wasn't quite regulation. Or respectable. Or following the rules. She sat there looking stunned, as far as a body could who was wearing a mask, and he took a wild chance and put an arm around her.
She pushed him back, sort of, and he let go, fast, deciding he'd entirely misread her.
But she patted his arm, then, the way they learned to, when they wanted someone's serious attention,
"I believe you," she said, and slipped her hand down and held his fingers, making them tingle, just touching her bare skin.
And by sunset walking home, not so long after, she held his hand again.
"I went through the program over in Blue," Bianca said, apropos of nothing previous as they walked along the river-edge. "Did you ever go to the games?"
"Sometimes."
They had the big ball games on Wednesday nights. And the academy in rich Blue Sector played schools like his, over in industrial, insystemer-dock White, where he'd lived with the Wilsons . Sometimes the games ended with extracurricular riot.
"Isn't it funny, we probably met," Bianca said.
"I guess we could have."
She couldn't imagine, he thought. From moment to moment he was sure she'd turn on him when she got safely back to the domes and tell everything she'd heard. But her fingers squeezed his, bringing him out of his fantasies of dismissal and disgrace. She talked about ball games and school.
He wanted to talk to her about his feelings, At one wild moment he'd like to ask her if she was as uncertain as he was about the line they'd crossed, holding hands, walking holding tight to each other.
But what did he say? He felt as if his nerves and his veins were carrying a load they couldn't survive.
Maybe normal people felt that way. Maybe they didn't. He wasn't ever sure. If Melody didn't know and peer wisdom didn't say, he didn't know who he could ask.
Damn sure not the psychs.
Two
legal papers waited Elene Quen's signature.
In the matter pending before the Court of Pell
… lay atop:
In final settlement of the aforesaid claim againstthe merchant ship
Finity's End,
James Robert Neihart, senior captain
, Finity's End,
her crew and company tender 150,000 credits to be held in escrow against all charges whatsoever and of whatever origin, public or private, as of this date pending, said amount to be placed in the Bank of Pell to clear all debts of Fletcher Robert Neihart, a national of
Finity's End.
The last descriptive represented a controversy settled at a fraction of the claim's 14.5 million value. The 150,000 represented a reasonable valuation of Francesca's intended stay on Pell, one year, plus her medical bills for a normal birth, excluding interest.
Debt paid.
Finity's End
simply sent the agreed amount to the Bank of Pell, and the legal dispute that had troubled all
Finity's
wartime dockings, was done with. Further claims and debts of any sort would be judged against that 150,000 fund. It focused the political infighters and their lawyers on a single, achievable prize, not a kid and his surrounding issues.
She signed the papers, stood up, and gave them to
Finity's
legal representative, a young man they called, simply, Blue.
"It's done," she said. And had qualms about the one remaining step in Fletcher's case. She'd never agreed to a spacer going downworld in the first place; it had just stopped being easy to prevent him. With some degree of guilt she remembered how she'd not objected strenuously when, four years ago, she'd become aware Fletcher's juvenile fascination with downers now aimed at planetary science. The study program had kept the boy off the police reports and given her four years without a crisis with Fletcher. And now things came due.
Finity
backing in the Council of Captains would build a merchanter ship for the first time since the Treaty of Pell.
Union wouldn't have its way. That was the down-the-line outcome. Union thought the Council of Captains couldn't reach a disinterested decision, or a unified action, or get any two merchant ships to agree.
If
She pushed him back, sort of, and he let go, fast, deciding he'd entirely misread her.
But she patted his arm, then, the way they learned to, when they wanted someone's serious attention,
"I believe you," she said, and slipped her hand down and held his fingers, making them tingle, just touching her bare skin.
And by sunset walking home, not so long after, she held his hand again.
"I went through the program over in Blue," Bianca said, apropos of nothing previous as they walked along the river-edge. "Did you ever go to the games?"
"Sometimes."
They had the big ball games on Wednesday nights. And the academy in rich Blue Sector played schools like his, over in industrial, insystemer-dock White, where he'd lived with the Wilsons . Sometimes the games ended with extracurricular riot.
"Isn't it funny, we probably met," Bianca said.
"I guess we could have."
She couldn't imagine, he thought. From moment to moment he was sure she'd turn on him when she got safely back to the domes and tell everything she'd heard. But her fingers squeezed his, bringing him out of his fantasies of dismissal and disgrace. She talked about ball games and school.
He wanted to talk to her about his feelings, At one wild moment he'd like to ask her if she was as uncertain as he was about the line they'd crossed, holding hands, walking holding tight to each other.
But what did he say? He felt as if his nerves and his veins were carrying a load they couldn't survive.
Maybe normal people felt that way. Maybe they didn't. He wasn't ever sure. If Melody didn't know and peer wisdom didn't say, he didn't know who he could ask.
Damn sure not the psychs.
Two
legal papers waited Elene Quen's signature.
In the matter pending before the Court of Pell
… lay atop:
In final settlement of the aforesaid claim againstthe merchant ship
Finity's End,
James Robert Neihart, senior captain
, Finity's End,
her crew and company tender 150,000 credits to be held in escrow against all charges whatsoever and of whatever origin, public or private, as of this date pending, said amount to be placed in the Bank of Pell to clear all debts of Fletcher Robert Neihart, a national of
Finity's End.
The last descriptive represented a controversy settled at a fraction of the claim's 14.5 million value. The 150,000 represented a reasonable valuation of Francesca's intended stay on Pell, one year, plus her medical bills for a normal birth, excluding interest.
Debt paid.
Finity's End
simply sent the agreed amount to the Bank of Pell, and the legal dispute that had troubled all
Finity's
wartime dockings, was done with. Further claims and debts of any sort would be judged against that 150,000 fund. It focused the political infighters and their lawyers on a single, achievable prize, not a kid and his surrounding issues.
She signed the papers, stood up, and gave them to
Finity's
legal representative, a young man they called, simply, Blue.
"It's done," she said. And had qualms about the one remaining step in Fletcher's case. She'd never agreed to a spacer going downworld in the first place; it had just stopped being easy to prevent him. With some degree of guilt she remembered how she'd not objected strenuously when, four years ago, she'd become aware Fletcher's juvenile fascination with downers now aimed at planetary science. The study program had kept the boy off the police reports and given her four years without a crisis with Fletcher. And now things came due.
Finity
backing in the Council of Captains would build a merchanter ship for the first time since the Treaty of Pell.
Union wouldn't have its way. That was the down-the-line outcome. Union thought the Council of Captains couldn't reach a disinterested decision, or a unified action, or get any two merchant ships to agree.
If
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