Then it stopped and turned that same sullen look on them and reached for the seat it had left. It barely made it, sank down in the cushion and wrapped its blanket up about its shoulders, pale and sweating.

“It’s gone its limit,” Pyanfar said. “Get it some water.”

Chur brought it from the dispenser. The Outsider accepted it one-handed, sniffed the paper cup, then drained it. It gave the empty cup back, pointed at itself, at the machine on the counter, looked at Pyanfar, correctly assessing who was in charge. It wanted, Pyanfar read the gestures, to continue.

“Hilfy,” Pyanfar said, “the manual, on the counter. Give it here.”

Hilfy handed it over. Pyanfar searched through the opening pages for the precise symbols of the module in the machine at present. “How many of those modules do we have?”

“Ten. Two manuals.”

“That ought to carry us into abstracts. Good for Haral.” She set the opened book into the Outsider’s lap and pointed at the symbols it had just done, showed it how far the section went. Now it made the connection. It gathered the book against itself with both arms, intent on keeping it. “Yes.” Pyanfar said, and nodded confirmation. Maybe nodding was a gesture they shared; it nodded in return, never looking happy, but there was less distress in its look. It clutched its book the tighter.

Pyanfar looked at Hilfy, at Geran and Chur, whose expressions were guarded. They well knew now what level of sentient they had aboard. How much they guessed of their difficulties with the kif was another matter: a lot, she reckoned — they picked up things out of the air, assembled them themselves without having to ask. “A passenger compartment,” she said. “I think it might like clothes. Food and drink. Its book. Clean bedding and a bed to sleep in. Civilized facilities. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be careful with it. Let’s move it, shall we, and let it rest.”

It looked from Chur to Geran as the two closed in, grew distressed when Chur took its arm to get it on its feet. It pointed back at the machine… wanted that, its chance to communicate. Perhaps there was more it planned to say, in the symbols. Surely it expected to go back to the washroom corner. Pyanfar reached and touched its shoulder from the other side, touched the book it held and pressed its hand the tighter against it, indicating it should keep the book, the best promise she could think of that might tell it they were not done with talking. It calmed itself, at least, let itself be drawn to its feet and, once steadied, led out.

Pyanfar looked at the machine on the counter, walked over and turned it off. Hilfy was still standing there. “Move the whole rig,” Pyanfar said. “We’ll risk the equipment.” She unplugged the keyboard module, which was no burden at all, but awkward. “Bring the screen.”

“Aunt,” said Hilfy, “what are we going to do with him?”

“That depends on what the kif had in mind to do with him. But we can hardly ask them, can we?” She followed after the Outsider and Chur and Geran, down the side corridor to one of the three rooms they kept for The Pride’s occasional paying passengers, up the curve into the area of the crew’s private quarters. They were nicely appointed cabins. The one Chur and Geran had selected was in fresh greens with woven grass for the walls and with the bed and chairs in pale lime complement. Pyanfar counted the damage possible and winced, but they had suffered far worse in the cause than torn upholstery.

And the Outsider seemed to recognize a major change in its fortunes. It stood in the center of the room clutching its book and its blanket and staring about with a less sullen expression than before… seemed rather dazed by it all, if its narrow features were at all readable. “Better show it the sanitary facilities first,” Pyanfar said. “I hope it understands.”

Chur took it by the arm and drew it into the bath, carefully. Hilfy brought the screen in and Pyanfar added the module as she set it on the counter and plugged it into the auxiliary com/ comp receptacle. From the bath there came briefly the sound of the shower working, then the toilet cycling. Chur brought the Outsider back into the main room, both looking embarrassed. Then the Outsider saw the translator hookup sitting on the counter, and its eyes flickered with interest.

Not joy. There was never that.

It said something. Two distinct words. For a moment it sounded as if it were speaking its own language. And then it sounded vaguely kif. Pyanfar’s ears pricked up ad she drew in a breath. “Say again,” she urged it in kif, and made an encouraging motion toward her ear, standard dockside handsign.

“Kif… companion?”

“No.” She drew a deeper breath. “Bastard! You do understand.” And again in kif: “Who are you? What kind are you?”

It shook its head, seeming helpless. Evidently who was not part of its repertoire. Pyanfar considered the anxious Outsider thoughtfully, reached and set her hand on Chur’s convenient shoulder. “This is Chur,” she said in kif. And in hani: “You do me a great favor, cousin: you sit with this Outsider on your watch. You keep him going on those identifications, change modules the minute you’ve got one fully identified, the audio track filled. Keep him at it while he will but don’t force him. You know how to work it?”

“Yes,” Chur said.

“You be careful. No knowing what it’s thinking, what it’s been through, and I don’t put deviousness beyond its reach either. I want it communicative; don’t be rough with it, don’t frighten it. But don’t put yourself in danger either. — Geran, you stay outside, do your operations monitor by pager so long as Chur’s inside, hear?”

Geran’s ears — the right one was notched, marring what was otherwise a considerable beauty — flicked in distress, a winking of gold rings on the left. “Clearly understood,” she said.

“Hilfy.” Pyanfar motioned to her niece and started out the door. The Outsider started toward them, but Chur’s outflung arm prevented it and it stopped, not willing to quarrel. Chur spoke to it quickly, gingerly touched its bare shoulder. It looked frightened, for the first time outright frightened.

“I think it wants you, aunt,” Hilfy observed.

Pyanfar laid her ears back, abhorring the thought of fending off a grab at her person, walked out with Hilfy unhurried all the same. She looked back from the doorway. “Be careful of it,” she told Chur and Geran again. “Ten times it may be gentle and agreeable… and go for your throat on the eleventh.”

She walked off, the skin of her shoulders twitching with distaste. Hilfy trailed her, but Pyanfar jammed her hands into the back of her waistband and took no notice of her niece until they had gotten to the lift. Hilfy pressed the button to open the door and they got in. Pressed central; it brought them up and still without a word Pyanfar walked out into the bridgeward corridor.

“Aunt,” Hilfy said.

Pyanfar looked back.

“What shall we do with it?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Pyanfar said tartly. Her ears were still back. She purposely put on a better face. “Not your fault, niece. This one is my own making.”

“I’d take some of the slack; I’d help, if I knew what to do. With the cargo gone—”

Pyanfar frowned and the ears went down again. You want to relieve me of worry? she thought. Then don’t do anything stupid. But there was that face, young and proud and wanting to do well. Most that Hilfy knew how to do on the ship had gone when cargo blew and scan shut down. “Youngster, I’ve gotten into a larger game than I planned, and there’s no going home until we’ve gotten it straightened out. How we do that is another question, because the kif know our name. Have you got an idea you’ve been sitting on?”

“No, aunt — being ignorant about too much.”

Pyanfar nodded. “So with myself, niece. Let it be a lesson to you. My situation precisely, when I took the Outsider in, instead of handing it right back to the kif.”