beating in panic, started snatching for her clothes.
A maniac, it might be; a lunatic who might have done harm to the lot of them…
She had no real knowledge what this Stevens might be, or have done. A liar, a
thief—She looked about for any sort of weapon.
“Allison.” Neill’s voice came over com. “Got lunch ready.”
“Neill?” Her heart settled to level. In the first reaction she was ashamed of
herself.
In the second she was thinking it was stupid not to have brought her luggage
into the cabin; she had a knife in that, a utilitarian one, but something. She
had never thought of bringing weapons with her, but she did now, having seen
what she had seen… sleeping in a cabin that could become a trap if someone at
controls pushed the appropriate buttons.
“You coming?” Neill asked.
“Coming,” she said.
It was better, finally, Sandor reckoned, with all of them at once in the bridge
sleeping area, with trays balanced on their laps, a bottle of good wine passing
about. It was the kind of insane moment he had never imagined seeing aboard
Lucy, a thing like family, unaffordable food—Neill had pulled some of the
special stuff, and the wine had been chilling since loading; and it all hit his
empty stomach and unstrung nerves with soothing effect. He listened to Dubliner
jokes and laughed, saw laughter on Allison’s face, and that was best of all.
“Listen,” he said to her afterward, catching up to her when she was taking her
baggage to her quarters—he met her at the entry to the corridor, loaded with
bundles. “Allison—I want you to know, back then with the controls—I wasn’t
thinking how it sounded. I’m sorry about that”
“You don’t have to walk around my feelings.”
“Can I help you with that?”
She fixed him with a quick, dark eye. “With ulterior motives? I don’t sleepover
during voyages.”
He blinked, set hard aback, unsure how to take it—a moment’s temper, or
something else. “So, well,” he said. “Not over what I said… Allison, you’re not
mad about that.”
“Matter of policy. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“It’s hard, you know that.”
“I don’t think I’d feel comfortable sharing command and bed. Not on ship.
Sleepover’s different.”
“What, command? It’s home. It’s—”
“Maybe Dublin does things differently. Maybe it’s another way on this ship. But
it’s not another way that quickly. You know, Stevens, I’ll share a sleepover
with an honest spacer and not care so much what Name he goes by, but on ship,
somehow the idea of sharing a cabin with a man whose Name I don’t know—”
“You handed me half a million credits not knowing—”
“I rate myself priceless, man. One of a kind. I don’t go in any deal.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I’ll bet you didn’t.”
“Allison, for God’s sake, you twist everything up. You’re good at that.”
“Right. So you know you can’t talk your way around me.” She thrust past with the
baggage. He caught a strap on her shoulder, peeled half the bundles away, and
she glared back at him through a toss of hair. “Don’t take so much on yourself,
mister.”
“Just the baggage.”
“I don’t need your help.” She snatched at the straps he held and failed to get
them back. “Just drop them in the corridor. I’ll come back and get them.”
“You can’t take any help, can you?”
She walked off. “From the man who took a half million credits with never a
thanks—” She stopped and looked back when he started after her with the bag,
almost collided. “You choke on the words, do you, Stevens?”
“Thanks,” he said. “That do it?”
“Just bring the bags.” She turned about again, stalked one door farther and
opened the compartment, tossed her belongings through the door and stood aside
outside it, a wave of her hand indicating the way inside.
He tossed them after the first. “What about thanks?” he said.
“Thanks.” She shut the door, still outside it.
“Look, you think you have to go through this to tell me no? I can take no. I
understand you.”
“What’s the real name?” Quietly asked. Decently asked.