“Gods rot it, Jik-you had a look at this dock?”
He shrugged. ‘His brow rumpled as he glanced up. “Got trouble, sure. Got lot calls, station folk lot panic. Kif Back down the hall the lift worked. “You do number one fine job get in here, hani. Number one fine job get ker Hilfy out.”
“We’re not through yet. And we’ve got to get out of here again.” She canted her ears toward the recent noise of the lift, turned a glance in that direction. Khym was striding down the corridor with a dark look on his face. She matched the scowl as he walked onto the bridge: he had left his post unasked. But the lift had gone down again, on call. She heard that too.
“Begging pardon,” Khym said tautly. “Ehrran’s headed topside. I locked up.”
She took that in the coded way he meant it: he had left the washroom unremarkable to outsiders. Politics and intrigue: he was no fool in that department. Jik did not ask further, in his own indolently gracious way, and bit another hangnail. The lift worked again. Tirun and Geran got to their feet; Hilfy was already standing. Haral stayed by her board. “She fine captain,” Jik murmured, of their arriving guests. “Come in right on mark; good ship, Vigilance. Also damn fool. I like maybe leave one ship undock, little way out-scare these kif. But this hani scare me, a? Same like have chi for ally: crazy. SO I got make her come in dock too. Keep eye on her. She hate you, Pyanfar. Maybe want you have accident.”
Pyanfar’s ears went down. Ears all round the bridge flattened, excepting the minuscule ears of the gold-glittering mane. “She’s a bastard,” Pyanfar said, “but that far, no-She’d like the kif to settle it.”
And down the hall the lift let out a red-gold, black-breeched crowd of armed hani.
“Sure brought crew enough,” Tirun muttered. “How many’s she got on that ship, anyhow?”
“I checked library back at Kshshti,” Haral muttered, “Vigilance runs a good hundred fifty crew. All those offices, you know.”
“Funny,” Geran said, “when we were short-handed they never had crew to spare.”
“Funny,” Pyanfar said. “I’d have enjoyed turning them down.”
The Eyes of the han walked onto the bridge, immaculate, her silken mane and beard in bronze ringlets; her black silk breeches, Immune clan uniform, were crisp and new; the AP gun hung at her hip in well-polished black leather. Elegance. Wealth-Trying to do what? Pyanfar wondered. Attract bandits and kif? Her ears refused to prick up. Her pulse refused to stay at level. Gods rot the Immune and all her ilk. Government officials. Note-takers.
“Best if we could have avoided this,” Rhif Ehrran said: You botched it, that meant. “Our transmissions from central are all kif. Do we propose to negotiate under these conditions?”
And Rhif Ehrran looked at Jik, deliberately and exclusively at Jik, past Pyanfar.
“We’ll manage,” Pyanfar said in Jik’s silence, and Rhif Ehrran turned her head with just enough slowness.
“I hope so.”
There was no profit in argument. The Immune was only collecting complaints on Chanur clan dealings. Even yet. The list was already long.
“We go,” Jik said. “Maybe time we talk be already long! time the way this human reckon, a? Want him back. Val-u-able, a?”
“We just walk in there.”
“Won’t be a problem,” Pyanfar said. Deliberately she settled on the arm of Tirun’s vacant chair, informal as Jik, leaving the Immune and her crew standing. “We just walked in, walked out. Kif s real friendly.”
The han deputy turned, her be-ringed ears flattening. “You want to walk in and do it again, Chanur? Maybe you can finish the job this time.”
“Fine. It’ll be just fine. You’re delegating to Chanur, are you?”
Jik stood up, abruptly, with a rattle of his weaponry. “No joke,” he said, moving into the midst. “Got number one serious problem. Not got time hani quarrel. Got one human got bad trouble. Got damn bad mess, kif got station, got plenty scared people, got long time not hear from mahen authority this station. You got way get in there, a, friend Pyanfar?”
“Sure. Ask. That kif let us in number one quick. It’s getting out again I can’t vouch for.”