The Kif Strike Back

IV

An eerie quiet persisted on the docks. A few blackbreeched Ehrran clan personnel were visible in vantage points, armed with rifles; .doubtless a few such were not visible at all; and there were two more Ehrran crewwomen stationed up inside the ramp, guarding The Pride's airlock and accessway. Less ominous and more, a solitary, AP-wearing mahendo'sat slouched her way up to her captain in specific. Sleekly black, gold glittering as Jik himself, she had half an ear missing and a bald streak on a burn scar down her jaw.

Jik spoke to his crewwoman rapidly in some language they both shared, of Iji's great multitude. "A," the woman said, and with her hand on the AP gun's butt, moved off again into shadows near the gantry.

"Khury," Rhif Ehrran muttered to her aide, "get back to the ship; take charge. And if we don't get back, get home directly and make a thorough report to the han."

It was Enaury hani the Ehrran spoke; Pyanfar caught it: so would Geran, but not likely anyone else. And Pyanfar ducked her head and rubbed her nose—better say less than one knew than more, she reckoned. With the han deputy it was certainly the case. There were already mounds and mountains of reports aboard that ship, to the delight of Chanur's enemies when Ehrran got back to Anuurn and that collection of complaints got to the han debating floor—

And a certain stsho check was on its way to a mahen bank at Maing Tol, if it had not gotten there already. When that hit the desk of a certain Personage—

The han's deputy had not discovered that small matter yet.

Nor had Jik.

Pyanfar lifted her head and the oncoming kif welcoming committee looked almost friendly in that light.

They did not turn in at the same corridor as before. The half-dozen kifish guides brought them further and further down the open dock, and the paper and ammonia smell even surmounted the cold in this sector. The light was dim and murkish orange-gold, the only visual warmth in the gray and black of their surroundings. The signs were kifish, in crawling, dotted script.

Kifish ships were docked along the row at their left; kifish dens lined the right hand, deserted and quiet, which lent no reassurance at all. The hair prickled down Pyanfar's back as more and more of the horizon unfurled; it went all bristled as all the missing kif suddenly showed up past the curtaining overhead girders of the station's curve—a dark mass ahead, a gathering of thousands on the docks.

O gods, she thought. Her legs wanted to stop right there; but Jik had not even hesitated, nor had Ehrran—perhaps they waited on her, on Chanur, who they thought had been this route before.

"More of them than last time," Pyanfar said, breaking the spell of caution. "Gods-rotted lot more of them."

Jik made some sound in his throat. A noise grew ahead, like nothing she had ever heard—clicking and talking all at once, the roar of kifish speech from thousands of kifish mouths together. And they were obliged to walk through this congregation. She was conscious of Khym at her back, hair-triggered; of Haral and Tirun and Geran, steady as they came, And Rhif Ehrran and her handful; Jik striding along with legs that could match a kifish stride and instead kept pace with theirs, holding their guides to a hani pace.

She slipped the safety off her rifle as the scene came down off the upcurved floor and straightened itself out in the crazy tilting of things on station docks. It became flat, became distinct as hooded, robed kif standing about, became kif on all sides of them, close at hand, turning to stare at them as they passed with their escort. A clicking rose—"Kk-kk-kk. Kk-kk-kk." Everywhere, that soft, mocking sound.

Kif territory for sure. Outnumbered, out-gunned a thousand times and three. If it got to shooting here—gods help them. Nothing else would.

And if they had to enter one of the ships at dock to do their bargaining— they were in no position to protest the matter.

The kif guiding them brushed other black-robed, hooded kif from their path like parting a field of nightbound grass; and indicated a double-doored passage into a dark like that other dark hole, into a place thicker with kif stench and the reek of drink.

Kokitikk, the flowing sign above the door proclaimed—at least the symbols looked like that. Entry prohibited, mahen letters said. Kifish service only.

Gods, that would keep the tourists out.

"Meeting-hall," Jik said.

Kifish noise rose about them as they entered, noise from tables at either hand. There was a clatter of glasses—the smell of alcohol. And of blood.

"Gods save us," Geran muttered. "Drunk kif. That's the last."

Pyanfar walked ahead, rifle at carry, keeping close by Jik's side. Rhif Ehrran caught up with a lengthening of her stride. There were chairs all about of the sort Sikkukkut had used; there were lamps and smoking bowls of incense that offended the nose and sent smoke curling up against the orange, dirty light. Kif shadows, kif shapes—kkkt, they whispered. In mockery. Kkkt.

And their half-dozen kifish guides drifted ahead like black specters, clearing them a way. The muttering grew raucous. Jaws clicked. Glasses rattled with ice. There were red LED gleams about the fringes of the hall, rifle ready-lights.

"It's a gods-cursed bar," Rhif Ehrran said.

The crowd opened out, creating a little open space. In the midst were kifish chairs, a floor-hugging table.

A kif sat alone at that table, beneath a hanging light.

Its robed arm lifted and beckoned.

There was a stirring all about the room as kif rose from chairs for vantage.

"Sit down," the kif at the table said. "Keia." It was Jik's first name, his true one. "Pyanfar. My friends—"

"Where's Tully?" Pyanfar asked.

"Tully. Yes." Sikkukkut moved his hand, and kif about him stirred. There was-a mahen shout, unmistakable; a yelp of something in pain. "But the human is no longer the only matter in contention."

The dark crowd parted near doors to the rear; and those doors opened. Dark shapes not kif were thrust forward and held fast—mahendo'sat prisoners, some in kilts, several the robes of station officials. One had badges of religious; importance. And a solitary stsho, pale, its gossamer robe smudged, its pearly skin stained with kifish light and smeared with dark patches. Its state was dreadful; it swayed and kif held it on its feet.

"A," Jik said. "So the stsho leave Mkks got reason."

"Mkks station," Sikkukkut said, "is mine. Its officials have formally ceded it to me in all its operations. Sit and talk, my friends."

It was Jik who moved first, walking forward to settle himself on one of the several black, insect-legged chairs that ringed that table. Pyanfar went to Sikkukkut's other side, and set a foot on the chair seat, crouched down seated with the rifle over her raised knee and canted easily at Sikkukkut. There was one seat left. Rhif Ehrran filled it. Haral and Tirun moved up at Pyanfar's back; Khym and Geran and the rest of the Ehrran hani close about the table, with a wall of kif behind.

"You let folk go," Jik said. He opened a pouch one-handed, took out a smoke and fished up a small lighter. It flared briefly. Jik drew on the stick and let out a gray breath of smoke. "Old friend.''

"Do you propose a trade?" Sikkukkut said.

"I not merchant."

"No," the kif said. "Neither am I." He made a negligent move of his hand, and Pyanfar caught a whiff of something else, something strange and hers and scared, half a breath before another white thing was shoved into view through the wall of kif. Tully crashed down with arms on the table-edge between her and Sikkukkut. "There. Take him as a gift."

Pyanfar did not stir. Hunter-vision was centered only on the kif, the trigger under her finger, with the rifle against her knee. If Tully raised up too far, Tully would be in the line of fire. It was intended. She knew it was. She adjusted the knee and the rifle into a higher line. Sikkukkut's face, this time. "You want your hostage back?"

"Skkukuk? No. That one is for your entertainment. Let's talk about things of consequence."

Rhif Ehrran's ears had pricked. Jik let out a great cloud of smoke that drifted up and mingled with kifish incense. "We got time."

"Excellent. Hokki." Sikkukkut picked up his cup from the table and filled it with something that reeked like petroleum and looked rotten green. He drank and set the cup down, looking toward Pyanfar. "You?"

"I've got plenty of time."

"Even before Kshshti," Sikkukkut said, "even before that, at Meetpoint, I had converse with Ismehanan-min. Goldtooth, hunter Pyanfar calls him. I advised him to avoid certain points and certain contacts. You'll have noticed that the stsho vessel has deserted us now."

"Same notice," Jik said dryly.

"You'll have noticed a certain distress on the part of this stsho who remains with us—kkkt, perhaps you would care to question this one. A negotiator, gtst claims to be—"

"You tell," Jik said, puffing a cloud of smoke. "You got something drink, friend kif?"

"Indeed. Koskkit. Hikekkti ktotok kkok.—" A wave of his hand. A kif departed. "Were you always at Chanur's back?"

"No, not. Crazy accident I come Kshshti. Friend Pyanfar say she got trouble. So I come. Bring this fine hani." A nod Ehrran's way. "You remember, a?"

"Meetpoint," Sikkukkut said. The long-jawed face lifted. There was no readable expression. "Yes. This hani was dealing with the grass-eaters."

Rhif Ehrran coughed. "By treaty, let me remind you—"

Sikkukkut waved his hand. "I have no desire for treaties. Operations interest me. Chanur interests me."

"Hunter Sikkukkut, there's been a persistent misunderstanding of hani channels of authority."

O gods, Pyanfar thought, and felt sick at the stomach. Hunter, indeed. Rhif Ehrran demoted the kif in a word, in front of his subordinates.

"It seems mutual," Sikkukkut said, with equanimity and heavy irony, and pointedly turned his attention from Ehrran. "Hunter Pyanfar, I will speak with you. And my old friend Keia. When did we last trade shots? Kita, was it?"

"You at Mirkti?" Jik asked.

"Not I."

"Kita, then." Another puff at the stick. Jik flicked ash onto the floor. "We got shoot here?"

"Mahen bluntness.—That thing is a foul habit, Keia."

Jik laughed, replaced the smokestick in his mouth. "True." He glanced aside as a kif approached him with a glass. He sniffed it and drank. "Mahen. Nice stuff."

"Ssskkt. I appreciate it now and again."

"What got?"

"My business? Very serious business. Mahen interference. Stsho connivance with hani. This humanity—" Sikkukkut reached down and lifted Tully's chin. "How are you faring'.' Are you well, kkkt? Understanding this?" He let go and Tully kept his head up, white-faced and sweating and incidentally in the line of fire till he slumped and rested his arms on the table. "This humanity is a problem. Not alone has their presence disrupted trade: we do not, ourselves, depend so much on trade. . . . kkkt? But stsho do. Stsho fear any thing that comes near them. So the balance of the Compact is upset. And when that balance tilts, so agreements fall; and when agreements fall, so authorities give way — so there is disarrangement. This is our perspective. And our opportunity. Akkukkak first brought this creature into Compact space. Had it been my doing, of course, I would have fared better, kkkt?"

"Akkukkak dead. Lot dis-arrangement, a?"

"We trust that he is dead. The knnn are unpredictable. Perhaps he will turn up in a bazaar in some trade — but let us assume he is out. Presently there is Akkhtimakt. Akkhtimakt styles himself hakkikt, holds Kita, disrupting traffic — "

" — make lousy big trouble," Jik said.

"Have you dislodged him?"

"I maybe do. Maybe not. Why you raid Kshshti dock?"

"Ah. Now, there you are mistaken. The Kshshti Personage has a traitor on the staff — "

"Not got now."

"Kkkt. You redeem my opinion of you. But this spy was Akkhtimakt 's operative, not mine."

"Ummmn. You same got spy at Kshshti?"

"Not now. But then I did. When the human was crossing the docks — Akkhtimakt's agents moved to seize him. And I, fortunately, foreknew it. So I was on the hunt as well. Kkkt. Would Kshshti have fared so well in that firefight if kif had not fought kif on that dock? Mahendo'sat have me to thank; I believe thank is the expression — at any rate I stepped in and gathered up the prize before Akkhtimakt's agents could seize it. There was no negotiating there, at Kshshti, with everything astir, with every probability Akkhtimakt's agents would presently report all this — I am discreet no longer. By this intervention at Kshshti I have challenged my rival openly. Now I contend with him. And I surmised correctly that you would follow me, hunter Pyanfar, as soon as your ship could move."

"What's the deal?" Pyanfar asked.

"You might, you know, put the safety on that thing."

"Huh. Might. But I'm comfortable, hakkikt."

The snout wrinkled in what might be humor. "You don't trust my word."

"The deal, hakkikt."

"Ah. Kkkt. Yes. In simplicity: I have chosen Mkks as my temporary base. And my motives and yours coincide."

"Do they?"

"Kkkt. There are fools at large. Many fools. Stsho seek a way to prevent humankind from going through their space. Stsho connive with hani—am I right, deputy?—against mahendo'sat, who would wish to bring humans through at our backs, for reasons not lost to us. How quickly Keia distracted me when I mentioned stsho negotiators! But we know. To gain a foothold at Meetpoint, mahendo'sat route humans through tc'a space. Unwise. Vastly unwise. Stsho will not tolerate this any more than the other—and the very possibility of a human route approaching their territory or even their neighbor and ally tc'a—agitates them beyond rationality. Akkhtimakt operates with the fist. I, with the knife. Akkhtimakt wishes humans barred. But I am, among kif, your friend. Our motives frequently coincide. Is this not a better definition of alliance than friendship?''

Jik let out a puff of smoke. "You wrong, friend. Human got own idea. Damn stupid. But they want come through."

"They have urging. Do they not?"

"Who know? Tell you got number one serious thing, methane-breather upset. We got trouble. Kif got trouble. Not all profit, either side. A?"

"You are willing to deal."

"Maybe." Another puff of smoke. "What you got I want?"

"Mkks."

Jik flicked ash. "A. Now we talk kif logic."

'' You understand."

"Sure thing. You no trade. Maybe give gift. You give me Mkks. I then got plenty sfik. make good ally, a? Maybe do something more."

"Take Kefk."

Jik's heavy brow shot up. The stick hesitated on its way to his mouth. Arrived. "So. Maybe."

Take Kefk. Only take the only kifish gateway to Meetpoint, the one kifish channel to the biggest trading point in the Compact—a major station and probably the most sensitive spot in kifish space outside Akkht itself. Pyanfar kept her ears erect with the greatest of efforts, kept a bland look on her face; and counted the kif and her ally stark mad.

"You think it possible," Sikkukkut said.

"I got allies. You got same. We go take Kefk." Jik took a final drag on the stick and drowned it in the dregs of the drink. "Personnel this station take back jobs. Then I take Kefk. You want?"

"Wait a minute," said Rhif Ehrran. " Wait a minute."

"I talk to her," Jik said without a look in that direction. "Got same good friend Pyanfar, one tough bastard hani. You want Kefk, fine. You get."

"Alliance," Sikkukkut said. "Myself and your Personage."

"You got."

"It's more than talk we've got to do," Rhif Ehrran said.

"The han deputy wants to know her advantage in this," Sikkukkut said. "But hani have allied with kif before. The deputy knows whereof I speak. Hani have formed various associations."

Pyanfar slid a glance Ehrran's way; the deputy's ears were down.

"What," Ehrran asked, "does the hakkikt know about hani allied with kif?"

"One word. Tahar. Does that interest you?"

"Where is Tahar?"

"In service to Akkhtimakt. Moon Rising is one of his ships and Tahar one of his skkukun. Not high in his estimation— but of some use to him."

"Gods rot," Pyanfar muttered, and looked at Sikkukkut herself.

"A hani famed for treason—treason, is that not the word?''

"It's close enough. Where is she?"

The kif shrugged, smooth as oiled silk. "Where is Akkhtimakt? Now does confrontation interest you?"

"She do fine," Jik said, studying the ice in the glass, in Rhif Ehrran's silence. "What say, hakkikt?"

"Ssko kjiokhkt nokthokkti ksho mhankhti akt." Sikkukkut waved a hand. "The station personnel are free to go."

"A." Jik twisted half about in his chair, leaned back within view of the mahendo'sat and stsho. "Shio! Ta hamhensi nanshe sphisoto shanti-shasti no."

There was babble. The stsho shrilled; and the mahendo'sat left the kif s hands and headed for the door, walking at first, then moving with increasing speed. The stsho ran, fell, scrambled up and fled through the chittering crowd even before the mahendo'sat.

Jik turned around again when the jam in the doorway had cleared. He pulled another stick from his belt and lit it. "How many ship you got?" he asked.

"Here? All kif here are mine but one. And that one is disabled; its crew—is presently rearranging its loyalties."

"Fourteen ship. We got three. No problem. Akkhtimakt maybe come Kshshti; maybe come Mkks. Not good you stay here, all same. Advice come free, a?"

"So Mkks will fall again—if Akkhtimakt comes here."

"He not stay. Got no reason stay." Another expansive puff of smoke. "He quick learn we go Kefk, a? So he come. He leave Mkks, come Kefk number one quick, pay you visit."

Wrinkles chained up Sikkukkut's snout. "So by aiding me you aid Mkks."

"You right, friend."

"Hunter Pyanfar, where are your loyalties in this?"

"Myself. My crew. My friends. Jik wants us there, I don't doubt we'll talk about it."

"So. And a promise. Will you keep it?"

"Thought kif didn't have the word."

"You do."

She scowled. "I do."

"Then take your human as a gift. Join us. I will give the orders in this attack. I will personally provide you information on Kefk defenses."

"Jik?"

"You promise. Got no problem."

She shot Jik one long, burning look. But he did not look her way, studying instead the contents of his glass. She looked back over the rifle barrel balanced on her knee.

"Jik and I will talk about it."

"You go," Jik said.

"Huh," she said.

"She promise."

"Excellent." Sikkukkut unfolded upward from his chair. There was a stir among the kif. "You are all free. Take that as my gift."

He drew back. Blackrobed kif surrounded them.

"Tully." Pyanfar reached out and nudged Tully with her foot, her rifle in both hands. "Tully. Up. We get you out of here. You walk, Tully."

He gathered himself up, holding to Sikkukkut's vacated chair, and stood wobbling on his feet. No one said anything. Likely Rhif Ehrran was choking on what she wanted to say about the situation, but it was not the time or place for it. Pyanfar stood up and let her rifle hang at carry, laid her hand on Tully's bare, claw-streaked shoulder. It was icy cold. There was a deep and healing wound on his arm. Come on," she said. "With us."

He walked. Geran took his arm with her left hand, her right on the butt of her pistol. Jik was up—he had the stick still in his mouth, and drew yet another puff on the foul thing. Rhif Ehrran was on her feet and drew her own crew into retreat.

It was a long walk through the silent kifish crowd to the door, a slow one, at Tully's pace. But they made it out into the comparatively bright light of the docks, the atmosphere laden with oils and volatiles that hit like a gust of fresh air after the closeness of the meeting hall.

Khym walked along with them, Haral out in front. Tirun carried her rifle left-handed to keep Tully on his feet, with Jik and Rhif Ehrran bringing up the rear. Pyanfar cast a look back: gods, Jik was puffing on that filthy thing all the way and scattering ashes as he went. But kif kept hands off them. There were stares from the crowd outside, and there was muttering, but nothing worse.

"You get quick you ship," Jik said, as Pyanfar fell back to walk beside him. "Got lot work, hani, lot work."

"It's your intention to go through with this," Rhif Ehrran said.

"Number one sure. You want wait here, say hello Akkhtimakt? Got also other big trouble. That stsho go out from here. Maybe go Kshshti—maybe instead go Kefk, a, on way to Meetpoint. Maybe talk too much. Stsho lot talk. Not good thing we get compli-cation. Stsho make same, a? Go."

"There's a limit to what treaty makes me liable to. We'll discuss this, na Jik."

"Fine. Same time you lay course. We do same. I tell you, I bet some kif leave here, go Kshshti. They tell Akkhtimakt what happen here at Mkks, we got small time. Akkhtimakt got fast ship. Same got trouble with kif maybe go Harak. Same trouble stsho go Kefk—lot smart, stsho: maybe got rumor already Akkhtimakt come Kshshti, so run damn quick go Kefk, go Meetpoint'—maybe Tt’v’va'o, maybe Llyene— Bet Sikkukkut lot unhappy not stop that ship."

"You've stopped coinciding with han interests."

"A. Then maybe wish you goodbye, lot luck. Akkhtimakt eat you heart."

"You foul this up—"

"—he eat mine. Number one sure, hani. Akkhtimakt want me, long time." He put his hand amid Rhif Ehrran's back and hastened them along. "Best we move, a?"

"Kefk, for the gods' sake," Pyanfar muttered.

"Easy stuff."

"Then why for the gods' sake hasn't Sikkukkut done It?"

"Sfik." Jik took the stick from his mouth and blew a cloud of smoke. "Need sfik, make convince other kif, a? Now he got us. We all got lot sfik, le-gi-ti-macy, a?"

"Lunacy," she muttered.

"You run, good friend?"

"Gods rot it, you'd find some reason why not."

Jik grinned and put the stick back in his mouth. "You owe me. When Chanur ever default on debt, a?"

"Gods rot your hide."

She strode along by him, cast occasional looks back, as Ehrran's crew did. Gods, get us off this dock. More and more kif appeared along the way, all chittering and chattering among themselves. Our allies. Gods!

And Tully limped along at his own pace, doing the best he could.

There was the safe area ahead, that portion of the dock under surveillance from their own guns. They reached it, and Pyanfar looked back. The kif had not followed them across that imaginary line . . . thank the gods.

"We're safe," an Ehrran crewwoman said. Ehrran crew stood out from cover on the docks; a few of Jik's were visible.

"We're all right," Haral said by pocket com, now that they came in range of The Pride's dockside pickup. "Haral speaking. We got him. He's all right."

Some answer came back. Pyanfar did not hear. She saw Rhif Ehrran sweep a signal to her own crew as they passed the dockage of Ehrran's Vigilance,—not a signal to turn in there, but to come with her. Rhif Ehrran lengthened stride; and stopped Tirun and Tully and Geran at the foot of The Pride's docking area, with a grip on Tully's arm. "The human's safer in our keeping," Rhif said. "We'll take him."

"No," Pyanfar said, overtaking. "Gods rot it, Ehrran, we'll discuss it somewhere else. Get out of the way. We got kif back there—let go of him. He's had enough! Gods fry you, that's crew you've got your hands on." She launched a blow of her own and it brought up short on Jik's out-thrust arm.

"I take," Jik said. "/ take, hear."

"By the gods you don't. No! He's listed crew of mine. Gods rot you, let him go—"—as Haral decked an Ehrran crewwoman and mayhem broke loose, one brawling knot with Tully in the midst. Pyanfar elbowed Jik and shoved her way in as Khym did.

"Out!" Khym yelled, a male hani voice, that shocked echoes off the overhead; he dived amid the mess and snatched Tully to himself. He grinned at Ehrran, ears flat, with Tully crushed against his chest.

It stopped, it all stopped.

"I'm crazy," Khym said. "Remember?"

And it was in Pyanfar's own head that he truly might go berserk. She opened her mouth, shut it. Tully was not struggling. He held on, fists clenched in the fur of Khym's shoulders. And Ehrran waited for the bloody bits and pieces to start flying. Male and male. Tully hanging in Khym's grip like an unstrung toy.

"He's Chanur crew, isn't he?" Khym rumbled. "Like me." He swung Tully up into both arms, the rifle swinging loose from his elbow—good gods, the safety off on a gun fit to hole armor plate. Tully's head lolled back, his limbs suddenly gone loose. "We going inside, captain?"

"Move it," Pyanfar said. Her heart started beating again.

"Hnhunnh. Excuse me." Khym walked deliberately through Ehrran's ranks, swinging to clear Tully's legs.

"Chanur," Rhif Ehrran said.

"I know. You'll file a protest. Get your crew out of my crew's way, or they'll be picking fur out of the filters all over Mkks."

"Damn fool," Jik muttered. He pinched out his stick and dropped it into a pouch. "Move! You think we got no witness?" He jerked a hand toward the watching kif, far off down the dock. "What want? Entertain them?"

Rhif Ehrran made an abrupt gesture upward. Rifles clattered out of the way. Her eyes were amber rings around black. Her rumpled mane stood out in curling wisps as if charged with static. "We'll settle it later, Chanur."

"Fine." Pyanfar led her own crew through, lingered at the rail of the upward ramp and turned her head to see nothing happened behind her. The Ehrran crewwomen stood stock still. Ker Rhif herself stared with ears flat, promise in that look. Geran came last, not without a backward glance on her own. "Get in," Pyanfar said in Geran's slight hesitation: Need help? that delay implied. Geran went; she followed, and as they came into the accessway she remembered the Ehrran guards in lowerdeck. "Gods," she muttered, and started running, sweeping the crew with her.

Khym had gotten to the airlock with Tully in his arms. The hatch stood open; and two Ehrran guards stood there with rifles uncertainly in their hands and panic in their eyes.

"That's all right," Pyanfar said equably, taking her breath. She pursed her mouth into a cheerful smile for the guards, all

innocent of the fracas outside. "Hold your post. Come on, Khym. Need help with him?"

"He doesn't weigh much." Khym shifted his arm to roll Tully's head up against his chest as they went on through the lock and into the inner corridor. Tully moved, a limp wave of his hand. "Py-an-far."

"We've got you," Haral said, gently disengaging Khym's rifle from his arm, taking the weapon to herself before it blew a hole in the overhead. "No more worry, Tully, we got you."

The lift worked as they walked on into main corridor. Hilfy came out and headed for them at a run

" He' s all right," Geran said.

Hilfy slid to a worried halt in the face of Khym and an evident Situation; but Tully reached out his hand and she took his arm, Khym or no. "Hil-fy—" Tully tried to grasp her arm, awkwardly, with Khym's holding him and walking again. "Hilfy—" —over and over again.

"Huh," Pyanfar said. It was good to see Hilfy's ears up, her eyes bright like that. As if something was repaired. "Gods, get him to bed. We got other problems."

She leaned back against the corridor wall when Khym had taken the whole Tully-business away. Across from her Tirun sagged, standing on one foot. The wound Tirun had gotten at Meetpoint two years ago, the wound they had never had time on that voyage properly to treat—gods, they ran scared again. She thought of Chur, patched together at Kshshti. Like The Pride itself.

"Kefk," Haral said, going to lean against the wall beside her sister. "That's going to be one bitch, captain."

She listened. Geran overtook them and joined the lineup, the several of them. She felt numb. Her gut hurt from long walking, and from the earnest desire to break Rhif Ehrran's neck. "Gods rotted right one bitch." She shoved off from the wall and walked along the corridor toward the lift, alone.

Gods, the worry and the trust in Haral's eyes. Oldest of her friends and truest, Tirun next by a year; Geran and Chur after that by two. Five hani, with a few gray hairs round the nose mid aches when they ran; a young fool kid. A stray human and a hani male past his prime— There had been a time, when she had gotten into this, that she had had ambitions—trading deals with mahendo'sat and humans, to repair Chanur's financial damages; get the ship up to standard—well, that much she had done. And The Pride had altered outlines, wider vanes, alien systems that would put a kink in Chanur's enemies for sure—if it came to a conflict in space.

But there were other kinds of enemies—like on the debating floor of the han, when the Rhif Ehrran stood up to declare charges and bring Chanur down.

Khym, gods, Khym—she hugged the moment to herself, his defiance of Rhif Ehrran on the docks. But it cost. It would cost plenty when Ehrran and Vigilance got home. Chanur had staked much on this dealing with outsiders; risked too much. Chanur had become like The Pride itself, half-hani, with alien outlines. Foreign wealth bought those changes.

—but go home again? See her clan-home again? Deal again as hani and not some mahen agent bought and paid for?

She pushed the lift button. Turned. The crew had stayed where they were down the corridor, not following. Maybe they sensed her mood. She beckoned and Haral saw and brought the others.

Another hani ship had gotten cut off from hani kind two years ago: Tahar's Moon Rising. Moon Rising served the kif nowadays; and time was when she would have gone for Tahar on dock or in open space and known that she was right.

The lift arrived; her crew did. Another thought occurred to her and sent the wind up her back. "We've still got that kif aboard," she said.

"We can throw it out," Tirun said. "We've got what we want."

Pyanfar thought about it, her claw hooked into the lift-switch. But small alarms went off in everything she knew about the kif. "Sfik," she said. She let them into the lift and got in after. "If we turn it out, we lose a sfik-item, don't we, whatever by the gods that means. Status. Face."

"What's that kif want we do with it?" Geran asked in disgust.

"What he did with Tully," Haral surmised in the general silence as the lift went up. "Maybe worse. What's a kif care? It's to salve our pride, that's what."

A chill spread through Pyanfar. "Gods."

"Captain?"

"He talked about a kifish ship not his," The lift stopped and the door opened. "Rearranging its loyalties. He said."

"That kif's one of Akkhtimakt's?" Haral guessed, right down her own track.

"Bet you."

"Good gods, what do we do with the son?"

Pyanfar walked out and threw a glance over her shoulder on the way to the bridge, to Chur. "If you figure out what a kif's mind's like, let me know. It says it belongs to Chanur. If we let it go we lose sfik. And we got a stationful of kif at our throats if we do"

"We could space it," Tirun muttered longingly.

"We could give it to Ehrran," Geran said.

Pyanfar looked back, short of the bridge door. "That's the best idea I've heard yet."

"We do it?"

She bit at her mustaches, gnawed and gnawed. "Huh," she said, storing that thought up. "Huh." And walked into the bridge.

"Kefk?" Chur asked, turning her chair about.

"I got him for you," Khym said, huge, disheveled, hands hooked into the waistband of a tatty and snagged pair of brown breeches. His much scarred ears were slanted halfback, his scarred nose ducked in embarrassment. Hilfy came and fussed his mane into order, and the ears came up, there, in that room with another male, with Tully lying still on the bed and witnessing all of this.

"You were marvelous," Hilfy said.

"Huh," Khym muttered. "Huh. He smells awful. So do I." And with one shrug of his great shoulders he meandered out into the corridor.

Hilfy shivered then. And she thought of killing kif, which had become a constant, burning thought with her.

"Hilfy." Tully made an attempt to get up from where Khym had disposed him, on his own bed in his own quarters, on a coverlet soiled with blood from his poor back. She looked his way and he made a face and tried to stand. He sat down again, hard, and caught himself on one elbow.

"Gods." She snatched at the pocket com she had and punched the translator channel through. "Tully. Lie still." She came and put the com into his hands, so that he could speak and understand, with that unit to relay to the computer on the bridge.

But he let it fall and grabbed her about the shoulders and held on, just held, the way he had done when he had been hurt; or she had; or the kif threatened to separate them. "It's all right," Hilfy said. She held to him, which she had done in their dark cell when he could understand little more than that. "It's all right. We got you. No more kif."

He lifted his face finally and looked at her, alien and awful-smelling and his mane and beard, his handsomest feature—-all wispy gold when it was clean; but it was all tangled. His strange eyes were reddened and spilled water down his face—kif-stink hurt her eyes too, and his rags of clothes were full of that and kifish incense. "Pyanfar," he said, "Pyanfar—friend these kif?"

"Gods, no."

Tully shivered, a shudder apt to tear his joints apart. She held him tight, talisman of her own safety. She was aware of his maleness as she had been aware of it in their prison on Harukk, in a vague, disturbing way; but Anuurn and home and men were very far away—excepting Khym, who was enough to remind her of such things though he was Pyanfar's, and far too old. As for Tully, whatever humans felt, it was complex and alien and gods knew whether he even thought of her as female.

But someone should defend him. Hilfy had known all her life that men were precious things; and their sanity precarious; and their tempers vast as their vanity. Na Khym was— well, exceptional; and gray-nosed and sedate in age, whatever Pyanfar believed. Young men were another kind. One made a place for them and kept all unpleasantness away; and they wore silks and hunted and made a woman proud. They fought only when their wives and sisters had failed, when disaster came. And they were brave with the bravery of last resort, no craft—no one expected slyness of males. Not when the madness took them. Not when they were young.

Her Tully was clever. And brave. There had been a time kif had laid hands on her and Tully had thrown himself at them, clawless as he was. They had batted him aside, but he had tried to defend her till they knocked him senseless.

And she could not reach him then. That hurt with more than the pain of the bruises it had cost. They had drugged her. And she had been helpless when they took him to question. "Chur's all right," she said—remembered to say, for he had not gone up topside yet to learn it. "Tully, she got out."

He looked at her and blinked. "Chur safe."

"Everyone."

He made a sound, wiped his face and ran his blunt fingers through the tangles of his mane. "# # #," he said, something the translator mangled. He edged one foot and the other over the side. "I # crew. I crew, Hilfy, go work—Want work— understand."

He got himself on his feet. He wobbled in the process, caught his balance on her offered hand, then: "Bath," he said. And headed that direction.

She understood that.

"I'll wait for you," she said.

So they were all a little crazed. She felt like collapse herself and felt the dizziness a lump on her skull had left. But The Pride was close to moving. They would be pulling out and getting out of this; and she had undergone one long nightmare of jump in kifish hands— shut below, trapped belowdecks, with no sense of where they went or where they were or when they would die.

They were at Mkks, Chur had told her. And a host of other things—like a deal struck at Kshshti station, that had sent Banny Ayhar hellbent for Maing Tol with messages; and brought Jik and Vigilance with them—improbable alliance, but a useful one.

Jik's got some piece of Ehrran's hide, Chur had said, in the long waiting for results. He flashed some paper at her at Kshshti and she caved right fast. He's no hunter-captain, that Jik, no way that's all he is. He's got connections—got us out of port, used that fancy computer on Aja Jin and laid us a course that put us straight into Mkks, all three, neat as you please. We went out on our mark and by the gods we were on when we came in. Got that new engine pack back there—

Chur had showed her that, working the cameras aft; and the sight of their tail assembly on the vid had sent a shiver up Hilfy's back.

The Pride had changed. Had become something else since they pulled into Kshshti.

Like her. And she would have wished to see the old outlines back there and to have felt she had come home to something known and never changed.

Pyanfar friend these kif?

Hilfy conjured scenes—things Tully had seen and she had not when Pyanfar had stayed alone in that room of kif; and again when Pyanfar had gone in after Tully with Jik and Ehrran and all the crew but herself and Chur. So, gods, why would he even ask?

True, they had a kif aboard. Tully did not know that. The presence set twitches in Hilfy's lip, and a shudder in her bones. The thing was down the corridor. Just a few doors down and around the bend.

She sat on Tully's bed and hugged her arms about herself, wishing as she had not wished since she begged to go to space and got a doting father's leave—She wanted her home again, and safety, and not to see what she wanted now to do. Better hunting in the hills, that kind of killing. A clean kind. Find a mate. She was due that in her life. Have the grass under her feet again and the sun on her back where no hani she might meet would understand what kif were or the things that she had seen.

Tully staggered out again, naked. There were wounds on him that seeped blood; bruises, bruises and burns and every sort of abuse. She carried like scars. He hunted a drawer for another pair of Haral's cast-off breeches and came up with what must be the last.

"Need help?" she asked.

He shook his head, a human no. He sat down and tried with several attempts to get his leg in. He rested a bit, waved her off, hanging on the chair edge; and finally succeeded one leg at least.

The door opened, unannounced. Chur stood there, all bandaged as she was. Her eyes widened; her voyages-ringed flicked back.

"Chur," Tully said, and got the other leg; and contrived to stand up and pull the breeches on and pull the drawstring in with now and then a grasp at the chair back.

"Gods-rotted little we haven't seen of each other," Hilfy muttered with a little shrug at Tully and a heat about her ears "Him or me. It's all right, Chur."

"You all right," Tully said. He left the chair and reached out both hands for Chur. Chur winced instinctively; but did not grab, only took her hands and clasped them in his own. "Chur, good to see you. Good to see you—''

"Same," Chur said. Her mouth pursed in a gaunt smile and Hilfy got to her feet. "We're some sight, aren't we?"

"We fine," Tully said, with simplicity that ached He grinned, tried to stop himself, got his face into a hani pleasantness. "Chur, I think you got dead."

"Got dead, no—" Chur cuffed his cheek ever so gently "Gods, they chewed you up and spat you out, didn't they?"

Hilfy flinched, leaning on the chair, "Let him sit down for the gods' sakes. You too. What are you doing here?"

"Got a small break. They've got data coming in up there' Tirun's on it—thought I'd take the chance to come down and see you while I had it."

"We're going out, are we?"

Chur's ears went down.

"Aren't we?"

"Got some little deal going," Chur said.

"Who? deal?"

"Jik. We got this—well, we got this pay-off we got to make. Jik's asked us to go to Kefk. He's talked Ehrran into it."

"Gods-be." Hilfy's claws dug into the upholstery and she retracted them. Fear. Stark fear. She knew it in herself, that flinchings had been set into her, bone and nerve, forever. "What's at Kefk but kif? We still following this willy-wisp of human trade?"

"Some other kind of deal," Chur said. Her ears stayed at halfmast. The white showed at the corners of her eyes. "I don't know clearly what. Captain's back and forth with Jik."

"Go Kefk?" Tully asked. He wobbled over against the wall and stood there holding himself on his feet. "Kif? Go kif?"

"What deal?"

"Jik's deal," Chur said. "Hilfy—we bribed you out. don't know what's up, but it's certain we've got trouble on our tail and we're clearing out of here to lead Akkhtimakt off Mkks in the likely case he comes this way. We got two kif headed for a showdown at Kefk and Jik's taking sides. Mahen politics. And we're in it."

"Gods, no!" The room went black-tunneled. She thrust the chair skidding on its track and headed doorward, dodged Chur's hand.

"Hilfy—" Chur's voice pursued her. "Hilfy!"—Tully's, that cracked and broke.

"In a mahen hell," Hilfy said to everything in reach, and headed for the lift.