"Yessir. I got it."
Bernstein took a deep breath. "You got it. I've been trying to save this man's life, Yeager, and keep him sane. Now this has happened. Worse can happen. This is friendly, compared to what can happen. All they have to do is lie. They can still do that. You understand? They can call it self-defense."
"I can lie, too, sir. This Hughes bastard jumped me, NG stepped in. Exactly how it happened, sir. If it has to."
"Don't be a fool!"
"Yessir."
"Was it Hughes?"
"Dunno, sir."
Bernstein gave her a long, cold look. "You armed, Yeager?"
"Not right now, sir."
"What's in your pockets?"
She fished up her card. And a fat bolt.
"What're you doing with that?"
"Going to put it up, sir."
"You do that. And you and Musa—just kind of walk behind him when he goes places. Not one of you. Both. Hear me?"
"Real clear, sir."
Bernstein walked off. And talked to Musa. She exhaled a long, shaky breath. Game I know, sir. Damn nasty one. But I do know the game, sir.
CHAPTER 14
I got news for you," Bet said, leaning over NG's chair, putting her hand on his shoulder; NG flinched, mild attempt to get rid of her, but she was at an inconvenient angle. "Musa and I are walking you out of here tonight—"
"I got enough trouble."
"You haven't heard the rest of it. Musa and I are walking behind you in the morning, we're walking you to supper, we're walking you into quarters, anytime you move, you got us behind you."
"And how long does that last?" He swung the chair around, far as he could without bashing her knee. "Stay out of it."
"What's their names?"
"Not your damn business."
"Going to be. Mine and Musa's. We agreed."
"I said let me alone! You trying to get me on report?"
"For what? Walking down a corridor?"
"They'll find a way." NG wasn't doing well. He waved a shaking hand. "Just go to hell. I got enough trouble."
"What're you going to do next time?" She slid past his knee, into the seat next to his at the counter, facing it to him; leaned forward, arms on knees. "What're you going to do, merchanter-man, if they aren't through hitting on you?"
"That's my problem."
"Mnn." She stuck out her foot between his, against the circular foot-rest of his chair, stopping him from turning it. "No. It's Bernstein's orders. Bernstein's own idea. And I'm not stupid. Didn't come off any Family ship. Maybe I know this game, all right?"
"It's not just them—"
"Yeah, yeah, that's all fine. What're Musa and I going to do? You were drinking our beer. Bunch of skuzzes takes exception to that. So what do we do, just play stupid? Act like we're just too stupid to see how A fits with B? Or too stupid to know if you push a thing you got to be ready to back what you did? Lot of this crew isn't committed on this, lot of this crew don't care shit about you, lot of this crew doesn't give you two thoughts in a week—because you didn't mean shit, friend, till you got yourself beat up and now it looks like Musa's got to decide to ignore that or not. And I do, being the new guy. So you got yourself an organization, you see what I'm talking about?"
"Fitch'll kill you!"
"You're not listening, merchanter-man. You're not playing the game right."
"Shit."
He was turning away. She braced her foot and grabbed his arm.
"And that right there is one of the problems, friend."
"Get your hand off me before I break it."
"Mmmm-mmm. Won't put a mark on the guys that beat you up and now you're going to break my hand. Real smart."
He shook her off.
"Muller told me," she said, "you got this way of repaying what people do for you."
He shoved the chair the other way around this time, kicked her foot out of the way and got up.
Right face-on with Musa.
"Sit down," Musa said.
"Hell!"
"Looks like we got to beat shit out of him," Bet said to Musa. "Seems to be the only way he takes anybody seriously."
"Leave me alone!" NG shoved Musa out of his way, headed for the door.
"NG!" Bernstein shouted across the room.
NG took a couple of strides more toward the door. And stopped there, as if there was some kind of invisible line on him.
"It's my order," Bernstein said. "You damn well do what you're told."
NG shoved his hands into his pockets, made a move like a shiver, then turned around with that damned cocky set of his jaw, cut lip and all.
"Yessir," NG said.
NG left, they left—Bernstein having held all of them until all the mainday shift came on; NG walked into rec and got his pills and they got beers and sat—
"Dammit," NG said when they parked themselves one on either side of him.
Musa patted him on the knee. "Everything's fine. Doing just fine." And Musa looked at him, leaning a little outward on the bench. "That eye's going to turn all colors, isn't it?"
People stared as they came in. People minded their business, until they got what they fancied out of earshot, and then heads got together and not too furtive looks darted NG's direction—people naturally wondering what had happened to NG's face, and the business about NG having one more chance with Fitch being, as Musa put it, shipwide famous, there was certainly a little morbid speculation going on, damn right there was.
"You stay right here," Musa said, patting NG again on the knee. "I got to get me another beer."
But Musa got directly into a conversation with Muller before he got to the counter—not without saying exactly what he wanted to say, Bet figured, sipping her beer and watching NG from the corner of her eye—watching whether he reacted to anybody in particular this evening.
Linden Hughes reacted—walking in, seeing him there.
Damn sure.
"That the man?" she asked NG without turning her head.
"I got enough help."
"Sure. Him. His friends. You got all sorts of help."
Silence out of NG.
"You got it wrong," she said. "You got it all backwards. Friends is the ones you help."
"You're a damn fool," he said, and got up and went off toward quarters.
So she went.
And caught up to him inside, in the dim light.
He stopped short. "Get off my tail," he snarled at her.
"Hey, fine," she said.
"Look," he said, and came back, hands open. "Look, Bernie's got this great idea, works just fine until some damn emergency comes up and Bernie's got to have Musa off over here, and you're off over there—"
"All you got to do is be halfway smart. Like you weren't."
"Musa's not going to put up with this past three days. Musa's going to duck out of it soon's Bernstein gives him the excuse, and that leaves you, you understand me, that leaves you in that damn locker. You like that?"
"Musa and I got this understanding, just this little arrangement—"
"What kind of arrangement?"
"What you think. Same's with you. Or-ga-ni-zation, merchanter-man. You understand Family? I'll bet you do. Same thing. Same thing."
NG looked as if she had hit him in the face.
And he walked off on her, down the aisle to his bunk.
A second later, Musa walked through the door.
"What's that?" Musa asked.
Family merchanter, for sure, she thought, I bet you anything you like.
But she said, staring after NG, arms folded: "Just getting something at his bunk."
Musa scratched his shoulder. "Not real happy, is he?" Musa said. "Didn't figure."