Detail just muddled up in her skull, the whole room kept turning around, she only knew he was scared, and she was, and beyond her not knowing any answer, there might not beany answer.
Couldn't bluff, NG was right, couldn't depend on any Fleet ship not firing on them only because they were sitting at a station dock—because they weren't dealing with anybody on either side who had an overwhelming lot to lose. The Fleet didn't: couldn't hold a place like Thule, just didn't have the ships. Even the Alliance didn't care about Thule except as metal that had to be junked; and the people were all Q-zone refugees Alliance wished it didn't have. Only some Pell lawyer was likely to complain if Thule got blown, but it didn't help them after the fact.
Antique station. Nothing to hold onto.
"One damn pump," she remembered suddenly. Thule dock. Cheese puffs. Ritterman.
Herself and Nan Jodree standing in the Registry watching the screen. "One pump at this station that can handle a starship. We're sitting at it. More than that—our tank can drain this station dry and it takes the skimmers weeks to refill it. If that's what's going on out there, if there is a ship, if its tanks are low as ours and they blow us—they've blown the pump, they've blown what we've drunk down, they're stuck here—it's more than forcing us out, they've got to takethis ship."
That bastard Wolfe knew our chances when he brought us in here. Tanks nearly dry.
Major mechanical with the drive. No way to run.
So you pull into station, you drink down all the available fuel and you defy the sonuvabitch on your track to come after you and take it back.
We're supposed to stop a station boarding with two armor-rigs andLoki's guns, dead broadside?
Fuckin'hell!
CHAPTER 28
SHE SLEPT awhile, she didn't even remember lying down. She just woke up in a back-tilted chair with a blanket over her, staring at the lights.
Remembered too much, then, twisted over to see where NG was, and found him folded over at the next station counter, taking a nap of his own, probably with the auto-alarm set. He'd put her kit and a change of clothes on the counter by her: she got up carefully, stiff and sore as hell—and made her trip to the head. Not easy to do a thorough scrub in that cubby, from a recessed tap, but it helped.
NG had set her stuff up for her, took care of her, NG, who never took two thoughts beyond his own necessities—
Maybe, she thought, maybe he was more upset than he showed, and he was putting everybody off their guard so he could do something stupid like go after Fitch—
But a man with his thinking in a muddle didn't steady down the way he had, didn't suddenly start tracking on his job the way he'd been doing, now, she added it up, ever since he'd found out he couldn't shake her or Musa or Bernie off his tail.
Like he'd been drifting in his private space until he got this beacon— Somebody else out here, man, somebody solid—pay attention, now— I got information for you—
Maybe it'd been like that for her, she thought, the last several years. Maybe that was what made him impossible for her to let alone: he was the voice in her dark too, saying I know what you've seen. You don't have to make sense. You don't have to explain a thing.
It's not a requirement herec
Hell of a time to figure things out, Yeager.
She came back into Engineering with that thought, she came and bent over his chair with the intention of waking him up, telling him that, telling him at least how she felt—
But it was too embarrassing, and she went muddle-headed when she thought about talking to him like that. Maybe he didn't feel like that, maybe what he felt was something crazier, or saner, and it wasn't fair to push personal stuff on him. People opened their mouths and put personal loads on each other, and embarrassed each other beyond anything they could ever patch, was all they were likely to do, when everything was already all right and it could go along forever as long as people didn't say stupid things to each other.
So keep your mouth shut, Yeager, just wake him up and be nice, you got to leave pretty soon. Last thing you can do is duck out on him without a goodbye.
She bent down, blew on the hair at his temple, moved back when he woke up, to save her jaw.
"Was going to give you a nice wake-up," she said, "but you move too quick."
He rubbed a stubbled face. He looked like hell. He muttered something, dragged himself up, patted her on the shoulder, and went to gather up his own kit by the door, headed for a wash-up.
So she sat by herself, she watched the little numbers on the screens until he came back, which wasn't long. He hadn't shaved, just washed up a bit, and he got them a couple of soft drinks and a couple sandwiches out of the locker at station one.
She drank. She couldn't face eating. She tucked the sandwich in her pocket.
"I'll keep it for later," she said, and deliberately didn't look at the time.
Take care of yourself, she wanted to say. But that sounded too much like goodbye.
She wanted to go over things with him, to make sure he was agreeing with her, but that was her nerves it was for, no good for his.
" Yeager," com said. " Report topside. Five minutes."
"Damn," she said.
NG reached out and grabbed her hand. Held on a second.
"Got to answer that," she said, and stood up and pulled away before she did something, said something, they didn't have the time to deal with. "I got to get Fitch settled—"
"Don't trust him. Don'ttrust him."
" Yeager! Battle ready! No fuckin'time, Yeager"!
"Oh, shee-it!" Her heart jumped, the body did, she left the chair-arm and turned around and grabbed him, hard, said: "That's it, that's all of it— get off this ship" !
The siren started. She tore away and ran, banged the edge of the doorway, jumped for the corridor deck and sprinted for the lift.
Didn't tell him goodbye, didn't even look back until it was too late and she was headed around the curve, and only a fool would ignore that siren and delay for a backward glance.
She wanted to tell him to suit up, wanted to stand over him and be sure he did. He could be a fool, damn him, she'd told him too much—
God, the clock by ops showed less than six hours, there could be something loose scan hadn't counted, hadn't spotted, hadn't anticipated—
Damn Goddard! Damn Fitch! You dealt with the Fleet, you dealt with carriers and rider-ships, too many pieces loose in any situation to take chances with—
She hit the lift, she hit the button and after that it moved at its own rate, nothing you could dobut stand there while it climbed and lurched past the corec
Thump, thump, thump of the fueling pump, louder than the siren for a few seconds, whole floor of the lift shaking—
If that bastard Fitch is conning me, if he just wants me to move—
The ship rang and shook as if a hammer had hit it. She grabbed for the safety-rail and white-knuckled it, taste of blood in her mouth where she had bitten her lip—