But moral argument and promises of deliverance from a person he didn’t half trust himself? Not so easy.
He felt Capella straighten his collar.
“Tommy-person. If I say on com, we got to move, we got to move. Tell Austin—if I was against him—I’d have switched keys on him. You know I could’ve, if he doesn’t. I can open any door on this ship, pick any pocket right now. He’s got that key I’m talking about. I’ll give him the code that answers that son of a bitch out there, the way I said. If everything goes wrong—he’s got to use it. Tell him so. Understand?”
“Chance this Patrick does know… where we’re going?”
“We see in the dark, lover. But not that well. Even figuring that old hulk’s on the Pell reach and the Tripoint perimeter… that’s a lot of space to search, for a quiet object. No. Odds are absolutely on him not knowing, especially the way he’s riding us. He doesn’t want to lose track of us. And if he’s any appreciable distance past us, hard-ordnance is impossible for him. Not impossible for us. We’ll fire right down his tail. That’s what I’ll try to do, position us where we got that chance. But Austin’s going to come out with everything screwed. Cargo screwed. Extra ship in the soup. Man’s going to be real damn mad at me.”
“Not your fault.”
“Yeah. But, you got to understand, I’m on real short credit with him.”
“Don’t understand.”
“Since Chrissy’s stunt at Pell? Both of us are on Austin’s shit-list. I want you to know this one more detaiclass="underline" this little card Austin’s got? Austin’s got to offload that mass, that’s one, because we’re loaded, and Patrick isn’t; and he’s got to feed the old wreck that keycard real fast, close as I’m dropping us. Austin doesn’t know that. It’s not a detail he’s ever needed to know. Keeps the suppliers honest, you understand. Now he has to know. That key-card gets the hold to open, in the lock slot. But in the cargo console slot, with the right code, that old wreck can write to that key-card—and he’s got to get me that authorization, he’s got to use that codeword before we get out of here. But if happens he doesn’t believe me—Tommy, if he won’t input or if he takes me off that nav board, we are screwed. I’ve got to be on the bridge. Beatrice has got to take the next figures I give her. If the captain orders me off the bridge, I tell you, I’m locking-down the navigation computers.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Oh, I can do it, Tommy, I can do it, and Bianco can probably crack my lock, given an hour or so. But Patrick’ll blow us to hell first. Austin will figure that part with no prompt at all.”
“God, you’re crazy.”
“I’ve been accused of that. But you watch me not talk, Tommy-sweet. Austin can ask me, pretty please. Austin can do what I say. “ A hand brushed his forehead. “I just want somebody but me to know, if it happens. But, listen, if Austin’s the man I think he is, he’ll deliver that damn cargo. That card’s his proof. His credit with the Fleet. Call it old-fashioned honor. I think they still use that word. He’ll fight to keep it.”
“How?” Consciousness came up for a moment. He saw her shadow against the running colors, solid mass, when nothing else was. Voices rang and echoed. Time might have passed. “I don’t understand how you can do this. How. Drop us. Anywhere.”
“Not much else you can control in this space, lover, just the power you can throw into the interface. Or dump off. Yeah, there’s things I can do. Patrick-bastard’s trying to hang back on me, not using the power he’s got. It’s an old trick, ride our wave and try to drop in behind us. He’d like to haul me down, but it’s dangerous as hell, and say he can’t do it without a gravity slope, so we’re safe for the while. Besides, he knows I got to dump down anyway—and I know where and he doesn’t. So when we hit the Tripoint slope, he’ll expect I’ll bobble the field and feint a drop. Wrong. I’ll drop us for real, right out from under him. So if he doesn’t read my mind, he’s potentiating elsewhere. Same event-packet. Puts us time-wise near simultaneous, position-wise as far separate as I can fake him, the gods of physics know where: the variables are hell, and one of ‘em’s Patrick. Wish I knew if that ghosty freighter’s an echo. If it’s real, she’ll come down, too. Just don’t know where.”
He was following it. Didn’t want to, but he was—at least the part that said they were riding close with ships on entry.
Military stuff.
They didn’t have to be boarded. Their own navigator was the breed an honest merchanter was most afraid of.
“Tommy-love, last warning, if Austin balks—h-a-v-o-c is the code he has to input to get us that authorization I need. Key-card in the cargo console slot while you input. Two should know that, down there. Tell him, if he asks, that Capella’s not betrayed him. “ Mouth covered his. Hand went down his side. Gentle touch. “You’re such an honest lad, Tommy-person. And there are so few. Go below when they ask for help. Saby’ll take you. They’ll need every hand they’ve got down in cargo and they damn sure won’t want you up where the computers are. Remember what I’ve said.”
“Huh?”
“Saby can get you down to cargo. I want you there. You just insist. G’night, lover. See you. See you otherside. “ Lips touched his again, passionately, deeply, gently. “Sweet, sweet dreams, Tommy.”
Trank was worn thin. Didn’t know long he’d waked, over all. Not long. Not often. Now he couldn’t get his equilibrium. Couldn’t rest, either, after the shadow was gone.
He lay there with sounds running through his brain, in the shifting chaos. Shutting the eyes didn’t stop it. Colors kept going off, flashes, like pressure against the eyes. Thoughts kept going, turning back on each other, and he wanted to believe. Wanted to believe his night-walker was telling, however selectively, the truth.
Didn’t know if it was scrambled logic, or if what you heard when the brain was flashing colors and rumbling with thunder that wasn’t sound… had to stick in your head, and you couldn’t discriminate what was lies.
Distances go down a tunnel, don’t they?
Remember what I’ve said…
—iii—
SHIP DROPPED. LONG, long sequence. Body ached.
The whole of space seemed to bend.
Supposed to be a hard one, it was all right, it was supposed to be this way.
Then… he began to think it wasn’t going right, that the ship was in trouble.
Something boomed through the hull. Vibration began—that experience didn’t explain. He grabbed at Saby’s hand, felt Saby’s fingers bend around his.
He tried to keep his breaths deep and even. Dreams ran and melted color across his vision. Memories of sound. Memories of a lingering, deeply erotic kiss, a touch running over his skin.
Boom. Thump. His pulse pounded
A moment of profound hush, the air gone numb.
Hydraulics worked, somewhere in the frame. Wasn’t cargo. Couldn’t figure…
Third loud boom. He’d never heard a ship sound like that on entry.
“We are here. “ A calm voice on com. Beatrice’s, he thought, comforted by that icy competence. “Stay belted. We are in docking approach. Essential movement only. “
It didn’t seem real. “Can’t,” he muttered, thinking he must have passed out a while, lost some hours of time. “Docking? We can’t be, this soon.”
“We hit real close to the target,” Saby murmured. “Pella’s good. She always does this one. “ Her hand moved. He turned his head, making the whole universe seem to tilt. Saby had found the nutri-packs, he thought. He heard the rustling, reached to help her.
Pilot couldn’t be better off. Trying to dock. The shakes crawling up a body’s gut respected no occupation and no emergency, while Capella…