The Kif Strike Back by CJ Cherryh

“Huh.” Pyanfar’s eyes went to the time ticking away in the corner of main-monitor. Small alarms went prickling up and down her spine. She sipped at the gfi. “Coming up on the half hour mark and Jik pays social calls. Are those Ehrran guards still on watch in our lock?”

“Had a call from Vigilance a few minutes ago,” Haral said. “They say they’re going to pull them out at the half hour mark. I gave them thank-you and told them we’d take care of ourselves from then on out.”

“Gods-rotted pointless anyhow. Gods-rotted Ehrran priggish gods-be punctilious nonsense that keeps an Ehrran ear to Chanur business, that’s what they’re up to. Sealed lock and they’ve got to set guards in it.” Pyanfar’s lip twitched. A thought came through. “That blackbreeched bastard knows something’s interesting in our downside corridor. Never mind what passes through our lock.”

“You think?” That rated a turn of Haral’s head.

“Khym was on guard down there when Ehrran first came aboard. That kif Skukkuk walked up to our ship and never came off; you want to bet no one on the dock saw that? And that Rhif Ehrran hasn’t been sniffing round everyone she can interview on this station? If she missed any of that, she heard me ask Sikkukkut what to do with the bastard: by the gods she knows. Knows about Sikkukkut coming here to talk, And she’s waiting on me to cave in and send some explanation what we’re doing with the kif.”

“File’s got to fill whole banks by this time.”

“Doesn’t it? I swear I’ll give that kif to her.” She gulped the last of the gfi, looked around for someone free to carry it to the galley. Tully sat beside Tirun. Khym was rattling about in galley; latches snapped and thumped.

Tully turned wide eyes on her, blue and holding that perpetual hint of panic. “Trouble?” he asked Chur, with a glance her way.

“Explain it to him.” Pyanfar shoved the empty cup down the security-bin. “I’m going down to talk to Jik when he comes in.”

“Want company?” Haral asked.

“Sit on things here. Who’s going to do that undock?”

“Central says they’ve got crew moving up. Mahendo’sat.”

“Fine.” Pyanfar headed for the door. “Fine.-Get Tully’s drugs for jump. Tully, hear?”

“I got,” Tully patted his pocket. “But kif-”

“Thank the gods. Brains.”

“I work jump.”

“You work, huh? You work it flat on your back. You go to bed, hear? And, Chur, you’re going to quarters on this, from undock out.”

“Captain-” Chur powered the chair about and opened her mouth to protest.

“You heard me. You’re still! not sound. Haven’t got time to take care of you. Don’t make me problems.”

“I’m begging you this one. Captain. I’m going to be fit. It’s a rough one. I want to be there.”

“Huh,” Pyanfar said. Thought about it a moment too long and shook her head. “Gods rot it, all right, take duty.”

“I,” Tully said. “I work.”

Another unanswerable stare, blue-eyed this time. His mouth trembled in that way he had when he had gone his limit.

She remembered then she had put a thing in her pocket, transferred from yesterday’s plain trousers. She had meant to give it to him. Now it took on a superstitious feel, like saying no to Chur. She fished it out between thumb and foreclaw and took his hand and laid it there, a small gold ring meant for human hands, not ears.

He closed his fist on the small bit of gold that had belonged to some lost friend. It meant something profound to him. “Where get?”

“Just keep it on your hand this time.”

He put it on- his finger. Looked up again with fever in his eyes. Then he clasped her hand with a fierceness that disarranged joints and claws; she flexed claws out in self-protection, strength opposed to strength, and he let go. “You sit this chair, huh?” You sit here, stay steady, keep Hilfy-gods, keep her thinking. Shame her into it. Don’t let her be a fool, Tully.

“I work, captain,”

“Captain. Huh.” Someone had taught him that. He managed it in hani, confounding the overworked translator, which sputtered through the com at his belt. “Takes orders, does he? Huh. Tully, you watch.”