Tripoint, page 29
part #6 of Company Wars Series
Michaels would listen. Michaels wasn't the optimist Austin was, the hell with the regs about live guns at Pell.
He didn't want to die at twenty. Didn't want to go up in a fireball. Or, God help all of them, get conscripted aboard a spook.
"We're not on duty. Screw it all. Come on."
He was a willing abductee. Didn't want to deal with Saby, or Hawkins, Austin, or—least of all, maman, until he'd cooled down. Considerably.
They'd come in at the last minute. Let somebody head-count, and worry—if Austin wasn't blinded by Hawkins' reasonable, dutiful, likeable self.
Got himself a nice, desperate reasonable son, this time, hadn't he? Watch Austin turn on the charm. Austin had it to use. Austin used it when you made him happy and Austin was happy when you said 'yes, sir.'
Austin had won, with Hawkins. Austin had gotten his own way. Damned right Austin liked Hawkins.
Fool, brother! Go back. It's a trap.
—x—
"GO ON!" SABY HISSED, GIVING him a shove toward the lift doors. They were outside downside ops, on the main axis, the ring was still locked, the office the other side of the corridor was a steady traffic of check-ins, crew-cargo mass-check, stowage, and scheduling last half hour before undock… it could have been Sprite's ops area—it didn't feel different, except the rowdiness of the crew coming on. Topside of the ring was where he had to report—the area where, considering the proximity of the bridge, and main ops, he was sure there was strong arm security—wasn't territory he wanted to visit and Saby had to shove him again to get him into motion.
"It'll be all right," Saby said.
"Yeah," he said. They'd taken their time in ops. He hadn't unpacked. He'd gone down to galley and reported in, he'd talked to Jamal and Tink, and reported back to Saby before the time was up. All right, she said. All right. He'd had his dealings with Austin Bowe, all he ever wanted, and Saby could believe the man, but he didn't—didn't trust him a moment, an instant.
But he pushed the button for the lift, took a breath, told himself he wasn't going to panic at security up there or lose his temper with whatever happened. No matter what, he was going to control his temper, walk peacefully into Austin's office, let the man play his psychological games, and not react. Austin wasn't worse than Marie. He couldn't do worse than Marie—he'd no hooks to use, didn't know him, didn't own him the way Marie had, til he was, God help him, making love last night and thinking about Marie, in bed with Marie…
That was damn scary. Kinked. He had to ask himself…
"Just be calm," Saby said, when the lift door opened.
He walked in alone. Hangover and no sleep last night didn't help his stomach, either, as the lift shot up against Pell station spin. Bang, clang, and it opened its door and let him out.
Deserted corridor. No security. Camera, he decided uneasily; but he couldn't, at a glance, see where. The office number, Saby had told him, was number 1, in the first transverse short of the bridge.
No problem finding it. The vulnerable areas of the bridge were right in front of him, a handful of crew at their stations in the center and the near swing-sections… it gave him a giddy feeling, being that close to Corinthians unguarded heart, as if it was Austin's own challenge, Go ahead, be a fool, I'm waiting… could have talked to you downside. Or after undock. What's so damn urgent, anyway? What's so elaborate I have to come up here?
Fatherly repentance?
He pushed the entry request button.
The door shot open. Austin was sitting at his desk, writing something on the autopad.
And kept writing.
Damn psych-out, he thought. But Austin shot him an upward glance then.
"You want to come in?" Austin asked him, "Come in. Sit down."
He walked in, the door whisked shut, sealing them in, and he ebbed into the conference chair. Austin kept writing, while he waited.
And waited—but he gave up offence, since the civil invitation. A ship leaving dock was administratively busy. Frantically so.
And Austin had to see him right now? Not reasonable. Maybe it was important. Maybe something Austin really, honestly had to deal with.
Austin flipped the autopad off. Gave him a second, this time direct, look.
Drawled, "God, aren't we right out of the fashion ads. Designer this, designer that. Expensive taste. Can we afford you?"
Temper blew. "I figured I was paying," he said shortly. And revised all charitable estimates. Austin brought him up here to needle him and he didn't mean to back up—wasn't the way he'd exist on this ship, dammit, no way in hell.
"Who said you paid?"
"Stands to reason. What have I got, now? Ship-debt? A contract I'm supposed to have signed? My passport in the ship's safe?"
"Be polite. You were on my account."
That—was a surprise. He didn't know what it meant.
Austin just stared for a few heartbeats. Tapped the stylus on the desk. "I really," Austin said, "could have hauled you back."
"I've no doubt. " He didn't want to be in Austin's debt. He preferred Christian's. Saby'd said, go to it, don't worry. Now he didn't know what she'd gotten him into.
"Saby said give you space," Austin said, and leaned back. "She said you'd come back. Funny thing, she was right."
"She's not stupid. " He didn't want to think ill of Saby. Didn't want to think he'd been conned. Couldn't, in fact, believe she'd been head-hunting. "I hadn't a choice. You knew it."
"She said you were shy. Nice guy."
"Sure."
"She wants to bunk with you. I think she's crazy, myself."
Silence hung there a moment, and breath came thin and short. "Maybe. " Another oxygen-short breath. Desperate thinking. "I don't think it's a good idea. She doesn't know me. Dockside and here is different."
"I'll tell you something. Nobody much tells Saby what she's thinking. Makes her mad."
He didn't know how to read Austin. He began to prefer the Austin who'd knocked him against a wall. Safer. Much.
"Look, you don't owe me. You don't give a damn. You know what my post is, you've got my papers, you're not going to put me anywhere near ops—any ops, because I'm good, when I want to be, and I can screw it, so let's not kid ourselves. Galley scrub's all you can trust me to do, that's all I want out of you, so just let me the hell alone, and let's not complicate anything."
"You're bound to be a problem."
"Yes, I'm a problem. I'll be a problem. I was born a problem. " Shortness of breath made him light-headed, slowed things down, numbed the nerves. "Did you ever remotely think, maybe making a life ought to be worth at least as much thinking as taking one? Did it ever bother you?"
"You think of that last night?"
"I didn't have to think; I know I'm safe, right now, since before Viking, and it takes two, mister. I didn't get Saby pregnant, except by cosmic chance, and two sets of implants failing."
"She had the same choice. Saby did. Your mama did."
"So did you. And, yeah, so did she. You were out there looking for your personal immortality, she was, too, and, God save us, you got me, and here I am. Now what? Now where do we go?"
Austin was glumly sober for a moment. Then the mouth made a tight smile, and a laugh that died.
"You want an answer to that question? Or just an echo?"
"Is there an answer?" If there was one… he hadn't gotten it from Marie. Not from Mischa. Not from Lydia and not from the seniors in general. It didn't mean he was going to believe one from Austin. But he waited.
"You're going to say the hell with you," Austin said. "Still want it?"
"That the line you handed my mother?"
Another grim laugh. "I should have. No question. You're right about the immortality. Ships were dying. Every time you got to port, there were gaps in the schedules, the Fleet was going to hell, you couldn't get those numbers, but we knew. We were running supply. We had our network. We saw the wall coming."
"Damn Mazianni spotters."
"Suppliers."
"There's a difference?"
"Damn right there's a difference. The Fleet paid us for what we hauled. It wasn't even in our economic interest to promote raids on anybody—we knew they were conscripting, and we knew they wouldn't take any of ours while we were running their cargoes; but we knew which ships were raiding, too, and we didn't like going near them, let alone give them a way not to need us, does it take a thought? We didn't give them information. But where we got them legitimate supply they didn't have to raid merchant traffic. Safer for them. Faster. Left them free for military operations. We kept them supplied—there weren't raids."
It made some half sense. Easy to say. Unprovable, that they'd had any altruism in their trade. Unprovable, that they'd not sold out other ships at the going rate. Everybody said so. He didn't see anything to convince him otherwise.
"I wanted," Austin said after a moment, and quietly, "myself, to find a post in the Fleet. That was my ambition. But that year, ships were dying. Africa and Australia had turned to raiding commerce. Momentum was shifting to the other side. I hated Union. I still hate Union. But that was the year I saw the handwriting on the proverbial wall, and, yeah, immortality figured in it. Wanting to leave something. Didn't know the kid was a first-timer, those weren't the signals she gave off, or I wouldn't have asked her to my room. She was drunk, I wasn't sober, first thing I knew she hit me in the face, bashed me with a glass, I was bleeding, she got to the phone, and the station went to hell in five minutes. End of story."
"You didn't need to beat her up."
"See this scar?" Austin's finger rested on his temple. "I was bleeding worse than she was, your captain wasn't returning calls, they had the station authorities in it, my crew was trying to keep me out of station hands… yeah, some heads got cracked, three captains and three crews were at each others' throats—and, yeah, I was mad, I got mine, as time hung heavy on my hands, and since she'd told them it was rape, hell, I figured why not give her something to bitch about. I didn't hurt her—"
"The hell!"
"Physically. Let's talk about whose career was on the line, whose damn life was on the line, with Ms. Modesty screaming rape. I'll ask you who got screwed in that room, thanks."
"You could have walked out of there."
"Damn right I could, right into the hands of the station police."
"My heart aches."
"I was eighteen. I was nihilistic. My career was shot to hell, civilization was going down with it, nothing I did was going to last. Surprise, of course. Marie of course informed me when she got the chance—we have something in common, she said. And we do, matter of fact. Tenacious. Still mad. Hell, I don't cry foul. I respect the woman. Somebody did that to me, I'd track the bastard down, damn right. I wouldn't forget."
He could all but hear his heartbeat, under what Austin was saying. Could see his own life and his prospects in Austin's attitude, and Marie's.
"No forgiveness," he said, "anywhere in the equation. No regrets."
Austin shrugged. "I regret it's involved three crews who didn't ask for it. I regret my father put me in sickbay when he got his hands on me. Broke my arm, my collarbone, and three ribs. I am a patient man, you understand. He wasn't, the son of a bitch. But he ran a rough crew."
Austin, bidding for sympathy? Telling him he'd had it rough? Enough to turn a stomach. He wanted Austin to get up and hit him. Threaten him, do something else but bid for understanding. He wanted to hit Austin so badly he ached with it… but that wasn't the role he'd come to want, in this room, one more clenched fist, one more act of force that didn't do anything, didn't prove anything, except to a mentality that understood the fist and not a damn thing else.
He gave it a second thought, in that light. Maybe it would get him points. Maybe it was all Austin Bowe did understand. But he didn't hear that in the con job Austin was pulling, he didn't see it in the sometimes earnest look on the man's face… there was more to Austin Bowe than that, and hell if he'd give him a fight Austin had calculated to win.
"We all have hard lives," he said, Marie's coldest sentiment, and got up to walk out. "No, I don't want to bunk with Saby. She's got her own problems. I've got mine. Galley's just fine. Brig's all right. I like the door locked."
He thought Austin might pull the you're-not-dismissed shit on him. Might get up and knock him sideways, or lock the door.
"Marie's coming here, you know," Austin said, before his hand hit the switch. It stopped him cold, short of it, and he looked around at Austin's expressionless smugness.
"You don't know that."
"I know her. She'll be here—maybe three, four days, maybe on Sprite, maybe on something else. I'm surprised you're surprised."
"She can't. No way in hell. " His hands had started to shake, he didn't know why. He jammed them in his waistband, trying to hide the fact.
Austin just shrugged. "We're out of this port. Glad you made it back."
"You son of a bitch. She's nowhere on this track. She wouldn't leave Sprite, no way she'd leave Sprite. "
Another shrug. "Take L14 for a berth. It's clear, nobody in there. You'll have to move some galley supplies, the bunk lets down, probably needs linens. Water lines need turning on. You're competent to do that, aren't you?"
"Probably," he said.
"You're permitted to Saby's cabin. The galley. The laundry. If I see your ass near an ops station, we'll discuss it. But you didn't want that, anyway."
"No, sir," he said, and the door opened, letting him out.
Marie wasn't coming here. He hadn't been that close to finding her, when he was loose out there. He couldn't have been that close.
The shakes got worse on his way to the lift. He had a knot in his throat that didn't go away on the ride.
No guard. No surveillance. He had a cabin assignment, not the barracks bunk he'd feared he might have, with hired-crew, who wouldn't go easy on a Bowe in disfavor, crew who clearly took orders from Christian—and not a bunk with Saby, which he was going to have to explain, downside, when the offer did explain why Saby'd so cheerfully shoved him topside to talk to Austin.
Saby just didn't know. Saby got along with Austin. And good for her. But he dreaded meeting her, when the lift door opened—and she was right by ops.
"Thanks," he said, uneasy, not wanting to have to explain, not comfortable meeting that clear-eyed stare of hers. "Thanks for taking my side. I—didn't want to involve you. I've got a bunk assignment, it's not that I didn't want the other—" A lie. "Just—I don't want you hurt."
"It's no problem, with me, there's nothing to worry about…"
"I don't want to worry. " He wasn't doing well with the lie. His whole mind wasn't on it, and then was, and he knew it wasn't working. "I don't know what I think, all right? I'm not thinking real clearly right now. Too much input. Too many inputs. I just c-couldn't—"
"Tom. " Saby took his face between her hands, rose up taller and kissed him, very sweetly, on the mouth. "Shut up. All right?"
"I didn't—" He wasn't doing better with his voice. Nobody'd ever kissed him that fondly, nobody'd ever forgiven him any least thing he'd done or not done or been suspected of thinking. Of a sudden his chest was as tight as his throat and his wits went every which way—suddenly everything good around him was Saby, Saby, Saby. Saby—who'd for some reason just kissed him, and for some reason didn't look like once was enough. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what he was supposed to do next, or what had just turned inside out in him, so that a minute ago he could reason that he was infinitely better off in this universe without Saby and the next she was everything, absolutely everything worth living for.
"It's all right, Tom. Can I possibly write? Leave notes on your door? Messages through Tink, maybe."
"Don't do that to me!—I'm in L14, all right?"
"That's a damn closet!"
"It's home. It's my home. " He snatched a retreating hand, held it as if it was glass. "I want a place, Saby, I want somewhere that's mine, I don't care how big it is, or what it isn't, I just want a place. But you can come there. I want… "He couldn't shape it. He hadn't a chance of the hope he had. He wasn't worth it. An instant ago, losing Marie had him shaking with panic and now he couldn't see anything but Saby. He told himself no, what he'd felt last night wasn't real—but now it was and Marie wasn't.
"Want what?" Saby asked, relentlessly, and squeezed his fingers. "I'm free tonight. My bunk or yours?"
"God.—Yours. " He couldn't possibly subject Saby to a let-down bunk. He hadn't any sheets. He wasn't prioritizing clearly. "I just—"
"You're crazed. " She stood on her toes and gave him another kiss. "PDA is positively against the regs, you know. Crew's coming in."
"Yeah. But the hell—" He gave her one back, the kind they'd shared in the night…
Then a hand caught his shoulder, spun him—he thought instantly, life-long sensitivity about officers and public display—of some officer catching them; then in one split-second saw blond hair and saw Christian, before Christian's fist slammed his jaw, Saby yelled in outrage, and his back hit the wall panels.
He came off them for a grab at Christian, Christian hit him in the gut and then he landed one solid hit and another before Christian grabbed his shirt and they swung about, bang! into the echoing panels. Saby was yelling, some other female was yelling, futile hands were trying to drag them apart and then both females were trying to kick them apart while he was trying to keep a grip on Christian and get him stopped—minor hits on his back, minor kicks in the leg, which only let Christian get an arm free. Christian half-deafened him—
Somebody kicked him in the head, then in the ribs, kicked Christian too, for what he could figure, and a noise of male voices started yelling encouragement and laying bets.
He wasn't going to lose this one, didn't know what it was for, but he knew the stakes. He hit, he punched, he held on and tried to pin Christian flat while blows came at his midriff. He smelled alcohol. He heard Saby yelling for Michaels, for somebody, anybody, to get it stopped, but the bets were flying too fast. Christian hit him across the temple, he hit Christian in the jaw, then dropped an arm across Christian's throat and tried to keep him down, cut off his wind, end the fight, while Christian kept trying to batter him loose.
