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It was a fifteen hour job. A gnawing suspicion worked at her gut. The defect should have shown up on the board: there were reasons why it might not — that it had blown as they camel in… something had redlighted, so many things had redlighted at one instant and gone back to normal status . possibly, possibly it was real. Possibly too it was one of those demon touches, the mahendo’sat called them, that lost ships, something loose that contacted in stresses and killed. It was five to five they owed the mahendo’sat crew profound thanks; or they were being stalled, co
“Haral,” she said into com.
“Captain?”
“That problem you fixed as we were coming in. Was the number one yoke involved? Could you tell?”
A long moment of silence. “Captain, we were losing the input; I put in a new board and we got it cleared. But that fade had stressed everything; the whole board was fouled. I couldn’t say beyond doubt. It was everywhere. I thought it was the panels. I’m sorry, captain.”
There was misery in Haral’s voice. Haral was not accustomed to be wrong. Ever. “It’s one of those things,” Pyanfar said, “that would redlight if the panels were overloaded; I’m not so sure you were wrong, Haral. I’m not at all sure you were wrong.”
“I’ll go out there,” Haral said.
“And do what? They’ve got it in a mess it takes skimmers to put back. Mahen skimmers. No. We sit it out.”
“Supplies arriving,” Chur informed her eventually via com from belowdecks. That was frozen fish off Kirdu IIs onworld ponds; and some stsho goods for Tully and some more translator tapes. She checked the time; after their originally scheduled departure. The courier service had been informed of the delay as quickly as they had been, which insolence sent her blood pressure up another several points. “Captain?” Chur asked. “Noted,” Pyanfar said coldly, and Chur broke the contact.
Another hour. The vid showed continual activity about the vane. Pyanfar diverted herself into board maintenance, burrowed into under-console spaces, checked and rechecked, surfaced now and again to dart a jaundiced look at the vid or to listen to some communication coming in. The station was getting back to normal; only the k
The lift down the corridor hummed and opened doors: Pyanfar heard that and worked her way out of a finished job, stood up and wiped her hands and straightened her mane — soft quick footfalls in the corridor. “Aunt?”
She sat down on the armrest of her own cushion, scowled at her niece. Hilfy stood in the archway with a paper in her hand, came and offered it. “Just came. Couriered. Security seal.”
Pyanfar snatched it, hooked a claw in it, ripped it open, nose wrinkling. Stasteburana’s signature. Greetings, respects, and the assurance all possible was being done. “The stationmaster’s compliments,” Pyanfar translated sourly. “We get escort to our jump point when we go; departure’s firm for that fifteenth hour. Rot them, they knew about this, or they’d have been here asking for that tape. They want it, to be sure — before the job’s sealed off. Is the courier waiting?”
“No.”
“Rot them all.”
“Tully’s tape, you mean.”
She looked up at Hilfy, whose adolescent-bearded held a hint of a frown. “Is that a comment?”
“No, aunt.”
“I told the Outsider why.”
“Tully, aunt.”
Pyanfar sucked in a breath. “Tully, if you please. I told him why. Did I get through?”
“He — talked to Chur about it.”
“What did he say?”
“That he understood.”
“And the rest of you?”
Hilfy tucked her hands behind under her brow. “He senses much trouble’s going on. Last offshift, he tried to talk to all of us, gods, how he tried. Finally—” Her ears went down, a second glance at the deck. “Finally he put his arms around Chur and then he went j from one to the next of us all and did the same, not — male-female, not like that. Just like he had something to say and he didn’t have any other way to say it.”
Pyanfar said nothing, jaw set.
“He’s started another tape,” Hilfy said. “The new manual.”
“Is he?”
“We gave it to him; he sat down with it in op and he’s feeding the words in as fast as he can go.”
Pyanfar frowned, taken aback.
“He liked the stsho shirts you came up with too. Warm, says, never mind the fancywork.”
“Huh.” Pyanfar thrust herself to her feet, poked an extended claw at Hilfy. “Nice fellow, this Tully, so understanding and grateful and all. I’ve been back and forth this route a few voyages, imp, and I’ve seen my share of con artists. In thefirst place, since we bring it up, I don’t like the Outsider bedding down with the lot of you. I permitted it in a moment of soft-headedness, because I didn’t like his moping about and I didn’t want himself killing himself the way, mark you, imp, the way he admits to killing a companion of his — for friendship’s sake.”
“It’s not fair to say that. It was brave, what he did.”
“Granted. And maybe he’s got a few more brave notions. The crew’s used to alien ways and I figured they’d keep their judgment, but I don’t like you down there. Gods know you’ve earned the right to be down there — that’s where I’d rather you were, all things equal, but they aren’t; there’s that rotted Outsider in the company, and he makes me nervous, niece, the way things make me nervous that just may blow up without warning. I don’t like you near him.”
Hilfy’s ears were plastered flat to her skull. “Pardon, aunt. If you order me to go back to my quarters, I will.”
“No,” Pyanfar said. “I’ll do you one worse. I’ll rely on your sense. I’ll just tell you to think what gets blown to ruin if some triviality sets our guest off at the wrong moment. Chanur, niece. You understand that?”
The ears came up. Hilfy’s nose wrinkled all the same, the shot gone home. “I know I want to get back to Anuurn, aunt; but I know too that I want to be proud of one side of the family when I get there.”
Pyanfar raised her hand — got that far with it, and stopped the blow and turned it into a gesture of dismissal. “Out, imp. Out.”
Hilfy turned on her heel and went. Pyanfar slid into the cushion and crumpled the stationmaster’s message with the other hand, punched claws through it. Gods rot it, to have leaned on the youngster in that matter… and to no point: to no point; underway, they would be back to wider spaces, to — gods knew what they would be up against.
She reached and keyed through the translator cha
After a moment she shook her head, smoothed out the paper and filed it in fax. Punched the translator key on again and listened to Tully, a quiet, familiar voice, putting word after word into memory.
Six hours; nine; twelve; thirteen. The day passed in meals-at-station, in checks and counterchecks; in enforced rest and secure-for-jump procedures and most of all in monitoring scan and com. Pyanfar reached the stage of pacing and fretting by the twelfth hour, fed and napped beyond endurance — wore off claw-tips on the flooring and disguised the anxiety when any of the crew came near on errands.
But Hilfy managed not to come. Stayed below, in what frame of mind or what understanding Pyanfar could not find a way to ask.
“Courier’s here.” Chur’s voice cracked out of the silence on the bridge, com from lowerdeck. “Asking the tape, captain.’
“Ask the courier,” Pyanfar said, “the finish time on the repair.”
A delay.
“The courier says within the hour, captain.”