Got himself a nice, desperate reasonable son, this time, hadn’t he? Watch Austin turn on the charm. Austin had it to use. Austin used it when you made him happy and Austin was happy when you said ‘yes, sir.’
Austin had won, with Hawkins. Austin had gotten his own way. Damned right Austin liked Hawkins.
Fool, brother! Go back. It’s a trap.
—x—
“GO ON!” SABY HISSED, GIVING him a shove toward the lift doors. They were outside downside ops, on the main axis, the ring was still locked, the office the other side of the corridor was a steady traffic of check-ins, crew-cargo mass-check, stowage, and scheduling last half hour before undock… it could have been Sprite’s ops area—it didn’t feel different, except the rowdiness of the crew coming on. Topside of the ring was where he had to report—the area where, considering the proximity of the bridge, and main ops, he was sure there was strong arm security—wasn’t territory he wanted to visit and Saby had to shove him again to get him into motion.
“It’ll be all right,” Saby said.
“Yeah,” he said. They’d taken their time in ops. He hadn’t unpacked. He’d gone down to galley and reported in, he’d talked to Jamal and Tink, and reported back to Saby before the time was up. All right, she said. All right. He’d had his dealings with Austin Bowe, all he ever wanted, and Saby could believe the man, but he didn’t—didn’t trust him a moment, an instant.
But he pushed the button for the lift, took a breath, told himself he wasn’t going to panic at security up there or lose his temper with whatever happened. No matter what, he was going to control his temper, walk peacefully into Austin’s office, let the man play his psychological games, and not react. Austin wasn’t worse than Marie. He couldn’t do worse than Marie—he’d no hooks to use, didn’t know him, didn’t own him the way Marie had, til he was, God help him, making love last night and thinking about Marie, in bed with Marie…
That was damn scary. Kinked. He had to ask himself…
“Just be calm,” Saby said, when the lift door opened.
He walked in alone. Hangover and no sleep last night didn’t help his stomach, either, as the lift shot up against Pell station spin. Bang, clang, and it opened its door and let him out.
Deserted corridor. No security. Camera, he decided uneasily; but he couldn’t, at a glance, see where. The office number, Saby had told him, was number 1, in the first transverse short of the bridge.
No problem finding it. The vulnerable areas of the bridge were right in front of him, a handful of crew at their stations in the center and the near swing-sections… it gave him a giddy feeling, being that close to Corinthians unguarded heart, as if it was Austin’s own challenge, Go ahead, be a fool, I’m waiting… could have talked to you downside. Or after undock. What’s so damn urgent, anyway? What’s so elaborate I have to come up here?
Fatherly repentance?
He pushed the entry request button.
The door shot open. Austin was sitting at his desk, writing something on the autopad.
And kept writing.
Damn psych-out, he thought. But Austin shot him an upward glance then.
“You want to come in?” Austin asked him, “Come in. Sit down.”
He walked in, the door whisked shut, sealing them in, and he ebbed into the conference chair. Austin kept writing, while he waited.
And waited—but he gave up offence, since the civil invitation. A ship leaving dock was administratively busy. Frantically so.
And Austin had to see him right now? Not reasonable. Maybe it was important. Maybe something Austin really, honestly had to deal with.
Austin flipped the autopad off. Gave him a second, this time direct, look.
Drawled, “God, aren’t we right out of the fashion ads. Designer this, designer that. Expensive taste. Can we afford you?”
Temper blew. “I figured I was paying,” he said shortly. And revised all charitable estimates. Austin brought him up here to needle him and he didn’t mean to back up—wasn’t the way he’d exist on this ship, dammit, no way in hell.