"Yes—soup to start, clear or cream—"
"Cream," she said. "I need something soothing."
Goonar ordered dinner for her and waited.
"Go on," she said. "Don't wait for me."
"I'd rather," he said. "It's been one of those days, and I don't need indigestion tonight."
"I wanted to thank you again . . . both of you." She looked at Basil, then back to Goonar. "I know it caused you trouble and worry, and perhaps your company will be angry—"
"It's all right," Goonar said.
"I've been trying to think how to make it work for you, make it pay—"
"Your presence, sera, was all we needed," Basil said. He widened his eyes at her; she grinned at him.
"You are married, my fine young cockerel; don't pretend to offer what you don't have. And I'm talking business here. I thought, Goonar, you might want a share in the company."
"In an acting company?"
"Yes. It wouldn't amount to much, most likely, but we've talked it over, and we're all willing to split off another share for you. We know what could have happened if you hadn't taken us in. And if miracles happened and we had a long run in some major theater . . ."
Her soup arrived, saving Goonar the need to answer. Basil, who had not slowed down, pushed his plate aside. "Goonar, I'm going back to the ship; I'm just not comfortable with none of us aboard. My vote's to take the share, if it comes to that."
As transparent an excuse as any he'd seen, but he, too, thought having Basil aboard was a good idea. Goonar toyed with his vegetables, and watched Bethya covertly.
"Bethya . . . would you ever consider—" He cleared his throat. It was hopeless, why was he even trying? "Er . . . settling down?"
"Settling down? You mean in one place? Goonar, I'm talented, but not that talented."
"No, I meant as—with a family. Live in a house on a planet, raise children."
"Goonar, are you asking me to marry you?"
"I would if I thought it would do any good."
She laughed, not unkindly. "Goonar, that has to be the most depressed proposal I ever got. But I don't want to give up travel. Someday I'll have to give up the stage, yes: as I said, I know the limits of my talent, and it won't survive my forties. And though I'm a reasonably good manager, there's been grumbling in my company that I'm too old to have the lead roles. Dougie thinks he could run the company as well, and Lisa is sure she'd be a better village belle."
"She's wrong," Goonar said. "She looks like a village idiot and sounds like a goose with a bone in its throat."
Bethya laughed again. "Not quite that bad, but I'll agree she's not as good as she thinks. Anyway, I'd like to have children. But stay in one place? No." She gave him another of those looks that had raised his hopes. "I confess I've been selfish, Goonar . . . traveling on the
Fortune
was such fun, and I thought maybe trader captains took their wives along. I like you—we can laugh together, that's important, and you're honest and kind. But not even for you will I go sit in a house on a rotating mudball."
"Some captains take their wives along," Goonar said. "I mean, it's not against the rules."
"Many are fooled by glamour," Bethya said. "But wives and husbands see behind the stage makeup."
"I'm not in love with your stage makeup," Goonar said. "I'm not some callow boy."
"Then who are you in love with?" Bethya asked.
"The woman who took in a fugitive when she didn't have a clue how she was going to get him out. The woman who sang and danced and stole my heart, while she was scheming to evade the Benignity. The woman who could act two parts and never scramble them, and who in all those weeks, doubled up in bunk space, never said a cross word. Was kind to Esmay Suiza—"
"All right, all right." She had gone red, and as the blush faded he saw that her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I . . . this is utterly crazy. I have had suitors—"
"I'm sure you have," said Goonar. His heart pounded until he was sure it would fly out of his chest. Would she?
"I'm—I can't just—" But the look on her face said she could, and suddenly she opened to him like a rose in midsummer. "All right—yes—I've been taken with you since I saw you sitting there beside Basil, sad and worried and tired. I told myself it was just a performer's pride, to make you laugh, make you smile, make you . . . think . . . you wanted me. But . . . it's ridiculous, you and me, we aren't the lad and lass in the story."
"That's true," Goonar said, pulling her to him gently and inexorably. "We're not that lad and lass . . . but we are this man and this woman." He buried his face in her hair. "You are so beautiful."
Harlis arrived at the Allsystems dock area thirty minutes late.
"What happened?" asked Taylor.
"A slight inconvenience," Harlis said, breathing hard. "Let's go aboard and get out of here."
"Our departure slot isn't for another hour."
Harlis went aboard, to find that the owner's suite was full of duffel and four men were asleep there.
"What's this?" he asked Taylor.
"You're down here," Taylor said, showing him to the smallest cabin—meant, Harlis could see, for a cook or valet or something like that. "My people need to be together."
"But—"
"Don't worry," Taylor said. "We'll get you to Sirialis." Harlis settled himself into the narrow bunk and wondered how far behind his pursuers were. Could they find him in the next hour? He cursed himself for letting Brun know he wanted to go to Sirialis.
How long they might have sat there, to the amusement of other captains and the waiters, Goonar was later unable to guess, but their time of bliss was interrupted by a waiter bearing a note.
"Drat," Goonar said. "It's that fellow from Fleet who was looking for Esmay. I thought they'd found her. I wonder what he wants now."
"I should get back to the hotel," Bethya said. "I'll have to tell the others and endure Dougie's lectures and Lisa's gloating." She pushed back her chair.
"I don't want to rush you," Goonar began, standing up.
"Yes, you do," Bethya said. She came around the table, and in full view of everyone gave him a kiss that made his ears catch fire. Yes, he wanted to rush her, straight back to his quarters on the ship. "I'm not a sweet little virgin, you know," she said into his ear.
"I should hope not," Goonar said. "All right—go settle 'em and let me know when you want to come back."
He had walked her to the foyer, aware that Terakian & Sons' newest captain had just furnished juicy gossip that would be all over the intership coms just as soon as those captains made it back to their ships.
As Bethya left, Commander Tavard stepped out of an alcove. "Handsome woman," he said.
"Yes," Goonar said. "We're getting married."
"Um. I thought she was that actress—"
"She was."
"I see." For a moment, the commander looked confused, but then he said, "Come outside with me, will you? We have a bit of acting to do ourselves."
Goonar grinned. "Maybe you should have asked Bethya."
"No—I think you'll do."
Outside, the commander walked Goonar along the concourse in the direction of the slideways. "You had a visitor this morning you didn't tell us about," he said, quietly but clearly. His tone was intentionally antagonistic and, even though Goonar understood what was going on, he could still feel his neck getting hot.
"I don't see why I should tell you about every possible customer who comes by," Goonar said. "And you were asking about Sera Suiza."
"I told you we were interested in possible mutineers and pirates—and you sat there and didn't say one word about this man—" The commander pulled out a flatpic of the man who'd been at the ship that morning. "He's a former commander in Fleet, a mutineer, the very sort of man I talked to you about—"
"I'm not your spy," Goonar said. "Why didn't you show me that picture before and ask if I'd seen him?"
"Would you have answered?"
"Of course," Goonar said. "What kind of an idiot do you think I am?"
"Idiot enough not to tell me about this man when he came by—and now he's escaped."
"He's not on the Station?"
"No." The commander sounded very disgruntled. "If you'd only used your head, we might have caught him. I want to come check out your office area, see if he left any clues—"
"All right," Goonar said. "But I can tell you he didn't. He walked in, wanted passage, and we didn't have enough cabins and weren't fast enough. Yes, it's true he wanted me to take a yellow route, but old
Fortune
's not mine to risk, and he didn't want to wait while I asked the company."
"Did he say where he was going?"
"No—he said he wanted passage to Millicent."
"Well, I hope you'll act more responsibly next time," the commander said. "And encourage other captains to do the same. We don't want you people being hijacked."
In the
Fortune
's dockside office, the commander handed Goonar a data cube. "Good acting, Captain. Now—that really is a mutineer, and his name really is Taylor, and we do consider him extremely dangerous. We don't know if he left anyone behind to spy on this Station—I wouldn't be surprised if he did. He did get away—in a yacht leased by one of the Seated Families."
"What? The Families are in league with the mutineers?"
"Not all of them. But the mutineers—some of them—have tried to make contact with the Families they worked for, before Fleet was organized. And a disaffected Family member, looking for some muscle to impose on the rest of his Family, would make exactly the right employer. They have their quarrels, same as anyone else."
"So this was . . . who? One of the Consellines?"
"Captain—this is not something you need to know. But it wasn't a Conselline."
"And you don't know where this person wanted to go?"
"No. Or where the mutineers wanted to go. This man may have bought his way into a mysterious death . . . I wouldn't trust my life to these cutthroats."
"I hope, Commander, that if my routes are taking me into dangerous territory, you'll let me know."
"Yes. You may be at special risk, since he knows you've seen his face. I'm hoping that this evening's little charade convinced anyone he left on guard, but once you're in space again—what's your route?"
"It depends—I told the Fathers that we'd be delayed here because of the troupe—as we have been. And if Bethya wants to be married here, we might well be delayed longer.
Terakian Princess
is bound this way; if she arrives before we leave, we may switch routes—I'd head out towards Xavier, Rotterdam, Corian and—that loop."
"I'd recommend that. Now if we could only figure out for sure where that yacht is going. They told the leasing company one thing, which almost certainly isn't true, but there's a lot of space in the Familias. If they even stay in the Familias."
Basil, when Goonar went aboard, wanted to know all about Bethya; Goonar put him off by telling him about the commander. "He interrupted us," Goonar said. "Wanted to talk about that fellow who came this morning."
"A criminal?"
"A mutineer. Very dangerous, he says, and worst of all he got away—he's already off the Station."
"That's good."
"Is it? That commander says he has a warship somewhere—probably somewhere along that yellow route to Millicent. On top of that he's linked up with a rogue Family member—someone rich enough to walk in and hire a fully-stocked yacht at the drop of a hat. They don't know where he's gone, but they know he has money enough at his command as long as this Family member is with him."
"So—do they think he caught on to us?"
"He doesn't know. He suspects the man might have left a spy here on the Station, and that he might be watching us—we played quite a little drama for any watchers, with me as the selfish captain who had been stupid enough not to tell him about this mutineer earlier."
"But what about Bethya?" Basil said, returning to his earlier topic.
"She'll call before they leave, she said," Goonar said. "Probably tomorrow."
"You're blushing, Goonar."
"Well . . . I do like her, Bas, you're right about that. But there's a lot to think about."
"You're not getting any younger . . ."
"I'm not doddering along with one foot in the grave, either," Goonar said. "I don't have to rush into things." But the memory that he had done just that made him grin; Basil gave him a suspicious look.
"What? What did you say to her?"