Rimrunners (21 page)

—Spent all my grown life fighting Earth's fight, and look at how they paid us.

None so bad to take on one that I pick, none so bad to go out that way, if I got

to.

Just give me targets, that's what Teo would say.

She looked over at NG standing there sipping tea with a sore mouth. Gave him a

sort-of smile.

He glared at her like somebody cornered.

"You got a terrible attitude," she said and elbowed him in the ribs. "Cheer up,

NG."

He walked off on his own, to throw the cup in the bin and head off for work. But

she was on his track and she caught Musa's eye and Musa came, still gulping the

last of his breakfast.

So they trailed him around to Engineering, NG half a dozen strides in the lead,

Musa and herself behind, herself walking with hands in pockets and a kind of

unreasonable cheerfulness while NG looked mad as hell.

But they got there the way Bernstein said, no time at all that NG was ever out

of their sight: they got in, checked systems with their opposite numbers; and

Bernstein came in to take over from Smith—off a general briefing for the mofs,

one could guess.

Bernstein and Smith talked a moment, in the privacy ship-sound afforded, while

they were going through the routine shift-change checks, she saw that out of the

corner of her eye, and she felt the sweating nervousness start—

Calm down, calm down, she kept telling herself. No fire fight on the other side,

just another sit. It's the way this ship works, it's all she does…

But the hands wanted to shake and the gut kept tightening up, just anxiousness

to get it done.

Damn, I'm not up to this, they got NG on the boards, and he's crazy and they got

me and I'm not an engineer; and besides us they got just Musa and they got

Bernstein, and what in hell kind of way is that to run a ship?

Can't be a firefight, she thought, no way they'd put alter-day crew up when

there was a shooting match coming.

Bernstein finished with Smith, walked over to take the stats from NG. The

take-hold started ringing, the advisement of the coming engine-start. "So where

are we?" she asked, being curious. "Where're we going?"

"Classified," Bernstein said.

A body tried.

"We don't fight," Bernstein said. "We just stay ready to run. That's all."

"Yessir," she said.

"No different than we've been doing," Bernstein said. "We got a half hour.

Burn's about to go. Take the number three chair.—How're you doing, NG?"

"No problem," NG said, cold and preoccupied, flipping switches.

She was the one with the upset at her stomach as she settled into her place and

set herself up, trank-pack and c-pack and earplug and all, nothing else to do,

since mainday had been good enough to sign the shop sealed and secure.

The burn cut in, an authoritative shove of the engines that built fast and hard.

The deck shook and the whole swing-section of Engineering command rumbled on its

tracks as it reoriented, a quiver deep in bones and nerves.

Here we go.

"You watch this readout," Bernstein said over the complug in her ear, and

brought the station three screens live. "You got the panic button there and you

push it if any display starts flashing, you push the panic button and the system

will route it to me and Musa, you got it, Yeager?"

"Yessir."

"You know the parameters on the containment?"

Her heart jumped. "Yessir."

"That's your number one, there. On your right. If you get a sudden trend in the

numbers you don't like, you push your number one red button and the panic button

together. That sends it to me, got it?"

"I got it, sir, but f'God's sake tell me I'm not the only one on that."

"You're not. I like more than one pair of eyes on it. Watch your screens,

Yeager, and don't bother me, I got my hands full.—We're on count now. Start your

trank."

She grabbed the pack and squeezed it, felt the sting in her hand and the old

tension in her gut. She could see NG's station from where she sat, she could see

NG reach after the trank and take his. His face was still calm, but sweat

stained his jumpsuit and beaded on his skin.

Hard push now.

"Five minutes," Bernstein said.

Her thoughts wanted to scatter. Hughes; and NG; and Musa last night; and the

containment readouts and the numbers; and the chance of trouble otherside.

Watch the damn numbers.

Only time for so. much.

Is NG all right?

How long's it been since he sat station on a jump?

Flash of the space behind the cans in the stowage; NG tripping wild, hand in the

middle of her, hand bashing her lip—

He do that often?

And she thought, just as the final bell rang and they were bound for jump:

Does Bernstein know what he's doing putting a load on NG? Expecting him to work

in jump?

Man could kill all of us—

Down again. She heard electronic chatter in her ear.

She tried to focus, sorted after the numbers in her recollection, remembered to

watch the rate on number one. Saw the numbers falling away.

My God.

She hit the buttons, heart pounding.

"Got that," Bernstein said, "got it. She does that."

Sweat poured. She slumped, feeling the flutter in her muscles head to foot.

NG said: "Doing all right, Bet. Little slippage in one of the arms."

She felt like fainting. Breath came short for a little and she felt a cramp in

her gut she hadn't felt in years, like maybe the treatment was wearing off.

Or it was advancing age, maybe.

V-dump, then. She felt the pulse through the ebbing trank, felt them come down

again.

She fumbled after the c-pack, kept her eye on the screens while she pulled the

tube out and got a sip.

Second dump, hard, God—hard…

The numbers—

"We got that drift again!" She had the button punched.

"Got it, got it," Musa said.

God!

She wiped sweat and took another sip, reminded herself they were used to doing

this with one fewer. Old game of Scare the neo. Never a time that they weren't

onto that system. But, damn! it was all tekkie problems, it was all garble, she

didn't know what damn arm NG was talking about or what it had to do with the

magnetics or what in hell somebody was doing just then that pulled the numbers

back to safety.

The ship just worked, dammit, tekkies made it work, you never thought about the

ship just blowing up or losing its braking because of some damn numbers on a

screen.

She was shaking. She wanted a drink. She wanted a shower. She wanted to get to

the head. She sat there watching numbers till her eyes ached. And NG just talked

back and forth with Musa and Bernstein, calm and cold, until Bernstein said,

"Bridge is giving us an all-clear to unbelt. Yeager, you want to take a five

minute break?"

"Yessir." She had to pry herself out of the chair. She headed straight for the

outside and the E-section head, between Engineering and the purser's office, not

half scared about the ship changing its mind and moving, and making a

Yeager-shaped dent in the paneling—not half the scare those damn numbers put in

her, flowing away like the ship was bleeding to death right through her fingers

and she didn't have a patch for it.

Damn, damn, if everybody else could sit there like that, so cold, if NG could

sit there like that, just pick up and go on working with the shakes and all—

Damned if she couldn't.

Thirty-seven years old and starting over as a neo. So she got the shakes.

That was just adrenaline you didn't know what to do with. But you learned,

damned if you didn't, you learned what to do with that charge-up nature gave

you, and you got your head to working and you just did it, that was all,

whatever it was. Bernstein wasn't going to hand her a damn thing real without

checking her on it, and at least nobody was shooting at her while she was

learning it.

Please God he wasn't going to hand her anything real and on her own.

What do I say if he does? I don't know what the hell you're talking about?

Questions about her papers, all the way to the captain's office, that was what

honesty got her. They might forgive her being stupid, might just put her on

plain scutwork; but then Bernstein could tell the captain she was too damn good

at some things and too damn stupid at others and things didn't add up right,

that was where it could go once the questions started.

You learned, was all you could do, and you said no when you had to, and you

never agreed to anything you couldn't fix.

"Shakes?" Bernstein asked her, stopping by.

"Nossir," she said.

He patted the top of the chair. "Did all right. We just got a little play in a

servo, always wanders a little when we drop out. You know why?"

She gave him a desperate look.

"Nossir."

"Suggest you ask somebody real soon, Yeager."

"Yessir," she said. "Thank you, sir."

Bernstein patted the chair back again and walked off on his business, and she

just sat there a second. While her heart settled.

CHAPTER 16

« ^ »

Quiet evening in rec, vid going in the quarters, a lot of the shift just

collapsed in their bunks.

There was a large run on beers in rec, but just quiet drinking: lot of headaches

for tomorrow.

And their own little group of three collected at the end of the bench next the

galley, nobody bothering them, while two good Systems engineers drew diagrams on

a slate and tried to get what they knew through a dumb skut's head.

It made half sense. "Why's it do that?" she asked.

"God does it," NG said, exasperated. "Just believe it happens."

"No, no," Musa said, "fair answer, now."

NG erased the slate and started re-drawing his schematic of little labeled

circles, patiently, meticulously.

"Boy's damn smart," Musa said, hunkering closer. "Never did get this part

myself."

"The hell," NG muttered, giving Musa a dirty look, and went through it again,

how and why the flare-off worked when a ship dumped V.

It made her sick at her stomach when she started figuring it in terms of what

could go wrong. Or of what that number-drain was and what could happen if things

just failed to go right.

"Well, are we going to fix that damn thing?"

"First chance we get."

"We got to put in for a fill soon," she said.

"Where we put in," Musa said, "they got no facilities. And we can't afford the

sit."

"We can't afford to lose the—"

Musa shushed her. "Business, business don't go in rec. Drink your beer."

She took a sip. NG took a big one.

And seeing the look on NG's face she wished she hadn't said that about losing

the ship in hyperspace.

Seeing the look on his face—

And beyond it, where Lindy Hughes and his couple of friends were sitting,

talking, momentarily staring this way.

"Hughes is down there," she said with a second cold chill in her stomach.

"Hughes is on this shift," Musa said. "He's got a right."

"He's shit." She picked up the slate, she cleared it off and she gave it to

Musa, thinking that if it wasn't so traceable and so likely to land on NG, a

simple accident could account for Lindy Hughes.

"He's damn stupid," Musa said. "Bernstein's over all the techs. Man's got a real

problem. If he's real damn smart he'll transfer."

NG just sat there.

"Going to take this man to bed," she said to Musa, putting her hand on NG's

knee.

"No," NG said, and got up and went and threw his cup in the bin.

And went to the quarters by himself, past Hughes' stare.

"Man's upset," she said.

"Yeah," Musa said.

"I got to see to him," she said, worried about NG, worried about Musa—damn,

she'd had enough crazy men. But Musa turned his callused hand up and took hers,

and squeezed it.

"You be careful of Hughes. Hear? Some things I can't pull you out of."

"Yeah."

"Get."

She got. She tossed the cup, walked back to the dim quarters, heard a little

catcall from Hughes' company, and found herself face to face with McKenzie in

the doorway.

Shit! she thought, and flinched when McKenzie grabbed her arm, pulled her

inside, and said he had to talk to her.

"I got business."

"You got trouble," McKenzie said, and his hand hurt her arm. "You got major

trouble." He shoved her over against the first privacy screen, right by the

door. "Listen here."

"That's my arm, mister."

The grip lightened up. He was standing close, pushing her into the corner. "NG

the appointment you were talking about?"

"What if it was?"

"You'd be damn stupid. Damn stupid." Another jerk when she started to move.

"Listen to me! The man's going to get you killed. People are trying to warn

you—"

"You in with Hughes?"

"I didn't have a damn thing to do with it. I'm trying to warn a fool. You don't

know this ship."

She pulled to get her arm free. He eased up again, and she might get all the way

loose, but there was a note of something honest in the things McKenzie was

saying.

"I got my orders," she said.

"That include sleeping with him?"

"Is that your problem?"