We could confine junior crew to quarters, Bucklin sent back.
It was certainly an idea. There was no reason junior crew had to move about during their jump-prep inertial glide. Services were shut down. There was no work to be done.
It would at least let us get clear of system, Lyra sent.
It let them keep status quo with the juniors, as far as the mass-point—where, the Old Man had warned them, senior crew might need their wits about them, with no distractions.
Good idea, he said to Lyra’s suggestion, and this time did key up the voice function, going onto intercom to every junior-assigned cabin with an official order. “This is JR,” he said. “This is a change in instructions…”
“… Junior crew is to stay in quarters until further notice. Junior officers will deliver meals to junior crew at the rest break, and I suggest you spend the time reviewing safety procedures. If you have any special needs due to the change of arrangements please indicate them to junior staff, and we will take care of them.”
“I think JR found out,” Jeremy said from the upper bunk, the ship continuing under hard push.
“Nothing happened, for God’s sake!”
“I told you!” drifted down from the bunk above.
“You told me, hell!” He recalled he was supposed to be the senior in the arrangement, and shut up, glumly so. He wished they’d get rec. Jeremy was hyped and nervous, swinging his foot over the edge with an energy he hadn’t complained of yet, but he’d been on the verge.
“You just tell them shut up, is all,” Jeremy said.
“Oh, that’d do a lot of good.”
“Well, it’s better than staring at them. They don’t like staring.”
“I don’t care what they don’t like.” He had a printout in his lap and he dragged a knee up to prop it against the force that made the page bend. “I’m reading, anyway.”
“What are you reading?”
“Physics for the hopeless,” he said. It was the manual, the long version, in the section on yellow alert. “What do they mean ‘red takeholds’?”
“They’re painted red”
“Why?”
“So you can see them. They’re all those inset hand-grips up and down the corridors, so you don’t splat all over if we move.”
“I guessed that. What’s this red alarm?” “The klaxon. If you hear the klaxon you grab hold where you are. If it’s just a bell you have time to run to any door and bunk down, two to a bunk, or you get in the shower. If you’re carrying anything you throw it in the shower and shut the door.”
It was in the print, clearer with Jeremy’s condensed version.
“Why the shower?” Then the answer dawned on him, and he said, in unison with Jeremy: “Smaller space.”
“So you don’t fall as far,” Jeremy added cheerfully. “A meter’s better than three meters.”
“Have you ever done that?”
“Stuck it out in the shower? Yeah. One time JR and Bucklin had six in their quarters, one in each bunk, three in the shower.”
“Counting them.”
“No, Lyra and Toby snugged up on the bunk base and Toby broke his nose. Everybody was coming back from mess and the take hold sounded, and I bunked down with Angie.”
“Who’s Angie?”
“She kind of took care of me,” Jeremy said. Then added, in a slightly quieter voice: “She died.”
He’d walked into it. Damn, he thought. “I’m sorry.”
“Lot of people died,” Jeremy said. And then added with a shaky sigh: “I’m kind of tired of people dying, you know?”
What did you say? “Maybe that’s past,” he offered, best hope he could think of. “Maybe if the ship’s gone to trading for a living, then things can settle down.”
“We’re on yellow, right now.”
Jeremy’s worry was beginning to make him nervous. And he tried not to be. “Hey, we gave the Union-siders a whole bottle of Scotch. They’ve got to be in a good mood”
“I mean, you know, I didn’t think I was going to like this trading business.”
“So do you?”
“Yeah. Kind of. I didn’t think I would.”
“Neither did I. I thought being on this ship was the worst thing that could happen to me.”
“Mariner was wild,” Jeremy said with what sounded like forced cheerfulness. “Mariner was really wild.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “It was.”
“Did you like it?”
“Yeah,” Fletcher said, and realized he actually wasn’t lying.
“I did, too,” Jeremy said. “I really did. It was the best time I ever had.”
He couldn’t exactly say that about it.
But he didn’t somehow think Jeremy was conning him, at least to the limits of Jeremy’s intentions. That ever touched him, swelled up something in his heart so that he didn’t know how to follow that remark, except to say that the time they had wasn’t over, and there wasn’t any use in their being panicked now.
“The ship doesn’t wait,” he said quietly. “Isn’t that what they said when I was late to board? The ship doesn’t wait and nothing’s ever stopped her. She’s fought Mazian’s carriers, for God’s sake. She’s not going to run scared of some skuz freighter.”
“No,” Jeremy agreed, with a nervous laugh, and sounding a little more like himself. “No, Champlain might be tough, I mean, a lot of the rimrunners are pretty good, but we’re way far better.”
“Well, then, quit worrying. What are you worried about?”
“Nothing. The takeholds and the lockdowns, this is pretty usual. This is pretty like always.” Jeremy was quiet a moment. Then, fiercely, but with the wobble back in his voice: “I’m not scared. I never was scared. I’m just kind of disgusted.”
“With what?”
“I mean, I liked the liberties we had, I mean, you know, we could go out on docks most always, and Sol Station was pretty wild.”
“I imagine it was. You’d rather be back there?”
“No,” Jeremy said faintly. “We couldn’t ever go outside Blue Sector, ever. They’d just kind of, you know, approve a couple of places we could go to, JR would, or Paul, before him. But always line-of-sight with the ship berth. Even the seniors couldn’t. They had this place set aside, we’d stay there, and we could do stuff only in Blue.”
“You mean I was conned.”
“Not ever. I mean, before Mariner that was the way it was. We got to go out of Blue a little, at Pell. Pell was pretty good. But Mariner was the best. It was really the best.”
“They’re talking about us spending a month there.”
“If it happens.”
“It’ll happen. I bet it happens.” Fletcher was determined, now, to jolly the kid out of it. “What’s your first stop? First off, when we get there, what do you want to do?”
“Dessert bar,” Jeremy said.
“For a month?”
“Every day.”
“They’ll have to rate you as cargo.”
Jeremy grinned and flung a pillow over the edge.
He flung it back. It failed to clear the level of Jeremy’s bunk. Fletcher retrieved the pillow and made two more tries at throwing it against the push.
“You’ll never make it!” Jeremy cried
“You wait!” He unbelted and carefully, joints protesting, got out of his bunk, standing on the drawers, pillow in hand. Jeremy saw him and tucked up, trying to protect himself.
“No fair, no fair!”
“You started it!” He got his arm up and slammed the pillow at Jeremy’s midsection.
“Truce!” Jeremy cried. “You’ll break your neck! Cut it out!”