay of using the lighter; and loathed the procedures and the kif with their dark hand into The Pride’s codes, their presence at her vulnerable downside access. Allies. Allies-while they did gods-knew-what to Jik.
Traitor, was a word she thought, among other words for Ana Ismehanan-min. Vigilance had to be going for jump by now and Mahijiru sped after-Goldtooth knowing, by the gods, knowing he was leaving Jik in a desperate bind-But not knowing he had left Jik a prisoner. She refused to believe Goldtooth had known his gods-be fool of a partner would have not gone immediately back aboard Aja Jin with his crew, that the loyal fool would have headed down that dock-side personally, hunting a hani friend, trying to get them clear of that threatened dock and clear of kifish retaliation.
And gotten himself caught by the kif. Alone.
Soje Kesurinan commanded Aja Jin now-an able woman: all Jik’s people were first-rate, and his second in command was no fool. Would not become one, she hoped. Gods, she hoped.
Treachery on all sides. Only the kif had betrayed no one. Only the kif had stood by their word. Like Skkukuk, back there, a forgettable lump of shadow at the lighter’s extreme rear. Skkukuk, who had never yet played them false.
Loyalty?
Your sfik still attracts his service, Sikkukkut had said of Skkukuk.
And wondered in the next breath whether it was the alternative which compelled Skkukuk’s devotion to his new captain.
Chur. Jik. The cold of the air penetrated Pyanfar’s skin and she sat numb while the G force of rollover hit and a vast white mass hove up in the viewport. Braking started in earnest as white and black alternated-as station rotation carried a kifish ship past their bow. Slower and slower. Lower and lower toward the place The Pride would occupy as the rotation carried it round. Doing it on the first pass, thank the gods. No waiting round. The access code would have gone out. The Pride would have her docking boom extended, waiting for them to make contact, continually tracking them, aligning the cone precisely with their approach.
The rim of the cone came up, gargantuan on their relative scales. The co-pilot reached and hydraulics whined, extending the lighter’s own docking-stops, a ring of partials about the bow to prevent the cone swallowing them entire. They shoved forward into the green-lit interior.
Contact and gentle hydraulic rebound as the lighter’s ring absorbed the shock and locked hard. Not a grind or grate. Perfect dock. … Arrogant and good, Pyanfar acknowledged. But if he isn’t, a kif’s not a Harukk pilot, is he? A dozen worries gnawed at her, tumbling in suddenly as she ran out of concerns to distract her. Another whine from the lighter’s systems, a shuddering as The Pride’s years-unused boom dragged them down against the hullport, lock beeping at lock until the boom knew how much extension to leave on it.
They had stable G now, linked via The Pride’s boom to station’s rotation. She unbuckled and felt her way over Khym’s knee and Haral’s till both of them unbuckled and made room for her next Dur Tahar. “Dur,” she said, “you’re welcome aboard. Want to tell you that again. We’ve still got a little time here, I hope to the gods.”
“You’ve got your own troubles.”
“We got medical equipment. Moon Rising-”
“We’re pretty well set up to handle it. Got some nice stuff. Piracy-pays, Pyanfar. We’ll see to Haury. And the rest of us.”
She nodded, started to get up and make her way back forward as the deck rocked to final contact. The accessway whined, starting into place overhead.
Dur Tahar caught her arm. “What you did-going after my crew; staying with them-they told me how you and Haral carried Haury down that dock-”
“Yeah, well-”
“Hey.” The hand bit hard. “Chanur. You want my word? You want anything we have? You’ve got it.”
“You follow my lead in this?”
“Hearth and blood, Chanur.”
She nodded slowly. There were things not to say aboard, where every word they whispered might be monitored up front; or outright recorded. Even dialect was unsafe: there might be kif translators. And there was a plenitude of things not to hint at-like plans for Meetpoint; and what they were going to do if they found hani lined up on the other side.