Chanur's Homecoming by C. J. Cherryh Page A
Authors: C. J. Cherryh
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, High Tech, Life on other planets, Science fiction; American, Space ships, Fantastic fiction; American
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cylinder from its belt, with never an objection to the leveled guns or Hilfy's flattened ears. "The hakkikt says: the docks are secure. The matter is urgent. I say: we will stand here and wait for the Chanur captain."
Tirun reached out and took the cylinder. And delayed one lazy moment in a gesture that could not have been wasted, especially on a kif. "Be courteous, Hilfy."
With fine timing, with a little flattening of the ears that might be respect and might be something else again, ambiguous even to hani eyes-Tirun delivered her signal to Hilfy and turned with authority and walked off, at a pace both deliberate and fast enough.
While Hilfy stood there with the gun in her fist and two kif to watch.
Steady, kid. For the gods' sakes, Tirun's done it right, don't wobble.
No one said a thing on the bridge. It remained very, very quiet until the lift worked, back down the corridor from the center of the bridge. Then Pyanfar got out of her chair and went to wait for Tirun, who came down the corridor at a much faster clip than she had used below. While at the boards, Haral and Geran kept to business, monitoring everything round about the ship and inside it and everything coming from station.
"Captain," Tirun said by way of courtesy, and handed over the cylinder.
The cap stuck when she pulled at it. For one awful moment Pyanfar thought of explosives; or deadly gas. "Wait here," she said, left Tirun standing on the bridge, and stepped outside into the corridor, pushing the door switch to close it between them.
She hooked a claw into the seal then and gnawed her lip and pulled the cap. Nothing blew. Nothing came out. It was a message, a bit of gray paper.
The door shot open again in the same instant, which was Tirun; and Tirun stood there aggrieved in the tail of her eye while she fished the paper out and read it.
Hunter Pyanfar: you have made requests. I will give you my response aboard my ship at 1500, expecting that you will came with ranking personnel of allied ships.
"Captain?" Tirun said.
She passed the letter over and cast a second look up at the chrono in the bridge display: 1436.
"It's a trap," Tirun said.
On the bridge even Haral had taken one quick look around.
"Invitation from the kif," Pyanfar said. "Ranking personnel of allied ships. On his deck. Fast."
"My gods," Khym exclaimed.
"Unfortunately," Pyanfar said, and thought of Hilfy down there in the corridor with two kif alone. "'Unfortunately we haven't got a real choice. Get Tahar and get Kesurinan. I'm not taking any of you-"
Mouths opened.
"It's a trap," Khym said, his deep voice quivering with outrage. "Py, Tirun's right, listen to her."
"Not taking any of you," she said carefully, "except our friend the kif. Get to it, Geran, get our friends out there."
"That dock," Geran said.
"We got worse risks than a leaky dock, cousin; one of 'em's being late and one of them's missing a signal with that kif. I'm going down there, I want Tahar and Kesurinan just the way the kif asked, and about the time I clear the lock down there I want The Pride powered up and held that way till I get back again. Make the point with 'em we still got teeth, hear? And that my crew's on full alert."
"Aye," Haral muttered, far from happy.
Neither was Pyanfar happy. She went and pulled one of their APs out of the locker by the bridge exit and headed back down the corridor, with the heavy sidearm and its belt in hand.
Not to the lowerdeck straightway.
First came a stop in her own quarters, for a fast exchange: for a bit of glitter, because appearances counted, a psychological weapon as essential as the gun at her side.
Sikkukkut meant to move now. In some regard.
She clenched her jaw and started cataloging things, fast, things that wanted doing. In case she had just said goodbye to her crew and her husband.
Gods, Khym had just stood there and took an answer for an answer. Her heart did a little painful thump of pride when she realized belatedly what that had cost him: he
Tirun reached out and took the cylinder. And delayed one lazy moment in a gesture that could not have been wasted, especially on a kif. "Be courteous, Hilfy."
With fine timing, with a little flattening of the ears that might be respect and might be something else again, ambiguous even to hani eyes-Tirun delivered her signal to Hilfy and turned with authority and walked off, at a pace both deliberate and fast enough.
While Hilfy stood there with the gun in her fist and two kif to watch.
Steady, kid. For the gods' sakes, Tirun's done it right, don't wobble.
No one said a thing on the bridge. It remained very, very quiet until the lift worked, back down the corridor from the center of the bridge. Then Pyanfar got out of her chair and went to wait for Tirun, who came down the corridor at a much faster clip than she had used below. While at the boards, Haral and Geran kept to business, monitoring everything round about the ship and inside it and everything coming from station.
"Captain," Tirun said by way of courtesy, and handed over the cylinder.
The cap stuck when she pulled at it. For one awful moment Pyanfar thought of explosives; or deadly gas. "Wait here," she said, left Tirun standing on the bridge, and stepped outside into the corridor, pushing the door switch to close it between them.
She hooked a claw into the seal then and gnawed her lip and pulled the cap. Nothing blew. Nothing came out. It was a message, a bit of gray paper.
The door shot open again in the same instant, which was Tirun; and Tirun stood there aggrieved in the tail of her eye while she fished the paper out and read it.
Hunter Pyanfar: you have made requests. I will give you my response aboard my ship at 1500, expecting that you will came with ranking personnel of allied ships.
"Captain?" Tirun said.
She passed the letter over and cast a second look up at the chrono in the bridge display: 1436.
"It's a trap," Tirun said.
On the bridge even Haral had taken one quick look around.
"Invitation from the kif," Pyanfar said. "Ranking personnel of allied ships. On his deck. Fast."
"My gods," Khym exclaimed.
"Unfortunately," Pyanfar said, and thought of Hilfy down there in the corridor with two kif alone. "'Unfortunately we haven't got a real choice. Get Tahar and get Kesurinan. I'm not taking any of you-"
Mouths opened.
"It's a trap," Khym said, his deep voice quivering with outrage. "Py, Tirun's right, listen to her."
"Not taking any of you," she said carefully, "except our friend the kif. Get to it, Geran, get our friends out there."
"That dock," Geran said.
"We got worse risks than a leaky dock, cousin; one of 'em's being late and one of them's missing a signal with that kif. I'm going down there, I want Tahar and Kesurinan just the way the kif asked, and about the time I clear the lock down there I want The Pride powered up and held that way till I get back again. Make the point with 'em we still got teeth, hear? And that my crew's on full alert."
"Aye," Haral muttered, far from happy.
Neither was Pyanfar happy. She went and pulled one of their APs out of the locker by the bridge exit and headed back down the corridor, with the heavy sidearm and its belt in hand.
Not to the lowerdeck straightway.
First came a stop in her own quarters, for a fast exchange: for a bit of glitter, because appearances counted, a psychological weapon as essential as the gun at her side.
Sikkukkut meant to move now. In some regard.
She clenched her jaw and started cataloging things, fast, things that wanted doing. In case she had just said goodbye to her crew and her husband.
Gods, Khym had just stood there and took an answer for an answer. Her heart did a little painful thump of pride when she realized belatedly what that had cost him: he
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