"You just be real smart," he said finally. "You tell me the truth, the whole truth. Are you Mallory's?"
That caught her so far to the flank her jaw dropped. "Nossir."
"Orsini wondered."
She felt herself shaking and trying not to show it, not to let a wobble into her voice.
"This ship got some trouble with Mallory?"
"Orsini just wondered. Pan-paris militia, huh?"
"Yessir."
"You lying to me, Yeager?"
"Nossir." While the sweat ran on her chest and the air seemed thin and cold. "I been around a bit. I guess the habits just took."
"I think you arelying."
She stood looking Bernstein in the eye, desperate and thinking that there was no way back from what he was asking. If he spooked, she was dead, that was all.
" Africa," she said then, dry-mouthed. " Africa, sir. Separated from my ship at Pell."
Finally he said. "Crew?"
"Marine, sir."
The silence hung there.
"I don't mean anything against this ship," she said. "Truth, I just wanted off the stations." And in the long further silence: "I give you everything I got. You're a good officer. And you asked and I told you. All I know to do now, sir."
"Anybody else you've told?"
"Nossir."
Bernstein rubbed the back of his neck. Shook his head. Looked at her finally, sidelong. "You take orders?"
"Yessir. I take yours."
"Did you hit Fitch?"
"Just shook him up. Thought he'd leave some marks. Only defense I got, sir, let people know what he's doing, only thing I could think of, maybe to get it on record what he's doing. Dunno whether that was smart or not."
"It was smart," Bernstein said, "so far as it goes. Where it goes nextc Dammit, be careful, Yeager. Be damnedcareful."
She drew a deep breath. "Yessir. I got that straight. All of us.—But there's others taking our side in this Hughes business. McKenzie and his shift. Williams. Gypsy Muller and his mates. Nobody in quarters is standing with Hughes now. So we got that, sir."
Bernstein digested that piece of news for a second. Then: "You check in with medical at all?"
"Nossir."
"Get the hell over there."
"I can—"
"Documentation."
"Yessir," she said, having it clear, then. "But what do I tell them happened?"
"Tell 'em the locker door that got NG got you. Musa and Freeman can walk you over.
Keep you with witnesses."
"Musa—" she protested.
"NG's on duty, he's not going anywhere. I don't want yougetting stopped."
"Yessir," she said, on a breath. "Thank you, sir."
But she was scared, deep down, about going to the meds, about leaving the situation with NG. She thought of a dozen things that could go wrong or get out of hand, the kind of superstitious unease that jump set into her. You left things at loose ends and they came back and got you, in ways you never planned.
Chance always got you. And if you left any string untied, it happened.
She stopped like a coward and looked back at Bernstein, wanting—God knew—to ask him what he thought, wanting reassurances. But that wasn't the most important thing.
Bernstein outright deciding he couldn't trust her wasn't the worst thing that could happen.
Worst was the irrational stuff, the kind that went wrong just because you trusted it—
and it killed you.
"Sir—what I told you about mec I don't think NG'd feel at all comfortable to know that."
"I don't think so either," Bernie said.
CHAPTER 20
THEY WALKED past the lockers, around the curve to rec, where alterday's breakfast was cleared away and mainday was having evening beers. "Just keep moving," Musa said, when they started through.
Damn right, Bet thought, conscious of her face and the reason for the stares. God, there was Liu-the-bitch, with Pearce, the senior Systems man, Freeman's yesterday mates—Liu and Pearce stared, Musa waved a hello and kept going, and Freeman undoubtedly looked back—a man had to, when he had to walk by his former mates on alterday's duty, and miss the beers and the talk, the bed-sharing and the partnering and everything else the situation had yanked away from Engineering's mainday shift.
Like being kidnapped and raped in the bargain, it was, and small wonder if Liu and Pearce didn't look exactly cheerful seeing them kiting past on Bernstein's affairs.
Not a happy crew back there, not happy looks that came their way—mainday had been messed with, Engineering was far and away the largest command in the 'decks, and if mates had been transferred, if Mr. Smith was unhappy and Mr. Fitch was pissed, then it wasn't going to be a happy crew for some little while.
Freeman, poor sod, looked like he was bleeding a little; and she wished she could say she was sorry, but she didn't think Freeman wanted to hear it from her, most of all.
"Locker door, huh?"
"Yes'm," she said to Fletcher, while Musa and Freeman waited outside and she was sitting buck-naked on the surgery table letting Fletcher shine light in her eyes and look in her ears for blood or such.
"Not concussed, I think," Bet murmured, wanting the exam over and her clothes back.
The surgery was cold and Fletcher's hands felt colder. "I had that before. Doesn't feel like it."
"Happens you're right," Fletcher said, turning the light out, flipping the little scope other-end-to. Fletcher put a steadying hand on her shoulder.
And jabbed her in the back with the scope. Bet straightened up and swallowed down a damn! with a gulp of air, because breakfast nearly came up and her eyes watered.
"Just fine, aren't you?"
"Thing was cold," she said. With the cabinets and the counters shimmering through the water in her eyes and her nerves still jerking. Fletcher ran the probe lightly up and down her back.
"Should have been in here last night," Fletcher said. "I take it that's when this happened."
"Yes, ma'a—" Stars exploded. Her breath went short. "—'am. Did."
God, she was going to pass out.
"So you went to sleep on it. Who with?"
"I just went to bed."
"Alone?" Fingers ran over the sore spots. "Hell, you couldn'tcome by after it happened. You have to wait and call me out of my rec timec"
"I'm sorry."
"You ought to be." Fletcher went over to the cabinet, looked at the scan-images again, made notes with lines going to this part and that, then started searching the shelves, in that way that inevitably meant medicine. Hopeful sign. Prescriptions meant there was a pill to fix it.
Fletcher said, "Must've been just after I saw you last night."
"Yes'm."
"When?"
She didn't like that kind of question. Documentation, Bernie had said. It was a damn Q
& A about what kind of story she was spreading about Fitch, that was what it was turning into, and she wanted off the edge of the table, wanted to get her feet on the floor and take the strain off her back. Most of all she wanted to get to Musa outside and get back to Engineering, where, God knew, if somebody called Bernstein out to the bridge or somewhere, NG was all alone with a half dozen mad as hell transfers.
Fletcher found what she wanted and picked up a hypo. Popped the cylinder in.
"I don't need any shot," Bet said. She thought about Fitch, about maybe Fletcher putting her out, Fletcher working with Fitch—
You signed on a ship and you were subject to the meds, that was the way it was. Like God. You got walked into sickbay for a simple lookover and a pill and not even Bernstein could keep Fletcher from giving her that damn hypoc