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“Understood.” Pyanfar caught her breath, looked left when she had laid the tape she had prepared, reached and pocketed the cassette and headed out for the lift, in such a fever that it was not till she had started the lift downward that she had thought again what it was she went down to trade: away from this place was all the thought; and the tape was a means to get free; and the shedding of the whole ugly necessity something she was only too glad to have done, to get The Pride free o: mahendo’sat and loose and on her way.
But Hilfy was down there. That recollection hit her. The lift stopped, the door opened, and she hesitated half a heartbeat in walking out, sucked up a breath she wanted all too much to spend on the mahe for the delay, and strode out quite bereft of the breath and the anger she wanted to loose.
Tully. Ye gods, Tully was in op too, off the corridor where any visitor to the ship not confined to the airlock would be brought as a matter of course.
She rounded the corner and found a gathering indeed — a dignified-looking mahe in a jeweled collar and kilt; a mahe attendant; Haral, Tirun, and Hilfy. She walked into the group suddenly conscious of her own informal attire, scowled and drew herself up to all her stature — none too tall in mahendo’sat reckoning.
“Bad mess,” the ranking mahe spat at her. “Big trouble you cause, hani. All same we fix ship.”
The Voice of the stationmaster, primed with accusations and bluster. The Voice looked her up and down, with grand hauteur. Jeweled and perfumed. Pyanfar flexed her claws, pointedly and with grander coolness turned her shoulder and looked toward her own. “Tully. Where’s Tully? Is he still in op?”
“You endanger the station,” the Voice railed on her dutifully. “Big trouble with tc’a; k
“Tully! Get your rotted self out here. Now!”
“They don’t come into station now, the k
Tully came out of the op room, Chur attending him. He had on his new stsho-made shirt, white silk and blue borders — looked immaculately civilized and no little upset in the shouting. “The papers, Tully,” Pyanfar said. “Show them to this kind mahe.”
He fished in his pocket for the folder, pale eyes anxious.
“I got no need cursed papers,” the Voice snapped. Tully had them all the same, held them open in front of the mahe, who waved them aside.
“You issued them,” Pyanfar said. “Property of the kif. Property of the kif, you say. You look at this fine, this honest, this documented member of an intelligent and civilized space-faring species and you talk about him with words like property of the kif? I call down shame on you; I ask you explain to him, you, in your own words, explain this property.”
The Voice flattened her ears, looked aside at her attendant, who proffered a scent bottle. In elaborate indirection the Voice unstopped it and inhaled, recollecting herself in retreat. Her face when next she looked down at them was tolerably mild.
“The tapes,” the Voice said. “The tapes you make deal cover some damage.”
“All the damages. No fines. No charges. No complaints.”
“Starchaser rescue.”
“A separate matter. Chanur and Faha together will stand good for it when we reach home. As for the captain of the rescue ship, he has my guarantee, which is worth more than his losses. It’s settled.”
The Voice considered a moment, nodded. “The tape,” she said, holding out her hand. “This give, repair finish. Give you safe escort. Fair deal, Chanur.”
Pyanfar took it from her pocket, an uncommon warmth about her ears — looked aside at Tully. She thrust it at him. “You give it. Yours.”
Hilfy opened her mouth to say something, and shut it. Tully looked down at the cassette, looked up at the Voice and hesitantly handed the tape toward her. “Friend,” he said in the hani tongue. “Friend to mahe.”
The dark-furred hand closed on the cassette. The Voice laid back her ears and pursed her mouth in thoughtful consideration. Tully still had his hand out — his own kind of gesture, who was always touching; kept it out. Slowly the mahe reached out, alien protocol being her calling, and gamely suffered Tully to clasp her hand, took it back without visible flinching… but with a subdued quiet unlike herself. She bowed her head that slightest degree of courtesy. “I carry your word,” she said.
And with a scowl and a glance at Pyanfar: “Undock one hour, firm. Kirdu Station give you all possible help. Urge you give us location of this good fellow homeworld — danger to lose you, him, all, this trip.”
“Beyond the kif is the location we presently suspect. Haven’t had the time to learn, honorable.”
“Stupid,” the Voice said with her professional license.
“Our unfortunate friend was dragged through miserable circumstances with the kif; hurt; not stupid — too wise to talk without understanding. Now there’s too little time. You help us get out of here and we’ll settle the kif sooner or later.”
“This hakkikt… Akukkakk. We know this one. Bad trouble, Chanur captain.”
“What do you know?” Pyanfar asked, suddenly and not for the first time suspicious of every mahe .at Kirdu. “What do you know about this kif?”
“You undock one hour. Skimmers go now. You make good quick voyage, Chanur captain.”
“What do you know about the kif?”
“Good voyage,” the Voice pronounced, and bowed once and generally, collected her attendant and walked for the airlock.
“Hai,” Pyanfar said in vexation, and with a wave of her hand sent Haral striding after the Voice and her companion. She looked about at Hilfy, whose ears were somewhat down; and at Tirun and Chur and Tully. Tully looked disquieted. “Good,” Pyanfar said to him, clapping him on the arm. “Good touch, that ‘friend.’ You laid the burden on her, you know that? That’s the Voice that speaks to and for the Personage himself, the stationmaster of Kirdu; and by the gods you did it, my clever, my ma
Tully glanced down, made a small shrug, no less troubled-looking. She was not wearing the translator plug. “An hour, hear?” she said to the others, to Tirun and Hilfy and Chur — and Geran, who would be keeping watch in the op room with strangers ru
“Close as we can cut it,” Pyanfar said, and looked left as movement caught her eye, Haral’s return from the lock, as far as the begi
“Seal us up, captain?” Haral shouted down the corridor.
“Seal us up,” Pyanfar confirmed, and stopped in mid-wave as a tall dark figure appeared in the corridor behind Haral “Ware!”
Mahendo’sat. Haral had already spun about, and the lanky, dark-furred mahe walked on in as if he belonged, flashing a gilt-edged grin.
“Ismehanan—” Pyanfar shouted. ” — Goldtooth, gods rot you, slinking into my corridors without a by your leave — Who let you in?”
The grin in no wise diminished. The mahe gave a sweeping bow and straightened as she strode up to him. “Got sudden business, Chanur, maybe same you course.”