What made you?”
He tried a wry smile, reckoning he could hold it. “Well, it seemed reasonable at
the time.”
“I keep wanting to believe you. And I’m not getting any encouragement.”
“I’m used to running solo,” he said in a lingering silence. “It’s no big deal.
I’ve jumped her alone and I’ve twojumped. She’s good, Lucy is. She kept up with
your fancy Dublin, for sure. I’ll tidy it up with WSC when I get back to Viking.
I wouldn’t mind seeing you, when.”
She came back and sat down on the edge of the bed, leaned with her hand on his
and looked into his face at too close an interval for comfortable pretenses.
“Possibly,” she said, “you can claim fatigue and they’ll let you out of this.
Maybe it was just being out there too long.”
“Thanks. I hadn’t thought of that one. I’ll try it.”
“I’d guess you’d better try something. You are in trouble. Aren’t you?”
He said nothing.
“Stevens. If it is Stevens… How much truth have you told me? At any time?”
“Some.”
“About what you are—how about that, for a start?”
He tried to shrug, which was not easy at close quarters. “I’m what I told you.”
“You’re broke, aren’t you? And in a lot of trouble. I think maybe you thought I
could finance you. I think maybe that’s what this is all about, that you really
did come chasing after me— because you’ve overrun your margin at Viking, haven’t
you; and maybe your company’s going to be asking questions—and now you’ve got a
combine ship where she doesn’t belong.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I said no.”
“You know, Stevens, I shouldn’t ask this, but it does occur to me that you just
may not be combine.”
He stared at her, at a frown which was not anger, his hold on his silence
loosened for no good reason, but that she knew—he knew that she knew. She was
headed back to her ship, to talk there, for certain.
“Not, are you?”
“No. I’m not. I’m—” His arm went out to stop her from bolting, but that shift
had not been to get up, and he was left embarrassed. “Look, WSC never noticed
me. I made them money. I never cost them a credit…”
“Before now.”
“I’ll put it back.”
“You are a pirate.”
“No.”
“All right. So I wouldn’t sit here if I thought that. So you skim. I’m not sure
I want to know the details.” She heaved a sigh and turned to sit sideways on the
bed, slammed her fist into her knee. “Blast.”
“What’s that?”
“That’s wishing I minded my own business. So I know. So I can’t do anything
about it. I’m not going to. You understand that? It’s worth no money to you,
whatever you planned to get.”
Heat rose to his face. “No. I’ll tell you the truth: it was getting tight there.
Really tight. So you made me think of Pell, that’s all. I figure maybe I’ve got
a chance here.”
“Just like that.”
“Just like that. That’s when I know to move. I feel the currents move and I go.
It keeps me alive.”
She stood up, thinking about the law: there was that kind of look on her face.
Thinking about conscience, one way and the other. About police.
“I’ll tell you,” he said, and rolled over on his side, searching for his
clothes. He located them on the floor and sat up, swung his feet out of bed to
dress. “Reilly—I don’t like it to go sour like this. I swear to you—any way you
like—I know you’re worried about it. I don’t blame you. But that ship’s mine.
And that’s the truth.”
“I don’t want to listen to this. I’m Helm, you hear me, and I keep my hands
clean. We’ve got our Name, and I swear to you, mister, you crowd me and I’ll
protect it. I’m sorry for you. And I’ll believe what you’ve told me in the hope
that once a day you do tell the truth, and that I don’t need to pass the word
about you on the docks, but I don’t think I want to hear any more about it than