“Alliance,” Sikkukkut said. “Myself and your Personage.”
“You got.”
“It’s more than talk we’ve got to do,” Rhif Ehrran said.
“The han deputy wants to know her advantage in this,” Sikkukkut said. “But hani have allied with kif before. The deputy knows whereof I speak. Hani have formed various associations.”
Pyanfar slid a glance Ehrran’s way; the deputy’s ears were down.
“What,” Ehrran asked, “does the hakkikt know about hani allied with kif?”
“One word. Tahar. Does that interest you?”
“Where is Tahar?”
“In service to Akkhtimakt. Moon Rising is one of his ships and Tahar one of his skkukun. Not high in his estimation- but of some use to him.”
“Gods rot,” Pyanfar muttered, and looked at Sikkukkut herself.
“A hani famed for treason-treason, is that not the word?”
“It’s close enough. Where is she?”
The kif shrugged, smooth as oiled silk. “Where is Akkhtimakt? Now does confrontation interest you?”
“She do fine,” Jik said, studying the ice in the glass, in Rhif Ehrran’s silence. “What say, hakkikt?”
“Ssko kjiokhkt nokthokkti ksho mhankhti akt.” Sikkukkut waved a hand. “The station personnel are free to go.”
“A.” Jik twisted half about in his chair, leaned back within view of the mahendo’sat and stsho. “Shio! Ta hamhensi nanshe sphisoto shanti-shasti no.”
There was babble. The stsho shrilled; and the mahendo’sat left the kif s hands and headed for the door, walking at first, then moving with increasing speed. The stsho ran, fell, scrambled up and fled through the chittering crowd even before the mahendo’sat.
Jik turned around again when the jam in the doorway had cleared. He pulled another stick from his belt and lit it. “How many ship you got?” he asked.
“Here? All kif here are mine but one. And that one is disabled; its crew-is presently rearranging its loyalties.”
“Fourteen ship. We got three. No problem. Akkhtimakt maybe come Kshshti; maybe come Mkks. Not good you stay here, all same. Advice come free, a?”
“So Mkks will fall again-if Akkhtimakt comes here.”
“He not stay. Got no reason stay.” Another expansive puff of smoke. “He quick learn we go Kefk, a? So he come. He leave Mkks, come Kefk number one quick, pay you visit.”
Wrinkles chained up Sikkukkut’s snout. “So by aiding me you aid Mkks.”
“You right, friend.”
“Hunter Pyanfar, where are your loyalties in this?”
“Myself. My crew. My friends. Jik wants us there, I don’t doubt we’ll talk about it.”
“So. And a promise. Will you keep it?”
“Thought kif didn’t have the word.”
“You do.”
She scowled. “I do.”
“Then take your human as a gift. Join us. I will give the orders in this attack. I will personally provide you information on Kefk defenses.”
“Jik?”
“You promise. Got no problem.”
She shot Jik one long, burning look. But he did not look her way, studying instead the contents of his glass. She looked back over the rifle barrel balanced on her knee.
“Jik and I will talk about it.”
“You go,” Jik said.
“Huh,” she said.
“She promise.”
“Excellent.” Sikkukkut unfolded upward from his chair. There was a stir among the kif. “You are all free. Take that as my gift.”
He drew back. Blackrobed kif surrounded them.
“Tully.” Pyanfar reached out and nudged Tully with her foot, her rifle in both hands. “Tully. Up. We get you out of here. You walk, Tully.”
He gathered himself up, holding to Sikkukkut’s vacated chair, and stood wobbling on his feet. No one said anything. Likely Rhif Ehrran was choking on what she wanted to say about the situation, but it was not the time or place for it. Pyanfar stood up and let her rifle hang at carry, laid her hand on Tully’s bare, claw-streaked shoulder. It was icy cold. There was a deep and healing wound on his arm. Come on,” she said. “With us.”
He walked. Geran took his arm with her left hand, her right on the butt of her pistol. Jik was up-he had the stick still in his mouth, and drew yet another puff on the foul thing. Rhif Ehrran was on her feet and drew her own crew into retreat.
It was a long walk through the silent kifish crowd to the door, a slow one, at Tully’s pace. But they made it out into the comparatively bright light of the docks, the atmosphere laden with oils and volatiles that hit like a gust of fresh air after the closeness of the meeting hall.