“I see,” said Sirkin, just to stop the process, whatever it was. She had to have time, space, silence. She couldn’t deal with all this now. She made herself meet the older woman’s eyes. “Is this meeting your idea?”
Kirsya smiled. It was a very mature smile. “A meeting, certainly. But Uptop was Amalie’s idea. In my experience, meetings should take place where the client is comfortable—not that Amalie is my client anymore, of course.”
“Of course,” Sirkin echoed.
“I certainly wasn’t planning to intrude on your . . . evening together.” Again, a missing word hung in the air; she had not quite said last evening together. “I did want to meet the person who has been so important in Amalie’s life. Perhaps we could chat a bit another time, where it’s quieter?”
“Of course,” Sirkin said, though she couldn’t think what about. Perhaps this woman thought she would come for therapy, too. Never, she thought, and hoped it didn’t show on her face. She struggled for lightness in her tone, and turned to Yrilan. “Well, Amalie, just what kind of mess did you get into? Or is that confidential now?”
“Oh—I was playing Goorlah and I sort of . . . well . . . overdid it.”
Gambling again. She’d promised to quit, and since she hadn’t shown up broke or in debt, Sirkin thought maybe she’d really reformed. “How bad?” she asked now.
“No worry. I got a temp job with Kirsya’s help, and paid it off. And I know, I shouldn’t have gambled at all. I promised you. But it was only that once.”
It wouldn’t have been only that once, Sirkin knew, but it would be useless to argue. She found herself cataloguing the things she had loved about Amalie Yrilan from the beginning, from the color of her hair to the sound of her laugh, as she would have catalogued the attractions of a navigating system she would never use again. Already Amalie belonged to the past, although she sat there, eyes wide and excited. Sirkin felt a cold lump in her belly, and wished she could evaporate like the spilled drinks.
Kirsya, with an understanding look that Sirkin wanted to remove from her face with a blaster, turned to Yrilan. “Well—what have you two planned for the evening?” Yrilan answered eagerly, her voice already showing the effects of the drinks she’d had.
“Califa’s for dinner, maybe some dancing, then a party wherever we find one. We’re in the mood for fun, aren’t we, Brig?”
Sirkin forced a smile to meet Kirsya’s. She would not, absolutely not, show that cradle-robbing sleaze what she felt. “Celebration,” she said, surprising herself with the sound of her own voice. It held none of the pain she felt, but considerable force. Kirsya looked confused a moment, then smiled widely and pushed back her chair.
“Then I’d better get along and let you enjoy it. By the way—if you didn’t happen to see the announcement, they’ve closed the F-way slides for repair, so if you’re going to Califa’s, it’s shorter from here to use the Number 11 bounce-tube and that shortcut through Avery Park than go all the way back to the G-way slides.”
“Thank you,” said Sirkin. Shortcut through Avery Park, indeed. She had more sense than that, and she’d bet that Kirsya never went there—not dressed in silk and jewels, anyway. “We’re in no hurry,” she said. “There’s a shop on G-way that I’d like to visit anyway.” She had meant to buy Yrilan a certain piece of jewelry there. Now . . . she didn’t know, but she certainly didn’t want to follow Kirsya’s suggestion. The older woman shrugged, gave Yrilan a smile that seemed entirely too warm, and squeezed past other chairs on her way out. She had an elegant back, long and supple, and Sirkin saw how many others noticed it.
“She really helped me,” Yrilan said. “I hoped you’d like her.”
“I’m glad,” Sirkin said to the first part of that. She couldn’t deal with the second part. Her throat had closed; she didn’t want any more of the spicy fries. “Are you ready?” It sounded churlish even to her.
“Look—” Yrilan glanced around and leaned closer. “I know you’re upset, but let’s not spoil the evening. Maybe I’m wrong; maybe Serrano will hire me. If she does, I’ll do anything I can to stay on her good side. At least we can enjoy this.”
“Right.” Sirkin tried to push the depression and grumpiness away. “But I’m really not in the mood for more fries—and you’re not eating them now—so could we please go somewhere that the music doesn’t split my brain?”
“All right.” Yrilan twitched her shoulders and pushed away from the table. Sirkin followed her out, sighing internally.
But out in the open, Yrilan seemed to relax, and they walked together as they always had. They stopped to look in shop windows—Yrilan thought a blue—and-violet wrap would look good on Sirkin, and Sirkin shrugged and agreed to try it on. The shop wasn’t much out of their spending range, though they both agreed the wrap didn’t look that good on. Sirkin felt her own nerves settling as they came out of the shop. Maybe it would be all right this time—maybe. She was still thinking that when Yrilan turned toward the Number 11 bounce-tube entrance.
“Hey—let’s go back to G-way slides. There’s a place I wanted to show you—”
“Maybe after dinner.” Yrilan scowled. “I saw the look on your face—you’re just afraid of Avery Park. And that’s silly at this time of day. It’s not that far past shiftchange rush, and it’s only second shift anyway.” Sirkin glanced around. Traffic had eased, but it was busy enough; the bounce-tube entrance had a short line. If they waited until after dinner, and then Amalie insisted on testing her courage, the park would be even more dangerous.
“Eh, Amalie!” The man wore ordinary spacers’ coveralls, but no ship patch. He had appeared suddenly in the park, just when Sirkin had been thinking how empty it was, how silly it had been to object to the shortcut. Sirkin felt the twitch in Yrilan’s hand. Someone she knew, then, and someone she didn’t really want to see. An ordinary face, perhaps a bit paler than average, with lank gray-brown hair. “That your friend you told us about? Handsome, she is.”
“Back off, Curris.” Yrilan sounded cross and scared both. “We’re not interested in your games.”
“Games of your own, eh?” He laughed, and so did his companions. Sirkin did not like the looks of the three men and two women. All, like him, wore spacers’ coveralls with not a ship patch among them. Bad sign, that. Station dwellers didn’t wear spacers’ clothes; they had their own styles that didn’t offer as many hiding places for weapons. “She looks a bit nervous, Amalie—didn’t you tell her about the party?”
“We’re not coming,” Yrilan said. “That’s why I came up here—to tell you. We’ve got other plans.”
“Now that’s not friendly, hon,” the man said. “Y’know what we agreed. Just a party, that’s all, just a chance to chat with your friend there.”
“No.” Sirkin realized suddenly that Yrilan was really scared, not just nervous. That the tension of the past hour or so had had little to do with her, and a lot to do with this man and the “party” he mentioned.
“Kirsya knows about it,” Yrilan said. She was bluffing, whatever that was supposed to mean. Sirkin had known her too long to be fooled by that tone. And the man must recognize it, too. “She approved the change of plans.”
“I don’t think so,” the man said. “You’re as bad at lying as you are at gambling, Amalie.”
“You—” Yrilan began. Sirkin touched her arm.
“Let’s go, Amalie. No sense talking.”
“Now there you’re wrong,” the man said, switching his gaze to her face. Sirkin tried not to shiver visibly. She had known they shouldn’t come this way; now she wondered how far away a Security alarm was. “There’s a lot of sense talking, when the alternatives are . . . less pleasant.”
A gleam, in his hand. In another hand or two, in that group. All Captain Serrano’s warnings came back to her, and everything her former crew had added. But she didn’t have that training; she had no idea what to do when faced with people like this in a shadowy corner where she should never have come. Yet she couldn’t have let Amalie come this way alone, could she?