Tully’s shoulder touched hers and leaned there. She felt his weight, the chill of his flesh: gods, no, stay upright, don’t give way, don’t faint, they’II go for you-
The kif lifted his hands to the hood he wore and dropped it back to his hunched shoulders, the first sight she had ever had of any kif unhooded, and it was no pleasant thing, the long dark skull, the dull black wisp of mane that lay forward-grained along the centerline: he was virtually earless, stsho-like in that respect. She had seen models. Holos. None were this peculiarly graceful, ugly thing.
The eyes rested on her, apt for such a face, dark and glittering. “You will understand these things: this creature has more than sfik-value; it has sfik itself. Let me speak in hani terms: Akkukkak perished of embarrassment. Therefore I love this creature, because it has killed my superior and now I have no superior.”
“Gibberish.”
“I think it quite clear. It has value. If it yields me its value and tells me what I ask I shall be further grateful,”
“Sure.”
“Perhaps I shall keep it in my affection and let it see the death of my friend Akkhtimakt. Perhaps I shall let it eat of my rivals.”
It still spoke hani. The words meant other, kifish things. Her nape bristled. She wanted out, out of here.
“Translate this.”
“-He’s crazy as all kif.”
The thin body shook and hissed atop its insect-perch. “Bigot. I shall make my own translations. Kkkt!”
“Fool!” mahen authority screamed into com; and other, less complimentary things.
“Stand by third dump,” Pyanfar said.
“You fool, daughter ten thousand fools, what do? what do? You get report sent han this outrage; we report you endanger-”
The Pride dumped speed, a breakup of telemetry-
-phased in again, into a new flood of station chatter.
“Khym. List.” Tirun’s voice, prompting him in his muzziness. “Shift it. Move.”
The incoming shiplist turned up on number two screen, Haral’s transfer of data smooth and routine while station’s voice suddenly grew quieter …
“That’s two minutes Light,” Geran said. They were virtually realtime with Mkks station, moving at a crawl now, within the capacity of their realspace braking thrust.
Harukk, the shiplist said. There were other kifish names. A lot of them. A few mahendo’sat. A stsho. (A stsho, at Mkks!) A flock of tc’a and chi in Mkks’ small methane-sector.
“Thank the gods,” Pyanfar muttered, and began to take he telemetry again, shifting her mind back to business. “Approach,” she said; and when Geran delayed: “Course clearance, gods rot it, look to it!” She began The Pride’s high-V braking roll. “Hang on. We’re going with it. Now.”
“What business?” Sikkukkut asked; and Hilfy pressed close to Tully’s side, hearing the shifting of bodies about them beyond the smoke and the lights. “What did it arrange with the mahe? Kkkt. Ask it. Get an answer, young Chanur.”
“-He’s asking about deals,” Hilfy said, and shifted again, for a kif moved up on that side of Tully. She looked at Sikkukkut. “He doesn’t understand. He can’t understand, gods rot it. He uses a translator on our ship. He can’t speak, he can’t shape our words even if he knew what I was saying to him.”
Sikkukkut gathered up a silver cup from the table, a ball-like thing studded with thumbsized, flat-ended projections. He extended a dark tongue, dipped his snout into it and drank-gods knew what. He lifted his face. A thin tongue flicked about his muzzle. He still held the cup, his fingers caressing the flat-studded surface. “Choose better words: They will harm him, young Chanur, my skkukun; they will. Persuade him. Break this silence of his. If there are mechanical translators needed, we will supply them. Only make him speak.”
“I’m trying.” She shifted again, bringing herself between Tully and the circling kif. “Back off!-Tully, Tully, tell him something. Anything. I think you’d better.”
-Lie, she wished him; play the game, I’ll help you-She felt the chill of his body against her side. She tried to look up at him, but he looked only to the kif, perhaps without the wit left to lie at all.
“Perhaps,” said Sikkukkut-A door opened, admitting sullen light: another kif came in, silhouette like all the rest.-“We should consider another private interview with him. Kkkk-t?”