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“Acquiring station signal,” Hilfy said. “That’s tc’a talking now, I think. It’s this k
“Cut the signal. Give station our proper ID. Relay pirate attack; damage and emergency, and probable accompanying debris.”
“Got it,” Hilfy said.
Pyanfar hit the dump again, forced them a little more toward a sane speed, and a board redlighted. She cycled in a backup.
Haral unbelted and leaned into the pit beside her console, frantic readjustments.
There might be kif in dock at Kirdu… gods, would be kif here, by all the odds, and just possibly one of them had come through from Urtur. But this was Kirdu: mahendo’sat here, in their own territory, had teeth, and took no arguments from visitors. They would demand explanations for such an entry. Gods grant whatever remaining debris they had boosted through with them from Urtur found no mahendo’sat targets, or there would be more than an explanation due.
“Something’s left station,” Tirun said. The image showed up on the number two screen. Ships were outbound, four of them, one after the other, moving on intercept, dopplering into their path. “Hilfy,” Pyanfar said, “signal general alert, all hani ships insystem.”
“Done,” Hilfy said, moving to do it. Haral slid back into place, set to work in haste at the comp. The number one screen started acquiring estimates, locational shifts on the oncomers and everything else in the system. That was station guard which had just put out, more than likely: The Pride had broken regulations from entry to this moment, heaps and piles of regulations. Some mangy mahe station official was likely elbow deep in the rule books this moment hunting penalties, Pyanfar’s nose wrinkled at the thought of the fines, the levies, the arguments.
“Getting signal on the ships outcoming,” Hilfy said. “They’re mahendo’sat, all right.”
“Huh.” Pyanfar blew a sigh of relief. Worse had been possible, worse indeed. “Geran,” she said over allship. “Chur. Are you getting this down there? We’re all right; station’s ending us an escort.”
“Coming in clear, captain.”
“Is everything secure down there? How’s Tully? Have you got a monitor on him?”
“He’s here in op with us,” Geran said. “Drugs are wearing off. He’s muzzy but following what’s going on.”
“No more risks, rot you; who cleared that? — Take scan on number four for approach; give us some relief up here; and get him secure.”
“I friend.” Tully’s voice came back to her, hani words. And others, his own tongue, a flood of words. “Shut him down,” Pyanfar hissed; and there was silence. “Working,” Chur’s voice reported, and Tirun paused in her frantic pace, dropped her head into hands and wiped them back over her mane. She took the chance for a drink, from a plastic bottle from under-counter, passed it to Hilfy and then to Tirun and then to Haral and Haral to Pyanfar. The remnant went down, a welcome cooling draught. Pyanfar took the chance to call up comp to locate the damage, gnawed her upper lip as the information came through incomplete. She looked right, at the others, at Hilfy, who was listening to something, with a bruised, exhausted look on her face. “Shunt that below when they get the Outsider settled,” Pyanfar said to her, and looked at Haral, who was still doing updates. “Damage indeterminate,” she said to Haral privately. “I don’t feel any lag in the insystem responses, at least. It should be a normal dock, but we’re going to have to get a hurryup on that repair and I don’t know how to the gods we’re going to finance the bribe.”
“Aunt,” Hilfy said, “station is on, wants to talk to you personally. I told them—”
“Captain.” Lowerdeck overrode, sent up an image on scan.
Ship in the jump range, incoming, on their tail.
“Gods,” Pyanfar hissed. “Gods rot all kif — Hilfy: ID, fast.”
Hilfy hesitated half a breath: Tirun was already overreaching a long arm onto her territory. Wailing came through, and Pyanfar grimaced at the high-pitched squeal.
“K
“We don’t know it’s that k
The ready light came on. “Go,” Hilfy said, distraught and J wild-eyed, and subdued the k
“This is Kirdu Station,” the machine-translated voice came through. “We mahe urgent severe protest this entry. Go slow, hani captain incoming.”
“This is The Pride of Chanur, Pyanfar Chanur speaking. We’re incoming with an unidentified on our tail and with damage, but we have maneuverability. The ship behind us may pose a threat to station; I suggest your escort direct its attention to what’s following us.”
Com stayed dead, longer than lagtime dictated.
“Escort is passing turnover point,” Geran’s quiet voice came from the other op center. “Captain, they’re going to pass us, going to go out and look that bastard over.”
Pyanfar looked, saw, returned her attention to comp, where new estimate was coming up on the position of the incoming ship. It was close, moving hard, no dump of speed.
“Got a hani contact,” said Hilfy. “Tahar.”
“Gods and thunders.” This was not a friendly house to Chanur. Pyanfar picked up the contact on her board. “Tahar ship, this is Pyanfar Chanur. Stand ready for trouble. Don’t be caught at dock.”
“Chanur, this is Dur Tahar. Is this your trouble?”
“It has no patent, Tahar, not so far. Stand out from station, I warn you. In case.”
“Chanur,” the translated voice of station broke in on them. “Tahar Captain. Against regulation, this. “Use station cha
“We’re coming in, station. We advise you ships are destroyed and lives lost. If that ship back there is k
Another voice, clicking and harsh. Kif.
“That’s from a docked ship,” Hilfy said quickly. “Got it on station directional.”
“Captain.” That from Tirun. “Incomer’s just begun dump; they’re checking speed.”
Pyanfar blinked, the suspicion of good news hitting dully on a dazed brain. She drew a whole breath. “Gods grant it is k
Silence from station. They were not, most likely, overjoyed.
Pyanfar broke the contact. “Bastards.” She wiped her mouth, straightened her beard with her fingers. “Cowards.” The escort passed and headed out to the incoming ship behind them. She settled back in her cushion and listened to the reports.
“Aunt,” Hilfy said finally, “mahendo’sat report visual confirmation: it is a k
“Thank the gods,” Pyanfar muttered, and threw open the restraint on her cushion, leaned forward more comfortably. Station was coming up. A flurry of docking instructions was arriving on the number three screen.
Not kif behind them, only a vastly confused k
She drew a series of quieter breaths. Watched the schematic which showed them the way toward docking. Tired. Indeed she was tired. She ached in her bones. It took a moral effort to settle in for docking maneuvers, to do it by manual because she wanted the feel of it, not to be surprised by some further malfunction under automatic.