‘Right? Who knew?’ They were eating ‘Colonial style’， which meant working at the same time. Back on settled Colonies like Berlenhof and Magda, people made a big show of sitting down just to eat. But this was the true Colonial custom and Havaer preferred it.
‘Who knows how rogue this Aklu is,’ Albas considered, ‘or maybe going rogue is just like a mid-life crisis for them. Or it’s pathologically insane, or ill, or . . . something we don’t even have a word for.’
‘Well it’s doing a damn good job of playing gangster right now,’ Havaer said. ‘And there was some damn thing those spacers took that it was really pissed to lose. Which backs up why they’d send a whole pocket warship to go meet the Oumaru. I mean, there’s a basic law of resources here, no matter who or what you are. And that’s a considerable investment. Damn me, I mean how many Tarekuman factions actually have military-grade ships to throw around?’
‘Oh, enough,’ Albas said, with the air of someone who’s reported the problem on multiple occasions, to no avail. ‘What’s your next step? How can we help you?’
‘The Vulture crew has an Int so they could have gone to spread panic anywhere with that damn Architected wreck. And right now the only way I can get news is via the packet trade – so I’ll have to sit tight until I hear where they’ve docked, or . . .’
‘Or?’
‘Or we hear some other ship has been found turned inside out. Or – if we’re really lucky – it won’t be a ship, but a planet.’
*
In the end he almost missed it. However, Albas’s data crawlers were particularly thorough. He’d been looking for the Oumaru, assuming nobody could miss something like that turning up on their doorstep. But the Vulture God crew had just ditched the wreck instead, stashing the thing in the deep void. Doubtless until they could auction it to the highest bidder, if that was their plan. Although just what their plan was had become a wide-open field: they certainly hadn’t shown up anywhere Havaer would peg as a hub of intergalactic intrigue or commerce.
‘I need you to send a priority packet ship. I’m going to need an Int pilot, sworn to Mordant House, if I’m going to keep up with these famies,’ he told Albas. The old insult for starving spacer pirates seemed particularly appropriate for the maverick Vulture God crew.
Then he sat down to work out why in all hells the Vulture had just arrived at Jericho.
PART 4
JERICHO
16.
Kris
Kittering’s quarters were away from the human crew, a little bubble of the Hannilambra homeworld. Here he could admix the atmosphere to his own tastes, adding trace elements he didn’t need, that humans wouldn’t appreciate, but that would remind him of home. Dull reddish lighting soothed his eyes. And, whenever he wanted, he could play the staccato yattering and rapid percussion that was Hanni music. However, when Kris signalled him she couldn’t hear any music. And when his door irised open, there was almost nothing of him to be seen there at all, his things packed away in a row of plastic canisters.
‘I was wondering,’ she said, ‘if you’d stay or not.’
‘This question is also being asked of myself,’ came the bland voice of his translator, in response to the rapid fiddling of his mouthparts. ‘The skirling of home is to be heard. Some day soon there is potential to fulfil, or else never to be fulfilled.’
Where his software had got the word ‘skirling’ from, Kris had no idea. ‘Home and settle down?’ she asked numbly. ‘That sounds nice.’
‘The mournful and the joyous occasion,’ Kit confirmed. ‘The loss of a nurse recalls duty. Wealth enough exists for this.’
‘Yes, you’ve made your pile,’ Kris agreed. Kit received a percentage of every pay packet he clawed in for the crew. On top of that, he had his Landstep winnings and even the pocket change he made renting out his shell as a billboard. People who didn’t understand them said the Hanni were greedy, but what the Hanni really obsessed about was giving their kids the best start in life. Hanni biology meant they didn’t survive to see their offspring. A nest-egg to pay for a good nurse was all they could provide. Kit had considered Rollo the Vulture’s own nurse; no higher honour to a Hanni. She couldn’t quite get her head around it, but she knew she was touching the surface of a deep friendship. A meaningful relationship between human and alien, on a level seldom reached. Kit and Rollo had been together for a long time before the current crew had met either of them.