Tripoint

Mischa left a silence. Waiting for him to say something. He wanted to, finally ventured the question he wouldn't ask Marie.

"Was Austin Bowe the only one?"

"As Marie tells it, yes."

"As she tells it?"

"The captain's son, and in a hell of a bind? He knew she was his best bargaining chip. Only thing that mightget Corinthianout scot free was Marie, in one piece. She walked out of there.

Cut lip, bruises. Refused medical treatment, station's and ours. She was holding together pretty well for about the next twelve hours. She'd take the ordinary trank…"

The picture snapped into god-awful focus. "You took her into jump?"

"By the terms, we agreed to leave port."

"Marie wasn't the criminal!"

"Station had a riot on its hands. Station wanted us on our way. Mariewanted out of that port. Medical thought she was doing all right."

"My God."

"In those days, the guns were live, all the time. Hestonwanted out of there as soon as Corinthianjumped out. We weren't sure they weren't spotters, we didn't want them sending any message to any spotter that might be lying in wait out there in the dark—they did that, in those days, just lurk out on the edges, take your heading, meet you out at your jump-point—spotters didn't carry any mass to speak of. They'd beat you there. They'd be waiting. You'd be dead. We skimmed that jump-point as fast as we dared and we got the hell on to Fargone. It wasn't an easy run. We pushed it. You did things you had to do in those days, you took chances, the choices weren't that damn good, Thomas, it wasn't like today. No safety. When you were out there in the dark, you were out there with no law, no protection. We just hadno choice."

"It's a wonder she isn't crazier than—" He cut that off, before it got out, but Mischa said,

"—crazier than she is. I know. You thinkI don't know. I knew her before."

"Why didn't somebody orderan abortion? I mean, doesn't Medical just dothat, in a case like that?"

"The captains don't orderany such thing on this ship. Your mother said if she was pregnant, that was fine, she wanted…"

"Wanted what?"

Mischa had cut an answer short, having said too much about something Mischa knew, about him. But if he chased that topic, Mischa might stop talking.

"She said it was her choice," Mischa said, "and nobody else was getting their hands on her. I'll tell you something, Tom. There's not been another sleepover. No men. She won't get help. Your aunt Lydia studied formal psych—specifically with Marie in mind. Never did a damned bit of good. Marie copes just real well, does exactly what she wants, she's damned good at what she does. I'll tell you something. She wouldn't have any prenatal tests, wouldn't take advice, damn near delivered you in her quarters, except your grandmother found out she was in labor. Marie was dead set you were a daughter, and when she gave birth and found out you weren't, she wouldn't look at you, wouldn't take you, wouldn't hold you, until three days after. Then she suddenly changed her mind. All of a sudden, it's—Where's my son? And your aunt Lydia tells me some crap about postpartum depression and how it was a traumatic birth, and a load of psychological nonsense, but I know my sister, I knowthe look she's got; and I'm notdamn blind, Tom, I hoped to hell she'd turn you over to the nursery, which she did when she found out she really hated diapers, and being waked up at odd hours. I wasn't for it when she wanted you to come back and live with her. I really wasn't for it, but your grandmother always hoped Marie would straighten out, sort of reconcile things… small chance. I watched you and her, damned carefully. Mama did. I don't know if you were aware of that."

Blow across the face. Didn't know why. He didn't know why mama ever did things, one minute hit him, another held him, Marie had never made sense about what made her mad. Call her Marie, not mama, that was the first lesson he learned. Marie was hismother, and finally, finally she took him home to her quarters like the other kids' mothers—but if he made her mad or called her mama she'd take him back and the other kids would know…

Which she did. More than once.

"Were you?" Mischa asked, and he didn't know what Mischa had just said.

"I'm sorry, I lost it."

Long silence, long, long silence in the captain's office, himself sitting in front of the desk, like a kid called in for ru

"I can't control Marie," Mischa said. "Your grandmother might've, but she's gone. I've talked to her. Ma'am's talked to her. Your aunt Lydia's talked to her. Said—You're hurting that boy, Marie, he's too young to understand, he doesn't know why you're mad at him, and for God's sake let it be, Marie. Which did damned little good. Marie's not—not the kid that went into that sleepover. She'd hold a grudge, yes. But nothing like—"

Another trail-off, into silence. Maybe he was supposed to fill it. He didn't know. But he still had his question.

"Why didn't she abort? What was it you almost said she wanted?"

Mischa didn't want that question. Clearly.

"Tom, has she talked to you about killing Austin Bowe?"

"She's mentioned it. Not recently. Not since I moved out on my own."

"She ever—this is difficult—do or suggest anything improper?"

"With me?" He was appalled. But he saw the reason of Mischa's asking. "No, sir. Absolutely not."

"The answer to your question: she said… she wantedAustin Bowe's baby. And she wouldn't abort."

It rocked him back. He sat there in the chair not knowing what to say, or think.

Marie'd said, just an hour ago, she'd kept him because shechose what happened to her. Obstinacy. Pure, undiluted Marie, to the bone. He could believe that.

But he could… hearing the whole context of it… almost believe the other reason, too. If he could believe Mischa. And he did, while he was listening to him, and before Marie would turn around and tell him something that made thorough sense in the opposite direction.

"Wanted his baby," he said. "Do you know why, sir?"

"I don't. I've no window into Marie's head. She said it. It scared hell out of me. She only said it once, before we jumped out of Mariner. Frankly—I didn't tell your grandmother, it would have upset her, I didn't tell Lydia, I didn't want that spread all over the ship, and Lydia's not—totally discreet. I didn't even know it was valid in the way I took it. She'd been through hell, she never repeated it in any form—it's the sort of thing somebody might say that they wouldn't mean later."

"Have you asked her about it?"

Mischa shook his head, for an answer.

"Shit."

"Thomas. Don't youask her. She and I—have our problems. Let's just get your mother through the next week sane, that's all I'm asking."

"You throw a thing like that at me, and say… don't ask?"

" Youasked."

He felt… he wasn't sure. He didn't know who was lying, or if Marie was lying to herself, or if Mischa was deliberately boxing him in so he couldn't go to Marie, couldn'task her her side.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Has she talked—down below—about killing anyone?"

"She said—she said she wants to get at him through the market. Legally."