“They'll be along,” Rimbol told him.
“I've got sleds that must be ready by midday. You two start with these. Other numbers will come up on the display boards when I find out which flaming Singers will lift their asses out of the racks today.”
Killashandra and Rimbol hurried off, hoping to be out of his range if the other volunteers didn't arrive. They had cleaned and stocked eight sleds by midday. Numbers had disappeared periodically from the display, so Killashandra and Rimbol knew that other recruits had gone to work.
Almost at the stroke of 1200 hours, raised voices, echoing in the vastness of the hangar, warned Killashandra and Rimbol of the influx.
“I don't like the tone of that,” she said, giving a final swipe to the cutter brackets on the sled they had just readied.
“Sound of angry mob in the distance,” Rimbol said, and pulling her arm, urged her into the stock rooms and behind a half-empty section where they had a view of the rack beyond them as well as the hangar entrance.
Bangs, curses, metallic slammings, and the thud of plastic resounded. Drive motors started, too fast for such an enclosed space, Rimbol told Killashandra. She plugged her fingers in her ears. Rimbol grimaced at one particularly loud screech and followed her example. The exodus didn't take long, but Killashandra was wide-eyed at the piloting and wondered that the Singers didn't collide with such antics. As abruptly as the commotion had started, it ended. The final sled had veered off to the Brerrerton Ranges.
“We did eight sleds?” Rimbol asked Killashandra. “That's enough at double time. Let's go. I've had enough!”
When they reached the lounge, it was empty. Carigana's door was red-lit and closed. Rimbol still held Killashandra's hand. Now he pulled her toward him, and she swayed against his lean body.
“I'm not tired now. Are you?”
Killashandra was not. Rimbol had a way about him, for all his ingenuousness and deceivingly innocent appearance, that was charmingly irresistible. She knew that he counted on this appeal, but as he didn't disappoint and gave no evidence of possessiveness, she complied willingly. He was like his Yarran beer, cool, with a good mouth and a pleasant after taste: satisfying without filling.
They joined the others as they straggled back to the lounge, consoling themselves for their scraped and solution withered fingers with thoughts of the double credits accruing to their accounts.
“You know what the Guild can do, though?” Shillawn began, seating himself opposite Rimbol and Killashandra. He swallowed and then sipped at his own drink in quick gulps.
“Guild do what?” Borton and Jezerey asked, joining the others.
“About dossers like her.” Shillawn nodded his head in Carigana's direction.
“What?” Jezerey asked, sliding into a lounger, her eyes bright with anticipation.
“Well, they can reduce her rations.”
Jezerey didn't think much of that discipline.
“And other amenities can be discontinued at random.”
“Such as?” Jezerey realized that Shillawn's face was contorted more by amusement than the effort to speak.
«Well, such as cold water instead of hot: the same with food. You know, the cold hot and the hot cold. Then the computer takes to making noises and shuffling the sleeping unit. Other furniture collapses when least expected, and, of course, the door doesn't always respond to your print. And,» Shillawn was warming to the delighted response of his audience «and since you have to print in for any meals, and it wouldn't be accepted» – he spread both arms wide and smirked again – «all sorts of insidious, uncomfortable, miserable things can happen.»
“How in the name of any holy did you get the computer to tell you that?” Killashandra demanded. Her request was seconded by the others.
“Didn't ask the computer,” Shillawn admitted, casting his eyes away from them. “I asked the supplier I worked with yesterday.”
Rimbol burst out laughing, slapping his thighs. “The best computer is still the human brain.”
“That's about all my supplier has left that's human,” Shillawn said in a disgusted tone of voice.
“And that's happening to Carigan?” Jezerey asked, her expression hopeful.
“Not yet, but it could if she keeps up. Meanwhile, she's two days in debt for bed and biscuits, and we're four ahead.”
"Yet Guild rules state – " Borton began.
«Sure» – and Rimbol chortled again – «but they haven't deprived someone of shelter or sustenance, just made them bloody hard to acquire or uncomfortable.»
“I dread the thought of a future as a stockist or a supplier,” Jezerey said, echoing the unspoken anxiety in everyone, judging by the gloom that settled over the quintet.
“Think positively,” Shillawn suggested with a slight stammer that impeded the advice. “We've been here eight days now.”
“Well, we ought to know fairly soon,” Rimbol said. “We've been here eight days now.”
“Almost nine.” Shillawn's correction was automatic.
“Tomorrow?” Jezerey's voice held a tinge of horror.
“Could be much longer than ten days if I remember what Borella said about the incubation period,” Shillawn reassured her in a mock cheerful tone.
"That's enough, friend " Killashandra said firmly, and drained her beaker. "Let us eat, drink, and be merry – "
“For tomorrow we die?” Rimbol's eyebrows shot upward.
“I don't intend to die,” Killashandra replied. and ordered a double beaker of Yarran beer for herself and Rimbol.
They had quite a few refills before they went to bed together. As Killashandra woke in her own room, she assumed they'd ended up there, but Rimbol was gone. The light was far too brilliant for her eyes, and she dimmed the plasglas on the unshuttered windows. After the storm and its attendant hard labor, it was pleasant to look out on the hills. She scoffed at herself for missing 'a view.' The rain must have encouraged growth, for vivid reddish-purple blooms tinged the slopes, and the gray-green vegetation was brighter. Doubtless she would grow to love the seasonal changes of Ballybran. Until she'd gone with Carrik to see the sights of Fuerte, she hadn't quite appreciated natural scenery, too accustomed to the holograms used in performances.
Carigana was the first person she saw as she entered the lounge. Killashandra hoped the day would improve from that point. The space worker had an ability to ignore people, so that Killashandra was not obliged to acknowledge her presence. The woman's obstinacy annoyed her. No one had forced her to apply to the Heptite Guild.
The recruits were laggard, and by the time all had assembled, Tukolom was clearly impatient.
"Much to be done is this day," he said. "Basic lessons delayed have been – "
“Well, it will be a relief to sit and relax,” someone said from the center of the group.
“Relax is not thinking, and thought must earnest be,” Tukolom replied, his eyes trying to find the irreverent. “Geography today's study is. All of Ballybran. When adjusted you are, another continent may you be sent to.”
Carigana's exaggerated sigh of resignation was echoed by others, though Tukolom stared only at her for such a public display of insolence. Carigana's vocabulary of monosyllables punctuated Tukolom's fluid explanations throughout the morning until someone hissed at her to stop it.
Whoever had organized the lecture material had had a sense of humor, and though Killashandra wagered with herself that Tukolom could not have been aware of the amusing portions of his rote discourse, she, and others, waited for these leavening phrases. The humor often emphasized the more important aspects of the lessons. Tukolom might be reciting what he had patiently learned or switching mental frames in an eidetic review, but he had also learned to pace his delivery. Knowing the strain of uninterrupted speaking, Killashandra was also impressed by his endurance.