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. Hellof a lot of mass we're taking into that tank. What in hell's the captain doing, that's what we're trying to figurec"
Wasn'tminor, wasn'tminor, what happened coming inc
"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 shipc"
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 wouldc
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. Captainknows 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 outtherec"
"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.