So the tour was done, and he walked out with Tink and Saby.
Didn’t find the reception party—and he was so sure it existed he stopped and stood in the doorway, looking for it.
“She’s a pretty one,” the ticketer at the door said—to him, he realized then, and then, in the racing of his bewildered wits, remembered the lie he’d told, about waiting for a girlfriend.
“Yeah,” he said, and only wanted to get out of there before some other remark started trouble, but Saby laughed, took the cue and hooked her arm into his, steering him away and on, toward the doors.
“Tink,” she said, “it’s all right. You don’t know where we are. Right? We’ll make board call. Captain’s orders.”
Tink didn’t look certain about that. He wasn’t certain about this ‘don’t know where we are’ and ‘captain’s orders’… not that Saby was likely to use physical force. But Saby clearly had the upper hand in the information division, and he could be in deep trouble, for all he knew, headed for one more ship like Christophe Martin.
Tink said, looking straight at him. “Tom,—if she says it’s so, it’s so. If she says do, you do it. All right? Is that all right?”
Tink meant it. Tink meant it a hundred percent, like a nervous mama turning her kid over to a stranger she almost trusted, and he had it clear who was in what role in Tink’s book: if he did anything Saby could complain of, Tink was going to find him, he had no question.
“Yeah,” he said, and meant it. “No problems. I want to go back to the ship. I’m willing to go. “ It finally occurred to him to say that, and he thought at least Tink would believe him.
“Come on,” Saby said, tugging on the arm still linked with hers, and he had the momentary, panicked thought that if anything happened to Saby, if any remote, unpredictable accident happened to Saby Perrault, he was a dead man, not alone in Tink’s book, but with the rest of Corinthian, the same law that, had brought Sprite’s crew to Marie’s defense, however belated, the same that defended every merchanter on dockside and made, stations skittish of any challenge to ship-law, if two ships decided to settle a problem, or if, however rarely, a spacer disappeared off a dockside. Saby could call down all of Corinthian, hire-ons the same as born-crew, he got that clear and clean from Tink.
And he was, on those grounds, as much a prisoner in Saby’s light, cheerful grip as he would have been in the hands of the delegation he’d expected.
He didn’t see where Tink went. Maybe to the shops, maybe to another lift. But Saby coded Blue 9/20 on the lift pad where they stopped. The car took a moment or two arriving.
“That was nice,” Saby said, hugging his arm tight. “It’s always different, the gardens. I try to go at least once. I don’t want to be on a planet. I really don’t like the thought of infalling. The gardens are really just close enough for me. They do weather sometimes. I think that’s just on the morning tour. They say you can plan on getting wet.”
“I’m not going to run away,” he said. “You can let go.”
She didn’t let go. She kept it physical—meaning knock her down if he wanted to run. And you could die for that, if Tink got hold of you. “I’ll take you back to the ship,” she said, “if you really want.”
“What’s my choice?”
“The Aldebaran. I talked to Austin. He’s just really pissed at Christian. He said it’s my call. The Aldebaran’s a really nice place. Good food. Class One. You tell me you won’t do anything stupid and you can stay there and we can have first-class food and soak up the latest vids. No sex in the offer, understand, just a place to be for a few days.”
He was relieved at the no-sex part. Wasn’t a mach’ thing to be relieved at. Or maybe it was. Human dignity. If you reckoned that. He didn’t like being shoved, ordered, ultimatumed, or kidnapped. He’d grown very touchy about kidnapped.