Chanur's Venture

Chapter Nine

The lift let them out where Tully and Hilfy should have gotten to, in the upper security levels, where guards looked nervous at the appearance of a clutch of blood-stained hani armed with rifles, and one of them a male.

But doors opened for them unquestioned, doors upon doors of Kshshti's utilitarian architecture, gray steel, heavy security, armed guards at intervals.

Stars and dark: Pyanfar lost the sight in front of her for that, remembrance of the kif hunter-ship in dock at Meetpoint, sleek, deadly, fast; of a ship outbound to Kshshti nadir and the jump range at a greater and greater fraction of C. She went there the guard motioned, went where doors parted.

The last let them into a dim chamber with a plasteen division, with violet light beyond. On the white-lit side, a desk and two mahendo'sat. On the violet one, a huge serpent-form, which moved and shifted restlessly before the waist-up glass.

Tc'a. The sight of the methane-breather shocked her to an involuntary stop. The barrier looked frail, the presence hani were accustomed to see only on vid and dimly, showed detail that made it seem all too imminent: wrinkled, soft-leather skin with phosphor-glow in the gold, eyespots large as a fist, five of them clustered round a complex trifold mouth/sensor. The tongue darted, constantly. The body shifted to this side and that, which tc'a always did.

"Esteemed captain." The Voice spoke, uncharacteristically subdued. "I present the Personage Toshena-eseteno, stationmaster this side Kshshti; the Personage Tt'om'm'mu, stationmaster methane side."

"Honorables," Pyanfar murmured. The tc'a alone deserved the plural, several times over; and gods help psychologists.

The leathery serpent-shape loomed closer, twisted to peer through the glass with its five orange eye-spots. A wailing came through, five-voiced, from a brain of multiple parts, as a monitor below the glass displayed the glowing matrix:

TC'A TC'A HANI HANI MAHE KIF KIF

CHI CHI STAY STAY STAY GO GO

UNITY UNITY ANGER ANGER ANGER GO GO

STAY STAY STAY STAY STAY GO MESSAGE

"Thank the tc'a Personage. What message?"

"Kif." The mahen Personage rose slowly from the desk, robes falling into order, severe robes unlike the display of Personages elsewhere. He held out a paper with his own hand, and she took it. "This come," the Personage said, not through the Voice, "from Harukk. All three kif ship outbound. We got two mahe ship chase."

"Shoot?"

"No shoot."

She held a small, horrid doubt whether they should have refrained, hostages or no. For the hostages' sake. If it were The Pride in pursuit - but she pushed that thought away. Unfolded the paper.

Hunter Pyanfar, it said. When the wind blows one should spread nets.

Mine was fortunate for us both. Should your sfik insist to meet with me, Mkks is neutral ground.

There you may reclaim what is yours.

"He's got them," she said for the crew's benefit. She gave the paper to Haral. Mkks.

Disputed Zones. Not Kefk, in kif territory.

Bait. Where she could reach it.

"I make order," the Personage said, "mahe ship track this kif. Go Mkks. Try use influence."

"Influence. How much influence, when a kif s got what he wants?"

The Personage made a small, casting-away gesture. Pyanfar stood there with her pulse hammering in her ears and no trust at all. Nothing, where they crossed the mahe's interest.

"You follow this kif?" the Personage asked. "Or you go Maing Tol?"

Which gets my ship fixed, Honorable? But she did not say that. She cast a look toward the glass where the tc'a dipped and wove aimless patterns. Back then to the mahendo'sat in his ascetic robes. "You have a suggestion?"

The Personage lasped into mahen language.

"Hani captain," the Voice said, "kif use proverb mean he got result from confusion someone else. Maybe not plan. Got maybe other motive. This Sikkukkut-" The Voice shifted footing and put her hands behind her. "Forgive. Not got polite hani word. Hatonofa, He look get number-one position."

"I know the word. I don't know this kif. No one knows a kif, but another kif."

Another exchange between Personage and Voice.

"Personage," said the Voice, "want make delicate this. I confess lack skill."

"Say it plain. I'll add the courtesy."

"Ask what else you got this kif want."

"I don't know."

The tc'a made a sound.

CHI TC'A HANI KIF KIF KIF

STAY WARN DATA WANT GOT WANT

TC'A KSHSHTI MKKS MKKS KEFK AKKT

FEAR WARN DIE TAKE TAKE TAKE

"Information," Toshena-eseteno translated that.

"What's the Kefk and Akkt mean?"

The screen went dark and stayed that way.

"What's it mean?" she asked the mahe.

"Not clear." The Personage walked to the glass and laid his hand on it. "Not always clear, tc'a colleague. Warn you. Got warn you. Crew — already work repair you ship. Where go?"

She gnawed her mustache. "Twenty hours."

"Maybe do better."

The screen lit again. The serpent wailed.

CHI TC'A CHI KNNN HANI HANI MAHE

TC'A HANI HANI HANI SAME OTHER OTHER

KSHSHTI KSHSHTI KSHSHTI KSHSHTI KSHSHTI KSHSHTI KSHSHTI

MKKS MKKS MKKS MKKS MKKS MKKS KSHSHTI

SEE SEE SEE SEE GO DIE STAY

DANGER DANGER DANGER THREAT DANGER DANGER DANGER

"What threat?" Pyanfar asked. The matrix had potential to be read in any direction. The computer picked it out of the harmonics and no sequence was certain. "Knnn? What hani die? Present or future?" The tc'a reared back from the glass.

AVOID AVOID AVOID AVOID AVOID AVOID AVOID

"Is that the answer or the reaction?" The tc'a dipped and weaved. A chi skittered up into view from below the glass, a hani-sized bundle of rapidly moving sticks phosphoresced in the violet light. It clambered up the tc'a wrinkled side and clung there, touching with frenetic quivers of its limbs.

The Compact's sixth alleged intelligence. Or a tc'a symbiont. No one had figured that out.

DANGER DANGER DANGER DANGER DANGER DANGER DANGER

"Still, be still." The mahen Personage lifted his hands to the violet glow, turned about against the light. His ears were back. The light glistened in a halo about him; his profile was shadowed, featureless.

"One broke out of Meetpoint," Pyanfar said. "Knnn. Tc'a too. There was trouble there.

Haven't seen it since."

"Knnn come, go. No one ask."

"Might be here, you mean."

"Knnn business. Not talk this."

"They snatched the human ships."

"Not talk this!" The Personage turned to face her, totally shadow now.

She flicked her ears and lifted her head in one long grudging breath. "Apologies." A second, shorter breath. The air seemed close. "I'd better go, Honorable."

"Where you go?" the Personage asked. "Maing Tol? Mkks?"

"You want to tell me which?"

"I say, you not listen, true?"

Not dull-witted. No.

And not, adding up the asked and not-asked, not knowing everything Goldtooth had planned or done. Maybe the wavefront of that information was one lonely hani ship. Or maybe Maing Tol had not trusted Kshshti security.

Coils within coils within coils. To pull the snake's tail one had to know which end was which.

"I got orders," Pyanfar said, "mahe who gave me this job. He trust. You?"

The Personage said something the Voice did not render, and turned and gazed at Tt'om'm'mu.

The tc'a and chi were otherwise occupied, the chi busy waving its limbs over the tc'a's leathery hide.

Speech, maybe. No oxy-breather knew.

The mahe turned round again. "You go where choose. Got no bill, no dock charge. Kshshti give."

"Gratitude."

The mahe joined his hands in courtesy. The tc'a Tt'om'm'mu — remained occupied.

"Hurts," Chur murmured. Her eyes cleared somewhat, looking up at them clustered about her bed. "Want-" The rest of it faded out.

"Sedation's pretty heavy," Geran said, leaning forward from her low stool at the bedside to brush at her sister's mane. Pyanfar nodded, hands within her belt. Geran had gotten the news outside the door, knew the contents of the message. "Good treatment here. Kshshti medics get a lot of practice."

It was a joke, desperately delivered. Eyes still closed, Chur gave a twitch of a smile, as forced as the joke. "Get me out of here, captain. Gods-rotted dull port."

"Get your rest." Pyanfar leaned over and closed her hand on Chur's arm. "Hear? We'll be back."

"Where's Hilfy? Tully?" Chur's eyes opened, far sharper than she had thought. "You find them?"

"We're working on it."

"Gods rot." Chur moved, a stir of her whole body. "Where are they?"

"Go to sleep. Don't move about like that."

"Something's wrong."

"Chur." Geran slipped a hand in and held her arm. "Captain's got work to do. Go back to sleep."

"In a mahen hell. What's the news?"

There was no lying about it. Not to Chur. Not likely. The blood pressure would go up and up.

She would worry at it. "Mkks," Pyanfar said. "Kif snatched them both. One Sikkukkut. Says he's talking deal. Wants us to go to Mkks to meet him."

"O gods."

"Listen." She held Chur's arm, hard. "Listen. It's not hopeless. We've got help from the mahendo'sat. We'll get them back. Both."

"You going to let the mahendo'sat do it?"

She hesitated on that answer. Gave it up for the second truth. "Haral and Tirun and I. We can handle The Pride. They're going on the repairs."

Chur's ears went down against the pillow. Her eyes were shut. "Promised. You."

"Can't do it. Can't do it now."

"Tomorrow. I'll be there. At the ship. Geran too."

"You rest."

"Huhhhhnn." Chur's eyes flashed open. "Patch will hold. I'll stand jump just fine. Captain."

Pyanfar stood back, met Geran's eye.

"See you at the ship," Geran said.

Pyanfar laid her ears back. "Listen." She set a hand on Geran's shoulder and drew her aside.

"We can handle it, much as we can do. Gods-rotted place to be left. Stay with her, huh?"

"Then what?"

Shipless. Two hani, stranded. She had no answer for that.

"See you," Geran said.

One hani left behind. No better. Chur without Geran. They had never been apart, never looked to be. It was a final shock, in what sense remained unnumbed.

"See you." She dropped the hand and turned to gather up Tirun and Haral. Khym stood by the door. No rifles. They had left those outside with a nervous stsho medic and scrubbed up in a washroom.

But the stench of smoke still hung about their clothes. Strong soap and smoke. The smell turned her stomach. "Come on. Better let her rest. -Chur. You take it easy, hear? We'll fix it. Trust us for it."

Asleep, she reckoned.

"Captain." Geran bent beside the bed and picked up a white plastic sack. Washed, since Chur had had it beneath her head. "It's in there. Packet's intact."

"Huh." She took the white bundle and tucked it within her arm. Kif would have killed for it, would have wiped the station to get it — if they knew. The stationmasters themselves had not known.

Knew comparatively little, all things considered. "Thank her, huh?"

She laid the sack on the bridge counter, lacking the heart to delve into the personal things. She drew the packet from it and checked inside.

Intact. Rumpled papers. Recordings protected in their cases. She put the lot into security storage, closed the coded latch.

Sounds reverberated through the hull, horrendous sounds from aft as skimmers performed their work and cut away the stern assemblies. The shocks went through the very frame as a third of The Pride's length was sheared away. "Py. Captain."

She looked up and back. Khym was standing there.

"You didn't mention me — when you talked about crew going to Mkks."

"Khym-"

"I can fetch and carry. I can scrub galley. Lets skilled crew free. Doesn't it?"

Protective instincts rose up. Another image did. Khym's arm between her and the Ehrran; Khym, whose mind had gone on working when hers quit.

"Good job," she said, "that business on the docks." She walked past him, patted him gently on the arm.

"Captain."

Not Py... She looked back, saw rage, and hurt.

"For godssakes don't dismiss me with that.'"

She stood there, trying to recall what she had said or done. "I'm tired," she said. "I'm sorry."

He managed nothing, no answer.

"You want to go," she said, "gods rot it, you're in. Get killed with the rest of us. Happy?"

"Thanks," he said flatly. In a hostile tone.

She turned and walked off. It was the best way, when his tempers got obscure. Gods defend him. Fool.

He was fond of Hilfy, that was what. Age got on him and he doted on daughter-images, remembering his own. Theirs. Tahy. Who had been no defense to him against her brother. Hilfy respected him. Called him na Khym. Fixed special things for him and pampered him the way he was accustomed.

Gods rot.

She reached the galley, delved into cabinets and threw gfi into the brewer, feeling the wobble in her knees. She had not cleaned up, except the scrub at the hospital. She did not care to now, wanting only something on her stomach.

"Fix that for you?" Khym offered, having followed her. "Sit down, Py."

Her arm tautened to slam the unit lid down. She lowered it carefully and looked around, bland as he was. "Galley's all yours."

"How much did you put in?"

"One."

He added more, going quietly about his business, So he had created a place for himself, and truth, if he freed up crew on this one, he was useful.

Whatever they were doing to the tail rose to a distant shriek.

"Py." He offered the cup and she took it. He poured the rest, capped them, to deliver where Haral and Tirun were.

But Haral showed up, bathed and with her blue coarse breeches still showing wet spots, her mane and beard hanging in ringlets. She had a paper in her hand. "That mine?" she asked of the gfi, and laid down the paper in front of Pyanfar. "That came in."

Pyanfar looked at it. Sipped thoughtfully at the gfi.

Ehrran's Vigilance, Rhif Ehrran captain, deputy of the han, Immune,

to The Pride of Chanur, Pyanfar Chanur captain, chief vessel Chanur company:

This will serve as legal notice a complaint will be filed regarding breach of Charter,

section 5: willful disregard of lawful order;

section 12: hire of vessel;

section 22: illegal cargo;

section 23: illegal arms;

section 24: discharge of arms;

section 25: actions in breach of treaty law;

section 30...

She looked up as Khym left on his errand. "They missed the illegal system entry."

Haral gave a short, dry laugh and sat down. The Pride shuddered to operations aft, and the humor died a rapid death.

"We answer that?"

"Fills the time." She drew a deep breath. "Sleep, rest, plot course. We take for granted they'll get us out of here."

Haral's eyes drifted to the clock. Hers too, irresistibly.

"Tully," Hilfy murmured. The Gforce kept on. Her nose bubbled with every breath; some blood vessel had popped inside, adding misery upon misery. Her hurts throbbed, and might be pouring blood, but she could not tell and the cocooning blanket would soak it up.

Tully was still out. She talked to him periodically, in the chance he should have waked, to let him know one friend was with him. But he did not respond. Possibly they had taped a drug patch to him to keep him under. Perhaps he had just failed to come to. Instincts wanted to call for help and other instincts remembered what would come and told her to keep her mouth shut and let him go if he could.

They were headed for jump. And if he were awake he would be terrified.

So was she, when she let her attention wander to herself. When she did that she hoped there was a ship or two chasing them that would let off an unexpected shot before they got to jump, and solve their problems at one stroke.

Think of anything but the place where they were going.

Think of Pyanfar, who was likely taking the station authorities apart and telling them what to do about it, which thought gave her a surge of hope; and Haral — she pictured Haral sitting in that chair whose upholstery she had worn out and turning round just so, with that unflappable calm that never broke, not even when in her first tour she had made a dangerous mistake.

Want to fix that? Haral would say.

O gods, she wished she could.

The thrust died of a sudden, just died, in one stomach-lurching shift to inertial.

Prep for jump.

"Harukk's left," Tirun said, when the word came in. "That's 43 minutes light, station-center.

Pursuit ship relayed image. Jumped. . about an hour and fifteen ago."

Timelag, Tirun meant: reporting time was in that, what ship scan could pick up and relay, beating the beacon report by a few minutes.

Pyanfar nodded, kept working on the course plottings, a great deal of it futile until they had the readout on the new rig. When it got finished.

When.

"That's affirmative on Mkks vector."

"Huh." Her hands shook. She flexed her claws out and in and powered the chair about, taking a look at the work aft, which their dome camera was fixed on. She flinched inwardly at the sight, The Pride stripped of her familiar outlines. There was a new unit moving in. They had the transmissions from the pusher. And getting ship and tail unit joined was only the roughest beginning of the matter, a matter of preparing disconnect-ravaged surfaces for new welds. Hard-suited workers showed like sparks in the working floods, like a swarm of insects where they had backed off for that unit's arrival. Service-corn frequency was never silent, crackling with chiso, the mahen patois that bridged their scores of languages, easier than trade-tongue for mahendo'sat.

"I'm going to get some rest," she said, for the smothering weight of all of it came down at once, and getting herself out of the chair and down the corridor loomed as a major undertaking.

"Call Haral up when you have to."

"Aye," Tirun said. Not an expression, not a question what they were going to do or how.

She appreciated that.

Time did twists now. In one fashion she could relax, because for the next stationside several weeks Harukk and its company were in the between, in the compression of hyper-light, where everything was in suspension and nothing would start again until the Mkks gravity well took hold. Two weeks at least, in which everything was stopped. No pain. No fear. Nothing, til they came out again.

But Tully needed drugs for that gravity-drop, needed them like stsho needed them. Perhaps kif knew this. Perhaps they cared to keep him sane.

Better, perhaps, if he was not.

She waked, suddenly, caught at the edge of the sleeping-bowl and realized she was not falling, despite the thumping of her heart. She rolled and looked at the clock and punched the lights on and the com connection. The hammering was silent. That had waked her.

"Bridge, gods rot it, it's 0400!"

"Aye, captain." Haral's voice. "Nothing's going on. Thought we'd let you sleep."

"Uhhhnn." She leaned her elbow on the bed-edge. "That tail set?"

"They're welding now."

"They're not going to make that deadline."

"They've got techs working on the boards already. They're pushing it."

"Gods." She let her head down on her arm, feeling as if a wall had come down on her yesterday and some of the bricks still lay there. Lifted it again. "How's Chur?"

"Geran called, says she's doing all right. They both got a little sleep."

"Huh. Good."

"Got a call from Vigilance. They got our paper. Ehrran's chewing sticks."

"Good."

"Got a pot of something fixed in galley."

Her stomach rebelled. "Fine." She passed a hand over her face, rubbing her eyes. "I'm coming." She punched the com off, rolled out and sat on the bed edge trying to convince her legs to work.

Gods, Hilfy. Tully. That settled back on her shoulders. There was the packet in the security bin. There was Tt'om'm'mu's writhing shape in its violet glow and the mahendo'sat, together against the glass (don't ask about the knnn) and mahendo'sat making vital connections on her ship, when mahendo'sat incompetency had let kif do as they pleased.

Incompetent? Kshshti stationmaster, and no better than that?

Suspicions had tramped her subconscious half the night, rose up in memories of dreams of a kif in the shadows of that room. Of delicate connections in the column links, some mahen technician carefully making a sequence of mistakes that would send false readout to the boards. Gods, what if-

A body could go crazy on what-ifs. Like treachery from Goldtooth from the start. Like Vigilance being in the right — for hani interests. Like Chanur on the wrong side of matters and about to become expendable in some mahen intrigue.

Or traitorous.

She got up, showered, dressed in a subdued way, a pair of old breeches she saved for rough work. No earrings but the plain ones, such as any spacer wore.

Khym had done much the same, in a pair of silk breeches that had seen the Meetpoint riot and would never be the same. He met her in the galley with gfi and a dish of something overspiced-not good at cookery either. But the job got done and the stuff was far from fatal.

"Good," she said, to please him, and coupled with that was the ugly thought that nothing mattered much, beyond Mkks. Tomorrow. Their tomorrow, and their next tomorrow, when they would come out the other side of jump.

How much time-gain for a hunter-ship like Harukk and its ilk? Days faster than The Pride at absolute best. Harukk would be in port at Mkks as much as a week by the time their day-after-tomorrow came, and they spent time working up to dock at Mkks, and all the attendant nonsense. If they got that far.

She shivered, swallowed an overspiced last mouthful and washed it down with gfi. Her ears kept going down despite herself. She pricked them up. Looked Khym's way. "There's a procedures list in comp," she said to him. "Checklist."

"Got it," he said, displaying a paper on the countertop. Gods, efficiency. She poured the whole matter out of her mind and got up and walked off.

Maybe — maybe the kif would hold off in Hilfy's case, until they had used the bait for everything they could get. Not Tully. No. Not with a chance to pull information about all humankind from him, and a week to do it in. The first time kif had had their hands on him he had had a word or two he could speak, and a handful more he could understand, and never admitted either to the kif.

Now he could get a hani sentence out. And Sikkukkut had fluency.

"Captain," Haral said when she walked out on the bridge. "Got a request from the repair chief.

They want to get column access from inside. I told them go ahead. I'm opening lower deck for that."

"Get their security down there." The thought of outsiders straying at random through The Pride's interior workings set her nerves on edge. But they were out of personnel. Out. Totally.

"Second item," Haral said. "A freighter turned up about 0300 last watch in approach to 29.

Our scan's been down. It just turned up, blink, on station output, at the one-zone. I didn't think it was worth waking you, but I queried station. They identified it as Eishait, said it came in during the Harukk business and security had it scan-blocked. I queried Prosperity. They had their scan shut down. They're too far round the curve for the cameras to help. I put in a call to Vigilance, begging your pardon-"

"They get it?"

Haral dipped her ears. "They said, quote, they had no authority to release information. I suggested they wake their captain. They suggested I wake you."

She drew a tight slow breath and leaned against the counteredge nearest the doorway.

"At that point," Haral said, "it was committed to dock and I figured there wasn't all that much to do about it that fast. Stationmaster's office stuck by the Eishait story. I called Prosperity back and suggested one of them take a walk down that way." "Should have waked me, gods rot it."

"Prosperity agreed. They say it's all security down there. Can't get past. Our work crew never stopped back there, no sign of any concern while that ship was inbound. Meanwhile there's nothing kifish on com.

I think it's a mahen hunter."

"Not friendly of station not to say. Wouldn't you think?"

"Worries me," Haral said. "Whole gods-forsaken place worries me." Her eyes shifted minutely aft, by implication including the repair work. Back again. "You still want that mahen security on our access?"

The breakfast lay uneasy at her stomach. "Put them on it. They're all we've got. And log those exchanges."

"They're logged." Haral powered her chair about and punched into the station comlink.

"Kshshti central, this is the watch officer, from the bridge, The Pride of Chanur. . Get me dock security."

Pyanfar stood away from the counter and looked left as Tirun came shambling in half asleep and nodded a courtesy.

"Morning," she said to Tirun. "Chur's doing fine. Get some breakfast."

"Huh," Tirun said, and went, blindly trustful. Down on lowerdeck they had a lock about to open.

Pyanfar sat down in Tirun's place at bridge ops, conscious of the pistol she kept in her pocket, its weight swinging against her leg. She started locking doors, putting the lift on key/bridge operation only, sealing every hold access but the necessary one that would get work crews to The Pride's vitals.

"Security's coming," Haral said.

Mahen workers came and went, an occasiona splatter of bare running feet, a rush of blacl and brown mahen bodies in the lower corri dors carrying this and that item the tech: wanted — honest mahendo'sat, Pyanfar con vinced herself. She came down to see the faces, to judge reactions, and the earnest look of the workers reassured her. Their speed reassurec her, and the surprised reflexes of respect. Some recognized her, blue breeches and all as she took the tour through ops, where mahen techs ran checks. Above, aft, the first new vane pane was moving up in the careful grasp of a pusher-ship, and suited mahendo'sat prepared the column to receive it.

It was a hundred ten panels wide to the old ninety and looked monstrous large. The olc drive could not have pushed it. The old drive The Pride's old heart, had gone off in the clutches of a mahen pusher and a new, mahen-made unit was coupled to the ship's alloy spine, struts recoupled — as good amputate a part of her, and put back some fancy foreign part. She watched the floods sparkle bright off the panel rim and glisten off the black panel surfaces as the pusher turned. A shiver prickled up her back, worry about telemetry complications, systems that might not mesh and set them, further back, despite the Voice's assurances. Topside, Tirun ran calculations and more calculations, had the third, this time sulphurous request in for raw specifications on the individual units. . "Make soon," the reply had come back from the supervisor, "give composite." And when Tirun objected that: "Got get security dear give that information."

"Good gods!" Tirun had screamed into com. "It's part of our ship, you gods-rotted lunatic!"

"I make request," the supervisor said.

Meanwhile the panel was moving in, and mahendo'sat ran their own checks in ops; and things felt — marginally in control. Not just the unit back there on the tail. The bill. The finance.

Nine tenths of The Pride's physical value, excluding her licenses and rights — and mahendo'sat picked up the tab.

Foreign hire. Vigilance had made that charge already. They were down there logging everything. There would be inquiry.

The han would have questions.A lot of questions. If they lived through Mkks.

She turned from the screens, walked past a cluster of chiso -babbling mahendo'sat who had their own instruments linked into auxiliary sockets on the ops board, headed out in the hall for fresh air.

They had the place chilled down for the mahendo'sat. The hall was frigid. A cold draft wafted in from the lower lock, with the flavor of Kshshti docks, oil and old beer and mahendo'sat as she passed that corridor. Workmen in their orange coveralls came in, some went out. She pursued her way to the lift.

Hilfy. The thought came nudging in whenever she let it, and she pushed it away.

"Captain," mane said. "Come."

She stopped, blinked at the workman who beckoned her to the lock, opened her mouth to refuse that imprudence, but the mane had flitted around the turn again, hasty as every mahe was hereabouts.

Some gods-rotted supervisor with questions. Her ship. Her access. She refused the jangling of her nerves and went after the workman. But her hand was in her pocket as she walked into the lock.

No one. She spun a look over her shoulder, looked back again as something dark came into her way, mahe-tall and spacer-ringed with gold.

Her finger tautened, hand cocked to aim through cloth and all. "Pyanfar!" the mahe cried, flinging up both hands; and the finger stopped.

"Jik!" she gasped, and her heart started up again. The mahe still held his hands up till she had gotten hand from pocket. "Where'd you come from?" And then she knew. "That's Aia Jin in 29, isn't it?"

"Same." Jik still looked nervous. "Make quick come here. Got trouble, huh?"

She looked him up and down., this lank solitary mahe with enough gaud in his dress to turn a hani envious. "Jik." It seemed half the troubles in the universe fell off her shoulders. "O gods. About time.

"About gods-rotted time, hear me?"

He flung up his hands again, pleading for quiet. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back toward the lift. "Come in here like this," she muttered, fishing up the key. She stuck it in. "Dressed like that." The lift doors hissed wide. "Get in." She snatched him inside, this mahe a third again her size.

He leaned against the lift wall as it shot them up topside and the door shot open.

Khym was in the hall. His mouth fell open at the sight.

"Jik," Pyanfar identified him. "My husband, Khym. Old friend. Goldtooth's partner. Come on, Jik."