Pride of Chanur (18 page)

"This is Dur Tahar. It's a question, Chanur. What do you know about this?"

"I told you. Let's keep it off com, Tahar."

Silence. The Tahar were no allies of the Faha crew. It was a Chanur partisan in trouble, but if any ship at station could have moved in time, Moon Rising would have tried: she did not doubt it. It was a painful thing to watch, what was happening on scan. Close to her, Tirun had settled, and Hilfy, simply watching the screen while her Faha kinswomen and the wreckage that had been a Faha ship hurtled closer and closer to the boundaries of the pickup. After such a point insystem scan could not follow them. Station was getting transmission now from a different source, from the merchanter Hasatso, the freighter tracking Starchaser, the only ship in range. The blip that was Starchaser itself finally went off the screen.

"Chanur ship," station sent. "Tahar ship. Advise you merchanter Hasatso have make cargo dump; do all possible."

"Chanur and Faha will compensate," Pyanfar replied, and hard upon that Moon Rising sent thanks to Hasatso via station. "Gods look on them," Haral muttered-a cargo dumped, to close the gap, to close on an emergency not of their species.

Knnn wailed. Elsewhere there was silence. For a long while there seemed only one rhythm of breaths on The Pride, above and below.

"They're nearly on it," Hilfy breathed.

"They've got them," said Tirun. "No way they can miss now."

It went slowly. The transmissions from Hasatso became more and more encouraging; and at long last they reported capture. "Hani signal," Hasatso told Kirdu Station, "in pod. Live."

Pyanfar breathed out the breath she had been holding. Grinned, reached and squeezed Hilfy's arm. Hilfy looked drained. "Tahar," Pyanfar sent then, "did you receive that report?"

"Received," Tahar said curtly.

Pyanfar broke it off, sat a moment with hands clasped on the board in front of her. A ship lost; a tradition; that deserved its own mourning. Home and life to the Faha crew, and that was gone. "Station," she sent after a moment, "advise the Faha crew that Chanur sends its profound sorrow, and that ker Hilfy Chanur par Faha will offer the resources of The Pride of Chanur, such as they are." \

"Advise them," another voice sent directly, "that Dur Tahar o/Tahar's Moon Rising also offers her assistance."

That was courtesy. Pyanfar leaned back in the cushion, finally turned and rose with a stretch of her shoulders. "What can be done's done. Go fetch something to drink, Hilfy; if I'm roused out, someone owes me that. Drink for all that want it. Breakfast. I'll hear reports less urgent during.-Haral, who's supposed to be on duty?"

"I am."

"So. Then close down lowerdeck. Tirun, back you go."

"Aye' Tirun muttered, and levered herself up stiffly and limped off in Hilfy's wake. Pyanfar settled against the com post counter and looked at Haral, seated at the number two spot.

"That knnn's fallen into pattern about Lijahan," Haral said, paying attention to the screens. "Still making commotion. A wonder they don't try for the cargo salvage out there."

"Huh. Only grant they all stay put."

"Skimmer's still working out there at our tail. They've got a crew outside working the connectors. The cable's ready to secure. But fourteen panels were missing and six loose, and they estimate another twenty hours working shift on shift to get the new ones hooked up."

"Gods." Pyanfar ran a hand over her brow and into her mane, thinking of kif-of attack which had chewed Starchaser to scrap. There were others besides the knnn who might be expected to rush to that salvage out there; there were the onstation kif ... who showed no sign of moving. That was unnatural. No one was moving, except maybe a few miners out there with ambition. No one from station.

Word was out; rumor . . . had a wind up everyone's back.

"The Tahar," Haral said further, after a moment, "appealed that order to put out with an appeal to finish cargo operations. It was allowed."

"Helpful. At least they're here."

"Helpful as the Tahar in general. Begging your pardon."

"I'll talk to them."

"You think Tahar'd move to guard our tail?"

"No," she said. "I don't. Not unless they see profit in it. What are they doing? Not taking cargo."

"Offloading. Stripping to run. Canisters pouring out like maggots."

Pyanfar nodded. "Station wants that cargo safe then; and Tahar's going to dump that out fast down to the bit she uses to stall with. The Personage has backed down, that's what; got a few of his onstation companies wailing about losses, and Tahar'll stay here as long as she likes. That'll give me time."

"Gods, the bill on this."

"Expensive, our Outsider. In all senses." She looked about as Hilfy came through the archway with a large tray, two cups and two breakfasts. "Thanks," Pyanfar said, taking plate and cup . . . paused to look at Hilfy, who had stopped to look at the situation on the screen. They were still getting transmission relayed from Hasatso, with occasional breakup which indicated velocity dump. "Going to be a while," Pyanfar said. "Unless they've got a medical emergency I doubt they'll boost up again after turnover, just ride it slow in. Hours from now. Go on back to quarters. I mean it."

A few ports ago Hilfy might have argued, might have laid her ears back and sulked. She nodded now and went. Pyanfar slid a glance at Haral, who stared after the retreating youngster and then nodded once, thoughtfully.

"Huh," Pyanfar said, digging into the breakfast, and for some little time she and Haral sat and watched the scan and ate. "Tell you, cousin," Pyanfar said finally, "you go off-watch and I'll take it."

"Not needful, captain."

"Don't be noble. I've got some things to do. One thing you can do for me. When you go down, look in on Tully. Make sure he's all right."

"Right," Haral said. She stood up and gathered the dishes onto the tray. "But he's all right, captain. Chur's bedded down to keep an eye on him."

Pyanfar had been finishing her last sip of gfi, to surrender the cup. She banged it down on the tray. "Gods blast-Did I or did I not order him separate?"

Haral's ears dropped in dismay. "Chur said he was upset, captain; made herself a pallet in the washroom so's he wouldn't wake up by himself. She said-your pardon, captain-sedated, he looked so bad-You were in bed, captain. It was my discretion."

Pyanfar exhaled shortly. "So. Well. Depressed, Chur Says."

Haral nodded. "We'd take him," Haral said. I

"Chur said."

"Um." Haral figured that train of things of a sudden and her mustache-hairs drew down. "Sorry, captain."

"Him, for the gods' sake."

"Not as if he was hani, captain."

"Not as if," Pyanfar said after a moment. "All right. Put him where you want; that's crew business, none of mine. Work him. He claims to be a scan tech. Let him sit watch. Who's on next?"

"Ker Hilfy."

"With someone of the experienced crew. Someone who's made their mistakes."

Haral grinned and rubbed the black scar which crossed her nose. "Aye. One of us will sort him out."

"Off with you."

Haral went. Pyanfar slid down off the counter and transferred the activity to her own board, sat down in her own deeply padded cushion and ran the incoming messages of hours past. There was nothing there but what Haral had said, Tahar's argument about staying and the beginnings of Starchaser's crisis. Sporadic information still came in: Hasatso sent word of four survivors. . . .

Four. A cold depression settled over her.

Four out of seven crew on that ship. It was more than the physical body of Starchaser lost out there, more even than a life or two in a crew kin-close. Four out of seven was too heavy casualties for a group to recover itself-not the way it had once been. Gods, to start over, having lost that heavily-

"Station," she sent, "this is Pyanfar Chanur: confirm that transmission from Hasatso. Names of survivors."

"Pride of Chanur," station sent back to her, "Hasatso transmit four survivors good condition. No more information. We relay query."

She thanked station absently, sat staring at the screen a moment. There was lagtime to contend with on that request, nothing to do but wait. She bestirred herself to run checks with the ships at repair on their own damages, to contact station market and to arrange a few purchases and deliveries via dockside courier services. There was delay on the communications: everyone at station seemed muddle-witted in the confusion, down to the jobbers in commodities.

"Station, what's keeping that answer?" she sent main op.

"Crew refuse reply," the answer came back. Communication failure there too. Nerves. Possibly shaken-up hani and mahe rescuers were at odds. Ship lost, cargoes lost, lives lost. An ugly business.

And one of the knnn had put out from station, putting out wailing transmission and wallowing uncertainly about station's peripheries like a globe of marshfire, touching off ticking objections/accusations/ pleas? from the tc'a control.

Gods. The oxygen-breather command went silent for the moment. Tc'a chattered and hissed. Pyanfar reached for translation output, but it failed: tc'a translated best when it was simple docking instruction or operations which were common to all ships. This was something else, gods rot them.

There was silence finally, even from the tc'a. The knnn moved out farther and stayed there. Hasatso continued its slow inward progress. At last the mahendo'sat side of station came on again, quiet operational directions for the incoming freighter, nothing informational.

Pyanfar sent them no questions. No one did.

The news came when Hasatso entered final approach: four survivors, a fifth dead in the stress of the pod eject, of wounds, and allowed to go with the pod when Hasatso released it, not a hani choice, but mahe honor. Two went with Starchaser, dead in the attack or unable to get to the pod-the information was not clear. There was a name: first officer Hilan Faha, survivor; and another: Lihan Faha-the captain, the third casualty.

"Aunt," Hilfy said, when Pyanfar called her to the bridge and told her, "I'd like to go down to the dock where they are. I know it's dangerous. But I'd like to go. By your leave."

Pyanfar set her hand on Hilfy's shoulder. Nodded. "I'll go with you," she said, at which Hilfy looked both relieved and pleased. "Geran," she said, turning to lean over the com board, putting it through on allship. "Geran."

The acknowledgment came back.

"Geran, take watch again, lowerdeck op. New word's come in. Starchaser captain is lost, and two of the crew. Hilfy and I are going to meet the rescue ship; we'll bring the Faha back aboard if they're so inclined. No sense them having to put up with mahe questions and forms."

There was a moment's delay, a sorrowful acknowledgment.

"Come," Pyanfar said to Hilfy then, and they walked out toward the lift. Hilfy's bearing was straight enough, her face composed . . . not good news, when she had gone to sleep thinking that things were better than they were; but they had something, at least, of the Faha crew, something saved; and that was still more than they had once hoped.

Another matter to the kif account, when it came to reckonings. But if there were kif out there now-and there might be, hovering at the system's edges, the same game that they themselves had played at Urtur-then they were waiting some moment of advantage, some moment when there were not five armed mahendo'sat patrol ships cruising a pattern out there.

Allship had waked more than Geran. Tirun was up, sitting in op when they came down toward the lock; and Geran, who had been assigned the duty; and Chur was standing about with Tully, who looked vaguely distressed in this disturbance he likely failed to comprehend. Haral showed up in haste from farther down the corridor. "Going with you, by your leave," Haral said, and Pyanfar nodded, not sorry of it. "Kif out there," Pyanfar said. "I'm not getting caught twice the same way."

"Take care," Tirun wished them as they went, and in the airlock, while Haral opened the outer hatch, Pyanfar delayed to take the pistol from its secure place in the locker by com and to slip it into her pocket.

"No detectors to pass," Pyanfar said. "Come on."

The hatchway stayed open behind them; they walked out the ribbed rampway and down onto the dockside. Engines whined on their left: Moon Rising was still about her offloading, and canisters were coming off into the hands of mahendo'sat dockworkers, not hani crew.

"They may have gone to meet the Faha too," Pyanfar judged, marking the total absence of a hani supervisor outside. It was a courtesy to be expected, politics aside in a hani-ship's misfortune.

"Not much stirring," Haral said.

That was so. Where normally the vast docks would have had a busy pedestrian traffic up and down the vast curve, there was a dearth of casual strollers, and the activity about Moon Rising was the only activity of any measure in sight. Dockworkers, service workers, mahe with specific business underway paused to stare at them and after them as they walked. Stsho huddled near their accesses and whispered together. The kif were out about, predictably, clustered together near the accessway of one of the ships, a mass of black robes, seven, eight of them, who lounged near their canisters and clicked insults after them.

And at one of those insults Pyanfar's ears flicked, and she stopped the impulse in mid-twitch, trying to make believe she had not heard or understood. He knows, hani thief. How many more hani ships will you kill?

"Captain-" Haral murmured, and Hilfy started to turn around. "Front, gods-" Pyanfar hissed and seized Hilfy by the arm. "What do you want to start, at what odds?"

"What do we do?" Hilfy asked, walking obediently between them. "How can he know?"

"Because one of those kif ships is his, imp; came in here from Kita; and now Akukkakk's enlisted other ships to help him. They'll scatter out of here like spores when we go, and gods help us, we're stuck till we get that repair done."

"They as good as hit Starchaser themselves. I'd like to-"

"We'd all like to, but we have better sense, Come on."