TriPoint, a Union Alliance novel by Caroline J. Cherryh

But Hawkins was going to mean keeping extra security aboard. And somebody wasn’t going to be happy to be in charge of that.

Do a split watch, bonus pay, give a couple of the guys an extra five hundred apiece and let them spend it on reduced dock time. He could find volunteers.

Hawkins was already going to cost the ship a thousand c, not even figuring the early undock at Viking. Not even figuring the future security costs, when they made Viking port again.

It wasn’t like having a second son. It was like having something stuck to your boot, that, try as you might, you couldn’t shake off.

* * *

Chapter Seven

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—i—

THE GALLEY DIDN’T SHUT DOWN on approach to dock, no, it was up to its elbows in business. Tink was doing special pastries for the security detail that had to remain aboard… because of him, Tom thought glumly, neither Tink nor Austin being privy to Christian’s plans.

And the pans of food for two hundred plus crewmen during their outbound hours… all had to be ready. They went into the freezer.

Meanwhile the mess-hall vid screens had come on, with what might be a canned view of Downbelow, with its perpetual clouds, greenhoused, he understood, so you could rarely see the continents or the oceans. The indigenes below that cloud cover looked heavenward in hopes of a glimpse of their lord Sun. Made amazing large-eyed statues to do the job for them in the case someone lapsed in duty, he supposed—divine stand-ins.

When he’d been a kid he’d dreamed of Downbelow. Never looked to see it, seeing how the War brought a border between them. He never…

“H’lo, there,” a voice said, out of other dreams, the deep, echoing dark of hyperspace. Blond, in an officer’s fatigues—Capella arrived, drew a cup of coffee.

And said hello, for God’s sake. Hello didn’t mean an assault. No reason for his gut to go to jelly or uncertainty to rise right through his knees.

“Feeling better, are we, Tommy-person?” She came and leaned elbows on the counter to sip her coffee. “H’lo, Jamal, hi, Tink. Smells good in here. Pasta stuff?”

“Pasta,” Jamal said. “No samples.”

“Spoilsport.—Tommy-person. “ She reached across the counter and touched the back of Tom’s hand with her little finger. “Tommy-person. You can come scrub my quarters anytime. Some of us appreciate quality.”

They were about to dock. He was about to leave the ship. And Capella came to harass him a last time. Parting gesture. He hadn’t seen her since system-drop. He was seeing black from second to second, was acutely aware of his own skin, and the touch of ghostly fingers in his sleep.

“Eh?” Capella asked. “What do you think, Tommy-person?”

“I don’t think the captain would approve.”

“Do you do everything he says?”

“Right now I do. Yes, ma’am.”

“Ma’am,” Capella laughed, and he remembered Saby hadn’t liked it either. “Oh, come on, Tommy-pretty. You can call me chief, on duty, and I’ll call you Hawkins. On my own time, and we are on my own time, here, Capella’s just fine. “ Her finger traced down the bone above his index finger. “I bet they could spare you for a cup of coffee and a small sit. Especially if I pull rank. How about?”

“I can’t.”

“Jamal?”

“I don’t—”

Christian… arrived in the door and paused there, just the single beat it took to say Christian hadn’t expected Capella to be there, and he didn’t like what he was seeing. He had an instant guilty feeling, and he didn’t immediately know for what; a fear Christian might take jealous offense, and screw the escape, if he ever intended it—a fear Capella’s purpose was to screw it. It was quiet in the galley. Jamal and Tink had stopped work, and didn’t say a thing.

“Time for older brother to go back in his box,” Christian said cheerfully, walking up to the counter. “Put the toys away, Cappy.”

“Aww,” Capella said, and shoved away from the counter—tossed the cup into the disposal. She looked at him—she had a wicked look, a naturally predatory look. He didn’t even think she intended it. Or it was supposed to tell him something he didn’t know how to read. She gave him a theatrical sulk, and a lift of the chin, flashed a dazzling grin at Christian Bowe. “I’ll take him back.”

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