Hear me?"
Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. He pulled his hand and looked away from her.
She could have said her ship-name too. It had been a point of pride all her adult life.
But Africahad a rep with the merchant trade, a bad one. She'd learned that, on Pell docks.
And maybe he didn't need to know that yet, maybe he just would rather not know.
He didn't say anything, didn't look at anything in particular for a second, then discovered the slate in his left hand and studied it as if he was going to find some answer there.
Logical as anything. Some things had to rattle around awhile before you could even start to think.
So she figured it was just a case of walking out quietly, letting him alone and letting it settle as much as it ever could—Merrill was coming in, Merrill and Parker both were going to be working down here, he wasn't going to be alone, thank God.
But he caught her arm as she was going. She stopped, wanted to grab onto him—but he didn't invite that, just put his hand on her shoulder, just a quiet "don't hate you, Betc"
But it had as well been a "not sure I can say anything beyond that, either."
He let her go. She looked back when she got to the door.
She said, because she didn't want to leave him in all that quiet, "Is Merrill up? Fitch was going to call him."
"Fitch said there was shop-work, said we're going twenty-four on."
She nodded. So he could be civilized, get the job done, shove the personal stuff over till the mind could cope. It was a relief, of a kind.
"What's happening out there?" he asked.
"Dunno," she said. "They got these busted-up armor-rigs, they got some damn problem they think they need this stuff, real fast—Fitch says. Not everything Fitch says is making sense—"
You hearing me, man?
—Fitch says there's trouble onstation, Fitch says there's just six guys on this ship, everybody else is off. I got this terrible feeling it's no accident who's left aboard."
His face had that scared look again.
"Do what Fitch says," she said. The adrenaline was running out. She was getting the shakes, feeling sick at her stomach. "I got to go. Fitch gave me five minutes down here. I got to go back. Stay out of trouble. I needyou, understand me? For God's sake, I need you."
"What deal?" he asked, suddenly getting words out.
Then he hadbeen tracking, sharper than she thought. Her heart thumped over a beat.
She started to liec
Remembered in time what she'd just said about lies.
"Clean slate," she said on autopilot, gone numb herself, while her brain was trying to figure out how much he'd understood, whathe understood, whether there was anything she could say in two seconds that could make any difference. "You and me, clean slate.
Fitch says. Says it's station trouble.—But if we got station trouble—why in hell is the pumpstill going?"
" Yeager"!Fitch's voice rang out over the general com.
She saw NG's face, cold and shocked, as she spun around and ran out the door, headed down the corridor as fast as she could.
He could've heard, God, I think he heard that—
" Tenminutes," Fitch said when she got topside.
"Sorry, sir. But we got some stuff straight. NG's straight with it. He's all right.
Promise you."
Fitch just gave her the eye a second. Then: "Twenty-four hours, Yeager."
" Yes, sir."
She moved. She got to the locker and she moved double-time—dirty job, Fitch wanted.
So you did any damn thing that luck might let hold six hours.
Which was as long as you could last anyway, without a reserve pack.
And they didn't come with any.
One of the circulation pumps was blown, she'd expected that, thank God the next valve on the line had shut before it froze. Jim Merrill had that one to fix—wide, hard stare from Merrill when he opened the door on number one topside stowage and found out exactly whatthe Flexyne was for, and where the pump he was supposed to fix came from.
"Shit," he said. "They expect us to fix thesethings?"
So nobody'd briefed Merrill, at least. Maybe a lot of crew had known what was in the topside locker, maybe for years.
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'sgoing 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'sgoing 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 noidea. 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 wrongc 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 thatain't exactly his good-listc
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 Europerig, 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.