Текст книги "Tripoint "

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

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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– anyops, 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 bea problem. I was borna 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. Ididn't get Saby pregnant, except by cosmic chance, and twosets 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 paidus 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 haveto raid merchant traffic. Safer for them. Faster. Left them free for military operations. We kept them supplied—there weren'traids."

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. Africaand Australiahad turned to raiding commerce. Momentum was shifting to the other side. I hated Union. I stillhate 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 lifewas 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 himhe'd had it rough? Enough to turn a stomach. He wantedAustin to get up and hit him. Threaten him, do something else but bid for understanding. Hewanted 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 dothat 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.

"Break it up!" somebody yelled. Male. Loud. Mad. "Damn you, break it up!" A hand grabbed his collar, a knee came up in his face, and from the deck, afterward, in a haze of pain, he saw Austin hauling Christian off the deck and up, Christian spitting blood and bleeding from the eyebrow.

"Mister," Austin said, shook Christian and shoved him against the wall. "Mister, you are drunk. Do you understand, you are drunk, reporting in?"

"The whole fucking crew—" Christian objected, and there was a crowd around them. Saby. Capella. Dockers, crew, all gawking, all suddenly melting away from the danger zone.

"The witnesses are your problem, mister," Austin said. "You did it. You fix it. Hear me? After undock and zone clearance. My office. Clean, presentable, and sober."

After which he let Christian go and stalked back into the open lift. The door hissed shut. The lift rose.

Tom blotted his lip with a bruised knuckle, felt whether teeth were loose. Saby touched his arm gingerly, meanwhile, trying to move him, but he stared steadily at Christian—he'd learned from the cousins not to turn his back. Christian stared back, mad, white, except the blood—Capella was trying to get him elsewhere, saying it was no good, it didn't matter, they had other troubles.

Finally it made sense to get away from the scene, let the business cool down. He walked off with Saby, left Christian to his own devices, went off to Saby's cabin and Saby's washroom, where he could clean off the damage.

He got a chance and he'd immediately done something to screw it. Didn't know all that he'd done, or why specifically Christian had gone for him, but he half wished Austin had knocked both of them sideways, at least not done that in front of the crew… it didn't make sense to him, except Austin didn't understand the impact of his actions—but Austin did. He'd no doubt of it.

He saw Saby in the mirror, behind him. Saw her looking upset.

"He's jealous," Saby said.

"Of you?" Talking hurt. Would. He rationed words.

"I brought him up," Saby said. "My aunt Beatrice is his real mama. She didn't want him, except the politics with Austin. I was ten. I did the best I could till I was, God, twenty-six and he was getting ideas. And I still feel responsible.—He neededa lesson this time, dammit, he has to get life figured—But things—got complicated last night, and then he walked up on us like that… I know what he thought: that I betrayed him, that I'd set him up—because I wanted you."

"Shit." He leaned an arm against the wall. Sniffed back what had been a nosebleed—thinking—no, feeling—what must have gone through Christian's insides. And he threw a glance at Saby, with a leaden foreboding that his lately-ordered universe was coming apart again. Couldn't last. Couldn't put together what so many screwed-up years had torn apart.

Complicated. Hell. Saby functioned for Christian as mama; and Saby's aunt, Christian's maman, hadn't wanted him? Another of Austin's little no-personal-protection accidents?

Damnhim.

"Austin had to hit him, in front of the crew? And left mewithout a mark? What for God's sake does Austin think he's doing? The man can't possibly be that naive."

Saby hugged her arms across her, shook her head, and looked scared. "Christian screwed up. Christian knew it. Same rules—crew and hired-crew. You don't fight. At least—you don't get caught at it in lower main. Not when Austin's mad. And Austin… was mad."

"How'd he know I didn't start it?"

"A, Christian's an officer on this ship. It's his say, his resort to force. And, B, No question: he knows Christian."

Chapter Ten

—i—

GRAPPLES RELEASED—no take-hold had sounded, easy regulations on this non-Family ship, meaning crew was up and about… and, on his way from Saby's quarters, Tom found himself 10m short of the galley zone as that sound racketed through the frame.

He wasn't the only crew caught out—"Shit!" someone yelped. Crew around him started running. He made a fast sprint, along with twenty or thirty others, out of the hazard of lower main for the take-holds that lined the mess hall transverse—some in the corridor, some the other side of the divider, in the galley, in his case, far as he could get sideways, toward the galley counter, excusing himself past other take-holders, hand to hand clasp and a " 'Scuse me, thanks," as he slid past each individual, because you didn't stand loose for a second on this ship—no please and thank you and no warning when Corinthianmoved, God help them.

Jamal had already clipped secure-sheets over the sink and the counter-top to secure his work area, and taken-hold at the bow wall behind the counter, which was the good place to be. Tink stood that side, too, massive legs braced, his shoulders against the wall and both hands, somewhat riskily, for a keypad/calculator… but the far side, the bow-side of the transverse, was about to be the deck, temporarily.

While his was about to become the ceiling. "Tink. I'm here. " From two, three niches along the take-hold bar.

"Yeah.—Looks like. " Tink made a grimace, seeing his face. "Ouch. How you doing?"

"I'm all right."

"You sure? You look like hell."

"I'm fine. " He caught a breath. "Jamal, I need in the worst way… I need to make a call after undock. I've got sheets and such to find—All right to do?"

"You all right, kid?"

"Fine. " Lie. Again. He was still out of breath, and dreading the shove. He wished he dared make the dash across—a couple of guys had risked it, and made it, but it was too dangerous on this ship. "Got some arranging still to do."

"Yeah, no problem," Jamal said. "But you stay out of—"

Bow-jets shoved Corinthianhard, and strained muscles he hadn't known he'd strained, located every bruise, up and down his arm and his ribs and back, before that burn abruptly redirected and added a nadir vector.

Tink grabbed a one-handed hold. Fast.

"Pilot's pissed," Tink said, rolling a glance overhead.

"At what?"

"You can't guess?"

About that time the shove came hard and fast.

"Shit!" someone said, as a pan escaped the sheet-restraint, hit the overhead and rebounded.

"Loose object!" Jamal yelled—they were inertial for the moment, jets at momentary shutdown, and things and people floated. "Damn her!"

Then, thank God, the passenger ring engaged, and added another component to further shoves from the jets. The pan settled. So did human feet, and hair and clothes.

There was swearing. There were sighs. Tink called across at him:

"We got a slow-go here at Pell. Lady Bea can kick our ass out, but we can't do more 'n one-point kips until we clear the zone, about thirty minutes out. How's the gut now?"

"I'll live. You think she's through up there?" He'd got the fact it was a woman at the helm. He heard the B, and it clicked into consciousness whowas at the helm and why she wasn't happy. "God, I wish they'd announce moves."

"Pell's usually a three-burn… " a tech said from the take-holds down the wall, woman he didn't know.

And the third shove came.

"There we go. That's it. We're inert. " But everybody stood still at the handholds until the siren blast.

Then the company left the walls, and he went behind the counter where the galley corn-panel was, punched buttons for the universals of ship-com, the 01 that went to the captain's message file.

"Sir. This is Tom Hawkins. I urgently need to speak to…"

" Austin. "God, the thing had tracked him through the boards. " What?"

He'd composed a message. All the logic went straight out of his head.

"You apply the same standard. Me and my brother. Sir. " His tongue went stupid. Breath caught in his throat and he swallowed. "Sir. He caught us breaking regs. He had some justice."

Silence from the other end.

" It remotely strike you, Hawkins, that the captain might be busy?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I was just trying to message the system."

"About your policy assessments?"

"Sir,—"

"Where are you?"

"The galley, sir. Sir,—I do want to talk to you about this."

"Talk. Now. Fast. You're tying up channels. "

"I mean I've got to talk to you in private. I'm on the galley-com, sir, I want to talk to you before you talk to—"

"Hawkins. I have a ship moving at 1. 092 kips, exceeding Pell traffic speed limits, for which we have a Ik fine. I have a ship in count behind me and a caution on an inbound insystem hauler and two service craft, whose point-location is often a mystery unto themselves. Do you think we could postpone the personal business?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you. "

Dead connection after that. He pounded the wall with his fist, thinking…

"Trouble?" Tink asked.

… Christian was going to walk into Austin's office, remotely justified, and come out of there wanting to cut his throat.

Which wasn't smart policy, which wasn't what he wanted to live with, which wasn't the man he'd seen for about two beats when Christian was figuring out how and on what ship to dump him.

Say it right: Christian could have left him in that warehouse to freeze, and nobody would have found him. Christian, Saby had said it, had gone to a lot of effort to get him shipped out, never mind Christian could have walked him into a lot rougher situation than a ticket out of port and out of their lives. Christian was fighting for his place on this ship, was what Christian was doing…

Beatrice didn't want him. Ibrought him up.

And he understood Christian in that light a lot more than he'd ever understand the man who'd raped Marie.

"Tom?"

"I need to check on something," he said. "Tink, cover me."

Maybe Tink wanted to ask. He didn't want to answer. He ducked down the straightway of the galley back toward lower main, where alterday crew was headed for the lifts.

He looked to find Christian anywhere in the traffic. He knew where his cabin was. He thought about going there. He checked near lower deck ops, and then at the nearby lifts, where the next shift was cycling up by the carload. He slipped into that lot, nervous, waited his turn, one trip after the other, then jammed into the car with the rest and stared at the level indicator instead of the faces around him. Crew stared… the cuts and bruises, it had to be, or the question what he was doing, going topside. "He clear?" somebody finally asked. And: "Think so," somebody else said. "—Mister, you got a clearance?"

"Appointment," he muttered, as the lift banged into its topside lock. "Captain's office. " The door was opening. He wanted out. Fast. "Excuse me."

A hand caught his shoulder.

"Hold it, Hawkins."

He saw seniority in the grey hair. He said, "Yessir," and figured he'd just routed himself back in the brig. The guy shoved him against the wall by the lift doors.

"Appointment, is it?"

"My brother's supposed to be up here. I need to talk to him."

"Is that so?" The officer—Travis, the pocket emblem said—turned him back to the next arriving lift. "Right back downside, mister. Stayto lower decks."

Second lift opened. He faced, suddenly, blond hair, bruises, scowling face.

"Inside," the officer said, and jerked at him by the arm, sending him past Christian, into that lift. "Downside. Go. Now."

Hand propelled him inside. Christian dived in beside him, mad. The lift doors shut, on the two of them alone, and the lift sank.

"So?" Christian asked.

"I didn't want what happened. I'm sorry. I don't wantto get in your way…"

"You had a good time, you and Saby?"

"We—" He couldn't justify anything. Christian was looking for offense, and his face and his ribs were already sore. "We didn't plan anything. We ran into each other—"

The lift hit bottom. Crew jammed aboard, pinning them to the back of the car.

"I don't want another fight," he said. They were face-to-face against the back wall of the lift car as the door shut and the lift started up again. "I don't want to argue with you."

"Yeah. Keep your concern."

"He didn't do right. He wasn't right, lighting into you like that—"

"Just shut up, Family Boy. I don't needyour damn condescension, all right?"

The door opened. The crowd in front vacated the lift. Christian shoved his way through and he tried to follow, but Christian turned around, furious, the other side of the threshold. "Get to hell out of my life, Hawkins!"

Shocked faces, around Christian. He'd started forward, to leave the lift. It seemed useless, then, with Christian opposed, to pursue anything with anyone in command.

Downbound crew flooded in, pushing him back against the rail. The doors shut, the lift went down and let out downside. The other passengers got off. He did.

Straight face-on into Saby.

"Tink said—" Saby began, and grabbed his arm as they worked their way outward, against the five or six upbounds trying to get in the doors.

He wasn't coherent. He waved a hand, made a helpless gesture as they got clear, back at the corridor wall. "No luck. Waste of time."

"I could have told you," Saby said. "Tom, let me talk to him."

"Not Austin. Christian. Damn him. Attitudinal son of a bitch. "

"Him, too. " Saby made a flustered gesture and punched the lift button. One car had gone. The other was downbound. "He's being a fool."

"You don't go up there!"

Saby turned around with a furious stare. "I'm going upthere because this is my shift, and I'm late!—And leave it to me who I talk to!"

"It's my life, dammit!"

The lift arrived. Saby ducked in with a last few upbound crew. The doors shut. He stood there, having embarrassed himself, generally, having made a public scene with Christian, up and down the lift system, and disagreed with Saby, in public.

There was nothing but a shut door to talk to. There was nothing to do but walk back to the galley where he'd agreed to be. Forever.

Right now he wanted to strangle Christian. He'd blamed Saby. He'd blamed himself. He'd blamed Marie and Austin and fate.

But right now he saw only one person responsible for what had happened to Christian, and to him, and for the misunderstanding with Saby, and every damn thing else.

Wasn't Saby's fault she'd been drafted as surrogate mama to a jealous brat whose universe insisted every problem was somebody else's fault.

He slammed his fist into the paneling as he walked. It hurt as much as he remembered. He pounded it two, three, four, five times, until the corridor thundered and the pain outside equalled the explosion inside his chest.

Somebody put his head out of ops and ducked back again. Fast.

He hit the wall four more times, until his knuckles showed blood.

Nobody asked. Nobody came out. He got as far as the next traverse, with the mess-hall in sight, when the siren sounded, and the PA thundered, " Take-hold, take-hold, long bum in one minute. This is your warning. "

He didn't run. He walked, deliberately, counting the seconds, down the mess-hall center aisle, made it to the comfortable side, the stern wall, this time, where Tink and Jamal were getting set.

"Fix it?" Tink asked.

"Waste of time. Waste of effort. Nobody listens."

Tink raised his brows. He remembered he was supposed to be seeing about bed-sheets. "Yeah," Tink said, and held out a bag of candy. "Lot of that going around today. Have one. Have two."

He did. His hand was skinned. He figured the knuckles would turn black. He ate the chocolate. Jamal had one, the three of them alone in a galley redolent of spices and, rare, expensive treat, bread baking.

The burn started, smooth, clean, steady, this time.

Mainday crew was the heavy load for the galley, the dockers, who seemed to keep whatever schedule they fancied—but figure that the horde would hit the galley hall for supper once the burn cut out. Sandwiches out to the working stations. Everybody to feed before they made jump.

Gentle burn. Reasonable burn.

"Easy does it now," Tink said. "Pell is the most reg-u-lated place in the ports we do. You sneeze and gain a tenth of a k in their zones, you got a fine. One k ain't nothing. Pilot knows."

"Runs in the genes," he muttered, while that 'ports we do' hit the conscious part of his brain, the assumptions he'd made, the questions he'd asked himself and not asked, because the routes were so laid down by physics and what points a ship could reach from where they were that he'd assumed Earth, Tripoint, and Viking. From Pell, they could make Earth, spooky enough thought, strange, overcrowded place. But that had been where Christophe Martinwas bound. Christian wouldn't ship him where Corinthianwas already going. From Pell… if they went really off the charts they could reach the Hinder Stars, the old bridge of stars the sub-lighters had used for stepping-stones out from Earth—shut down, now, dead,