“I’m a little down,” she said. “Call me Sectry, Rather. I’m not on duty.”
“Does down mean something like miserable?”
“Yeah. Guys, are you finished with him?”
“He’s all yours, Bosun. No need to be careful, he ain’t fragile.”
Sectry Murphy flashed them a fleeting smile. To Rather she said, “I can’t picture the Petty rejecting you after he hears about that performance.”
Treefodder. Booce hadn’t thought to tell him to hold back on a stamina test. “What’s got you down?”
“Not here, stet? I need someone to talk to, not Navy. I just came from the Purser’s and I’m ready to tie one on. Want to join me?”
“I’m with Debby. My stepmother.”
“Stet. Let’s go get her. How does Half Hand’s sound?”
Rather was coming down the corridor. There was a woman with him.
Once upon a time Debby had seen Rather and Mark talking in the Citizens Tree commons. Both dwarves, but they hadn’t looked at all alike: Mark’s face nearly square, Rather’s nearly triangular…She remembered it now, because Rather and the dwarf woman looked right together, though they were clearly from different branches of humankind.
And both, in different fashions, looked worn out.
Debby asked, “What happened to you?”
Rather said, “Centrifuge. They ran me to death. I could have lifted an elevator all the way to Discipline. Debby, you remember Sectry Murphy—”
Clasping toes felt odd: Sectry’s reach was so short, her toes so stubby and strong. “Hello, Sectry. I take it you’re off duty.”
“Right. On our way to Half Hand’s. Join us?”
“Sure.”
Sectry led them in. “The place is nearly empty,” she said.
It wasn’t. There were a good dozen people scattered around Half Hand’s. But windows were clear, and Sectry led them to one. “It’s nice to have a view,” she said over her shoulder.
Rather flinched. Debby grinned; she’d seen Rather watching Sectry’s kicking legs.
“Grab a pole, someone will come. You hungry?”
When one of the women from the kitchen appeared, Sectry said, “Fringe tea and sausages for three, Belind. You two should try the sausage.”
“Stet,” Rather said. “What’s got you down?”
The false gaiety ran out of her, and Debby saw pain. “I’ve been trying on pressure suits. I don’t fit.”
Debby said nothing. Rather said nothing.
“They don’t let you try the suit till you qualify for Guardian in all other respects. So they got me into the small one and I couldn’t breathe.” Murphy wasn’t wearing armor now. Her breasts stretched her tunic tight.
Debby had never had trouble feeding her children, but her own breasts didn’t have that vulnerable look. “I could have faked it, but the suits aren’t all quite the same size. So I tried the bigger suit. My feet wouldn’t reach the toes. There are controls in the boots. My fingers don’t quite reach either.”
“That leaves one,” Debby said.
“The large? It’s in use. It won’t fit. If my damn toes were longer! I’m out. I can’t be a Guardian.”
Belind was back.
Sausage was a tube seared around the outside, delicious inside: ground meat with bits of plants added. Fringe tea Debby knew from last night. She still had a trace of the morning headache.
The situation felt uncomfortable, and Debby was rehearsing excuses to leave. She asked, “Are you going to stay in the Navy?”
“I think so. I’ll never get further than Bosun, though.”
“You’ll be flying. More exciting than guarding the Library.”
“As a Guardian I could spend some time making a home! Get married, carry some guests!”
“Don’t they mind Navy people making babies?”
“You go to half pay when you’re showing, but you’ve got a mate working…and even if you don’t, Navy pay is good.” Sectry drank deep. She hadn’t touched her sausage.
Rather asked, “Sectry? Why would someone like the Captain-Guardian be interested in a recruit?”
“Wayne? That’s easy. If he can get enough dwarves at Guardian rank, he can move up to Captain. He’s got the rank but not the duties. Him, he’d be better off if he couldn’t fit a pressure suit.”
Debby took the rest of her tea in two gulps. “I’ve got to be going. Thanks, Sectry. I shouldn’t have come in. I’m supposed to be buying stuff at the Vivarium, now that we’ve got money.”
“Well, remember you’re on fringe,” the redhead said. “Watch the prices.”
“I’ll be careful.”
Outside, Debby let herself smile.
How would Rather handle it? Let Sectry believe that he’d come to the Navy only to get close to a lovely dwarf woman?
It might even be true.
A sheet of rainwater clung to the window. A blurred puff jungle drifted past.
Rather had finished his sausage. Sectry passed him half others. When Belind came past she ordered more fringe tea. She asked, “How do you like the Clump?”
“It’s mostly strange. Too wet, for one thing. I think I could get tired of boxes. Huts in a tree aren’t like that. Sectry, why did they build Headquarters round?”
“It was built to spin.”
“Spin?”
“The early officers, they thought we’d need tide to stay healthy. They gave that up early. They couldn’t dock a ship while Headquarters was spinning, and it tended to wobble. So they stopped the spin and they built the exercise room, centrifuge included. Those early Navy men must have been monstrously strong. But it turns out we don’t get sick. We still use the exercise room, though.”
The fringe tea was fizzing in his blood. Sectry Murphy seemed to glow. His mind was trying to follow a dozen paths at once. It suddenly seemed very natural that the early men would move a tree into the Clump, spin it, try to settle the tufts, get the benefit of tide and the clustered resources of the Clump…and produce the burl that later generations hadn’t been able to duplicate.
At the same time there was a strangeness in what Sectry had said…and then he had it. “How do you know all that? Booce told us about the Library. He said only officers’ children are taught there.”
“Wayne told me.”
“Oh.”
“We were together for a while. I never thought he’d marry me, I’m not an officer, but when he…What I was saying, he told me a lot of history. The Library used to be part of a starstuff rocket. We’ve never built anything like it.”
“What does it look like? Where—”
She shook her head; her hair spread around her like a flaming halo. “I never saw it myself. I’d like to. I wonder if I could talk my way past the guards…”
Guards. That door.
Voices and vision were turning strange. Sectry glowed; she was the Smoke Ring’s most beautiful living thing. Rather took a firm grip on his equilibrium. Offering to make babies with a high-ranking Navy officer now seemed presumptuous beyond insanity. Carlot had warned him: she might be badly offended. Yet he’d never seen a woman like her.
“Then he married a woman three meters tall and thin as a feathersnake. She’s got a face that would scare away a drillbit, and when she carries a guest she looks like a line with a knot in it. But she’s an officer.”
“Money.”
“Mmm? No. Rank.”
“Money,” Rather said distinctly, “is why Carlot is going to marry Raff Belmy.” He was losing control of his mouth.
“Oh. The dark girl, Serjent’s daughter?” A smile flickered and vanished, but Rather caught it. “That’s rank too.”
“You saw us.”
“Yeah.” The smile was back.
“Do you have rank?”
“I’m a Bosun. Crew.”
“Do I have rank?”
“No. What’s this all about? If you want rank you join the Navy. Then you’re crew.”
“Would you marry me then?” His mouth was running away with him. Fringe.
She laughed. She was trying to stop, and ultimately she succeeded. “We just met. How old are you?”