Gap [1] The Real Story: The Gap into Conflict by Stephen R. Donaldson

stood in front of him. But she refused to lift her eyes to his face.
    In his mind, he saw himself hitting her. He felt his arm rise heavily, felt the shock as the back of his fist caught her face. She deserved it. But he didn’t do it. His calm was amazing.
    Maybe he’d accomplished something wonderful by making her desperate enough to attempt suicide.
    “I want you alive,” he said quietly. “If you ever try that again, I’m going to do things to you that’ll make what you’ve already been through look romantic. Don’t think there isn’t anything worse. There is. If I want, I can take you to the nearest bootleg shipyard and make you a public screw for every syphilitic illegal in the whole fucking belt.”
    Then he shifted himself off the berth. In a state of grace, as if he’d just granted her absolution, he said, “Come on. I want you to start earning your keep,” and lumbered away toward Bright Beauty’s command module.
    He still wasn’t sure why he hadn’t hit her. Must have been the effect of the cat. Or of the possibility that soon she might be desperate enough to fall in love with him.

CHAPTER
9
    I n fact, he had every intention of taking her to the nearest bootleg shipyard. He also had every intention of castrating the first man who so much as put a finger on her. He discovered, however, he didn’t have that choice.
    The truth came to him two days later, while Morn was running Bright Beauty through a warm-up, getting ready to lift out of hiding. Morn was a fast learner—much faster than he’d expected. And one thing she’d learned was how to obey him in a way he found reassuring, a way which defused his possessive desire to keep all of Bright Beauty under his control.
    She’d become subdued, pale in her emotions as well as in her looks. Apparently her sheer abhorrence of his lusts had broken down her resistance to him. And at the same time she was reassured, stabilized, by the fact that she now had something to do, a role which involved ships and skill. As if she were actually grateful to him for letting her work, she obeyed him so implicitly and so well that she instilled confidence. Impressed despite himself by the speed, accuracy, and compliance with which she served his ship, he went so far as to disconnect some of his waldos and relays, transferring a number of secondary functions to her console.
    As soon as he did that, of course, he worried about it. But a little ingenious programming enabled him to install a parallel control for her zone implant on his board, so that he could turn her on and off without having to reach into his pocket—a reach which might not be easy in a crisis, under spin and g.
    Calm once again, he actually stopped watching what she did and let her get Bright Beauty ready for lift-off by herself. While she worked on that, he spent some time analyzing his finances.
    Then he spent more time cursing savagely to himself—all the more savagely because he didn’t want her to hear him, so he had to keep his mouth shut.
    Money was why he couldn’t go where he’d intended. No matter how well they knew him—maybe because of how well they knew him—the shipyard just inside forbidden space wouldn’t so much as cycle their airlocks for him on spec. Even their hunger for the goods he supplied, the goods they fenced for him, wouldn’t inspire them to extend credit. If he were unable to pay in advance for the work Bright Beauty needed, the work wouldn’t be done. And if he tried to run a bluff, he risked murder or worse; risked having his ship snatched from him.
    Of course, repairs were cheaper on Com-Mine Station. And some people were even given credit. But that was out of the question. In order for the Station shipyard to do repairs, the workmen would need access to some of his ship’s secrets. And they would never keep what they discovered to themselves: he was sure of that. They would talk; and Security would hear about it; and he might never get out of dock again.
    He