Tripoint (36 page)

Then nowhere for a while, floating in that chaos-place where time didn’t run the same, or directionally, or anything, hadn’t the Voice said it to him? He went there, every which direction, he didn’t think what he was doing, sensation just Was, and still echoed.

Came to with a body draped over him, that waked and stirred when he moved a leg that had fallen asleep. Body burrowed against him and held on, keeping him warm against the air… didn’t know who it was for a moment, didn’t know where he was, but he remembered, then, it was Saby, and he couldn’t see the rest of his life in front of him. It was all dark, all blank, after where he was.

“You awake?” Saby asked him.

“Yeah,” he said, and she moved over him, payback, he thought, sure he’d been too rough, but she wasn’t—he kept expecting it and not admitting it, and she grew scary and strange to him as the night-walker—or the walker wasn’t ever who he thought. Maybe nothing on the ship was what it seemed, nothing safe, not his life, not his freedom from kinship to them, not his sanity, not since he’d gone out in that warehouse and made jump with
Corinthian
. His anger wasn’t there anymore, his fear wasn’t, Saby’d taken it all inside, left just the no-place in front of him, the dark that wrapped him around and invited him, dared him, wanted him…

Saby pulled him in, Saby held on to him, Saby said she’d make everything all right: she was down to promises, like his
Polly
crewwoman, who always said she liked him, never that she loved, and he wouldn’t have believed that, anyway—it wasn’t in his universe, wasn’t here, just… Saby, Saby, in the corridor, on
Sprite…
Saby, pushing him away…

“What’s the matter?” Saby asked, and passed a hand over his shoulder, but he’d gone shivery and a little spaced, and asking himself where his mind was, that he made that jump, Saby to Marie. Bad navigation, crazy stuff she’d called up in him. It made him ashamed, and scared again, as if he’d crossed some strange space where identities and faces changed, floating lights, like the chaos around the night-walker.

He twitched, bad jump, quick intake of breath, couldn’t help it, he was falling for a second.

But Saby had him, Saby brought him back with a pass of her hand across his forehead, down his face.

“You all right?” Saby asked. That was a trap. Serious trap. If you believed she gave a damn…

If you thought Marie cared… if you ever thought that…

“Tom? Hey. Hey. Bad dream?”

He drew a breath, let it go, relieved Marie had retreated from conscious level. Didn’t want to think about Marie, she got into dreams and they turned in strange directions… Marie held him close in the dark. He was eight, maybe nine, too old to sit on anybody’s lap, the lights had cycled off, but Marie was in a mood to talk, and she held him and rocked him and told him about rape, and murder.

Other kids had fairytales for bedtime, but he got this story. He felt mama’s arms hard and angry… and heard about sex and pain…

“Tom? For God’s sake,—”

Air was cold. He felt chilled.

Sheets whispered and slid. The lights went on, dim though they were. She just looked, that was all. He didn’t have anything to say. He didn’t want to work himself in deeper than he was.

She reported to his father, no question.

She knew he was a hazard to the ship. He could do anything he wanted in bed, she didn’t mind, but it didn’t change him being Hawkins.

“Station’s no good place,” she said. “You
don’t
want to be here.”

Jerked him back to the real choices, she did. He was that transparent. If she saw more than that, she might be scared, herself.

He brushed her arm. “I’m not crazy. “ And then—being the sumbitch Marie said he was, he couldn’t help it: “What’s the report you give my father?”

Dark eyes—pretty eyes—didn’t even flinch. “Space Christian. Keep you.”

“Yeah?”

She didn’t amplify. Her eyes shadowed. He’d brought the lie into the light. He moved his hand on her arm, deliberate distraction. Went further down, onto her bare leg, warm skin, warm color… there were no secrets he hadn’t explored, no promises left, no lies.

Her hand settled on his. “Tink said you were all right.”

He’d forgotten the garden. The garden and Tink and Saby on the path. It came back, with its own logic, that didn’t make damn sense, that never had. Tink liked him. Tink said… be good to Saby. Or Tink would break his neck.

Tink knew. Tink understood he was a danger, the same as Saby did. He liked Tink. It wasn’t damned fair, the two of them, against one guy, walking him down that green path, making him feel… welcome. Part of. With. Included.

Hurt, now. Hurt was when you got your feelings involved. Hurt was what inevitably happened, when you let yourself believe somebody wanted anything but their own agenda. Christian had conned him. Now Saby had conned him, damn her, leave Tink out of it—Tink probably trusted her, too.

She lay down with him again, leaving the lights on. She promised him it was all right, she rested her head on his shoulder. And maybe there was a guard outside. Maybe they’d bugged the room. Maybe they’d done that days ago, and he wouldn’t get the chance to walk to the ship. Maybe they’d just come in after him and beat hell out of him first,—but what could he do?

—vii—

WASN’T THE LAST TIME they made love, all the same. They skipped breakfast, slept-in, and whichever one of them would wake, they agreed, had leave to wake the other by whatever means.

It was crazy. It was a way for Saby to keep his mind off the board-call, a way he could physically, mentally, blot it out. He knew he was using and being used, at that point, but hell, was it new? and neither of them minded.

“Did I hurt you?” he got the nerve to ask, and Saby said no, but Saby had a motive to lie, a lot of possible motives—maybe she didn’t call for help because she wanted the favor points with Austin, maybe she wanted not to need help. But he was careful—his
Polly
girl had taught him a lot about what made her happy. His other lovers had never complained and never left before their board-calls or his.

He was still rattled. He couldn’t understand how in very hell he’d flashed on Marie like that, or what had scared him so about it, until Saby made him flash on Marie again—she cuddled up tight with him, after, and pulled technique on him: that was how he thought of it—clear that she was no novice. Saby said, Lie still, and he drifted in such a self-destructive funk that he told himself What the hell and wondered what she could do solo.

No novice at all, Saby was, probably the one they sent out to snag guys in. She’d tell them all she loved them, and they signed on, signature that gave a ship legal rights to recover strays. But, all right, it beat a press gang. Had to admit…

“God!”

“Easy, easy, easy. “ Saby’s mouth stole the rest of his breath, and their daylight-dark exploded in red and blue awhile, but as a means to wait out the board-call, it was still… better than sanity.

“You could share quarters with me,” Saby murmured against his ear. “Just clear it with Austin—” Hands did things elsewhere that made him short of breath and truly not focussed on his father and their feud. Or even remotely on logic. “God, I
want
you, Tom, I never
wanted
anybody, I never, never found anybody—just sleepover stuff, you know, never with crew, I always said it was bad business, relationships aboard, just stupid, but I could, I would, this time, I really, really could, Tom, I want you.”

“Shit-all. “ His language, like his morals, had gone. “You can visit me in the brig.”

“I know you’re computers, I’m in ops, you had any experience?”

He deliberately misunderstood. “Thought it showed.”

It won him a punch on the arm. A gentle one. Saby leaned over him in the dark they’d kept, long after lights had cycled to day. Her hair brushed his face. “Don’t be an ass.”

“It’s hard.”

“Don’t be one to me, anyway, I’m serious, Tom.”

It had been fun, right down to ‘serious. ‘ His heart started increasing beats. Outright fear. He didn’t know what to do with a statement like that. He didn’t know where to take it, except to agree and keep his mouth shut and show up at
Corinthian’s
dock on time.

Or grab the perpetrator with both arms, roll her under and kiss her until she wasn’t asking any more questions, because he wasn’t good at lying—If Saby wanted to help him, yes, he wanted the help. Lie for it, cheat for it, all right, the coin she dealt in wasn’t unpleasant at all. And he didn’t know, once he thought of that, where that betrayal fit on Marie’s scale of things, whether he was victim or victimizer—he just didn’t want to hurt or be hurt by anybody, didn’t want to believe anybody. Once you did that…

Once you did that, then you just walked helplessly, stupidly into what people did for fun or for profit.

The wake-up alarm went off, finally. Autoservice from the front desk said, robot-idiot that it was, Time to get up, time to get up, time to get up… until Saby reached out a hand and killed it.

Morning light came up, autoed, cold truth after the night they’d had. He could envision where he was going, back to the brig. Which he didn’t mind.

He wanted Capella to let him alone. He wanted to go to the galley every day and deal with Tink and Jamal, he didn’t want to be opted anywhere else. He just wanted a long, rational life where nobody would bother him—he didn’t think that was too much to ask of the man responsible for his existence, seeing that Austin surely wanted his own life uncomplicated, too. Tink would swear to his good behavior. Tink could do that. There were people everybody instinctively seemed to like, and Tink was one of those, the same way he was one of the other kind.

“Can you find Tink?” he ventured asking, when they were dressing; and when he knew Saby was about to make the inevitable phone call. “You think Tink could walk in with us? You think Tink would mind?”

Saby looked a little surprised, maybe… a little perplexed. “Tom,” she said, “everything’s going to be all right. I promise.”

Creative no, in other words. Con job.

“Yeah,” he said, “all right.”

Tink wouldn’t tolerate him getting beaten up, wouldn’t tolerate any treachery, Tink was pure as his sugar flowers, uncomplicated.
Corinthian
folk could sell him out. Produce fake papers. Say he had a contract with them, or screw him in some means—or just do the mach’ business on him, show him not to run, after this. All right, lesson taken: he’d been hit before, he could survive it. They never believed you got it intellectually, the mach’ types didn’t.

And Austin
was
one of their kind. Maybe so was he. Genetics at work. Maybe it was why he got in trouble.

“Tom.—You don’t believe me, do you?”

“Sure. “ But he was a rotten liar when he was rattled. And he was rattled—and short on sleep and mildly hung over. “Sure, I believe you.”

“Tom… “ Whatever Saby was going to say, she didn’t, then, just took on a hurt look. He didn’t know why. Not exactly. He guessed he’d been rude, he’d burst the bubble of false trust. “Why in hell’d you…?” she started to ask.

But she didn’t finish that either, just looked upset with him, or the situation, or something maybe he’d led her to think.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He meant it. Saby’d been all right. “We don’t need Tink. It’s fine.”

“You think they’re going to pull something, don’t you?” She sounded surprised. As if it couldn’t possibly occur to her. “You think this whole thing’s a set-up.”

“Hey. “ He waved a hand, Stop, enough. “No problem.”

“Shit. “ She jammed her hands into her belt and looked at him sidelong, from under a fall of bangs, as if she was re-adding everything.

“I said I wouldn’t run. You didn’t have to do anything. But thanks. It was nice.”

Her mouth opened, her head came up, she would have hit him with the back of her hand. Hard. Except he blocked that one with his arm. He wasn’t moved to hit her. But she was mad, furious with him, and he didn’t know which of several things she was mad at.

“Don’t hit,” he said, “I don’t like it.”

“For God’s sake…”

Another censorship. Her eyes watered. Her chin quivered. He’d made her mad, but he couldn’t read it, couldn’t react to what didn’t make sense. He could defend himself if she hit him again, he wasn’t going to take that from her, but he equally well wasn’t going to get into personal arguments this close to the end—he was just scared, was all, scared of her tears, scared of him getting mad—he wanted to like her, he wanted so much to like her, and that was the most dangerous thing…

“Where did you get the notion,” she asked him, “that I didn’t give a damn? Where did you think I
lied
to you? Tom,—”

He panicked, backed up when she reached, she’d gotten to him that badly, and she just stared at him, confused, hurt, he couldn’t tell. Maybe it was even real, but he’d thought that too many times. It wasn’t reasonable it could be true now, when he didn’t even know her, except she liked roses and coffee and blue glitter-stuff…

“I didn’t lie to you,” she said. “I didn’t need to lie to you. Do you think I did?”

She hit right on it, and the lump wouldn’t go away. He was scared of that little, little step she was asking, everything he’d tried to give away, too long, too desperately, until he’d learned strong people didn’t want it and weak ones drank you dry.

But he’d hurt Saby. Dammit, it wasn’t fair of her to be mad—
he
was mad, and hurt, that she was mad.

“I
like
you,” Saby said. “I
want
you to bunk with me. I didn’t think, I didn’t think I was, like, pressuring you…”

“You’re not.”

“Why Tink? Why do you trust him?”

“I don’t know,” he said, and that was the truth. “I don’t know.”

—viii—

FIGURE THEY’D BE FIRST IN or last in. But among the first, it turned out—a mortal relief, the phone call from Saby advising
Corinthian
they were leaving the
Aldebaran
. “Can you be there at customs?” Saby asked, tacit reminder there was a customs problem.