Then nowhere for a while, floating in that chaos-place where time didn't run the same, or directionally, or anything, hadn't the Voice said it to him? He went there, every which direction, he didn't think what he was doing, sensation just Was, and still echoed.

Came to with a body draped over him, that waked and stirred when he moved a leg that had fallen asleep. Body burrowed against him and held on, keeping him warm against the air… didn't know who it was for a moment, didn't know where he was, but he remembered, then, it was Saby, and he couldn't see the rest of his life in front of him. It was all dark, all blank, after where he was.

"You awake?" Saby asked him.

"Yeah," he said, and she moved over him, payback, he thought, sure he'd been too rough, but she wasn't—he kept expecting it and not admitting it, and she grew scary and strange to him as the night-walker—or the walker wasn't ever who he thought. Maybe nothing on the ship was what it seemed, nothing safe, not his life, not his freedom from kinship to them, not his sanity, not since he'd gone out in that warehouse and made jump with Corinthian. His anger wasn't there anymore, his fear wasn't, Saby'd taken it all inside, left just the no-place in front of him, the dark that wrapped him around and invited him, dared him, wanted him…

Saby pulled him in, Saby held on to him, Saby said she'd make everything all right: she was down to promises, like his Pollycrewwoman, who always said she liked him, never that she loved, and he wouldn't have believed that, anyway—it wasn't in his universe, wasn't here, just… Saby, Saby, in the corridor, on Sprite…Saby, pushing him away…

"What's the matter?" Saby asked, and passed a hand over his shoulder, but he'd gone shivery and a little spaced, and asking himself where his mind was, that he made that jump, Saby to Marie. Bad navigation, crazy stuff she'd called up in him. It made him ashamed, and scared again, as if he'd crossed some strange space where identities and faces changed, floating lights, like the chaos around the night-walker.

He twitched, bad jump, quick intake of breath, couldn't help it, he was falling for a second.

But Saby had him, Saby brought him back with a pass of her hand across his forehead, down his face.

"You all right?" Saby asked. That was a trap. Serious trap. If you believed she gave a damn…

If you thought Marie cared… if you ever thought that…

"Tom? Hey. Hey. Bad dream?"

He drew a breath, let it go, relieved Marie had retreated from conscious level. Didn't want to think about Marie, she got into dreams and they turned in strange directions… Marie held him close in the dark. He was eight, maybe nine, too old to sit on anybody's lap, the lights had cycled off, but Marie was in a mood to talk, and she held him and rocked him and told him about rape, and murder.

Other kids had fairytales for bedtime, but he got this story. He felt mama's arms hard and angry… and heard about sex and pain…

"Tom? For God's sake,—"

Air was cold. He felt chilled.

Sheets whispered and slid. The lights went on, dim though they were. She just looked, that was all. He didn't have anything to say. He didn't want to work himself in deeper than he was.

She reported to his father, no question.

She knew he was a hazard to the ship. He could do anything he wanted in bed, she didn't mind, but it didn't change him being Hawkins.

"Station's no good place," she said. "You don'twant to be here."

Jerked him back to the real choices, she did. He was that transparent. If she saw more than that, she might be scared, herself.

He brushed her arm. "I'm not crazy. " And then—being the sumbitch Marie said he was, he couldn't help it: "What's the report you give my father?"

Dark eyes—pretty eyes—didn't even flinch. "Space Christian. Keep you."

"Yeah?"

She didn't amplify. Her eyes shadowed. He'd brought the lie into the light. He moved his hand on her arm, deliberate distraction. Went further down, onto her bare leg, warm skin, warm color… there were no secrets he hadn't explored, no promises left, no lies.

Her hand settled on his. "Tink said you were all right."

He'd forgotten the garden. The garden and Tink and Saby on the path. It came back, with its own logic, that didn't make damn sense, that never had. Tink liked him. Tink said… be good to Saby. Or Tink would break his neck.

Tink knew. Tink understood he was a danger, the same as Saby did. He liked Tink. It wasn't damned fair, the two of them, against one guy, walking him down that green path, making him feel… welcome. Part of. With. Included.

Hurt, now. Hurt was when you got your feelings involved. Hurt was what inevitably happened, when you let yourself believe somebody wanted anything but their own agenda. Christian had conned him. Now Saby had conned him, damn her, leave Tink out of it—Tink probably trusted her, too.

She lay down with him again, leaving the lights on. She promised him it was all right, she rested her head on his shoulder. And maybe there was a guard outside. Maybe they'd bugged the room. Maybe they'd done that days ago, and he wouldn't get the chance to walk to the ship. Maybe they'd just come in after him and beat hell out of him first,—but what could he do?

—vii—

WASN'T THE LAST TIME they made love, all the same. They skipped breakfast, slept-in, and whichever one of them would wake, they agreed, had leave to wake the other by whatever means.

It was crazy. It was a way for Saby to keep his mind off the board-call, a way he could physically, mentally, blot it out. He knew he was using and being used, at that point, but hell, was it new? and neither of them minded.

"Did I hurt you?" he got the nerve to ask, and Saby said no, but Saby had a motive to lie, a lot of possible motives—maybe she didn't call for help because she wanted the favor points with Austin, maybe she wanted not to need help. But he was careful—his Pollygirl had taught him a lot about what made her happy. His other lovers had never complained and never left before their board-calls or his.

He was still rattled. He couldn't understand how in very hell he'd flashed on Marie like that, or what had scared him so about it, until Saby made him flash on Marie again—she cuddled up tight with him, after, and pulled technique on him: that was how he thought of it—clear that she was no novice. Saby said, Lie still, and he drifted in such a self-destructive funk that he told himself What the hell and wondered what she could do solo.

No novice at all, Saby was, probably the one they sent out to snag guys in. She'd tell them all she loved them, and they signed on, signature that gave a ship legal rights to recover strays. But, all right, it beat a press gang. Had to admit…

"God!"

"Easy, easy, easy. " Saby's mouth stole the rest of his breath, and their daylight-dark exploded in red and blue awhile, but as a means to wait out the board-call, it was still… better than sanity.

"You could share quarters with me," Saby murmured against his ear. "Just clear it with Austin—" Hands did things elsewhere that made him short of breath and truly not focussed on his father and their feud. Or even remotely on logic. "God, I wantyou, Tom, I never wantedanybody, I never, never found anybody—just sleepover stuff, you know, never with crew, I always said it was bad business, relationships aboard, just stupid, but I could, I would, this time, I really, really could, Tom, I want you."

"Shit-all. " His language, like his morals, had gone. "You can visit me in the brig."

"I know you're computers, I'm in ops, you had any experience?"