Rimrunners (19 page)

hour, it being mainday's rec-time, and you hesitated to search them all the way

to the back, but it was a case of desperation.

Locker one, locker two, locker three, all negative. She had a stitch in her

side, caught her breath and decided a look-see in cleaning-stowage was worth it.

Dark in that slit of a place. Light came in from the open door, on somebody's

legs. "Sorry," she started to say, then got the notion that somebody wasn't

moving. She moved her shadow, reached and cut on the lights.

NG. Not asleep, not that twisted position.

"God. NG—"

She got down and shook at his leg. "NG?" She was afraid to try to move him. She

got his pulse at his ankle, slapped at him. "NG?"

There was a twitch, then, a little movement.

"NG, dammit!"

He drew the leg up, moved, slowly, until she could see the mess he was, his face

all over blood, blood on the deck—

"Oh, my God." She took his arm, kept him from falling on his face. "Stay put.

I'll get Bernstein."

"'M all right," he said, reaching for a locker-handle—grabbed her arm when she

started to get up. "No! I'm all right!"

"What in hell, you're all right? Who did this?"

He shook his head, hauled himself up to his knees, just held onto the lockers a

moment.

"I'm getting Bernstein," she said.

"No!"

"Bernstein's after your ass, dammit, I got to tell him, you just don't do

anything stupid till I get back, hear me?"

"No!" He hauled himself to his feet and staggered. She grabbed him. "Can't go to

the meds," NG said, grabbed a locker handle and held on. "Just go to Bernstein,

tell him I'm going to clean up. I'll get there soon as I can."

"Hell, you will! Stay there!"

She ducked out, went to the first general com station and punched in

Engineering. "Mr. Bernstein, sir, this is Yeager. I found him."

"Where?" the chiefs voice came back—instantly: he must be sitting over the com.

Or wearing one.

"Supplies locker, sir. Somebody beat hell out of him."

"Get med on it."

"He doesn't want that."

"Get a med on it, Yeager, you going to be a problem?"

"He says—"

"I don't care what he says, Yeager. Do it!"

"Yessir. What's the number?"

Bernstein said, she keyed it, made the call, went back inside to find NG into

the cleaning cabinet and trying to wash up at the utility sink. The water was

running red.

"Med's coming," she said. "Bernstein's orders. I tried to talk him out of it."

"Shit," he said, and leaned on the sink.

"Who did this? Did you see them?"

NG shook his head.

"Why'd they do it? You start it?"

"Last night," he said thickly. "Tried to tell you."

"You mean your sitting with us?"

NG just shook his head. "Don't get into it."

"Was it Hughes?"

"Don't get into it! Don't get into it, how many times do I have to say it? Call

medical, tell them it was a mistake, I just hit my head on a locker, for God's

sake—"

"Bernstein won't have it. I tried."

"You were on general com," NG muttered slowly. "Dammit."

"Nothing broken," the med said to her, the other side of NG, NG on the table

between them, with the med shining lights in NG's eyes, probing after places NG

had as soon not have public; but the cubbyhole of a surgery offered no privacy

but a sheet. "He's got a mild concussion. Locker door, was it?"

''S right," NG said.

"Hell of a locker," the med said. Fletcher was the name, older woman. A doctor,

no less. "Don't argue with it again."

"Yes, ma'am," NG said. "Want to go back to duty."

"I can give you a medical."

"No, ma'am."

Fletcher frowned—her mouth was made for it—and ticked off some notes on a

keypad. "You got a painkiller, muscle relaxer, pick it up in galley this

evening, one with meals. I shot a little local into those spots, should carry

you till then. No alcohol with the pills. Hear?"

"Yes, 'm," NG said, meekly, and slowly sat up, between her help and Fletcher's.

And stopped, frozen, looking toward the doorway.

Khaki shirt, command stripes. Not Fitch: a tall, blackballed man with a

permanent beard-shadow.

"I hear we have an injury," the mof said: Orsini. The voice left no doubt.

"Sir," NG said, and slid off the table and kept his feet.

"How did that happen?" Orsini asked NG.

"Accident, sir."

"Are you a witness?" Orsini asked, looking at Bet.

"No, sir. Mr. Bernstein asked me bring him in, sir."

"Accident in Engineering, then."

"In quarters, sir," NG said. "Locker door sprung on me."

Long silence. "Any others victims of this door, Fletcher?"

"Not yet," Fletcher said.

Orsini nodded slowly, hands behind him. He walked around to the end of the table

while NG pulled his bloody clothes together. "I'll want a copy of the write-up."

"Working on it," Fletcher said. "I'll send it over."

"Released to duty?"

"His request," Fletcher said.

Orsini looked NG's way. "You're dismissed. Go clean up. You too, Yeager."

"Yessir," NG said. "Sir," Bet said; and NG walked on his own getting out of

there, walked on his own in the corridor, still fastening up his jumpsuit.

"It's all right," Bet said. "It's going to be all right."

"It's not all right," NG said. "It's not going to be all right. Keep away from

me. Hear me?"

"No way in hell, mister."

NG said nothing. He walked back to quarters, he slipped in, where mainday crew

was asleep, he changed clothes while she waited by the door and came back again.

So she walked with him.

All the way to Engineering.

"Hell," Bernstein said, getting a look at him, and shook his head.

Musa didn't say anything. Maybe Musa had told Bernstein, maybe Musa hadn't. She

figured Musa would have done what was smart.

NG just checked in on the sheet, made no arguments when Bernstein put him to

paperwork.

"Fill out your own damn accident report," Bernstein said. "It's not my job."

But Bernstein caught her apart and said: "Who did it?"

"I dunno, sir, I got my suspicions. Sir—Orsini was up there, in sickbay."

"I got the call. Listen to me, Yeager. If somebody else comes into sickbay

banged up, he's got a problem. Fighting's a serious charge on this ship. You

hear me?"

"Know that, sir."

"How much do you know?"

"Musa filled me in. About NG. About what happened."

"You better be smart, Yeager. You better be damn smart. You better listen to

Musa.—You better know what you're buying when you buy NG any beers, hear me?

Because this crew knows what's new on this ship, this crew knows whose idea it

is, and you're going to make trouble if you get independent ideas, Yeager, have

you got the shape of that?"

"Yessir. I got it."

Bernstein took a deep breath. "You got it. I've been trying to save this man's

life, Yeager, and keep him sane. Now this has happened. Worse can happen. This

is friendly, compared to what can happen. All they have to do is lie. They can

still do that. You understand? They can call it self-defense."

"I can lie, too, sir. This Hughes bastard jumped me, NG stepped in. Exactly how

it happened, sir. If it has to."

"Don't be a fool!"

"Yessir."

"Was it Hughes?"

"Dunno, sir."

Bernstein gave her a long, cold look. "You armed, Yeager?"

"Not right now, sir."

"What's in your pockets?"

She fished up her card. And a fat bolt.

"What're you doing with that?"

"Going to put it up, sir."

"You do that. And you and Musa—just kind of walk behind him when he goes places.

Not one of you. Both. Hear me?"

"Real clear, sir."

Bernstein walked off. And talked to Musa. She exhaled a long, shaky breath. Game

I know, sir. Damn nasty one. But I do know the game, sir.

CHAPTER 14

« ^ »

I got news for you," Bet said, leaning over NG's chair, putting her hand on his

shoulder; NG flinched, mild attempt to get rid of her, but she was at an

inconvenient angle. "Musa and I are walking you out of here tonight—"

"I got enough trouble."

"You haven't heard the rest of it. Musa and I are walking behind you in the

morning, we're walking you to supper, we're walking you into quarters, anytime

you move, you got us behind you."

"And how long does that last?" He swung the chair around, far as he could

without bashing her knee. "Stay out of it."

"What's their names?"

"Not your damn business."

"Going to be. Mine and Musa's. We agreed."

"I said let me alone! You trying to get me on report?"

"For what? Walking down a corridor?"

"They'll find a way." NG wasn't doing well. He waved a shaking hand. "Just go to

hell. I got enough trouble."

"What're you going to do next time?" She slid past his knee, into the seat next

to his at the counter, facing it to him; leaned forward, arms on knees. "What're

you going to do, merchanter-man, if they aren't through hitting on you?"

"That's my problem."

"Mnn." She stuck out her foot between his, against the circular foot-rest of his

chair, stopping him from turning it. "No. It's Bernstein's orders. Bernstein's

own idea. And I'm not stupid. Didn't come off any Family ship. Maybe I know this

game, all right?"

"It's not just them—"

"Yeah, yeah, that's all fine. What're Musa and I going to do? You were drinking

our beer. Bunch of skuzzes takes exception to that. So what do we do, just play

stupid? Act like we're just too stupid to see how A fits with B? Or too stupid

to know if you push a thing you got to be ready to back what you did? Lot of

this crew isn't committed on this, lot of this crew don't care shit about you,

lot of this crew doesn't give you two thoughts in a week—because you didn't mean

shit, friend, till you got yourself beat up and now it looks like Musa's got to

decide to ignore that or not. And I do, being the new guy. So you got yourself

an organization, you see what I'm talking about?"

"Fitch'll kill you!"

"You're not listening, merchanter-man. You're not playing the game right."

"Shit."

He was turning away. She braced her foot and grabbed his arm.

"And that right there is one of the problems, friend."

"Get your hand off me before I break it."

"Mmmm-mmm. Won't put a mark on the guys that beat you up and now you're going to

break my hand. Real smart."

He shook her off.

"Muller told me," she said, "you got this way of repaying what people do for

you."

He shoved the chair the other way around this time, kicked her foot out of the

way and got up.

Right face-on with Musa.

"Sit down," Musa said.

"Hell!"

"Looks like we got to beat shit out of him," Bet said to Musa. "Seems to be the

only way he takes anybody seriously."

"Leave me alone!" NG shoved Musa out of his way, headed for the door.

"NG!" Bernstein shouted across the room.

NG took a couple of strides more toward the door. And stopped there, as if there

was some kind of invisible line on him.

"It's my order," Bernstein said. "You damn well do what you're told."

NG shoved his hands into his pockets, made a move like a shiver, then turned

around with that damned cocky set of his jaw, cut lip and all.

"Yessir," NG said.

NG left, they left—Bernstein having held all of them until all the mainday shift

came on; NG walked into rec and got his pills and they got beers and sat—

"Dammit," NG said when they parked themselves one on either side of him.

Musa patted him on the knee. "Everything's fine. Doing just fine." And Musa

looked at him, leaning a little outward on the bench. "That eye's going to turn

all colors, isn't it?"

People stared as they came in. People minded their business, until they got what

they fancied out of earshot, and then heads got together and not too furtive

looks darted NG's direction—people naturally wondering what had happened to NG's

face, and the business about NG having one more chance with Fitch being, as Musa

put it, shipwide famous, there was certainly a little morbid speculation going

on, damn right there was.

"You stay right here," Musa said, patting NG again on the knee. "I got to get me

another beer."

But Musa got directly into a conversation with Muller before he got to the

counter—not without saying exactly what he wanted to say, Bet figured, sipping

her beer and watching NG from the corner of her eye—watching whether he reacted

to anybody in particular this evening.

Linden Hughes reacted—walking in, seeing him there.

Damn sure.

"That the man?" she asked NG without turning her head.

"I got enough help."

"Sure. Him. His friends. You got all sorts of help."

Silence out of NG.

"You got it wrong," she said. "You got it all backwards. Friends is the ones you

help."

"You're a damn fool," he said, and got up and went off toward quarters.

So she went.

And caught up to him inside, in the dim light.

He stopped short. "Get off my tail," he snarled at her.

"Hey, fine," she said.

"Look," he said, and came back, hands open. "Look, Bernie's got this great idea,