"Something Kevin's been fermenting in the greenhouse." Pedro took his mug back and drank. "Good degreaser, too."
He could almost feel his tongue again. "No doubt."
"So, how long you planning to stay this…"
A howl from over by the empty stage cut him off as Newton Winkler ripped off his overalls, screaming obscenities. Looked like he'd gotten a couple of new tats since Craig had seen him last.
"Fukking Winkler's been into the sah again," Pedro sighed, hauling himself slowly to his feet.
Craig stood with him. For the Krai, sah had an effect about equal to a cup of coffee. To Humans, the mild stimulant caused-as well as a host of nasty physical reactions-delusions, paranoia, and an inability to feel pain. Craig had learned the hard way that last bit was the kicker. Hopped up on sah, the restraints self-interest put on violence were gone, and Winkler would keep fighting long after the damage he'd taken should have forced him to quit.
"Oh, fuk it, Jurr's trying to talk him down."
Jurr probably hadn't intended to get his ass thrown across the room. Fortunately, Krai bones were hard enough he bounced. Also, fortunately, the cluster of people he bounced off of were drunk enough they'd probably suffered nothing more than minor bruising.
Then Torin's left arm went around Winkler's throat, her right hand wrapped around her left wrist forcing the hold tight. Face growing darker in the crock of her elbow, Winkler clawed at her arm, blunt nails sliding off her sleeve. His bare feet paddled against the stage, then slowed, then stopped. Torin eased him down, studied him for a moment through narrowed eyes, then straightened. "He won't be out for long," she snapped. "Tie him or trank him."
Craig grinned as a couple of Krai he didn't know moved quickly in and carried Winkler away. Their sah, their responsibility. Allowing a Human to get his hands on the liquid could mean charges laid if anyone on the station wanted to push the matter.
"She could kick your ass from here to the edge," Pedro murmured, draping an arm over Craig's shoulders.
"Not news."
"Bet she's realmente bueno in the rack."
"Not telling."
"You're in love."
Craig watched as every Krai still in the room dropped their eyes rather than meet Torin's gaze. Even those far enough away she couldn't possibly see their expressions, stared at the floor. Pedro hadn't actually asked a question, but Craig answered anyway. "Yeah," he said as Torin glanced his way. "I am."
"… so try to stay away until we've forgotten what your ugly face looks like. Torin can come around any time, though. What?" One of the family said something just out of range of the comm unit. "Jeremy says he's going to marry Torin when he grows up," Pedro translated.
"I'll consider that fair warning. Stay safe, asshole."
"And you, pendejo."
It was, Torin thought as Craig maneuvered the Promise out past a long line of the polyvoltaic cells that helped power the station, one of the strangest clearances she'd ever heard. The station OS had been involved only in the resealing of the access lock.
"So…" Craig sounded amused. "Something you're not telling me?"
"About?"
"You and Jeremy."
"He's a cute kid."
"I never knew you liked kids."
She shrugged. "I find I'm liking them more now I don't have to watch them die." Not that she'd ever actually watched them die; she'd fought like hell to keep them from dying. "Jeremy's young enough, he'll never get mixed up in this mess."
"Fifteen, sixteen years; you think the fighting will stop by then?"
"I think the war will have stopped by then. Fighting? In general?" The Elder Races of the Confederation believed that an interstellar presence could be achieved only by those species that had evolved beyond the desire to blow themselves-and others-into extinction. This caused them a problem when the Primacy, who clearly did not share this belief, attacked. And continued to attack, diplomacy be damned. When it came down to fight or die, the Confederation bent the rules enough to allow Humans, Krai, and di'Taykan to join their club even though none of the three had managed to do much more than break out of their own gravity well. As it turned out, it was entirely possible that the "plastic aliens" had juiced the Primacy, but that wasn't the point. The point was, there were three aggressive species buzzing around Confederation space, and no matter what Parliament seemed to think, they weren't all likely to put down the weapons they'd been using.
"Torin?"
"Do I think the fighting will stop?" She thought of saying ask Jan and Sirin, but he was asking her. "No."
"Pessimist."
Folding her arms along the top of his control chair, she rested her chin on his head. "Realist."
"You're thinking of the pirates."
"Not specifically." Pirates. Actual pirates. That was going to take some getting used to.
"So," he said again after a moment, still sounding amused, "you made an impression."
"On a four year old."
"Winkler was over aces, and you kept him from hurting anyone."
"Okay, I made an impression on a four year old and a sah addict. Winkler needs help."
"He needs to stay off the sah."
Torin sighed. The Corps would have slapped him into a program before the charge of self -inflicted damage had even hit his slate and then would have gone after the Krai who'd allowed his access to the beverage. Much the same thing would have happened on Paradise and on any station that maintained a government presence. Any hint of Humans getting their hands on sah and the Wardens would move in attempting to limit the damage. Salvage operators, though, they refused to interfere in the man's personal choice.
Individually, they were smart, tough, and adaptable. Working together, as a unit…
Would they work together as a unit, though; that was the question? Would they? Could they? What would it take?
Torin was just as glad to be leaving them behind. Individuality at the expense of the group went against everything she'd believed her entire adult life. Once Vrijheid had been just another government station, but the mining operations it had been intended to support had been destroyed in the war, and the cartels had cut their losses rather than rebuild. When William Ponner arrived, the station had been stripped to bare bones personnel, waiting to be moved off its L5 point and folded through Susumi space to a new location. Rumor, stripped to bare bones, said he'd barely been there a tenday when he'd hacked a database and convinced the powers-that-be the station's orbit had decayed due to damage taken during the attack. That it had crashed into the planet, all hands lost.
Apparently, he'd even implanted records of the Navy's investigation.
Cho figured hacking the Navy took balls the size of small moons and only doing it once took more brains than were usually evident in the Human species as a whole.
William Ponner-Big Bill to his friends and everyone who used the station was either his friend or about to become a statistic supporting the dangers of living in space-had used balls and brains to create his own personal fiefdom. If a captain had cargo to sell, it could be sold at Vrijheid, no questions asked, fifteen percent to Big Bill. If a captain wanted to outfit his ship so that picking up new cargoes became a little easier, he could do that at Vrijheid. Fifteen percent to Big Bill. If a crew wanted to spend their share of the money, they could do that, too. Sex, drugs, alcohol, high tech, low tech, and useless pretties that sparkled and shone. Fifteen percent to Big Bill. If a person with skills wanted to sell them to the highest bidder, no questions asked, they could sell those skills at Vrijheid. Fifteen percent to Big Bill.
He'd created a sanctuary for those who were tired of a Confederation designed to support the belief that the Elder Races' shit didn't stink. Humans, Krai, and di'Taykan almost exclusively-the so-called Younger Races who were treated by the government like they were too stupid or too unstable to be anything but cannon fodder-although every now and then, another race found a niche and filled it.