“You play hero I’ll send you for a walk.” The tc’a-blip stayed steady on, ghosting along inertial as if it knew it served as shield. She reached for another concentrates packet, solids, this time. It tasted horrid. Her stomach rebelled and she shuddered. Beside her, Haral took the same opportunity, trying to keep reactions quick and brain functioning. By this time the hunter-ships were surely on their second shift of well-rested crews.
“The tc’a’s being real reasonable so far,” Haral said.
“Does it understand?” Khym asked from com. “Are those things ever friendly?”
“Those things do what they want and gods forbid it zigs or zags. It will when it gets to approach V.”
“Knnn, now,” Haral said, “have fewer rules.”
Vid came up on last-monitor, a collection of spheres and drivepack with five vanes irregularly spaced about it.
“That tc’a?” Tully asked.
“Closest you’ll ever want to see one in motion,” Haral said. “Yes, it’s tc’a.”
“Kkkt.” From Skkukuk. “Kkkkt. Kkkkt,” a soft droning, talking to himself.
Gods-rotted kif. Skkukuk’s advice was what Skkukuk would do. If he had the guts. The sfik. The self-assurance. Shoot anything that moved.
Loyalty was measured on that status-scale. Skku, the kifish word was . . . which meant vassal.
What’s Skkukuk mean, then? Faithful servant?
Slave?
“Skkukuk. Were you born with that name?”
A silence. “Kkkkt. No.” From across the bridge, out of its furthest corner. “I’ve had it seven years.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-six. Captain, I am in discomfort.”
Mysteries and mysteries.
Doubtless hani puzzled Skkukuk too. “Kkkkt,” it said. “Kkkkt.”
“Kif, shut up.”
There was silence then.
“Tc’a,” Khym said in distress. “Hilfy, tc’a-”
Communications matrix came up on-screen. “Priority. It’s going to-”
The Pride yawed, and power slammed in. “Gods and thunders!” Pyanfar swore.
“-maneuver,” Hilfy said.
Stable again. Gods-be earless gods-be lunatic-A stream of profanity, holding the concentrates that wanted to crawl back up her throat.
Pyanfar shook. Steadied her arm. Heard Khym’s deep gasp. The Pride kept up the braking thrust.
Clang!
“Rock,” Haral said.
“No alarms,” Tirun said.
Two more rang off the hull. Ping. Boom.
“Daughter of a-!” Pyanfar kicked in the braking full.
“We’re sound,” Tirun said.
“Kif back there aren’t happy,” Geran said.
“Neither am I,” Pyanfar muttered. “Gods rot-”
The tc’a left them, rolled and slewed off in an approach maneuver that made sense to a multibrained snake.
She held course. “No following that. We’re on our own.”
“The tc’a’s transmitting,” Hilfy said. “We’re getting Aja Jin-”
Scan image crossed to main monitor. The lead ships were moving in on docking approach.
“Guard ship’s braking,” Haral said.
“Message from Harukk: Sikkukkut’s compliments and he invites our docking. Says Kefk has surrendered.”
“Tc’a-” said Khym.
“I’ve got it-” Hilfy’s voice, weak and strained. “That’s station, docking instructions for the tc’a.”
“Kkkkt.”
“Skkukuk.” Pyanfar shifted her eyes to look up at a reflection of the bridge. “What’s your opinion, huh?”
“The station has surrendered.”
“Where’s the trap now?”
“Kkkt. They will let you dock. Beware Sikkukkut. Beware your allies. Return my weapons, hani. Arm me with the best you have. I will be an advantage.”
“To which side?”
“Kkkt. To the side of advantage. Sikkukkut has none for me. Kkkotok kto ufikki Sikkukkutik nifikekk nok Akkhtimaktok kektkhikt nok nokktokme-kkkkt.”
Something about Akkhtimakt and meals and unique objects.
Her screen lit with a transcription, mute, from Hilfy’s post: Sikkukkut having derived service from me would find it a twice unique treasure to feast on me in the face of Akkhtimakt.
“Sounds like he’s got a problem,” Haral muttered, “if one could believe the son. Which I don’t, not half.”
“That’s confirmed from Jik,” Hilfy said. “Jik’s committing himself to dock. Harukk’s transmitting.”
“Gods rot it.” Pyanfar flexed her hand in the brace and laid her ears back. The pulse kept on hammering in her ears. “We’re fools. Gods-be kif station, gods-be lunatic mane-” Where’s our shiplist, Jik?
“What’s he up to?” Haral asked. So Haral had thought much the same, in the secrecy of her old and wily heart, that at the last moment Jik might pull something.
“I don’t know. Hilfy; feed the schema down to Skkukuk’s screen.”
“Aye.”
“Does that look normal, kif?”