Rimrunners (24 page)

or somebody was going to get him.

But NG didn't know what had happened to Hughes this morning and he needed to

know that. So she found an excuse, seeing NG was over to the end of the main

console, where there was a nook, while Bernstein and Musa were talking urgently

about something—which, she had this uncomfortable feeling, could be Musa

explaining something other than readouts.

To a mof. But a mof you could trust—one you'd better trust, if that mof really,

actually wanted to know what had happened in the showers.

"Musa says you're mad at me," she said coming up on NG. She reached out to his

arm and he twitched her hand off, instantly.

"Hell, no," he said. "Why should I be?"

She had meant to warn him about Hughes right off. It didn't seem the moment.

"You got along fine."

He had trouble breathing for a second. Then he shoved her hard with his elbow,

turning away, but she got in front of him and it was a wonder with a look like

that, that he didn't swing on her.

"You were all right last night," she hissed, under the white noise of the ship.

"Everybody took it all right, everybody saw you take it all right, more's the

point. You were downright human last night."

Didn't go well, no. He got this absolutely crazy look, and he was going to shove

past her or hit her, she was set for it.

But he didn't. He just stood there until his breaths came wider and slower.

"Yeah," he said, "well, I'm glad."

"You don't figure it," she said.

He couldn't talk, then, she saw it, he didn't want to crack with her and he

couldn't get himself together to talk about what had happened; and that hurt

look of his got her in the gut.

"People were doing fine with you last night, you understand me?"

No, he didn't, he didn't understand a damned thing—embarrassed, she thought,

more than the offended merchanter sensibilities he knew he couldn't afford on

this ship; he knew and if he was getting eetee about that, she wasn't even going

to acknowledge it.

No, what was bothering him was a damn sight more than that, she thought,

recalling how he'd spooked-out for a minute last night, just gone, complete

panic; and he didn't ever want people to see him like that.

But, dammit, they had to see that, that was part of it, people had to see what

was going on with him and most important, they had to see him recover and handle

things. She couldn't fix that part of it. She didn't want to.

"I got to talk to you," she said, and moved him—she wasn't sure he was going to

move—into that corner where there was about a meter square of privacy from where

Bernstein and Musa were. "You got a problem with what happened?"

No answer.

"You were all right," she said. "Wasn't anybody made any trouble, people were

saying something just being there, you understand me? McKenzie and Park and

Figi, they were all right with you, they come in on my cue, they were there all

the time, and they were real solid from the start, or I'd've stopped it cold

before it got where it did, trust me I got some sense. There was McKenzie and

there was Park and Figi and there was Musa, wasn't anybody got past them, wasn't

anybody even tried, they just drank the booze and looked at the pictures—they

ain't a half-bad lot, NG, I imagine it was Gypsy and maybe Davies and six, eight

others up there. I told McKenzie ask a few friends, and McKenzie knew you were

going to be there when he asked 'em, so people knew, or if they didn't, you can

damn well bet they found out; and they stayed anyhow. So there was five mates,

all the time, between you and anybody who started trouble. All the time. You

think I'm fool enough to start a thing like that without knowing my parameters?"

He just stood there.

"NG, you were all right, you did fine last night."

It was still like everything was garble to him. At least he looked confused as

well as upset. At least he seemed to know he wasn't understanding.

Or maybe, at bottom, he just didn't remember who there had been and how many; or

he was scared thinking of what could have happened: he'd been out cold, no

question; and he'd been isolated too long to trust himself drunk with anybody,

even somebody he halfway trusted when he was sober. "Didn't let anybody touch

you," she said. "Wouldn't do that. Promise you."

He gave back against the wall, looked at her a moment like she was some kind of

eetee, then leaned his head back, turned his face away and stared into nowhere a

second or two, all the wild temper gone. He just looked hurt and tired and

quietly, heart-deep, mad at something. A muscle worked in his jaw. "I have work

to do," he said. Distant voice, a little wobbly and a little nowhere. And he

straightened up and made to do that, but she blocked him.

"That's not all!" she said, fast, while he was listening to anything at all.

"Hughes come at me this morning. Hear me? I set him back some."

He was focussed tight on her then. Scared.

"Don't do anything stupid," she said. "Don't go out of sight, for God's sake.

You can be mad at me, just don't do anything that's going to put you where there

aren't any witnesses."

"You're a damned fool," he said. "Bet, they're going to kill you."

"Mmmn, no, they aren't. Don't you worry."

"Fitch—" He got his voice down, under the ship-sound, and if Bernie and Musa

were through talking over there across the consoles, they were letting them both

alone for the moment. "I told you from the start. You're going to get killed."

No—no, not good for a man's pride to say she had sent Hughes to infirmary, after

Hughes had sent him there—even if it had been Hughes and two friends and a

no-fighting rule that got him, even if it had been a supply locker Hughes had

caught him in, and NG had a lot of real spookiness when it came to being boxed

in and trapped.

"I been on ships like this all my life," she said, reasonably—a lie, but the

important part was true. "I told you, there's ways to get at people without

laying a hand on 'em, and there's a time you can do it and get away. I know

Hughes' game, damn if I don't. You can trust me, NG, you can trust me. I know

what I'm doing."

That was a real hard thing for him. But he thought about it. She saw the

figuring going on in his eyes, saw him scared and upset, and shying off from the

obvious conclusion.

Couldn't. Couldn't make it that far. And he was at least straight enough with

her to let her see it.

"I been there," she said. "I been there more'n once, man. Like letting a knife

against your gut. But you got to take a chance on it now while you got a chance.

You got a handful of guys come up to a party you was at and they give you a

little haze about it, but friendly, you understand that? You got to say good

mornin' now and don't take it hard. They got their pride too, and they come a

long way, a long way last night. You got to come at least that far to them."

"The hell I do."

That made her fit to hit him. But she said, calmly and quietly, "Dunno how you

feel about them or why. But I sure know what you owe me, mister, and if you slap

them in the face after all I've done you make me a fool. You're the one'll get

me killed."

That got through, how deep, she couldn't tell, but it hit, and he shut up and

just looked mad, the way he would when he was cornered.

While she had the shakes like a neo, fighting with a damn merchanter who had

been no more than a kid when she had signed onto Africa.

And learned the lessons he had yet to figure out.

Damn him!

I can fuckin' see why you make so many friends on this ship, mister…

She didn't say that. She just walked off and left him, too mad to think

straight, but Bernstein had been patient, and Bernstein deserved a calm face and

a clear head.

So she went over to number three station and checked comp to see what her

next-up job was.

See me, it said.

She shut down and turned to go do that—but there was a bridge officer in the

doorway, and her heart did a little tick-over.

Orsini… not just sightseeing, damn sure.

Orsini did his little courtesy to Bernstein, Bernstein caught her eye and

beckoned.

So she walked over and Musa melted off sideways, finding business to attend to.

"Yeager," Orsini said.

"Yessir?"

"There was an accident in the showers this morning."

"Yessir."

"You were a witness?"

"Yessir."

"What happened?"

Hope to God Hughes took the cue she'd handed him and hadn't gotten elaborate. Or

didn't want to go up on countercharges.

"Wasn't a line outside, I guess Lindy just figured there might be a stall free,

and he come in just as I was drying off—opened the door, he scared me, I guess I

scared him; anyway, he must've hit a wet spot."

"He slipped."

"I guess he slipped, sir."

Long silence from Orsini. A dead-black stare, while the sweat ran down her

sides.

Then Orsini wrote something down on the TranSlate he was carrying, something

more than a sentence, said, "That'll be all, Yeager," and she said: "Sir," while

he walked off.

She didn't want to look at Bernstein. But you didn't walk off from a mof without

a courtesy either, and Bernstein waited.

"Sorry, sir," she said, then.

"What'd he do?"

"Made a grab," she said. Bernstein didn't look like he was going to kill her, so

she added, "At a soapy woman. And him dressed. Must've lost his grip, sir."

"Yeager—" Bernstein drew a breath. "You watch it. Dammit, you watch it."

"Yessir." She was shaking. That was twice this morning.

"You got a finish-up on a system over in the shop. You want to see to that?

Ought to take you about an hour. This afternoon you got sims on three, long as

you can stand it."

Simulations. Engineering sims. It didn't help her stomach at all.

A close brush with Orsini, Hughes and his friends were damn sure going to be

smarter coming at her now, Musa thought she was a fool, NG was ready to kill

her, and Bernie wanted an unlicensed machinist running the boards on a jury-rig

like Loki.

Sure.

She went and started the electronics job, flipped through the manual and found

out it was out of the helm-engineering interface.

God.

Do-it-in-your-sleep stuff—if you didn't know where it was going back to. She

triple-checked everything, went to Bernie to ask if there was an install or if

she just left it, and he said, "That's the backup to the backup now, but there's

some reason it blew. Mainday's still looking for it."

Makes you real confident.

Damn ship's falling apart.

NG still wasn't speaking much by shift-change—as if every word cost him

money—but he was civil, at least, and subdued—the NG who sat the boards, mostly,

just business.

"You got to help me some more," she said to him, "with this stuff with the

boards. Bernie's on me about it."

And he just nodded, nothing really engaged and nothing really to fight with, not

actually looking at her.

She was sure Musa read him just fine, she was sure Musa was mad about NG's

acting up, but NG wasn't going to give either one of them a handle to grab, just

a not-there, don't-care, do-what-you-like.

It made you want to back him up against a wall, that was what it did; but you

couldn't, NG would do about what he'd done with Hughes and his friends, she

reckoned.

So he just wandered on around the rim on his own with them behind him, and he

walked up on the end of the supper-line in rec and didn't speak to anybody,

didn't look at anybody, even when people looked at him to see what kind of mind

he was in.

And she and Musa got in line behind him and he didn't turn around, didn't come

alive at all.

Damn him.

What in hell d'you do with him?

Knock him across the deck if he was on Africa, damn right somebody would.

But he wouldn't've lived, there.

She remembered the flash, the shock, the smell of burned flesh. And the skut

with the grenade.

Remembered guys that just stopped ducking.

Man's bent on suicide. Not even that. He's just left, just gone away. Won't

fight. Won't fight till somebody pushes him.

Dangerous as hell is what he is.

At the boards.

Or anywhere else critical.

"What're they having?" she asked NG. Elbowed him in the back when he ignored

her, and was ready to duck. "Huh?"

He didn't react at first. Then he said, calmly, "Think it's meatloaf."

"Meat, hell," Musa said, "it's got fins."

NG sort of looked at him, she said: "We got to be close to port, it's getting

worse," and NG halfway woke up a little—just was there again.

"Haven't got to the stew yet," he said, "that's the worst."

Like, God help them, NG was trying.

"Stew or that egg-and-ham stuff," Musa said. "Let me tell you, I remember pork

that was a pig."

She remembered, once in her life—eating what used to be warmblooded and walking

around, instead of tank-stuff. She wrinkled her nose, a little queasy. "Had it

once. Flavor's fine. Dunno about the feel of it."

They moved up in line.

"Where'd you get it?" Musa asked. Not suspicious-like. Interested.