The Kif Strike Back by CJ Cherryh

“Friend, huh?”

“Our interests coincide. He wants me to defeat Akkhtimakt, disliking Akkhtimakt’s immediate objectives. I want the same, of course. So should you.”

“Maybe I do.”

Sikkukkut’s snout wrinkled and unwrinkled. “Kkkt. Let us assume we are allies. Remember this at Kefk. Should things no amiss, come to me.”

She stared at him a long, long moment. “That what you’ve come to say?”

“I find you of interest.”

“Gods, thanks.”

More wrinkles. “You are ingenuous. You have enemies at home.”

Her ears sank. “What’s that got to do with here and now?”

“Much to do with the future. Will you sell me this human?”

“No.”

“What will you do with him? Tell me. I confess to curiosity.”

“I don’t know I’ll do anything. He’s crew.”

“Hani perplex me. But you’ve promised, haven’t you? You’ll give me Kefk.”

“Jik said as much. Does it take a private deal with me?”

“I offer you pukkukkta on all our enemies.”

“Revenge I don’t need.”

“Do you not? Tc’a sing your name. I have heard it.”

The hair stood up on her back. “Fine. I imagine they gossip a lot of things.”

“Pukkukkta.” The dark lips drew back and exposed keen incisors with their v-form gap; one arm flourished outward, with a flare of dark sleeve. “Hani, there will be a day you want it.”

“What by the gods does that mean?”

But Sikkukkut had turned and walked away, a diminishing blot on the light. He stopped and turned half about, always graceful. “You’ll have to let me out, of course. Friend.”

“Tirun. We got a visitor leaving. Let him out.”

“Aye,” the answer came back. Sikkukkut walked on in serene dignity and Pyanfar tautened the skin at her back to smooth the fur. Muscles resisted and turned the motion into a shiver.

“Gods,” Haral muttered.

“See he gets off,” Pyanfar said; and Haral strode off down the corridor in that direction, where the kif had disappeared around the corner, headed for the lock.

Her hair did not unbristle until Haral reappeared and walked back to join her.

“You record that, Tirun?” she asked of the empty air.

“I got it,” Khym’s voice came back. “I wasn’t Mahn’s backroom lawyer for nothing.”

She drew a whole breath and spat out a laugh. It was as if some thunderstorm had blown through The Pride’s corridor and the sun had come out again.

But then Haral froze, looking down the corridor beyond her shoulder.

Pyanfar turned abruptly. Hilfy stood there with a pistol in hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Pyanfar yelled.

“I heard the hatch,” Hilfy said. Too quietly.

“We handled it. Get back to quarters, huh?”

“Aye,” Hilfy said. The safety clicked back on. Hilfy pocketed the gun and disappeared around the corner.

“Why did I yell?” Pyanfar muttered to Haral, to no one in particular. “I didn’t have to yell, gods rot it.”

“She’s all right,” Haral said.

“Sure.”

But she did not get the cold of it out of her gut until she had gotten back to the bridge and into the galley.

“What he want?” Tully asked, worried-looking, half-rising from the table; but Pyanfar pushed him down again, her hand on his shoulder.

“Nothing but nuisance.”

“He give money. Want me.”

“He knows I wouldn’t take it.” She sank down onto the bench and reached for her abandoned cup. So what did he want?

Khym took the cup before her hand got there and slid a hot one into her hand.

“Good,” Khym said.

She looked up at her husband, puzzled.

“Good,” Khym said again, meaning just, she thought, good job. She doubted it. But she sipped the gfi and looked up at him. She saw patience in his amber eyes. Patience he had won the hard way.

“Your cabin’s taken,” she said pointedly.

“Huh.” He looked embarrassed at the invitation when he had realized it. Geran was there. Another male was.

Then he looked pleased in spite of himself. His ears flicked. Cods. Tc’a. Methane-breathers. She remembered the knnn that had paced them out of Meetpoint and the hair wanted to stand up on her back again.

Something he said was important. Something was worth the trip here. Him. Would-be lord of all the kif. Visiting me.

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