Love and Rockets Part 23

"Of course I was," she said.

"Then you should know what I'm doing," he said.

"Well color me clueless," she said, "because I don't."

His eyebrows went up as he looked at her. "Color you clueless? What kind of phrase is that?"

"The kind of phrase you say when someone won't tell you what the h.e.l.l they're doing."

"Watch and learn, babe," he said. "Watch and learn."

He took them to the platform again, and as it lurched downward, he pulled her toward him using just his arm and the hand clutching her shoulder. A practiced move, and a strong one, considering how much resistance she was putting up.

He held her in a viselike grip, and then, before she could move away, kissed her. She was so startled, she didn't pull back.

At least, that was what she told herself when he did let go and she realized that her lips were bruised, her hand had fallen away from the hilt of her knife, her heart was pounding rapidly.

"Yum," he said, as if she had been particularly tasty, and then he grinned. He was unbelievably handsome when he smiled, and she didn't like that either, but before her addled brain figured out what to do, he added, "Stop," as they reached one of the lowest decks.

He propelled her forward with that mighty arm of his, and she tripped stepping from the platform into the corridor, which was a good thing, since a male pa.s.senger stood near the platform, looking confused.

The pa.s.senger, middle-aged, overweight, tired, like most everyone else on week three of an interstellar cruise, peered at them.

The man beside her grinned, said, "Is this the way to the lounge?" and then kept going.

The male pa.s.senger said, "What lounge?" but they were already too far away to answer him.

They reached yet another airlock and the man hit the controls with his fist, setting off yet another alarm and doing his little trick with the doors.

This time he kept going straight, swaying a little, knocking her off balance.

"Too bad you don't know any drinking songs," he said. "But then, you don't smell like booze. Enhancer, maybe? Too many mood elevators? No, that doesn't work. You're not smiling."

They rounded a corner, and came face to face with three terrified security guards, standing in three-point formation, laser rifles drawn.

"Stop!" one of them, a man as middle-aged and heavyset as that pa.s.senger, yelled. He didn't sound nearly as in control as Rikki's companion had when he told the platforms to stop. In fact this guy, this so-called guard, sounded dangerously close to panicked.

Rikki stopped, but the man didn't and neither did his arm, so he nearly shoved her forward, but she'd faced laser rifles before, and had even been shot with one, and she'd never forget how the d.a.m.n thing burned, and she wasn't going to get shot again.

"Ah, jeez, Rik," the man said, and she jolted. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d knew her name. Not the name she was using on this cruise. Her real name. "Let's go."

"I said stop," the guard repeated.

"You," the man said, turning to the guard, "are too tense. C'mon with us. We're heading to the lounge."

"What lounge?" the only female guard asked. Not only was she the sole female, but she was the only one in what Rikki would consider regulation shape. Trim, sharp, but terrified too. Her rifle vibrated, probably because she wasn't bracing it right.

Amateurs.

"I dunno what lounge," the man holding Rikki said. "The closest lounge."

He grinned as if he had discovered some kind of prize, and if she didn't know better, she would've thought he was on something.

"You've gotta be kidding me," the third guard said. "Is that what this is all about?"

"I dunno," the man said, "but you sure got a lotta doors leading to nothing around here. Where's the d.a.m.n lounge? I paid good money to have a lounge on each floor and I been to-what, hon? Three floors? Four-"

He looked at Rikki as he said that and pinched the nerve on her outer arm at the same time. She squeaked and hopped just a little as he continued, "-and we ain't found no d.a.m.n lounge anywhere. I wanna drink. I wanna enhancer. I wanna burger. Real meat. You got real meat on this c.r.a.ppy s.h.i.+p?"

The first security guard sighed, then lowered his rifle. The other man did the same, but the woman didn't.

"Oh for G.o.d's sake," the female security guard said to the guard in front. "You gonna let them get away with this just because they're drunk?"

"I'm not drunk," Rikki said, and the man pulled her close again so that she had to put a hand against his waist to steady herself.

He tried to kiss her again, but she moved her face away. "She's not drunk," he said, rather grumpily, "because we can't find the d.a.m.n lounge."

The front guard shook his head.

"They opened three airlocks," the female guard said.

"They're pa.s.sengers," the male guard hissed at her.

"Reckless ones," the female guard said.

"What's your room?" the guard asked.

"Um..." the man said, his hand so tight around Rikki's upper arm that he was cutting off circulation. "B Deck, Something-something, 15A?"

"If you're on B-Deck, it would be 15B," the female guard said.

The man extended his free hand. "'S on here," he said, and to Rikki's surprise, let them scan the back of his hand to get the code upscale pa.s.sengers had embedded into the skin so they didn't have to carry identification.

"B Deck," the female guard said to the others, "Section 690 15B."

"Suite," the male guard hissed again. "Expensive."

Rikki tried not to raise her own eyebrows. She had a cabin, K Deck, without a view. Cheap.

"We'll take you to a lounge," the male guard said to the man holding Rikki, "but we're going to have to fine you."

"For taking me to a lounge?" He sounded indignant. "Jus' tell me where to go."

"I'd love to," the female guard said.

"No," the male guard said. "We'll fine you for the airlocks."

"Not interested in a d.a.m.n airlock," the man said. "Wanna lounge."

The second male guard shook his head. "I need a new job," he said softly to the woman.

"Good luck with that," she said back to him.

"I've got your information," the male guard said to the man holding Rikki. "I'll be adding 6,000 credits to your account. Two for each airlock you opened."

"Didn't open no d.a.m.n airlock," the man said.

"We'll talk about it when you're sober," the male guard said.

"Don't plan to be sober any more this entire trip. Too d.a.m.n dull." The man glared at him. "You said lounge. Where's the d.a.m.n lounge?"

"This way," the guard said, and headed off down the corridor.

The man holding Rikki lurched after him, dragging Rikki along. She tripped again, this time because her toe caught the man's heel. He was doing that on purpose, but she didn't argue. She was slightly breathless from the strangeness of it all, and from the way he held her.

The other two guards followed a good distance behind, clearly arguing.

The first guard led them to an actual elevator, in the main section of the s.h.i.+p. Four other pa.s.sengers stood inside, three women, one man, all older than Rikki, all better dressed. They eyed her as if she lowered their net worth by factors of ten.

The man holding her grinned at them. It was a silly, sloppy grin, and it made him seem harmless. "You goin' to the lounge too?" he asked.

She realized as he slurred his words, all trace of that accent was gone.

The four pa.s.sengers leaned against the walls, and looked away, wanting nothing to do with him.

They got off on the main level, but the guard led Rikki and the man to B Deck and took them to the B-Deck-Only lounge.

"It's exclusive," he said to the man. "Just touch the door with your fist, like you did with the airlocks."

She stiffened. The man holding her had ID embedded in his hand. They had known who he was from the moment he hit the first airlock.

That was why she stayed below decks. Cheaper. No identification required.

He grinned at the guard and gave him a mock salute. "You need a favor, friend, I'm there for you," he said, then slapped his palm against the door to the B-Deck lounge.

The guard nodded, almost smiling himself. "You won't say that tomorrow when you look at your accounts."

"h.e.l.l, I got enough. Should tip you, really," the man said.

"No, you shouldn't." The guard was smiling now. "Enjoy your evening, sir."

The guard stepped back as the door slid open. The man staggered inside, pulling Rikki along. The noise startled her-conversation and music, live music, and a view. The entire wall was clear, showing the exterior of the s.h.i.+p, darkness, pinpoints of light, patterns she didn't recognize.

Full tables, filled with overdressed pa.s.sengers, laughing, talking, a few waving drinks. Some people at a roulette wheel to the left, others at a card table to the right, some sitting on couches, leaning against each other, listening to the music.

No one noticed as Rikki and the man holding her entered.

"Thanks," Rikki said, starting to pull away, but he held her tighter.

"Not yet, babe," he said as if he had the right to call her "babe." He pulled her to the bar, slammed his fist on it as if it were an airlock control, and said, "Two cervezas, por favor," and the accent was back, thick, and wrong. He clearly didn't speak Spanish either, at least not like a native, so he wasn't from Earth, not that Earthers were common this far out.

The bartender-a real person, male, wearing a blousy s.h.i.+rt with tight sleeves, matching pants and some kind of decorative ap.r.o.n-poured two amber-colored beers with an expression of distaste. The foam flowed down the side of both gla.s.ses.

Rikki fumbled for her credit slip, but the man caught her hand. "On me, sweets," he said.

Then he grabbed his beer, still holding her, and started for a table, stopping suddenly, and nearly spilling.

"You need your drink," he said with the mock seriousness only the really drunk seemed to have.

He backed up, but didn't turn around, so she had to move slightly to grab her beer. The gla.s.s was cool and wet beneath her fingers, the foam yeasty, like real beer, not the stuff they served below decks.

His grip on her wasn't as strong, and she knew she could shake him off. But she wasn't quite ready to now.

She let him lead her to an empty love seat near the clear wall. The material between her and s.p.a.ce itself looked thin and unreliable, even though she knew it wasn't. It made her dizzy, especially when she realized she could see herself reflected against the view.

She did look out of it, hair messed, s.h.i.+rt askew, pants stained along one thigh. Shadows under her eyes, cheeks hollow, too thin by half, but muscled. Hard to miss the muscles, even with the s.h.i.+rt twisted.

He kept his arm around her shoulder until they reached the love seat. Then he slid his hand up to her clavicle, and shoved hard, so that she either toppled sideways or sat down.

She sat, without spilling a drop. Apparently, her shaking had left her long ago.

"Do you always manhandle people you've just met?" she asked as he sat beside her.

His smile was different now, slightly feral, revealing a perfect row of teeth. "How do you know we just met?"

Her pulse increased. She studied him again. White blond, blue eyed, naturally pale skin, not the pasty stuff that came from living in s.p.a.ce. Mid-thirties, maybe younger, stronger than she was, which was saying something, and-oh, yeah-he knew her name.

"What was all that?" she asked.

"Just me, saving your a.s.s," he said.

"I don't need saving," she said softly.

"Oh, honey, yes you do." He sipped the beer, made a satisfied sound, and leaned back on the love seat.

"Well," she said, and set her gla.s.s down, resisting the urge to wipe her soggy hand on her pants. "Let me thank you for the beer and the grand adventure, but-"

"No," he said, catching her arm. "You're not leaving."

"Why?"

"Because the entire crew of this s.h.i.+p thinks we're here to drink, so we're going to drink. We're going to get roaring drunk. We're going to dance and laugh, and come close to s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g right here in the lounge. Someone'll tell us to go to our room, which we'll do, and then we'll look mighty sick when we come out, twenty-four hours later. Hung-over, queasy, because we forgot to take something before we decided to get drunk. Might help if you can puke on cue. Can you puke on cue?"

"Are you kidding?" she asked.

"Just hoping," he said, and sipped his beer again. "So drink up, milady. It's gonna be a long night."

He wouldn't talk to her any more, at least about important stuff. He drank more than she'd ever seen anyone drink, and he glared at her if she didn't keep up.