Krisk had been a Navy engineer. Accelerated promotion to petty officer and moving up fast. Then, during a battle, he'd eaten his lieutenant. Eating her had meant Krisk could stay at his post and make the repairs that saved the ship. It might have been ignored-heat of the battle, circumstances needs must-except that there had been other organics Krisk could have eaten instead. Not to mention that the review board hadn't been entirely convinced it had been the enemy that killed her.

Cho glared down at his screen. Krisk had advised against bringing the Susumi engines on-line until he checked them out.

"Shielding could've held. They might be fine. 'Course, we're toasted if they're not. Take me some time to make sure."

"How much time?"

"If you trust Lemon-and-Lime-boy to do the external patching, I can run basic tests in three. Results'll tell me how much longer."

"You've got two." Cho indicated that Almon should suit up and join Nadayki outside.

"Well, that's fukking great. My jernil always said there'd be no one to eat me after I'm gone."

Two days minimum before they could get the Susumi drive back on-line. Five and a half days folded into Susumi space to get back to Vrijheid Station. Seven and a half days with food for two. Even if the Humans and di'Taykan went on short rations to keep the Krai fed, that was dangerous bordering on covering each other in steak sauce.

"Keep rations as short as you can," he told Nat finally. "Use the supplements. How are we for water?"

"We've got water up the wazoo, Cap."

"If a wazoo is what I think it is…" Almon grinned, pausing half into his HE suit, "… there's this place where you can…"

Cho glared Almon to silence and bent over his slate, searching for a closer station where they could resupply without attracting the attention of the sector's Wardens. Torin checked the balance on her slate one more time as they walked away from the quartermaster's office. "You're certain people make a living doing this job?"

"Some of us do." Craig bumped against her, his shoulder warm and solid. "MidSector stations pay more, but they need less and they charge more for docking and respiration. OutSector stations need the materials, so they'll take everything you have, but they haven't the lolly. It's a balancing act." His gesture took in the minimal distractions offered in the station's commercial pier where there was one bar and an undersupplied store. "And how could you refuse these hardworking people the pleasure of our company?"

Torin shook her head. "Let me guess. Bored people are more willing to play cards with you even though the last time you were through, you cleaned them out."

He grinned. "I may have won a couple of hands.

"Unfortunately, Lurell, at least for you, full house, tens over threes, beats three nebulas." Craig scoped in the pot as Lurell ruffled her feathers and made quiet hooting noises.

Lurell's pale blue crest hadn't entirely grown in making her just barely adult by Rakva standards. Old enough to be in the bar, therefore, old enough to play. Although Torin knew better than to extrapolate an emotional state from the facial expressions of a nonmammalian species, she felt safe assuming that, like most kids her age, Lurell believed her luck would change if she just kept playing long enough. Technically true, given that continued play would teach her luck had less to do with winning than learning when to fold. From the way her feathers kept ruffling up along the back of her neck, Torin suspected she'd already lost more than she should have-in spite of the credit chits still in front of her.

Lifting her head, Torin frowned past Lurell's shoulder and across the bar toward the windows-Craig liked the potential for a quick escape an outside seat represented, Torin preferred a wall at her back. "Lurell, you know a big male Rakva with a dark blue crest?"

Lurell jumped and only just managed to keep from looking over her shoulder. "This one has a brother with a dark blue crest," she admitted, with studied nonchalance. "Why does one ask?"

Torin shrugged. "He just went by outside on the concourse. He didn't look happy."

"How could one tell?"

"Could have been the way his crest was up," Torin told her, blandly. "Or could have been because people were hauling ass out of his way."

"Ah. And he is…?"

Taking a long swallow of beer, Torin put the bottle down before answering. "He's gone now."

"Ah."

Cards shuffled, Kensu, the scarlet-haired di'Taykan dealing, paused as Lurell pushed her chits around on the table "You in, baby bird?"

"Yes… No."

His eyes lightened. "Which is it?"

Crest flattened, she scooped up her chits and stood. "This one remembers this one has things to do. This one…" She opened and closed her beak a couple of times, then ruffled her feathers-the Rakva equivalent of a blush-and headed for the door. Where she paused and turned. "This one wonders which way…"

"That way." Torin pointed.

Lurell nodded. Left the bar. Went the other way.

"Not that I'm objecting…" Kensu dropped a red nebulae in front of her on his first circuit of the table. "… but why make up stories to scare the baby bird away?"

"I don't like taking money from children." Torin checked her cards again. They hadn't changed into something she could use.

"No brother?" Craig asked, brow up. He hadn't been able to see the window. Kensu had.

"No brother." The quartermaster had been a Rakva with Lurell's coloring. Pictures of his fledglings had been scattered around the office. The blue feathers in the crests were fairly distinctive, so she'd played the odds.

"How's she going to learn if you mollycoddle her?" Surrivna Pen, one of the two Niln at the table wondered. "Kid needs to learn the world'll shit on her if it can."

"She doesn't need to learn it from me," Torin said.

The Niln snorted something that sounded very much like, "Soft."

Rolling her shoulders, Torin considered responding to the deliberate provocation and decided against it. A fight would end the game, and given what they'd made for the salvage, Craig's skill at the table had taken on a new relevance.

"Done dealing," Kensu pointed out. "Ante up, people."

Torin sighed and turned her facing cards down. Time to call it a night. "Try not to lose the ship," she murmured, gripping Craig's shoulder as she passed.

He grinned. "Have I ever?"

"Not so far."

Heading out the door, she passed an older Human woman with short gray hair hurrying in on a direct line to the poker table. With her was a Human male, moving a little slower, paying more attention to his surroundings. There was nothing about him that attracted attention, but Torin figured it was a surer thing than her last hand that his outer calm covered an inner twitchiness. No mistaking the tension that pleated the soft skin around his eyes. Ex-military-the tells were obvious to anyone who'd spent as much time in uniform as Torin had-with the look of someone who'd seen too much and not been able to let any of it go. He was the first person she'd met since getting out that she wasn't entirely positive she could beat if it came to a fight. He'd nodded in her direction as they passed, an acknowledgment that carried the hint of a warning.

Torin had no intention of sharing war stories. She let the warning stand.

"So." Craig watched the Human woman lay her money on the table and grinned, "Who are you when you're home, then, mate?"

"None of your damned business who I am at home." But she smiled as she said it. When making an effort to be charming, Craig knew he was hard to ignore. "I'm Nat when I'm here, though."

"You're not local."

"You psychic?"

"These fine folk are local…" He indicated the other four players, "… and they don't know you from a H'san's ass either. That tells me you're docked here. Like me. Salvage."