Chanur's Homecoming

They made slow progress down the unstable docks-a gang of kifish skkukun carrying a stretcher with Jik strapped tightly to it; Jik’s First Officer walking along by him, anger and concern in every line of her back: and with a gun on her hip. Pyanfar walked to the side and a little behind, with Dur Tahar on her right and Skkukuk at her left, Tahar inscrutable as Tahar had become in her life among kif, while Skkukuk gave few signals either-except in squared shoulders, except in less nervousness than he had ever shown; except in every subtle move that said here was a kif whose status was no longer that of an outright slave, a kif whose captain had just dealt with the hakkikt and won. He carried a weapon beneath his outer robes and gods knew what ambitions in his narrow skull. If ever a kif was pleased, this one positively basked in his change of fortunes, inhaled the chance in the air, savored the sight of the hakkikt’s slaughtered enemies, his dreadful signposts-and the sight of his captain rising in that service.

Cold in all the warm places and fever-warm in all the cold ones, gods, a hundred eighty degrees skewed. Alien. The kif are that thing in doubles and triples.

Stay cold, Pyanfar Chanur. Save it. Jik’s a piece of meat. Tahar an ally-of-fortune, Kesurinan’s potential trouble, and this gods-be son of a kif is a convenience.

Kesurinan’s not going to make trouble, not yet. She’ll let us take Jik aboard.

Gods, don’t let Jik come to out here.

Slowly, slowly they walked up the dock past the section seal, into that area where there were no pedestrians. Where there was no traffic at all but themselves.

And there was The Pride’s berth ahead, still flashing with those warning lights. She took her pocket com out, within range of the pickup now: “This is the captain. I’m coming in.”

“Aye,” Haral’s voice came back to her, thin with static: that formality she had used was warning, and Haral took it: I’ve got company, Haral; don’t get easy with me.

Another eternity, walking that fragile dock: and gods help them, Tahar and Kesurinan had farther still to go. “Skkukuk,” Pyanfar said, and the kif beside her was all attention. “Tell the skkukun-hakkiktu I want Tahar escorted to her ship by the quickest and safest route. Through the central corridors if they can.”

“Hakt’,” Skkukuk said, acknowledging the order; and walked up with the litter-bearers and gave that instruction with all the kifish modulations of a superior’s relayed instructions and his own high status with that superior. Then he fell back a step or two and lifted his face in satisfaction.

She said not a word to Tahar, and Tahar offered not a word to her; that was the way of things.

Toward The Pride’s open accessway, then. “Wait here,” Pyanfar said to Tahar and Kesurinan, and with a special coldness in Kesurinan’s direction, when they reached that gateway: her flesh crawled in that earnest look of Kesurinan’s scar-crossed face. “Aye, captain,” Kesurinan said, all unknowing.

And betrayed her own captain into foreign hands.

“Chanur-hakto,” the foremost kif said, when they had deposited Jik on his litter in The Pride’s airlock. That kif took a packet from within his robes and offered it.

Skkukuk intercepted it in one smooth move. And waved his hand, dismissing the other kif out the airlock.

“Seal us up,” Pyanfar said to the air and the crew watching on monitor.

The lock shot closed, hissed and thumped into electronic seal.

“Power down,” Pyanfar said.

“Aye,” Haral’s voice came to her. All business, even yet. Pyanfar took the packet Skkukuk offered her officiously, with the stretcher lying on its supports at her feet. Now the shivers wanted to come, but she kept her ears up and looked her own kif in his watery, red-rimmed eyes.

“Good job,” she said to Skkukuk.

“Kkkkt,” the kif said. “You need me, hakt’. Who else of your crew has manners?”

Her gorge rose. She swallowed and tucked the small packet into her pocket, squatted down by Jik’s stretcher and patted his face gently. It was cold and there was no reaction.

“This is an ally?” Skkukuk asked.

“This is a complicated situation,” she said, trying to tell a kif the truth; and then a second thought ruffled the hair down her back. Gods, this is a killer I’m talking to. With hairtrigger reflexes. “Yes. An ally.” She moved her hand down to Jik’s neck and felt the pulse there. “Haral. Get Khym down here. We got Jik to move. He’s still out."

“On his way, captain. You all right?"

“Fine. I’m fine. We got out in good shape. Open that door.” She patted Jik’s face again. “Hey. Friend. Come out of it. You hear me? You’re all right.” Friend.

He was under. Deep. She heard the lift work: Khym had either been on his way or he had run that topside corridor. And The Pride was proceeding with power-down, a series of subtle noises that her ear knew in every nuance. “Skkukuk. You’ll help Khym. You’ll do what he says."

“Kkkt. This is your mate.”