"What could I have seen in that warehouse?"

"I don't know. What were you looking for?"

"You could be a lawyer. Was it something 1 could have seen or just a chance to get at my mother's son?"

"That's then. Now's now. " She sipped her whiskey. "They've a marvelous dessert. Orange creme cake."

He wasn't even tempted. "You," he said. "No thanks."

"Board-call's tomorrow. Are you going to go?"

"Have I got a choice?"

"Oh, you could raise a fuss right now. Yell for the cops, all sorts of things."

"I could end up stuck here. Legaled to death. I'd as soon be dead."

"So you'll go back without a fuss?"

"Sure. " His turn to shrug. They'd been through it before. He didn't know why she'd started down this track. "No passport. No choice. " He dreamed of answering that board-call, showing up and having Corinthianhand him to the cops, claim they never knew him. He didn't understand Saby. They'd spent a lot of money. Saby had spent it… on her account, Saby said. Or he'd spent Christian's cash.

But he could get to that customs gate only to discover it was hisaccount she was accessing and the ship wasn't paying. In that case, he hadthat station-debt, and he had to pay it, if the ship wouldn't. No passport, no ID, no ship willing to pay for him. That was the scenario he'd slowly put together—Saby swearing to customs that he'd lied to her, they were his charges, not hers, with a whole ship to back her story and damn him to a spacer's hell.

"You're worried about something," Saby said.

"I can't imagine why."

"I don't know what. Whether you can trust me? Is that it?"

"It's an obvious question."

"You're a nice guy. You are. I told the captain that."

"Thanks. Did you tell him not to knock me into walls? I'd appreciate that."

"I really like you," Saby said.

His heart went thump. Brain cut out of the loop. Why? was the last logical thought.

"You want to dance?" Saby asked, and reached out her hand on the tabletop. "Come on. Slow-dancing. Nothing fancy."

He really didn't want to. A, he didn't want to make a fool of himself. B, he didn't know where the conversation had taken the turn it did or why Saby suddenly got personal. He'd a drink to finish, but the mouth wasn't working and the brain was on shut-down. He tossed off the rest of the drink to calm his stomach, hooked fingers with Saby—let Saby tug him to his feet and walk him out into the dreadful tilting visions of the walls and the reflections on the floor. The alcohol hit, and he was right in front of the big viewport, where the stars were moving and small and far, behind the silhouetted dancers. They were potentially in people's way, but others managed not to bump them, and Saby turned him toward her, holding both his hands—kept one, drew one behind her waist, at the curve of a—he wasn't dead—satin-clad hip.

"Relax," she said, and laughed, and bumped his foot with hers. "Step, step, step, turn—"

The room spun. He managed to breathe and move, step, step, step, turn, with Saby, and they hadn't knocked into anybody. They moved with the traffic, joined the movement around the swirling floor, the sweeping walls.

"Isn't that easy?"

She made him lose where he was. The dreadful face of the planet was coming into view—he got the count back, desperately, and took Saby's lead for a giddy turn, abandoned hope of equilibrium, and began to figure Saby wasn't going to steer him into collision, he just had to stay with it, feel when she moved, listen to the music…

"There," Saby said, "now you're getting it."

It was more commitment to Saby's guidance than he wanted, period. He'd held back. He'd maintained a stolid non-involvement and non-interest in Saby Perrault—he'd read a book, sat on his bed, they'd discussed colors and her harmless preference for coffee over tea. But he was occupied in keeping up, now, and, he guessed, by Saby's mercy, not making too much of a fool of himself—nobody was staring, and Saby seemed happy. The alcohol buzz made the images fuzz, and his heart that thumped in panic at the grand sweep of the planet, the deadly gulf of infall, found a sustainable level of adrenaline and kept time, thump, thump, thump to the music and the dizzy turns.

Silence came like a stop in the universe. He stood, hard-breathing, dizzy, with one hand where not-dancing made it too familiar, and the other sweating in Saby's grasp. Everybody applauded, the band got a second wind, and while some drifted back to the tables, Saby said it was a slow tune and she'd teach him that step, too.

It wasn't so organized as the fast step, just kind of wandering back and forth, no way for anybody to be conspicuous, the stars there beyond the shadows of other couples, Saby's body brushing his on a regular sort of movement that he… didn't really mind. Much. Often. He was wary. He asked himself if he was being seduced, or if she was—taking a stupid chance, if that was what was happening. But if Saby wanted to end this up with bed, he could agree with that, he'd been clever as long as he could, and stupid was taking over with a vengeance.

Wasn't his fault. Wasn't any way out of the trap he was in. Might as well enjoy anything that came before. There was, tomorrow, inevitably the day after. And Austin.

The dance ended.

"Want to sit?" Saby asked.

"What do you want?"

"Want to dance," Saby said. So they did, a fast one this time. He remembered. Saby floated in his arms, threw changes and embellishments into the steps and the turns he couldn't match—she was gorgeous. The light of magnified stars sparked on cut-away sleeves that fluttered against her and away again, her hair eclipsed the light like a swirl of shadow—he kept up with her, he took her cues, and when the music was done, she laughed, breathless, and applauded, dragged him back to the table when the music was done.

Two fresh drinks were sitting there. He didn't think that was a good idea. He sipped at his, out of breath, himself, with far less work, and she sipped at hers, the same, until they'd both caught their breaths and cured the dry mouths.

The music had settled to a saner pace. "Go again?" Saby asked.

"Sure," he said. He hadn't had all his drink. He wanted water, but the waiter was invisible, and Saby was happy… a yes could do that, it was easy, and it wasn't with most people in his experience—a new experience, she was, no negatives, hell, you could get too easy, you could get to likemaking Saby happy. So here he was, going out onto the floor, for one dance and then two, slow and sane dancing, just wandering back and forth. Saby leaned her head on his shoulder, and body moved against body, her instigation: he didn't want her complaining tomorrow, telling her crewmates and her captain he'd had the ideas and she hadn't.

Because maybe it wasn't a come-ahead. He couldn't figure, and all the higher brain managed was a warn-off, a wait-see. Brain-base was on slow ignite, and feedback from the lower body circuits was hitting warning, warning…

Music faded. Applause and sort-out was a reprieve. They stared at each other in the giddy dark and… he wasn't sure whose initial motion it was… joined the drift back to tables and drinks.

They rested, they got at least the moisture in the drinks—he wanted water, Saby said she did, and they tried to catch a waiter, but the next dance was starting. They danced some more, the drinks kept refilling every time they got back to the table, and by then they were immortal and impervious to successive rounds. They danced, they drank, they danced until the stars were blurry, until, in the ending of a slow number, while they moved in a slow, brain-buzzed drift, the speakers announced shift-change, and last call.