Kif Strike Back by C. J. Cherryh Page B

rivals."
     
    "Inside."
     
    "I serve a fool."
     
    "Not a great enough fool to turn my back on you, kif. Either Sikkukkut sent you or Sikkukkut threw you out; and in either case I don't want you."
     
    Skkukut's head drew down between his shoulders. With that same serpentine grace he turned away and passed the open washroom door. But she thought that she had scored.
     
    "Tully's old quarters," Pyanfar said to Khym, who lingered outside. "Toss it the rest of its garb."
     
    "We keeping this thing?"
     
    "Heave it."
     
    Khym tossed boots and belt through the door. The pistol and knife he kept. And shut the door and locked it. "It'll probably wreck the room," he said.
     
    "That's the least of our troubles."
     
    "What's it want, for the gods' own sakes?"
     
    "You guess, you tell me." She thumbed the safety back on her pistol, discovering her knees had gone to jelly. "Gods rot, I got a kif on my ship, and he wants to know what for. How should I know? I got ships incoming, I got a station in
     
    kif hands, and the kif are playing tag."   She turned and stalked back toward the lift,   turned again.    "Stand guard down here. Doublecheck that gods-rotted lock that it's closed, put that stuff away, and for the gods' own sake you open that washroom door-I don't care if the kif blows up, you open that door I'll space you first, then the kif! Hear me?" His ears went down. His jaw dropped. She walked back into the lift.
     
    "And next time,"   she yelled back down the corridor, "when I say give a thing you don't drop it, hear?" The door closed. He was still staring. She leaned on the lift wall as the car slammed up. She was shaking, gods, and food occurred to her. Desperately. But there was no time for that. "Haral. What's going on?" "They're entering critical approach." "Both of them?" "Aye, captain. Both incoming."
     
    So it was not attack. Vigilance and Aja Jin were both committing themselves to dock and there was nothing left to defend their vulnerable backsides.
     
    The car stopped; the doors opened. She stalked down the corridor toward the bridge.
     
    "They're on our beacon," Haral's voice continued from the com, tracking her on speakers down the corridor. "Kif are outputting guidance now. It jibes with ours. So far. Captain, we got another problem. Station-folk. We got our boards jammed with queries. We got panic out there."
     
    She muttered oaths and quickened her pace. Station riot. It was enough to coagulate any spacer's blood. "We've got to hold this dock," she said, arriving through corridor's end onto the bridge; and not a harried head turned when her voice acquired a body. "Hilfy. Be polite. Tell the station-folk we got a sniper problem on this particular stretch of dock and keep off it." She flung herself into her own chair and sent it whining about into position. Screens showed her what information The Pride could gather with station output reduced.
     
    "Kif might agree to damp those station calls down," Haral said.
     
    "Better they get through. Less panic that way. Ten thousand citizens pouring down here after news is the last thing we need."
     
    "Uhnn." Haral sent another list her way. "Messages you might want to see."
     
    She scanned it.
     
    -Compliments of the hakkikt: system scan transmission is resumed for incoming ships. It will be accurate.
     
    -The Personage urgently requests information-
     
    -We make protests this insane and irresponsible action. Protest will be filed stsho authority-
     
    -Compliments of the hakkikt, docking crews are ordered into position-
     
    Thank the gods.
     
    Jik of Aja Jin entered the bridge, Jik-alone: he wandered in like some bewildered spacer hunting a proper bar, his black face doleful and worried as ever. He wore a gold collar and half a dozen bracelets; a broad gold and bronze belt above a kilt of purple and bronze stripes; carried an AP gun in its black holster over all of this, weapon enough to take out half the bridge; two knives-Jik rarely underequipped