Chanur's Homecoming

“Aye,” said Haral. And began to lay course. They were moving in approximately the right vector. Haral hit the directionals and they started hammering off the V, turning, bringing the mains to bear on it. Those cut in, a one-G push, sudden and solid against the downward G they had from the rotation, a steady discomfort.

“Chur all right back there?” she asked. “Khym?”

“Chur’s asked,” Khym said, “What we’re doing. I’ve tried to explain. I think she’s drugged. She says she wants free of the machine. I said no, we had enough trouble.”

“We got enough trouble,” she muttered, and punched in all-ship. “Chur, we’re all right. We got our hands full up here, huh? Just don’t worry your sister.”

“Aye,” Chur’s voice came back to her. She had been Geran’s partner at that board. Now she lay listening while scan tried to track a Situation multiplied by fives and worse. “Geran, I’m . . . going to sleep . . . gods-be machine.”

“G-stress,” Pyanfar said.

Is it? Gods, cousin, hang on.

“We’re headed into station,” Geran said. “Hear that, sister of mine?”

“Got it,” Chur murmured. It sounded like that. But she was far from the pickup.

The mains cut in, hard acceleration. And cut out again.

“We’re on,” Haral said. “We’re going to be inertial. Take our time getting in there.”

Preserve our options. Haral was reading her mind again. And inertial-time was rest-time.

She dropped her hand from the boards and sat there a moment while her muscles went weak and she was not at all certain that she could stand up. The interval between the two groups of kif narrowed further and further, changes perceptible only in the data-tags, but definitive. That would go on for the better part of an hour til someone got in position to do something. Jump and shoot, respectively. Then it remained to see what Sikkukkut would do.

Leave us to hold onto Meetpoint while he chases that bastard down?

Us to hold Meetpoint with Goldtooth loose? Goldtooth’s taking his options. He won’t jump till he has to, he wants to know what Sikkukkut’s doing; and Sikkukkut’s going to give him no options, going to follow right on his tail till he jumps. There’s some small chance that Sikkukkut might leave if he can get Goldtooth out. He might rip loose everything he can pirate here and go for Akkhtimakt at Urtur. Akkhtimakt’s got to go slow on the turn-around there, all that gods-be dust.

Got to. Then Sikkukkut could catch him up and hammer him good.

If we knew Goldtooth’s mind. Kifish ships are going to run up his backside, make him jump for Tt’a’va’o, they got V on him, he’s got no choice either.

And once Goldtooth goes, he and the humans’ve got a three, four month turnaround to get back here. Gods, think, Pyanfar! What are the options?

“Tirun. Take watch. All the rest of you, you’re off. Get something to eat. Geran, you’re cleared aft; Skkukuk, belowdecks. Take what you can get. Jik. You I want to talk to.”

Seats moved, restraints clicked open. Everyone was in motion, Haral as well. Pyanfar turned her own chair and stopped. Jik still sat in his place, staring at the screens. Tirun was beside him, keeping her station. And Tully, though Hilfy had him by the elbow, lingered with a confused and sorrowful look toward the boards. Toward-gods knew, his own people starting off in retreat with Goldtooth, leaving him behind, perhaps forever, who knew? It was not a time to say anything. Pyanfar stared their way till Hilfy prevailed and they went out the door.

“Haral,” she said. “Take the long break. Tirun, board to you, you go off when we get to final. Sorry about it.”

“Got it,” Tirun said hoarsely. “I’m fine, captain.”

That left Jik to deal with. Khym had lingered in the corridor. She saw him standing down near Chur’s door, looking back toward the bridge.

In case.

“Haral,” she said in deepest and most impenetrable hani: “You want to bring me up a sedative. Something our guest can take. If we have to do that.”

“Aye, captain,” Haral said.

“I’ll be in galley.”

She wanted to be clean. She wanted to go back to her cabin and run herself under the shower. The whole bridge smelled like ammonia and hani and human and mahen sweat, an aroma even the fans did not totally disperse. But there was no time for that. It was far from over.

Even on this deck.

“Get me up,” Chur said, with a move of an aching arm. “O gods, prop this gods-be bed up. I’m a mess.”

“That’s all right.” Geran sat down on the bedside and checked the implanted tubes with a quick glance, bit a hole in the packet she had brought and offered it to Chur. “Take this and you get the bed propped up.”

“Unnhhn.” The very thought hit her stomach and lay there indigestible. “Prop it first."

“You promise.”

“Gods rot you, I’ll rip your ears.” Geran touched a control and the bed inclined upward. Chur flexed her legs and shifted her weight and grimaced in pain as the arm with the implants shifted down. But Geran, relentless, got an arm behind Chur’s head and held the packet where she could drink.