Rimrunners (36 page)

Maybe just for this run. She didn't know. He gave her what he'd brought, she got

up and gave him the dead pump. "Fast as you can turn it around," she said; and

she had to ask: "How's NG doing down there?"

"Being a sum-bitch, what's he ever doing?"

"Shit."

"He said—" Merrill sounded as if he wasn't sure what he was walking into.

"Said—ask you what in hell's going on up here."

She looked at Merrill with this sudden dumb-ass hope for the situation and

wished she had an answer. But NG'd asked, dammit, he was at least talking to

Merrill, he was still working down there.

"Tell him," she said, "—tell him he knows everything I do. Tell him keep his

head down. Tell him I got no notion whatsoever of dying in this place."

"What's going on?" Merrill asked.

"Fitch says station trouble. You figure it. Fitch still out there?"

"On the bridge," Merrill said. "Outside.—What kind of trouble, f' God's sake?"

"Dunno. Got no idea. Captain's missing since morning, crew's been sent off—"

"Crazy," Merrill said. "Whole thing's crazy."

And when she didn't say anything else, Merrill left. She heard the lift go

downside while she was measuring the new line.

Thule's pump was still running, Thule was still pouring her small tanks into

Loki's, fast as the antique machinery could push it. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Nobody's been back to the ship. You'd expect crew to come aboard and stow stuff

they'd bought, if there wasn't something wrong… You could get robbed on Thule

docks. You didn't carry stuff around, more than just your necessary cred-slips.

Trouble, Fitch said, and station was still going on with the fill, like it

wasn't anything to do with that department of station affairs—

Maybe somebody bashed somebody, maybe we got law trouble here, going to try to

strongarm somebody out ofnstation lockup. Loki wouldn't take any shit off

station-law, not in any skuz place like this—

But why's it only Fitch aboard, where'd that other officer go, where's the

captain, why in hell did Fitch send everybody off-ship but me and NG and Parker

and Merrill, just Engineering types—

Just us that ain't exactly his good-list…

Send everybody out for a show of force on the docks, maybe!

Who ever said Fitch is telling even half the truth!

She got the line fixed, the seal in, the pump seated, one she'd borrowed out of

the Europe rig, working on the notion of getting at least one rig test-ready.

She powered-on the plastron section, tested the valves at the seal-points, and

the systems stood it.

Bet your life it would.

—Trooper joke.

Merrill brought her a sandwich up. She ate it, stuffing her mouth occasionally,

chewing while she worked. She caught a little sleep, unintentional, just enough

to bump her nose on the helmet she was holding, and to wonder where in hell she

was and what she was doing half-frozen with a helmet in her lap.

She wasn't counting hours, just working as fast as she could without making

problems—she had this grease-pencil tally written on the deck, of systems

checked and to-be-checked, a skut's memory in place of the computerized tick-off

on a slate with built-in prompts, had a lot of cobbled-together, hand-made

pieces because supply didn't have them, had one tension-screw slipping on the

right shoulder, so she borrowed one out of the left hip; a couple in the right

elbow, so she borrowed them out of the left.

Trades like that.

She went out and asked Mr. Fitch for a hot tea and another tube of Flexbond.

Fitch looked around from his station at the boards, snarled at her, told her get

her ass back to work, but the tea showed up anyway, Merrill brought it.

One favor out of Fitch, she thought.

Merrill brought something else, too, said quickly, in a low voice, leaning close

to her, "Fitch's keeping systems live," and handed her a little

dozen-times-smeared note in grease-pencil.

It said: Malfunction not minor. Take any chance get out. Ask Merrill.

It also said: The other thing—Mostly I think I knew. Ok

—NG

She looked at Merrill, cold inside as well as out.

"What's he talking about?" she whispered.

Merrill put his mouth up against her ear. "Systems has been telling command all

along we got a problem. Systems is saying this ship's going to blow clear to

hell if we go on running like this. "Now we got a five-day fill here. Hell of a

lot of mass we're taking into that tank. What in hell's the captain doing,

that's what we're trying to figure…"

Wasn't minor, wasn't minor, what happened coming in…

"But what else can we do? I know we got a problem. But they can't fix it here."

"We don't need a full tank to get to Pell! They were supposed to do a partial

here and get us on to Pell with a light load, where we can get a fix on that

damn thing, that's what Mike understood, that's what Smitty and Bernstein

understood. What's this five days crap, that's what mainday Systems is asking.

Why've they got the ship cleared, and what's this stuff about armor? They put

the whole crew off, like they don't know out there that that fill's still going?

D' they think Systems won't talk, or Engineering doesn't have to know what mass

we're hauling? Systems says—not sure who's in charge here. Command's gone crazy.

Systems says—maybe jam the airlock. Get us off this ship…"

She got this colder and colder feeling. She wiped the bit of plastic to a smear,

twice, to be sure. You could die for what was written there.

She whispered, "Don't know, don't know. Tell NG—tell him twenty-four hours. Tell

him for God's sake wait. Trust me. I'll find out."

Merrill caught a mouthful of air. "I'll tell him," Merrill said. And opened the

door to go.

Face-on with Fitch.

"We got a problem, Mr. Merrill? Ms. Yeager?"

"Nossir," Merrill said, and ducked out.

"We got a clear run on number one," Bet said, fast, before Fitch thought of a

second question. "I got the patch on number two there, going to run the rough

adjustments off me, far as I can, save you some standing, sir. Then I got to

have the body that's going to wear it—about two hours to fit it. Best I can do."

Fitch stood there looking at her. She wondered if guilty thoughts showed that

much.

"You sure you don't have a problem, Ms. Yeager?"

"Nossir," she said. Her voice was going. It cracked when she was trying to keep

it steadiest. "Nossir, everything's fine."

"You sure Engineering doesn't have a problem?"

"Nossir. Not any problem."

"We're running behind," Fitch said. "You understand me, Ms. Yeager?"

Time-sense was gone. "Yessir," she said, thinking, I got to sleep. I got to

sleep, I can't think like this—

She was shaking when Fitch shut the door. She drank the tea and slopped it.

Lying to me. Man's lying.

What in hell's he want out of me, why in hell'd Wolfe hand me to Fitch and

leave"?

Going to make a damn mistake, like to make one with Fitch, like to adjust that

rig for him, damn, I would…

She had crazed thoughts, like Fitch pulling a gun, like Fitch just killing her

outright once she was through and taking the rig for one of his cronies—

Who's my size, that'd stand for Fitch"?

Kill him first. I could. This thing could. Just walk out there, do everybody a

favor—

But the captain put me here. Captain knows about that wobble NG's talking about—

Damn. Damn! What's the hurry-up on these rigs? What changed, since we made

dock"?

Who'd risk blowing the ship, if all he's got to do is break Wolfe's neck,

promote his own faction, and cruise on into Pell?

CHAPTER 26

« ^ »

She slept again, just a sprawl on the deck while she waited for Merrill to bring

a finished job up, lay down with her cheek against the icy deck-surface and went

out cold a precious quarter, maybe half-hour, because except that, it was done.

It was a mistake, maybe, because she came awake with Merrill shaking her, and

couldn't remember for a couple of beats where she was, couldn't get her arms to

work to get herself off her face, because her back wouldn't take her weight.

Just dead, gone. And the back hurt and the joints hurt and the cold had made her

stiff.

"You all right?" Merrill was asking her. "You all right, Yeager?"

After a while you got from being afraid you were going to die to wanting to get

it over with. She crawled up off her nose, butt-high, elbows on the deck and

just rested there a second while Merrill told her how NG was all right with

waiting, NG and Mike Parker both, but on an in-case, they were going downside to

work on the outside lock controls, two Systems guys used to throwing around

giga-numbers out there trying to hotwire a security circuit—

God. "Fitch'll know," she hissed at Merrill, scared somehow Fitch had the place

bugged, Fitch was right outside. "Dammit, where's the captain?" Merrill was

downside, Engineering was right alongside ops, right down there next the lock,

they'd hear it if anybody came or went.

"No news," Merrill whispered. "Nothing. Like there wasn't anybody out there…"

"Crew's got to know they got the ship closed up, dammit, aren't they going to

wonder? Aren't they going to ask? What the fuck are they doing out there?"

"Nobody knows," Merrill said. "We've called the bridge, Mike asked to get a call

out, tried that. No go. Two on the bridge and us."

"Fitch out there?"

"Goddard."

Hughes' operator. "Shit." She sat up, crashed back against the wall, banged her

head. "Fitch's sleeping!. Screw that! Tell 'im I need 'im, tell Goddard get him

up, it's time to do that body-fit."

You stripped down to fit the rig, you started with the boots and you built up

from there, and it was cold, damn, it was, no locker on the ship had good vents.

Gave her a good deal of satisfaction, Fitch standing there in his underwear—not

bad scenery, either, even if he was a sonuvabitch, kept himself right in shape

bouncing crew off the walls. Few scars, real good one on the ribs, probably a

knife in some sleepover, probably deserved it, she thought, tightening up little

screws.

Put a little black crud on the braces inside the boot, clamp the boot shut and

adjust until all three braces left a stain on the skin. Not neat, gugged up the

suit-surfaces something awful, but if you had to fit a neo it was easier than

asking did it touch: it always felt like it touched, till you knew better.

Besides, it was Fitch.

Left boot, right boot, left shin, right shin, knees and chisses.

While Fitch stood there with a com-plug in his ear listening to stuff she'd have

given a deal to hear.

And with a damnable lack of attention to the discomfort, like what he was

hearing was a hell of a lot more real to him.

Lower body. She flat had to sit down in a minute and take a break. Her hands

were shaking so her fingers couldn't keep the driver in the damn little

invisible slots.

And of a sudden Fitch moved, knocked the fragile driver out of her fingers,

hurt, dammit, so she sat down hard on her backside, not sure for a second he

wasn't coming past her.

But you couldn't walk fast in that weight. Fitch activated his com, said, "No

answer," to whoever was listening, and repeated it, louder: "No answer, dammit,

do what I said…"

She picked herself up, rapped on the armor-leg to get his attention, started to

work again—flex here, turn there, sir, hold it there, sir…

Push it, sir, or it'll stop you there…

Damn, she'd like to set it about one tick looser.

But give Fitch one thing, Fitch had his mind on business and you told him to

hold and he held, no twitches, no complaints. Fitch wasn't real rested either,

eyes looked like hell.

"Think this thing's going to work," she confided in him, what little voice she

had left. "Ran a systems-check, it didn't blow…" And jumped to the question she

was after. "We prepping for fire, hard vacuum—what?"

"Anything," Fitch said. "Anything it has to."

"You ever stood up in one of these, sir?"

Dead silence.

"Power goes on, you got to relax. That's the main knack to it. Minute you tense

up, you got the rig taking orders, you twitch, like you're going to fall, rig's

going to over-react and you'll lose it. Some like it set real loose, some want a

hair-trigger react-time, you got your choice, sir—this one's set fast, I can

take it down half."

"I'll take your judgment on it," Fitch said, downright civil.

"How much time you got to try this?"

"I don't know," Fitch said. He never looked at her while she was working, she

never took liberties with the situation. "Maybe none." Fitch took a breath and

let it go, said, into the com, "I got that."

"We got a weapons interface," she said. "We can patch right into the rig's

systems, if you got a gun with an I/O plug, ranging, tracking, auto-fire,

anything you got."

Pure smartass arrogance. Lucky if the ship carried side-arms that good.

Hell if Fitch was going to let her near anything of the kind if they did.

"We got plain sidearms," Fitch said after a moment, "be lucky if we get a

target."