After which it was Austin’s watch, and Beatrice would take them through. He managed the shift, when the number one crew was off… he set up the numbers and the number one crew ran them. Routine, this place, this nearest mass that was nothing but a radiating black lump in the starry dark. The techs were hewing to a long-established procedures list, for this precise place.
“Got it. Thanks. “ He signed a check-sheet, meaning the bridge hadn’t blown up an hour-thirty into the watch.
The techs around him were in danger of falling asleep of boredom—a contagious condition. Mainday shift on an alter-day ship only punched buttons and checked readout. And stayed ready for the instant of absolute terror that could be an inbound rock. It did happen. Or an inbound and oncoming ship. With Marie Hawkins possibly on their tail—who knew what was a possibility?
The further he got from the moment the more it seemed crazy to have taken Hawkins into his own quarters, behind locked doors. Hell if he’d have done that with hired crew. Austin would skin him if the guy didn’t stick a knife in him for his trouble. Stupid, what he’d done. Gave him cold chills just thinking about it.
But he had read Hawkins. He’d been absolutely confident. He’d known and he’d guessed right—the way he’d gone from gut-level irritation to body-sense understanding what Hawkins was doing. Next was guessing what the son of a bitch was going to—
Hands touched his back.
He yelled and spun around with an elbow for the offender.
Capella was faster than that, and a centimeter out of range.
“Don’t walk up on me! This is the bridge, not a—”
“Not what?”
Capella had logical business on the bridge, the mainday chief having every right to be where she was.
Meanwhile, among the techs, Bowe, Perrault, and eclectic, not a head had turned. Everybody on the bridge knew the situation between the captain’s-son-mainday-chief-officer and the lend-lease navigator. He grabbed Capella’s wrist and got her started in the officeward direction—and let go once she was launched. Hold onto Capella when you weren’t joking and you were asking for a broken arm.
Which he wasn’t. He led the way off to the central corridor, back to his office, and near enough to Austin’s quarters and Beatrice’s that he signaled quiet until he’d triggered the door.
“Need a favor,” he said. “You know where they put older brother’s effects, in downside Ops.”
“Yeah. The safe.”
“You know the combination.”
“You want his stuff?”
“Yeah. But I can’t get down there as easily.”
Capella gave him a suspicious stare. “Yeah?”
“Dockside’s on me this trip. And older brother’s taking a walk while we just can’t be responsible.”
“Wait, wait, brake it, mister.”
“Passport. Papers. ID. I want it.”
“Christian-person. Walk like… cold, or walk like… off?”
“I mean I’m letting him go, shoving him off at Pell.”
Capella’s brows went together. Bang. “Straight to the cops. If Sprite’s on our tail… if that ship comes in while we’re there—”
“They had their full offload and load yet to do and we’re wasting no time here. We’ll be offloaded, loaded and out before they make a ripple at Pell.”
“You’re betting the ship. You’re betting the whole fucking ship.”
“I’m protecting our asses. He’s trouble. He’s major trouble on board.”
“You’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“Hell you aren’t.”
“Crew’s complicated enough.”
Family was complicated enough. That was the truth. Austin never listened. Zeroed in on this Hawkins. Never once saw he’d done the best he could, bringing Hawkins aboard, never wanted to talk about the solution—oh, no, that wasn’t Christian’s business.
“You know,” Capella said, “there are places Hawkins could be besides Pell.”
He glumly shook his head, to all Capella’s… associations. And to all the other places Hawkins could end up.
Including the deep-cold dark, stabbed in some crew fight. He didn’t know why he couldn’t have arranged that option—he could have put it off on some sumbitch like Edgar Hogan, or Tolliver, who could probably be arranged to do it, and to pay for it—except there was suddenly a line between him and Capella there hadn’t been a moment ago, and a caution there’d never needed be before. If he’d crossed that line himself, somewhere, he’d not known it had happened—in that warehouse, maybe, or down in the galley just now.
Because Capella would kill—and he discovered he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. He didn’t know whether that was a fault or a virtue, when their collective lives depended on it; or whether it was strength or weakness, when he knew the universe he lived in wasn’t neat, or clean, or inclined to give anything for free the way it was in those damn books Capella read.
He did everything Austin wanted. He worked his butt off to get one well done out of Austin all his fucking life. But, oh, Hawkins got Austin’s attention—got Austin’s complete attention, cheap, on the going market.
And the guy was everything… intelligent, reasonable, easy to like… that he fucking wasn’t.
“Chrissy, Christian-sweet. You want advice? Don’t—don’t do this. It’s too risky to let him out. The cops, that’s one. And Austin, if he finds out you had anything to do with it—”
“You give me advice,” he said, “on something you know about. I’m telling you. We want him off this ship, we want him the hell invisible, to us and to the cops. For the ship’s sake.”
“Marie Hawkins is not to ignore. If she comes spreading tales—and a witness climbs out of some drainpipe—”
“Not a shred of evidence. None. Nothing they can use. She’ll look the fool. What will Sprite have? One of their own crewmen? Back where he belongs, with his maman? What a crime! What a disaster! His mother claims kidnapping. But with what evidence? His word? No, I want the stuff, Pella, dear. You’ve got the access. Use it on my behalf and I won’t tell about the brandy.”
“You son of a bitch.”
“Fils de Beatrice, absolument. “ He caught Capella’s arms as they came about him, as Capella’s teeth came very near the sensitive spots of his neck. “Does it occur to you that Austin’s preferences run in a pattern?”
“Absolutely. “ Capella’s hands, freed, wandered to his lower back, arms pulled him close. Hips moved. Teeth grazed his ear. “Like father like son. Take ten, Chris-tian, duty can spare it. A whole boring month in hyperspace…”
Austin would skin him, the higher brain said. Lower brain was taking over rapidly, now was now and the couch in his office was a convenient immediate destination.
Himself on the bottom this time, Capella taking over—while he was thinking, distractedly, of older brother stuck in that cell, older, easy-to-like brother—and he came back to here and now with Capella shoving his hands out of play above his head and trailing kisses progressively below his neck. The risk of running toward jump without him on duty, the risk of violating orders, saying screw-you to Austin and knowing his own judgment about Corinthian was as valid—not that Austin would consult him. That was what sent him toward a dark, suicidal high, half-wishing physical harm was a real risk at Capella’s hands.
Never fucking listened to him…
—vi—
AT ABOUT MAINDARK, MAINDAY SHIFT change on this alterday ship, the lights briefly faded, tribute to a lately hostile sun, and a voice that might be Christian’s came on over the general com, saying, Take hold. They were starting acceleration toward a jump at 0448: 32h, shift to alterday crew slightly before that.