"Tom."

"I'm not in the mood, now. Forget it."

"Tom. Wait. Talk."

"What's the difference? I'm going back. Nothing in hell else I can do. You win. You've got all the answers."

"It's not going to be like it was."

"Like what? Shanghaied off my ship? Is that going to change?"

"Other things can change. You can work into crew. The allowances are huge, I mean, it's not just the captain picking up the tab, the hired-crew lives real well. You couldn't do better on Sprite. "

Some things maybe you didn't want to question. Some things could be real trouble to question. But he was in it, deep, and deeper.

"What's Corinthianhaul?"

"No different than Sprite. "

"The hell it isn't."

"We sell, we buy, no damn difference—"

"Then where? Is that the question? Where do you haul it to? Can we handle that one?"

Silence, the other side of the dark. Then: "Ask Austin."

" Austin, is it?"

"Most of the time. To us. To regular crew. You could do what you trained to do—"

"On a damn pirate?"

"Just a hauler. Nothingwe're ashamed of. We're damn proud of our ship. We've reason to be proud."

He wanted to believe that. He had no idea how many dicings of logic it might take to believe it didn't matter… who you traded with, or for what, or with what blood on it.

Silence again. And dark. Then: "I've already said more than I should. Aboard the ship, I'll tell you. You don't talk in sleepovers. Some stations bug rooms. Pell doesn't—that we know of. But still—"

He'd never heard that. But no station had ever had a motive to bug Spritecrew's rooms. And it didn't change anything.

"Yeah," he said, "so the pay's good. That says a lot."

"I'm not a criminal. Austin isn't."

"That's not the rumor."

"I sleep at night."

"Is that a testimony to your character?"

"You don't know our business, you don't know a damn thing. You're assuming."

"I'm going back because I can't go to the cops without get ting stuck on this station. That's all you need. That's as much as you can buy, I don't care what else you're selling."

Another silence. A thunderous, long one before Saby returned to her bed, shadow in shadow, a rustling in the dark. She sat down. He couldn't see detail by the night-light, it was too close to her. He couldn't see her face, whether she was just mad, or hurt.

Didn't need to have said 'selling. ' Wrong word. Real wrong word. He'd been on the receiving end of words too often not to feel it racket through his nervous system.

"Sorry," he said. "I can believe you. Not him."

Silence. A long time. He didn't want the solitude of the bath, now, but he didn't think he was going to sleep. Still, she didn't move.

Not for as long as he waited.

"Saby, dammit, I'm sorry."

"Sure. No problem. " The voice wobbled. Unfair. "Go to bed. I said no sex. I don't need the damn favor, all right?"

"Saby. This is stupid."

"Fine."

"My father told you to get me in bed?"

"No!"

Wrong step, again. He couldn'tsleep with Saby hating his guts. He wasn't going to sleep. Shewas going to talk to him and calm down. "I liked tonight, Saby. For God's sake, I did. I had a good time. " He couldn't restrain the barb. "When papa lets me out of the brig I'd like to do it again, somewhere."

Long pause. "There's still tonight."

"I'm not in the damn mood! God!"

Another watery silence.

"Dammit," he said, "I'm worried.—I'm scared, all right? I'm making the wrong choice, I'm doing something stupid, maybe I shouldstay here and deal with the cops, maybe it's better I get stranded for the rest of my life, I don't know!"

"Tom."

"God,—fuck off, will you?"

He hadn't meant to say that. He was rattled. He was cornered. It was six in the damn morning of the day he had to go back or go nowhere for the rest of his life.

He saw the shadow lie down, heard the rustle of sheets drawn up.

"Saby."

Silence.

"Saby, dammit. " He went over to the bed. He sat down on the edge, shook her foot.

Jerk of that foot, out of his vicinity. "No favors. I'm sorry. Forget it."

He sat there a moment, obdurate against the silence. He tried to think how to patch it. Found the foot again and patted it, a lump under the covers.

She didn't move.

"It was an experience," he said, unwilling to break it off in her angry silence. "It's been a good time. " More silence. But no jerk away from him. "It's just over, is all. Bills come due. Don't know if I can handle this one."

Foot moved. Second one joined it. Wiggled toes against his leg, once, twice.

He patted it, too. "Get some sleep. " He started to get up.

"Tom. " Saby reached out an arm. "Tom,—"

"Don't play games. Go to sleep."

"It's not games, dammit. I can't talk to you, I can't make sense."

Still upset. She'd found his arm, he found her knee. He sat there, just glad he'd made some kind of peace, moved his hand, she moved hers, a clumsy, mutual peace-making that wasn't, then, only that, he wasn't sure if it was him, or her, going past that, but they were past that, her arm sliding up, his sliding down, bodies shifting—

"Tom—"

He wasn't thinking, then. Lower brain took over. His hand moved, found a hip, whatever, among the sheets—mouth found mouth, hands moved at liberty, knees looked for places to be, amid a tangle of covers, and covers grew more tangled, bodies more urgent, brain going lower by the second. Knew he was in trouble. He'd never wanted sex as much as now and he hadn't even solved the damn sheet-tangle. She was doing better with his shirt. He started on hers. Yes-no was out the airlock. Decompression. He was breathing, that was all he could swear to. They were one creature, with the damn sheets somewhere involved, but clothes went, buttons, zips, whatever was in the way—went, until breathing itself was in jeopardy.

Nothing logical, no cautions, no stop-waits, Saby made him crazy and he didn't know why it was different.

He arrived, blind-deaf-red flashes in deep dark, no breath at all until he sank into a sweating, gasping tangle of sheets and skin, Saby's fingers wandered up and down his neck—she didn't say anything, wanted more, maybe, than he could do, and it was going to be awhile, for him, but not for her, so he made love to her, careful, oh, so careful, afraid he'd been too rough—didn't want to hurt anybody, never had, just everybody trapped him, everybody had their own agenda, and Saby, latest and least involved jailer he had, just wanted more—was that news?

She didn't say anything, the dark told him nothing his hands didn't find out, but she had a second and, quickly after, a third trip, holding to him, saying finally, oh, God, oh, God, over and over, didn't know if it was all right, but Saby was having a good trip out of it, that was all he picked up, and he knew Austin had hurt Marie, but he wasn't hurting Saby, she just held tighter to him and wanted until he wondered how long she could go on and whether he could do damage—but: The last night, kept racketing through his skull, and: Last chance. 'Nuf, she said once, and, oh, God, but her hands and her body were still saying something else, after which… after which he hit that quick, mind-numbing flashpoint. Lower brain took control again, and the night warped around him, long, long, release—