The Kif Strike Back

XII

The air of Kefk hit like an ammonia-tainted wall. Haral coughed even on the ramp; Pyanfar sneezed and felt the sting of her eyes in spite of the antiallergents. Haral had put on her portside finery, dark spacer blue with a collection of gold earrings, a set of bracelets, an anklet with a bangle, a belt with silver and gold chains that rattled right along with a monstrous black AP gun and a belt-knife. Pyanfar wore the red silk trousers, gold bracelets and belt and gold-earrings aplenty; a knife and a pocket-gun besides the AP slung low on her hip.

"We look a right set of pirates," Haral had said before the lock sealed them out. "It's the pirates outside worry me," Tirun had retorted to them both, there in the lock.

And Khym had said other things, while Geran and Hilfy fretted and gnawed their mustaches sparse—"Huh," Geran had said, with exhaustion and worry in her eyes. "I'll go with you—"

Haral: "My job."

And Tully later: "Where she go—where go, Py-anfar?"

She avoided answers with Tully. "Out," she had told him in that unwanted encounter in the downside corridor. "I got business, Tully. I'm in a hurry."

"Careful," he had said, anxious-looking. Frightened, doubtless from the time he heard that inner lock open, preparing to expose The Pride to the kifish docks. She reckoned the crew would tell him where they had gone after she was well on her way. Or better yet, when she and Haral got back.

When.

They walked the dockside, she and Haral, in a sodium-light hell of clinging smokes and ammonia-reek and a moist chill like a swamp at sundown. Kif moved, black wisps in the dimmer shadow along the far wall of this section of warehouses and factory fronts. There was no color anywhere about Kefk docks but the sickly sodium-glow, no brightness but the stark white of some argon spotlight on a round steel doorway.

"Kkkkt. Kkkkt," the sound came to them, as they walked past kifish ships. Kif, doubtless some of their erstwhile companions—had seen them walk outside and gathered in clusters to whisper—and perhaps, Pyanfar thought, to wonder whether the two hani walking down the docks of Kefk had lost their collective minds.

("Look at you," Khym had cried in dismay while she dressed for this foray. "Wear that into a den of thieves? Py, for godssakes!")

Crazy to wear that much gold into a kifish den if one had not the sfik to hold onto it. "So we look like trouble," Pyanfar had said to Haral when they laid their plan. "A lot of trouble, by kifish lights. That's the idea."

Advertise their presence and hold it under kifish noses till they smelled it and looked at the gold and the weapons and remembered that The Pride's crew had no general reputation for being fools.

Therefore they must be the other kind. Dangerous.

They were also the hakkikt’s invited guests. At least on the way to the meeting.

"Marvelous thing about kif," Pyanfar muttered in a moment when she and Haral were well out of earshot of kif, between one gloomy ship-berth and another. "It occurs to me that these types out here on the dock aren't any more secure than we are. We're high on the wave and so are they and kif sail a rotted choppy sea. Always wondering when the wind's going to shift."

"They're different, that's a fact," Haral muttered in her turn. "No lasting grudges—and, gods be feathered, nothing they won't trade. Flighty folk. I don't think hani ever have got the right of them. Maybe we should have brought our friend Skkukuk on this trip, huh?"

"I did think about it. But I've got an uneasy feeling that one's a little crazy even for a kif. I don't want him near guns and knives."

"Huh. Me either, now I think on it."

A waft of something reached them down the dock. Blood. Even through the ammonia. Pyanfar hissed and cleared her throat. "Good gods," Haral swore in disgust. "That's enough to kill your appetite."

"We're nearly—"—there, Pyanfar started to say and suddenly lost the thread of her thought as she caught sight of the kifish numerals for 28: Harukk's berth. Kif traffic was thick hereabouts and the blood-smell grew stronger.

It worsened rapidly, the closer they walked. The steel rampway rail had a series of metal poles chained to its stanchions, and a dark object sat atop each.

"Gods and thunders," Pyanfar muttered, "Haral, don't flinch."

The heads were kif. Kif came and went on that number 28 ramp, past the awful watchers; she and Haral headed that way among the rest, waiting for challenge from some guard or other.

None came. They passed the first stanchion up and Pyanfar gave the gory object atop it a cold and curious glance.

"So much for the opposition," Haral said.

"Sure ought to keep the new converts in line," Pyanfar muttered. Every kif that came into Harukk had to see it, victory for some, grim warning for the others.

At least, she thought in profoundest relief, none of the heads was hani.

Kif turned and stared at them as they passed, upward-bound like all the rest who had business aboard Harukk. A knot of kif who stood at the accessway clicked and hissed as they passed but made no offer to delay them.

There were, finally, guards inside the large airlock.

"Hakktan," one said in kifish. Captain?

"Ukt," Haral answered with a nod at Pyanfar. Yes. Pyanfar stood by with her arms folded, arrogant to the slant of her ears, and let Haral do the talking. Two of the three kif kept their hands tucked within their sleeves , doubtless concealing weapons besides the guns they wore openly. They stood blocking other traffic into the lock from either direction, while the third reported their presence to the monitor above.

The answer came, orders for their admittance. The guard at the inner hatch stepped aside; and the third guard bowed with that hands-empty gesture: "Inside," that one said.

"Huh," said Pyanfar; bowed and slanted her ears back when she did it. Haral stayed close as they passed the hatch to Harukk's ammonia-smelling interior.

More kif waited in the inside corridor—one who turned out to be merely delayed traffic, who stalked on; and four tall kif rattling with weapons.

"Follow," one said, and stalked off in the lead without looking back. Three walked behind, while two stayed. And not a word of objection about the array of weapons their visitors brought aboard. Not a word of any kind. They passed kif in these dim corridors that stank of ammonia and machinery and blood and other, unidentifiable things, and no one gave them a second glance.

Kifish manners, Pyanfar thought. Don't notice the hakkikt's odd guests, don't stare, don't give offense. The aura of fear and fierceness throughout the place was infectious. It bristled the back, set the pulse beating faster, sent fight-flight impulses coursing the nerves.

Hilfy knows this place, Pyanfar thought at sight after sight, with an involuntary tightening of her gut. Hilfy was in this awful place.

Hilfy had stood silent by Khym's side when she had broken the news to them where she and Haral proposed to go. Khym had had his opinion of it all. Like Geran. But Hilfy's ears just went flat and her nostrils drew taut; and: "Huh," Hilfy had said. "Why?" With a darkness of memory in her eyes; and an estimation, and nothing else readable. 'You know it's a trap."

"I know," Pyanfar had said. "At this point there isn't a better choice."

Hilfy knew the ways of kif better than any. And gave her no argument. No offer to come either. The situation wanted cold steadiness and as little as possible chance of provoking the kif. And that put the job, by seniority and by disposition, on Haral Araun.

Haral walked along beside her now as warily easy as on a trek down one of the Compact's rougher docksides—kept her ears up and her face serene during the ride pent in a lift with the pair of kifish guards.

The lift stopped; one guard exited and the rest hung back as they had done below. And it was one more long walk down the dimly lit corridor aft from the lift; then an open doorway, and a dim chamber where a handful of kif waited attendance on one seated on an insect-legged chair, a kif who wore a silver medallion, whose black robe and hood were edged in silver that shone dimly in sodium-light.

"Hakkikt," Pyanfar said, approaching this grim magnificence. And bowed with a carefully rationed measure of respect and self-importance.

"Kkkt." Sikkukkut flourished his thin, dark-gray hand. "Ksithikki." Kif scurried to the corners of the room and carried back two chairs and a low table, all at a virtual run.

"Ksithti."

Pyanfar nodded and sat down in one, feet tucked. Haral took the other. More orders from Sikkukkut, and a wave of his hand in a silver-bordered sleeve. Kif scurried after pitcher and cups with as great haste; and hurried to put a cup into Sikkukkut's outstretched hand before it had had time to tire of waiting. A cup went to Pyanfar; a third to Haral. A kif had

poured for Sikkukkut; and came quickly to pour for them from the same pitcher.

It was, thank the gods, parini. Liquor. Strong and straight and likely to go straight to the head; but it was nothing objectionable. Pyanfar sipped gingerly and tried not to think of obvious things like whether the off-taste was the ammonia in her nostrils or something in the drink.

But they were sitting in Sikkukkut's hall, on Sikkukkut's deck; in his starstation; in kif space; and drugged drinks here seemed as superfluous as removing their weapons, which no one had offered yet to do. Haral followed her lead and drank: Haral, whose stomach was redoubtable in station bars from Anuurn to Meetpoint and who always made her duty schedules without a hangover. For the second time she was glad it was Haral by her and not Khym.

"You turned down this invitation once at Meetpoint," Sikkukkut said.

"I remember." A sneeze threatened her dignity. And their lives. She fought it back with an effort that made her eyes water. It was psychological, this aversion to kif. She had taken the pills. And gods, those pills made a hazardous combination with the liquor, dried her mouth, dulled her perceptions. And her nose still prickled.

"I told you then I looked for a change of mind someday." Sikkukkut dipped his nose into the ornate cup and drank. "And here it is. Kkkt. After an emergency on your ship. What sort of emergency, do you mind?"

Wits, get your mind working, Pyanfar Chanur. "There was a medical difficulty; but the emergency call to the mahendo'sat was a matter of convenience." She looked straight at the hakkikt and prayed the gods greater and lesser for no sudden sneezes. Attack the matter straight on. Rob the bastard of all his carefully laid traps and surprises. "Actually it was an excuse for consultation with two of my allies—without the nuisance of a third, speaking plainly. On several matters. Your gift, hakkikt— gives me options to deal with that nuisance. That's why I came. It may rid you of one too—since I think my annoyance and yours has one source."

"Kkkkt." Another sip, and a shadowed glance within the shadowing, silver-edged hood, black eyes reflecting the glare of sodium-light. "I take it then you don't intend to kill this Tahar hani."

"No. I don't."

"So you have asked for the crew as well as the captain. This would be a rather large gift on my part. They are unusual—kkt. Ikkthokktin. A mild rarity. Amusing. I don't say I'm personally interested, but certain of my skkukun would be pleased to have one or another of them. Is it perhaps a certain—ethical reluctance—on your part? Should your desires mass more than others of my captains?"

Think. "I have reasons more than amusement." Kifish logic. Pukkukkta. Let him lead himself astray. When outclassed in wit, create plausible complications and let the enemy think himself to death. "You have to understand, hakkikt, I'm sure you do—that Rhif Ehrran is no particular friend of mine. I don't doubt you've heard from her, wanting them released to her."

"And from Keia and even from Ismehanan-min. These Tahar hani seem to be a matter of some excitement in your faction. A sfik-item, you say. But why should I give the whole prize to you?"

"Tahar interests quite a few people, particularly hani. They're a big family, they've got wide holdings in the same continent as Chanur, as well as being spacer-hani, which also makes them valuable in some quarters. No. I'm going to ask an even larger favor of you, hakkikt—trusting Moon Rising got through the station takeover undamaged. I want that crew handed over to me—and I want their ship."

"Kkkt. Pyanfar Chanur, your audacity grows larger by the hour. First Tahar, then the crew, now the ship. Next will you ask me for Kefk? Akkht, perhaps?"

There was a hush in the room. Not a kif stirred. "You have Kefk." Pyanfar assumed her most charming smile. "Myself, hakkikt, my ambitions are different. I want this one small ship. And its crew. For my own reasons."

"Where are the mahendo'sat? Where is Keia? He could surely make hani reasonable to me. Kkkt. I make no assumptions when dealing with such a suicidal species. And—kkt— the emergency call and the consultation. Kkkt. Kkkt. Who is injured?"

"One of my crew. A minor business. It gave me the chance to talk with Goldtooth. Ismehanan-min. It has to do with the ship." (Back to the trail, hakkikt!) "Goldtooth delivered me some information that makes me surer than ever where my interests lie, Rhif Ehrran and I are about to come to severe difference; it's possible she'll attack us directly, but I doubt it—she wants to survive. She has the means to create difficulties for me on Anuurn. When we get to Meetpoint we'll have her to reckon with."

"To Meetpoint."

Pyanfar blinked. "Meetpoint. Definitely Meetpoint."

"You assume this."

"Where Akkhtimakt is headed. Where a certain treaty with the stsho could bring the han and all their ships in on Akkhtimakt's side. You don't act surprised, hakkikt. I didn't think you'd be."

"Only in your forthrightness. I know about the stsho treaty."

"Then explain a kif motive for me. Why haven't you taken Ehrran out, since her liability is about to outweigh her use?"

"Kkkt. She is attached to Kefk at the moment. Inconvenient and dangerous. Let's wait till she goes outbound. Explain in return: why did Keia acquire this double-edged person in the first place?"

"To keep her from going anywhere else. And for the same reason you've used her: the sfik of the han. Roughly speaking. Hakkikt, honor to you, I don't know how often you've monitored our communications, but Ehrran has quite a collection of reports she trusts will damage Chanur's sfik on Anuurn—I'm translating this as best I can—so thoroughly that the pro-stsho party can destroy us. I don't intend to let that happen. Now is my motive clear?"

"Labyrinthine as I expected. Kkkt. Once away from dock I can solve everyone's difficulty at a stroke."

"Ah, but that's another favor I ask you: leave the Ehrran ship to me. Destroying it outright might be a present convenience to me, but a difficulty in the long run, when the tale got around, and it would get around. Among this many ships, even among your own, some would talk, to damage me and advance themselves, I have no doubt. If that rumor got out, those records of Ehrran's wouldn't even need to get to Anuurn. The pro-stsho party would have all the ammunition it needs to do me harm. Martyr. You know that concept?"

"I haven't heard that word, no."

"It's a kind of sfik you get by dying in a way that makes a point, hakkikt. Double sfik because you're dead and you can't be discredited. People will die following you forever. And that makes more martyrs. Destroy Ehrran and she'll cause us twice the trouble."

"Kkkkkt. Kkkkkkt. Kkkkt." Sikkukkut's snout drew down as if something offended his nostrils. He sipped at his cup and the tongue lapped delicately around his lips. "What a concept. Kkkkkt. I think, hunter Pyanfar, the straightest course is simply to blow up the Ehrran ship in the next action, when matters are suitably confused."

"Ah, but then I'm still left with Tahar for company, which would ruin my sfik—unless I can first discredit Ehrran. And you can't discredit a dead hero. Bad taste. Martyrdom. No, I can put this simple hani concept in kifish without any difficulty at all: pukkukkta. Revenge. I have to deal with Ehrran in a hani way, in a way that shows other hani what we both know she is—an utter fool. And to do that, I need Tahar."

"Why should I risk my ships for the sake of your pukkukkta?"

"Sfik. I'm your ally. I can put a stop to a problem. Balance, hakkikt. Equilibrium in the Compact. It's one thing to climb a mountain, it's quite another thing to build a house there."

Kif stirred about the room. Sikkukkut was frozen still with the cup in his hand. Too far, gods, one step too far with him.

But: "For a hani, you have a fine grasp of politics," Sikkukkut said, and sipped at his parini, a delicate lapping of a long, black tongue.

"Hakkikt, hani may be new in space, but politics is the air we breathe."

Sikkukkut's snout wrinkled. "So you want the small matter of seven more hani and a well-armed ship, the behavior of which in our midst you guarantee. And you want the Ehrran ship to deal with too. Kkkt, hani, you amuse me. You may have the Tahar crew and Moon Rising. Kgotok skkukun nankkafkt nok takkif hani skkukunikkt ukku kakt tokt kiffik sikku nokkuunu kokkakkt taktakti, kkkt?"

Something about turning over a thousand kif as well. There was the sniffle of kifish laughter about the room. "So," said Sikkukkut. "What else did Ismehanan-min have to say when he met with you?"

Gods. To the flank and in. "Beyond the warning about affairs at home, the business about Akkhtimakt moving on Meetpoint. That, mostly. And warned me about the stsho treaty with the han. Which I'd suspected." Turning over that much truth made a knot of foreboding in her gut, but some coin had to go on the table, and it was the thing most likely Sikkukkut already knew—with former partisans of Akkhtimakt in his hands.

"Kkkt. Yes. And the humans are coming in. Did he say that?"

"He said they were headed this way." 'Another lapping at the cup. A flicker of dark eyes. "Be more specific."

"He wasn't specific."

"Tt'a'va'o," Sikkukkut said. "Go on."

Pyanfar blinked again. Surprise took no acting. Dissembling outright fright did. The little she had drunk reacted with the medicines and hummed in her blood. "Tt'a'va'o," she said. "I know the stsho are panicking. The mahendo'sat can't restrain them. This alliance with Akkhtimakt is the worst thing they could do for themselves, but it's the stsho's only hope of getting armed ships, which the han can't provide in numbers. The kif are a known quantity. The stsho are most afraid of what they least understand. And they think— mistakenly, I think—that they know how to cheat a kif, playing one against the other."

There was a whisper, a stirring of robes.

"Kkkkt. This place is a mine of information. All sorts of things pour into my ears. Where will the humans come next?"

"The stsho think Meetpoint. They would. I don't know." She took the slightest of sips. And took a risk that chilled the blood. "The tc'a may have some part in that decision."

Sikkukkut's snout moved. Score one. Fear. "Your estimation? Or the mahendo'sat's?"

"I got the impression that's the case. I don't like it, hakkikt."

"You say you don't know the human's course. Kkkt. You do have one resource."

"My human crewman? Hakkikt, the mahendo'sat might know. Tully doesn't. I get the impression the human ships are improvising their course—going where they can go. And Tully left humanity—months back. He hasn't got any more idea than I do where the humans are going—less, in fact, I've talked to Goldtooth."

"Kkkt." Sikkukkut gazed at her long and thoughtfully. "Interesting. Interesting, this human. Friend of yours. Friend of mine. I would not take a gift amiss—since you expect my generosity."

"I'm still hani, hakkikt. We have our differences. I can't give up a crewman. But pukkukkta's a fit gift to give a hakkikt, isn't it? Pukkukkta\ something we have in common. And if I win—Chanur's going to do some re-arranging back home. Pukkukkta for certain. You want no more hani-stsho treaties, hakkikt, I'll give you that with my compliments. Common motives. Wasn't that the way you described a good alliance?"

"You have aspirations on Anuurn."

"Oh, yes. On Anuurn and in space."

Another long silence. A dry sniffing. "The prisoners are inconsequence." Sikkukkut waved his left hand and set the cup aside into a hand that appeared to take it on the instant. "Go. I have taken time enough with this."

Pyanfar stood up, bowed; Haral did the same. "And the ship," Pyanfar said.

"Details." Sikkukkut waved his hand again. "See to them. Skktotik."

Kif arrived at the lock. With deliveries.

"They can by the gods wait," Tirun said; and Hilfy turned and looked at her, her heart pounding. Tirun was senior; Tirun called the decisions now On The Pride and sat in Haral's chair. And Hilfy only looked at her, having known Tirun Araun long enough to know with Tirun there was impulse and there was what Tirun had the sense to do in spite of impulse. Don't back up, don't show fear—

"Gods be," Tirun muttered with fury in her eyes. "Hilfy— they're pushing, these kif are: I don't like their timing; but it's a real soft push right now. We got to take that delivery."

"Sure as rain falls we can't back up from them," Hilfy said. "I'll go down there."

"Take Khym with you."

"Rather have Geran."

"I want a second pair of eyes up here at the boards. Take Khym."

"Right." Hilfy punched the all-ship, on low volume. "Geran. Tully. You're needed on the bridge. Na Khym, go to lower main."

And she felt a quiver in her stomach as she got up from the board. Raw terror. Pyanfar was out with Haral and the kif wanted in at the lock with an innocuous delivery of a cage full of stinking vermin and a mini-can of grain.

Compliments of the hakkikt.

From Sikkukkut, who had kept Pyanfar and Haral aboard a worrisome long time.

Geran reached the bridge before she had gotten across the deck to the weapons locker. "Kif below," Tirun said at her back, talking to Geran. "We got visitors."

A chair sighed with Geran's weight as Hilfy heaved the weight of an AP about her hips and gathered up a light pistol for herself and one for Khym. Her hands were shaking. She looked up as Tully arrived on the bridge. "Sit scan," Hilfy said as he looked her way. "Help Geran."

"Py-anfar got trouble?" Tully asked. There was panic in his eyes. Raw nightmare. "What do?"

"Sit down! Don't ask me questions!" She had not meant to snarl. Instinct delivered it; terror; vexation. Men. It was not a man's kind of fight—yet. And all she had for help down there in lowerdeck was a man not hers. Pyanfar could handle Khym. Pyanfar could knock reason into his thick skull, and Pyanfar was off with the kif in gods knew what trouble—

—and na Khym knew that.

Gods, gods. She snapped the locker shut as across the bridge Tully slipped into the chair by Geran's side, an extra pair of eyes and hands in crisis—that, at least. Skilled and illiterate. And mortally scared.

"Stay put!" Geran was saying to someone on com; and Hilfy guessed who. Chur had surely heard that bridge-call.

Hilfy hit the topside-main at a run, the heavy gun knocking at her leg, the light pistols in either hand as she headed for the lift downside.

"This way," their guide said, deep in the gut of the kifish ship, down reeking halls, down sodium-lighted corridors and through one and the other ominously scalable door.

On the far side of this last doorway were cross-barred cells.

"Wait outside, captain?" Haral said.

"Aye," Pyanfar said, and Haral stepped to the side by the outside of that door and set her hand on her gun—fast; and firm; and she blessed her first officer's good sense as Haral got away with it.

But the kif performed a like maneuver: one of their dark guides went in and beckoned her on; while the others lingered to take up guard with Haral outside.

Move and countermove.

A species old in assassinations and treachery; and the hani species recent from the age of walled estates and bright banners and yes, by the gods, treachery of its own, House and House, with never poison in the cup but connivance and betrayal and duel aplenty. Pyanfar drew a deep breath of the tainted air as she walked in, searching it for information; and saw a touch of color in this black and gray hell, behind crossed bars. Huddled in a corner, the merest glimmer of rust-brown, a lump of hani bodies rested together in their misery.

—Hilfy—

In this place. Here. No sane hani ever built a place like this, this cage for thinking creatures, this place of horrors and torment.

She was supposed to be daunted by this place. Sikkukkut arranged it. No word of explanation—just guides who came to take them down to see what happened to hani here.

"—orders of the hakkikt," the guides had said in the corridor outside the hakkikt's hall, and showed them into a lift and down and further astern in Harukk's huge ring. To recover the prisoners, they promised. And the message was clear: dare my hospitality to the depth, hani; or tell me you're afraid. Tell me that in front of my captains and my sycophants, and we'll know where hani fit in our ranks and in our future plans. We'll know how we have to deal with you—how much you can take and how much you can hold onto. Are you like Ehrran, hunter Pyanfar? Where is yow flinching -point?''

Useful to know that—when we meet in space, when your nerve and mine guide ships and time their reflexes—

Where are your reactions, hunter Pyanfar—so that I can predict them?

She walked halfway to the bars and stood there. There was a small movement from the knot of hani in the corner of their cell. A tension and then a furtive fix of slitted eyes: if they had been resting at all, the opening of the outer door had gotten their attention. And now her presence did.

Chanur, their enemy, resplendent with silk and gold and weapons, standing beside their kifish guard in the heart of this prison.

"Stand behind me," Hilfy said when she and Khym got to the lock—she turned and looked up at him, great towering hulk that he was. "Cover me. Don't shoot toward the access; you can blow us all to vacuum. You hearing me, na Khym?"

"Yes," he said, and the ears flicked, so she knew he heard. But the eyes were dark. And that was trouble. So was his silence on the way down the corridor.

"You make a mistake you can kill her—hear? This is probably a little thing, the stuff we were supposed to get for that gods-be kif—"

"I'm not crazy," Khym said, and bristled about the shoulders. "But they're from Sikkukkut. He's trying something."

He was thinking. "I'm sure of it," Hilfy said, and hit the com button by the lock. "Open her up, Geran."

"I'm on monitor," Tirun's voice came back. "Careful, cousin. And don't take any stuff either."

The Tahar gathered themselves up. Blood had caked on their fur, in their manes. The senior--Gilan, her name was— had taken a kifish bite on the left shoulder and the awful wound glistened under plasm that had kept her from bleeding to death. It was not the only such wound. Canfy Maurn had a hand wrapped up in a rag and by the blood on it, it was a bad one.

"Get them out," Pyanfar said to the kif, with no doubt the kif was going to do that, and fast. "You've got your orders."

"Kkkt." The kif lifted his long jawed face, contemplating mayhem. "I take no orders from you, hani."

"Captain, you earless bastard, and I'm sure the hakkikt won't miss you much."

"Ssss. My orders are only the hakkikt's. Don't push, hani."

The airlock opened. A group of kif stood there, black knot against the orange-lit accessway, the foremost two holding a large metal cage in which dark things darted and squealed. Hilfy sucked a deep breath of the cold air that wafted in. It tasted of something obnoxious, beyond the expected ammonia-taint.

"You can set it down right there," Hilfy said, with the pistol in her fist aimed at the kif in general. "We'll take it aboard."

"But we are ordered to observe courtesy," said the leftmost kif, stepping over the threshold with his end of the cage.

''Hold it!'' Hilfy brought the gun to both hands and remembered the danger of firing. Angle them against the wall. Make the shots true. Panic wobbled her hands.

A living red-brown wall shifted into Hilfy's way, brushing the gun aside. "She said stop," Khym rumbled, and faster than seemed likely made a grab for the kif.

"Look out!" Hilfy cried. The cage went flying up into Khym's way, clanged and hit the floor in a multiple squealing as Khym smashed it underfoot. Khym swung a fistful of robes and a live kif into the airlock wall as the rest surged forward. "Khym, get out of the way!"

Khym just lifted another kif onehanded and threw him at the corner, and grabbed a third. Hilfy uptilted the pistol and used the butt on a kifish snout. Escaping vermin squealed and screamed underfoot. She trod on something tough that threw her off-balance as the kif grappled for her gun. Suddenly her attacker vanished backward as Khym got it by the scruff and flung it for the hatch—not a true throw. The kif hit the wall and sprawled out, fell on a second cage on the accessway floor and drew squeals and panic from the contents as it collapsed.

A kif down the accessway leveled a gun.

"Khym!" Hilfy howled. "Gun!"

He froze in the lock dead center.

And the hatch shut as fire hit it from both sides.

Hilfy wilted against the inner wall, and Khym still stood there. -

"You all right?" Tirun asked them over com. "Hilfy, Khym, you all right?"

"Good gods," Hilfy breathed. Tirun had heard—the veteran spacer had hit the hatch control from the main board. Khym still stood there with his ears flat. He turned with an appalled look on his face.

"It's a trap," Hilfy said hoarsely to Khym and Tirun both. "They meant to take the ship. The captain and Haral are over there in Harukk and they're trying to take The Pride."

The kif glared and moved to the barred door, reaching inside its black robes to find a small key-tab. "You," it said to the Tahar crew, "file out. You go into this hani's custody. If there should be difficulty—I will shoot one of you. I'll choose at random." It inserted the key. The door went back.

"Chanur's taking you out," Pyanfar said.

"Captain's here," Gilan said hoarsely, the other side of the open door.

"She's on my ship. Come on, Tahar."

Gilan Tahar blinked dully, laid one hand on the doorframe and walked out, the wounded arm dangling, her step unsteady. Her crewmates followed: Naun and Vihan Tahar; Nif Angfylas; Canfy Maurn and Tav and Haury Savuun; Haury looking as if she were doing well to walk at all, holding her ribs and limping on a bloodstained leg. Ears were torn; skin had been gashed. Haury wobbled against the bars and Tav steadied her, keeping her own body between her sister and the kif.

"Come on," Pyanfar said, low and harsh—Fast, move it— don't hold us up and don't try anything fancy, Gilan Tahar. She gestured toward the door that led out; and a sense of overwhelming oppression closed about her. Haral was out of sight, beyond the door. The metal bars, the cruelty of the place afflicted her to the soul, infectious and bewildering. Kill occurred to her and hunt, and her claws flexed out on reflex. It was the fear-smell, everywhere about the ship, endemic among the kif.

The guide-guard turned and walked to the door, silently directing her, out of this place with the prize she had gained. A handful of hani lives,. A promise—a kifish promise.

"The hakkikt will get my report," she said, not to let the chance pass. "He'll ask, kif." She walked out, relieved to find Haral still there, hand on gunbutt, at a standoff with the kifish guards. "Come on. We're leaving.''

Hilfy came panting onto the bridge and leaned on Tirun's chair back as Khym arrived, as Geran and Tully turned at their places. "We lose any of that accessway?" she asked Tirun.

"It's still sound," Tirun said. "Pressure checks up. We're in contact with Jik and Goldtooth on open channels—captain'd skin us if we used that code—''

"What do they say?"

"They're not happy. Jik says he's getting some people out onto that dock—"

"Gods rot it, Tirun, Pyanfar's with the kif—we've got to get in there—"

"Hilfy—" Tirun turned around, flat-eared and dark-eyed. "For godssake you're talking about the gods-be hakkikt! What do you want, raid Harukk? They've pushed, we got 'em. What more do you want us to do? Go in shooting and get 'em both killed?"

Hilfy let her breath flow out, leaning there on Tirun's seat back and being the fool and knowing it. Her joints were loose, either the run topside or outright panic. "Get Tahar up here. It's her crew the captain's risking her hide for—and Tahar knows those kif out there."

Tirun's ears lifted and nicked back and forth in indecision. "Well, we can use the extra hands up here. Do it, Geran." Another wide flick of the ears, a rumpling of her broad nose and lift of her lip. "And it occurs to me we've got one other mind on this ship knows those kif."

"Skkukuk," Hilfy said. A falling feeling hit her gut. She knew her own unreason on the matter; and it was Tirun's command. Tirun's say. Not hers to argue in any case.

"If we need him," Tirun added, with another twitch of the ring-laden ears—veteran of a hundred crises, Tirun Araun, cagy and hard to take. And all the while her sister Haral was out there in trouble with Pyanfar— one forgot that the two of them had that desperately close personal bond. Tirun made one forget—doing what wanted doing with no hesitation, no self-interest between her and the ship. Hilfy looked at the old spacer and at Geran Anify, whose efficiency covered com and scan, trading functions back and forth with Tirun like a smoothly functioning machine while the world came apart about them; and for the first time in her adolescent life she truly knew the measure of her seniors, and knew what she had yet to reach—It hit like a blow to the gut, what she was, what they were; and she was not likely to live long enough to

get there. But even that thought was a selfishness Tirun would never take the time for in a crisis. She saw it all in a flash like a shellburst, a moment of panic; and then she found the wobble in her knees had gone away and she discovered some scrap of something Tirun-like in a place she had never known she had it stored, down where she kept her temper.

To a mahen hell with yourself, Hilfy Chanur, and your fears and your precious wants—The ship's got a problem.

"—Tahar's on her way topside," Geran said; another light flared on the com pane!, another call; Hilfy itched to reach out and intercept it, taking her station back, but Geran had it, Geran occupied her seat, Tully positioned next to her where Geran could assist him, with his eyes firmly on the scan, watching for any move out of Kefk: even something as small as a construction pusher could take them out, if it went crashing into their vanes; or if some saboteur EVA'd out through a service access and limpeted some explosive to The Pride's big vane panels, or to the yoke. It would cripple them at the least. Make any jump out of Kefk uncertain, enough to kill them if they tried it. Enough—

—o gods, to force them to negotiate—

"Tirun," Hilfy said, leaning on Tirun's chairback. "If they damage us— they've got Pyanfar and Haral in reach. That may be what they're trying. Take us if they can; cripple us if they can't—Nothing personal on the kif s side: if you get a chance to put an uppity ally down and subordinate 'em, you do it."

Tirun's ears moved. She heard. Hilfy flung herself the few paces across the deck to take the seat next to Tully, to take over scan function with eyes that could read and hands that could use the buttons.

And:

"—They were about eight kif," Geran was saying to someone on the com. "No. No. No, captain. Let me ask my— Let me—Let me ask our duty officer, captain.—Tirun, it's Vigilance. Ehrran's sending crew out there to secure the docks."

''Gods rot it—Give me that.''

"She's just broken contact."