He passed the hand over his face and leaned back against the wall, finally, bit of light falling on his jaw, on one eye.
"You all right?" she asked.
He nodded, exhausted-seeming.
"Musa said Fitch didn't give you your trank," she said. "That true?"
Second nod.
"Fitch shoved me in that damn locker during undock," she said. "I was scared he wouldn't."
The single visible eye flickered. Blinked, fast.
"Fitch is the crazy one," she said. "—You merchanter, Ramey?"
No answer.
"Ramey, you scared of me?"
No answer.
"I figure," she said quietly, "You got all you can handle. I can understand that. But I tell you something, Ramey, I don't need anybody either. Not going to lean on you, not going to doublecross you. I would appreciate it if you kind of watch where your elbows are going."
He reached across the gap between them and pressed her arm, once, gently.
She put her hand on his, held onto his fingers. "You want to go back to rec and buy me a beer? I'm still not sure my credit's in the bank."
He shook his head.
"Come on," she said. "Doesn't scare me."
Another shake of his head. His jaw showed knotted muscle.
"All right," she said. "I'll take your advice on it. But I tell you what. Someday you're going to do that."
"Fitch," he said. Cold straight shot. Damned sobering one. "Name's NG," he said, then, as if some obstruction in his throat had broken loose with that. "Don't make a case of it. Don't stand outside the rest."
"I understand you."
He lifted his hand and touched her jaw, gentle, gentle touch, and it brought back what he could be, either the crazy man or the sane one, she wasn't even sure which was which with him.
"You're going to give me a hell of a rep," she said. "I tell McKenzie I'm going off with a guy, I come back with a cut lip.—Where's the other holes on this ship, so I can explain where I was? A lot of them?"
"Galley stores. Services. Core lift-bay. Stowages."
"Mofs get upset?"
Shake of his head. "Most don't."
"But Fitch is looking."
"This is Orsini's watch. Fitch is mainday."
"Orsini an S.O.B?"
"Different kind." NG ran a hand through his hair and leaned his forehead against it. "He—"
The door opened. Lights came up.
NG's hand reached hers in a flash, clenched it. She closed down hard, sat absolutely still while voices drifted back, woman's voice, man's sharp and angry.
A switch thumped, machinery whined, and the cans moved on the track. Bet snatched the blanket clear of the rail, where it could hang the track up, saw the can coming at her and pressed against NG for a moment as can after can cycled past, pushing against her with brutal force, shoving at her back and hip, enough to drive the breath out of her.
More machinery. NG's hand pressed her head close against his shoulder as a loader clanked.
And stopped.
Things quietened after a while. The voices were a dull murmur over the ship-noise. Then the lights went down and the door shut.
She sat there with her teeth chattering, the cold all the way through her.
"Gap's still there," NG said, of the way they had gotten back into this hole. "Always is."
"Good," she said, clench-jawed, because she'd been thinking about that, too shaken-up to look.
"You better go," he said. "Slip past the shop door. It could be open. That was Liu and Keane. Liu's a bitch."
She had to, that was all. She got her stiff limbs to work, she squeezed her body between the cans at the curve and got herself out and down the corridor, walking like she belonged there, with her knees weak and her gut gone to water.
She stopped around the line-of-sight from Ops, hung out near the lockers for a good few shivering, worried minutes until NG showed up.
Not expecting her. That was clear.
"It's late," she said. Somehow the crew was at fault for the whole damned mess, and for the aches and her cut lip. And for him. And she was mad enough now to be stubborn. "I tell you what, I want that beer. I go in, sit down, you just come in and make a move. All right?"
He nodded.
So she did that, came in and got the free tea the galley offered; and sipped it with a sore lip and hung around the counter with her back to two couples who were the only crew there.
So NG came trailing in after a little, and she went and sat down while he brought her the beer.
"Thanks," she said, and patted the place beside her on the bench.
But he went and got his and drank it standing at the counter, with his shoulder to her.
CHAPTER 12
We got a water-leak in galley," Musa said wearily, "Bernstein wants you to fix."
Then Musa stopped and looked at her twice.
So did anyone who got up close.
"You caught hell," Musa said. "You got trouble from anybody?"
Bet shook her head. "In the shop," she said. "Tried to recoil some line, it snaked round and got me."
Best lie she could think of, that could account for a bruise on her head and a cut lip.
"Hey," Musa said, worried-looking, "you got to watch that stuff, Bet, don't pick any fights with it."
Like hell Musa believed that story.
"I'm all right," she said.
And got on the damned leaky coupling in the galley, a crawl through an access barely body-wide, and a nice flat-on-her-back and slightly over to the side reach next to a damned, noisy refrigeration compressor in a space that gave you barely enough room to get a wrench on the bastard. Bernstein, she figured, was well through the necessary jobs and into the real busywork scut.
"Sonuvabitch," she kept saying between her teeth, just to keep the breath moving, and other things, while hot water dripped in her face.
She got the line disconnected, got the failed coupling off and stuffed it, the work of the two fingers that could reach it, into one pocket, got the replacement out of the opposite and lay there blinking hot water drip and trying to get the damn line dried off to take the adhesive on the coupling.
Effin' plumbing. Effin' same effin' system since humans blasted out of atmosphere. Maybe before. Modern effin' starship and the effin' plumbing got stressed in the effin' expensive swing-section galley and cheap little effin' gaskets had to be seated or nothing worked.
And the drip never ran out. Ran over her face and into her eye and down her cheek into her hair, while the damn thing had to fit on just so, and the damn com was sputtering at her ear, the plug come loose and about to fall out where nobody human could get at it—had to wear the damn thing, reg-u-la-tion, when you were working in a hole like this.
"Yeager," it said, nattering at her personally this time.
"Yeah," she said, but the mike was out of reach too, the way she had to tilt her head to get the band-light to bear on what she was doing. "Yeah, I got my page—just a minute—
Bernstein checking up on her.
"Yeager."
"I got my fuckin' hands full!" she yelled at it.
"Yeager! Check in!"
She held the line and the coupling with one hand, shaking head to foot, made a desperate reach to adjust the com. "Yeager here!" she yelled.
And heard Bernstein's voice. "—forty seconds to firing."
Oh, my God.
"Say again," she said. Like a fool she grabbed after the coupling and jammed it home on the snap-ring.
"This ship is moving, Yeager! Thirty seconds!"
She reached after the cut-off valve, screwed it open, a half-dozen fast turns. The coupling held.
"Yeager!"
She started eeling out of that access, using heels and hips and hands, fast as she could go.
The take-hold bell started ringing.