"You were convenient, and Nat showed some initiative. It was nothing personal."

"It is from where I'm sitting."

"Yes, and speaking of where you're sitting…" Standing directly in front of the chair, Doc pulled out his slate. "… how much damage did Almon do?"

He sounded like he actually cared. A little confused, Craig took stock. "Nothing's broken."

"Are you sure? Your nose is distinctly crooked."

"Did that six years ago."

"Well, all right, then." Doc tapped the screen, and the straps holding Craig to the chair fell away.

There were only two of them, and neither of them was armed. Torin wouldn't thank him for sitting around on his ass, waiting for her to arrive.

Craig surged up onto his feet and would have fallen flat on his face had Doc not caught him as his right knee gave out. The pain in his leg caused the pain in his head to spike, and if he'd had anything left in his stomach, he would have spewed all over the other man.

His grip surprisingly gentle, Doc lowered him back into the chair. "I can't help if you don't tell me where it hurts." He sounded annoyed.

"Forgot I did… that." It hurt to breathe. First time Craig ever knew his knees were connected to his lungs.

"You did that? Ah!" Doc nodded before Craig had a chance to answer. "Fighting to get free. You can't get free. No one can."

Just for an instant there was enough crazy under the concern that Craig, in spite of being a good six to eight centimeters taller and just as heavily built, flinched away from his touch.

The cabin they locked him in had a bunk, facilities that folded up into the wall, a blank vid screen, and a good-sized locker. It smelled like disinfectant, but that might have just been the lingering fragrance of what they'd sloshed him off with. Ship this size would have been designed to give everyone a bit of privacy, so Craig had no way of telling if the cabin had belonged to officer or enlisted.

Half the secondhand ships in known space were decommissioned Navy ships; weapons removed.

Of course where weapons had been, weapons could be again. Promise hadn't been… wasn't armed-wasn't because he would get back to her and his injured lady would fly again. Not that a salvaged weapon had done Jan and Sirin any good. Probably got them killed. If they hadn't had the weapon, they'd have cut and run.

Survived.

Let the Navy and the Corps play silly bugger with their lives.

Civilians were supposed to be smarter than that.

Stretched out on the bunk, Craig shifted his bad leg and noted with fuzzy appreciation that nothing hurt.

"I'm not going to bother with a healing sleeve until we know we're keeping you, but there's no reason you have to be in pain."

Something in Doc's voice gave Craig the impression that, should there be a reason, Doc had no problem at all with pain.

The bunk was surprisingly comfortable. Or he was remarkably stoned.

Either/or. Both.

He woke when the hatch slammed open. The thrum of the engines hadn't changed; they were still traveling through Susumi space.

"Thought you'd like to know…" Nat grinned at him from the open hatch; her expression lecherous enough that he realized he was still naked, "… we've decided to keep you. Welcome aboard, gorgeous."

But she relocked the hatch when she closed it. It hadn't occurred to Torin that the salvage station might not give a ship from Sector Central News permission to dock.

"Oh, for fuksake!" Her head still throbbed, but sleeping through most of the fold had done her good. "Are we within a hundred kilometers?"

"Yes." Merik glanced down at his board. "But we are being…"

Torin cut the pilot off. "Keep heading in. I've got this. My codes are on file." She tongued her implant. This was the station's business whether they wanted it to be or not.

Pedro met her at the air lock, arms open, cheeks wet. As soon as the docking beacon had locked, she'd contacted him directly and told him the story. No point in wasting travel time. "Chica, I'm so sorry!"

Because Torin had been afraid, in the pause before he'd answered her, that it had been his ship the pirates had destroyed at the debris field, she went into his arms and hugged him hard enough to feel his heart beating. Hard enough to feel he was alive. Then she pulled away and said, "I need everything you know about the pirates."

"Madre Deos, why are you pink?" He lifted her hand to eye level.

"Suit sealant." She twisted free. "Focus. I need a list of every pirate attack; I need sightings, rumors, hearsay. I need it all."

"Torin…"

"And we need to get everyone on this station together in the market. I'll need access to the internal comm. No…" She shook her head, editing as she headed for the center of the station,"… better you do it. They know you.

Pedro fell into step beside her. "Torin, what…"

"We're going after Craig."

"What?"

Before Torin could expand on her plan, a small hand grabbed the back of her tunic and yanked her to a stop. She turned far enough to see Presit glaring up at her.

When she saw she had Torin's attention, Presit shifted her gaze to Pedro. "You are probably knowing me, Presit a Tur durValintrisy of Sector Central News. Torin are not exactly having manners. Mind you, I are not exactly happy about leaving my assistant behind, so things are balancing out."

The salvage operators had agreed to Presit's presence but had refused to allow her to record within the station. As the law stated recording devices had to be visible to most species at ten meters, regardless of the actual size of the device, Ceelin's absence was considered a gesture of good faith.

Pedro frowned, scrubbing a hand over damp cheeks. "Torin, why is she here?"

Torin opened her mouth to say something about the story but realized that wasn't actually the reason. Wouldn't have been the reason even had Ceelin and the equipment been with them "Craig was her friend."

Presit snorted. "For all he are having a patchy pelt and a dubious love life."

"Dubious?"

"… and we know he's on the Heart of Stone. The image Promise recorded matched on all points the ship docked at the station at the same time we were. The pirates have what they need now, so they'll have gone to ground somewhere they feel safe. We find the Heart of Stone, we find Craig."

"They're fukking pirates!" someone yelled from the concourse. "They feel safe with other pirates."

"That's my point," Torin told him. "You need to band together and create an opposing fleet. We not only rescue Craig but eliminate a good portion of the pirate threat."

One of the overhead fans had a loose bearing and made a metal on metal burr with every rotation. The people on the concourse were silent. Faces that had been turned toward her turned toward the deck.

"Torin. Craig's dead." Over against the bulkhead, Alia waved her hands as though she thought she needed movement to attract Torin's attention. As if her name and the declaration weren't enough.

"We can't know that."

"They've had him…" Her voice broke. "They've had him for hours."

It had taken roughly four and a half hours for Torin to get back to the Promise. Seven hours spent unconscious. Forty minutes to walk from the medical facilities to Presit's ship. Ninety minutes to get far enough away from the station to fold. Ninety minutes to get from the point where they'd emerged to the salvage station. Thirty-three minutes to gather the salvage operators and their families in the concourse. Torin had been up on the stage in the corner, talking for half an hour. Craig had been with the pirates for sixteen hours. Roughly.

Except…

She'd been used to living her life like time spent in Susumi didn't count-ships emerged seconds after they folded regardless of how long they spent inside. Time in the Corps, time spent being ferried from battle to battle and home again, had probably aged her another five to seven years. Med-op kept records. She'd never checked.