"Sure," Capella said. "Sure."
That left him chilled, that did. He didn't want to be the focus of a feud—let alone on this ship, with his half-brother, and that woman.
We were just talking, he wanted to yell, the age-old protestation. But he didn't think the pair down there gave a damn for his opinion.
—vii—
NO MECHANICALS. NO PROBLEMS since they'd dropped into Tripoint. They had to take the vdown all the way to system-inertial, with the load they had, which was a shame, because there was a real reason, in Austin's opinion, to make a little haste through the jump-point, in this dark navigation sink between the stars; reason, but not reason enough that they shouldn't take time to run the checks and catch their breaths.
A good few days, he figured, before Spritecould get itself tanked and loaded—which was some respite before they had to worry about Spritebeing on their tail.
But they well might be, by now. He didn't put it past Marie Hawkins. And he didn't bet the cargo officer couldn't move Spritein her own directions.
Knock on his office door. He was on a costing calculation, on various options. Inputting. He didn't want interruption.
But the knocker also had the private key-code; the door opened without him keying it from the desk.
"'Scuse," Saby said, easing in against the wall. "Minute?"
He held up two fingers. Generosity.
"Thomas Hawkins?" Saby began.
One finger. Well-chosen.
"Talked to him," Saby said. "You said."
"Minute and a half," he said.
"Not attitudinal. Smart. Scared. Says the bunk's lousy but he likes the food."
"Fine. He won't starve."
"I really think you should talk to him. At least once. You'll always wonder."
"Damn your dockside psych. No, I won't always wonder."
"He's not what you think."
"That's twice. Fifteen seconds."
"Scared of him?"
"Five."
"Ignorance killed the cat, sir, curiosity was framed."
"Time's up."
"Yes, sir," Saby said. And slid out the door and shut it.
Kid had an uncanny knack: she said a hire was trouble, and trouble was what happened. She said an unlikely guy was all right and got them the best cargo pusher they'd had. She said take this woman, and he hadn't listened, and the guy that they had taken instead, they'd been especially sorry of, down to finding him a permanent situation.
Now Saby went and stuck her young nose in a damned sensitive problem. Who set Saby to evaluating thatpersonnel acquisition? Who assigned her downside, anyway? Saby wasn't even on-shift.
Spare time occupation. And he could live without seeing Marie Hawkins' kid. He could sleep at night without it.
He could sleep at night seeing the kid to the same permanent occupation the last machinist's mate had found. The universe had nooks to put things in. Slam the door shut and the hell with the problem. Marie Hawkins had contributed genes to the kid. Maybe arranged for him to get aboard, put him up to it, who knew? One determined fool could do a lot of damage to a ship before they caught him at it.
Com beeped. "Austin," he said.
" You're not afraid of him,"Saby's voice said.
"You're on double watch, damn you!"
" Yes, sir,"Saby said. And cut the com connection.
Chapter Five
—i—
"CHRISSY-SWEET," THE ARGUMENT in the corridor wound up, "if I want to go I go. If I want to stay I stay. You want me to go is not the question here. It is never the question. Not here. Not dockside. Capish?"
"I understand. I understand damned well. Go to hell!"
Things had gotten very far from reason. Tom sat still on his bunk and let the firefight go on without his input.
But Capella lingered, strayed to the brig frontage to lean on the cross-bars and smile sweetly.
"Tommy-person, don't piss off your brother. I suspect he's jealous."
He didn't answer. Didn't say a thing as Christian turned up in his barred view of the ship. Didn't say a thing as he watched Capella pass out-of-field and on down the corridor.
"You're a pain in the ass," Christian said, he thought to him. "You know that?"
"Not by choice," he said.
Suddenly the cable took up and snaked around his leg, dumping him first on the deck and then past the end of the bunk, slamming him against the wall.
"Dammit!" he yelled.
"Son of a bitch," Christian said. "You keep yourself out of Corinthianbusiness, you keep yourself away from Corinthiancrew, you don't ask questions, and you don't listen to the answers if somebody hands them to you, you fuckin' stay out of our business, you hear me?"
He got up. In the meantime somebody else had turned up in the area outside, with a wave of a shirted arm and a: "What in hell is this? I think you've got duties, mister. If you don't, findsome."
"Sir," Christian said, scowling, and got out of the way as the gridwork shot open and the new arrival walked into the cell—
Blond like Christian, tall—officer, you hadn't any doubt about it, and that wasn't by a longshot by reason of the black skintights, or the shirt, an off tone of shimmer red-purple. "Hawkins, are you?" the newcomer asked, hands on hips, occupying the way out, and he hadn't any doubt who he was dealing with. He stood his ground and glared, tight-jawed, seeing no need whatever to answer.
"So are you Marie Hawkins' little present," Bowe asked, "or what?"
"I don't know what you think I saw. I don't know what there was to see. I don't care about your business."
"Stupid must be her genes. Not mine."
"Yeah, real damn bright, the stuff at Mariner, you son of a bitch! You left a hell of a reputation on myship!"
Bowe came closer, between him and an exit that wouldn't help him, with the cable on his wrist. He understood the game. He stood and glared, and Bowe glared back. Taller than he was. As big. And with the home advantage.
Bowe stared at him. Finally: "This isn't Sprite, boy. And there's a wide universe out there that doesn't give a damn what you want or whose mistake you are. You keep out of my way. You don't cause any trouble. And I might let you out on some civilized dockside…"
"Yeah. And otherwise?"
"You watch that mouth, son."
"Go to hell. I'm not your son."
A hand exploded against his head. He hit the wall, rebounded and hit Bowe with all the force he had.
Or tried to. The cable snagged. Bowe cuffed the other ear, he hit the wall again and slid down it onto a tucked and trapped leg, half deaf. He went for Bowe's knees and hit the wall a third time.
Freed the knee. He came up yelling, "You son of a bitch, I'll kill you!"
Bowe got him in an arm lock and shoved him at the wall, face-first.
"Will you, now?"
"Damn you!" He had one hand linked to the cable. He twisted half about, got the other fist wound in Bowe's shirt, and Bowe rammed a fistful of coveralls up against his throat and shoved him at the wall again, hard head, yielding panel…
"I don't think so," Bowe said. "Call it quits, boy?"
"No!"
Another bounce of his skull against the panel. Blood wasn't getting to his brain. He was going out. He brought a knee up, tried for Bowe's throat, and his skull met the panel again.
"You're being stupid, boy."
"You don't win," he said. Everything was grey. "You don't win."
Bowe dropped him. Legs buckled every which way, and the boot soles resisted on the tiles, pinning him against the wall and the bunk as he fell. He tried to grab the bunk with his free hand, and couldn't get purchase to get up. Bowe walked out.