Some things maybe you didn’t want to question. Some things could be real trouble to question. But he was in it, deep, and deeper.
“What’s Corinthian haul?”
“No different than Sprite. “
“The hell it isn’t.”
“We sell, we buy, no damn difference—”
“Then where? Is that the question? Where do you haul it to? Can we handle that one?”
Silence, the other side of the dark. Then: “Ask Austin.”
“Austin, is it?”
“Most of the time. To us. To regular crew. You could do what you trained to do—”
“On a damn pirate?”
“Just a hauler. Nothing we’re ashamed of. We’re damn proud of our ship. We’ve reason to be proud.”
He wanted to believe that. He had no idea how many dicings of logic it might take to believe it didn’t matter… who you traded with, or for what, or with what blood on it.
Silence again. And dark. Then: “I’ve already said more than I should. Aboard the ship, I’ll tell you. You don’t talk in sleepovers. Some stations bug rooms. Pell doesn’t—that we know of. But still—”
He’d never heard that. But no station had ever had a motive to bug Sprite crew’s rooms. And it didn’t change anything.
“Yeah,” he said, “so the pay’s good. That says a lot.”
“I’m not a criminal. Austin isn’t.”
“That’s not the rumor.”
“I sleep at night.”
“Is that a testimony to your character?”
“You don’t know our business, you don’t know a damn thing. You’re assuming.”
“I’m going back because I can’t go to the cops without get ting stuck on this station. That’s all you need. That’s as much as you can buy, I don’t care what else you’re selling.”
Another silence. A thunderous, long one before Saby returned to her bed, shadow in shadow, a rustling in the dark. She sat down. He couldn’t see detail by the night-light, it was too close to her. He couldn’t see her face, whether she was just mad, or hurt.
Didn’t need to have said ‘selling. ‘ Wrong word. Real wrong word. He’d been on the receiving end of words too often not to feel it racket through his nervous system.
“Sorry,” he said. “I can believe you. Not him.”
Silence. A long time. He didn’t want the solitude of the bath, now, but he didn’t think he was going to sleep. Still, she didn’t move.
Not for as long as he waited.
“Saby, dammit, I’m sorry.”
“Sure. No problem. “ The voice wobbled. Unfair. “Go to bed. I said no sex. I don’t need the damn favor, all right?”
“Saby. This is stupid.”
“Fine.”
“My father told you to get me in bed?”
“No!”
Wrong step, again. He couldn’t sleep with Saby hating his guts. He wasn’t going to sleep. She was going to talk to him and calm down. “I liked tonight, Saby. For God’s sake, I did. I had a good time. “ He couldn’t restrain the barb. “When papa lets me out of the brig I’d like to do it again, somewhere.”
Long pause. “There’s still tonight.”
“I’m not in the damn mood! God!”
Another watery silence.
“Dammit,” he said, “I’m worried.—I’m scared, all right? I’m making the wrong choice, I’m doing something stupid, maybe I should stay here and deal with the cops, maybe it’s better I get stranded for the rest of my life, I don’t know!”
“Tom.”
“God,—fuck off, will you?”
He hadn’t meant to say that. He was rattled. He was cornered. It was six in the damn morning of the day he had to go back or go nowhere for the rest of his life.
He saw the shadow lie down, heard the rustle of sheets drawn up.
“Saby.”
Silence.
“Saby, dammit. “ He went over to the bed. He sat down on the edge, shook her foot.
Jerk of that foot, out of his vicinity. “No favors. I’m sorry. Forget it.”
He sat there a moment, obdurate against the silence. He tried to think how to patch it. Found the foot again and patted it, a lump under the covers.
She didn’t move.
“It was an experience,” he said, unwilling to break it off in her angry silence. “It’s been a good time. “ More silence. But no jerk away from him. “It’s just over, is all. Bills come due. Don’t know if I can handle this one.”