Linesman (14 page)

The figure on the bed struggled, and Ean hugged his arms close at the helplessness of it. Couldn't the idiot even move?

Then—still prone on the bed—he started to sing.

Ean looked down at the floor. No one would believe what the song was for. Not while they believed he'd destroyed the lines.

“I've never seen anyone do that under triphene,” the medic said. “Maybe he wasn't under at the time.”

Abram turned to look at him. “How long does the drug take to kick in?”

“Why, depending on the dosage up to an hour if he takes it alone. Ten, fifteen minutes if he takes a stimulant.”

From their point of view, he'd had ample opportunity. He'd even spent such a long time in the bathroom that Michelle had come looking for him. Ean didn't look at anyone. He didn't say anything. Anything he said would incriminate him further.

The whole thing—from Ean's flopping onto the bed to Captain Helmo bursting in—was over in less than twenty minutes. It had taken longer to get the medic to come and dedrug him to wake him up.

After it was over, Abram turned to Ean. “And your version?”

He nearly asked what was the use. Who else could possibly have done it? But that was being stupid, and the longer they delayed, the harder it would be to fix the ship.

“I drank some tea at breakfast. It tasted foul, so I only had one mouthful. After that, I went to the meeting. The tea left a bad taste, so I went to the bathroom.” He might as well mention that, because they would. “Then, when the meeting was over, I went to bed.”

“And the singing while you were in an apparently drugged state.”

He remembered the dream and his inability to do anything. “Line six.” He had to put a hand over his mouth for a moment. “They would have destroyed line six.”

“They did destroy it,” Captain Helmo said, his voice raw.

“I can get line six back for you if you let me do it now,” Ean said. He was going to do something as soon as they locked him up anyway. He just hoped they didn't gag him.

He was shocked to see Captain Helmo consider it before he discarded the idea. “No.”

“You say your engineers can't get it back?” Abram said.
“Why not let him try then. He can't do any more damage than he has already.”

Captain Helmo opened his mouth to argue.

“That's an order, Captain.”

Did anyone give a captain orders on their own ship?

Helmo closed his mouth to a thin white line, but he didn't argue.

Abram turned to Ean. “And you, Linesman, had best make good on your promise. Go with the captain now. You are still under guard and under his orders. Understand?”

Ean nodded. Clearly.

“Is that wise?” the medic asked as the guards and a tight-lipped captain gathered themselves to leave. “He's clearly on the edge of insanity.”

Ean wished he hadn't said that while the captain could still hear him.

Abram just beckoned to one of the guards. “I want you to go through the security tapes and find out exactly what both linesmen have done in the last ten hours. I want to know everything they did.”

For at least half of those hours, Ean had been on the shuttle with Radko and Bhaksir and the others. That was some comfort, at least.

“Yes, sir.”

Abram turned back to Ean. “You mentioned a third linesman. Who is it?”

So he had heard. Ean thought about denying it, then answered reluctantly. “Katida.” And if she was innocent, he was sorry, but who else could it be?

For once he actually managed to shock some expression into Abram's reaction. “Admiral Katida's a linesman! A ten.”

“She's an eight,” Ean said. “But nothing above seven was harmed.” Lines eight, nine, and ten were still there, still clear, although obviously agitated at present about the other lines.

“So we could still jump if we wanted to.”

“If we had the engines,” Captain Helmo said. Ean could see him testing the air, finally realizing that the higher lines were okay.

Abram said to the soldier he'd asked to check the security
tapes, “Check Admiral Katida as well,” then said, “Dismissed,” and Ean was carried out with the mass of them exiting the room.

•   •   •

THE
engineers, all linesmen—mostly threes and fours, but there were two sixes—were already working on the lines. They worked with the shell-shocked expressions of people who'd been through a major natural disaster.

Chief Engineer Tai was one of the sixes. “You're letting
him
work here?”

They obviously thought he'd done it.

“He says he can fix line six.” Then Captain Helmo surprised Ean by adding, “He was, supposedly, doped on triphene at the time.”

“Convenient,” Tai grunted. “Line six is gone,” he said to Ean. “Totally.”

Ean just nodded and looked around the crowded workshop. “I need somewhere to do this.” He tried not to flush. “I can be . . . noisy.”

“You'll do it here,” Captain Helmo said. “Where we can all watch you.”

The engineers and the guards. He'd never had a real audience before. To settle his nerves, Ean asked, “Can I get a glass of water then?”

One of the guards got the water.

Ean took a deep breath. There was nothing for it then.

His first notes started off-key. He never sang off-key. He nearly scattered the shards of line six, which made him pay attention and forget his audience. He couldn't afford to do that.

He hummed softly to get his voice back, then started to sing, soft at first, then louder and deeper, until he got down to the level of line six.

The shattered shards of sound started to knit back together. Gently, gently, for the line was fragile, coaxing them into position, careful not to pull too hard.

You didn't break lines on a ship, not lines that had been together and happy like this. If they had to put in a new line
six, they might as well replace all the lines. The other lines would never accept the new one. They would never have been the same harmonious ship they had been.

He lost track of time, he lost track of his audience. This was his job. This was what he could do.

He only stopped when his voice finally gave out.

Ean gulped a glass of water—someone had placed a jug beside the glass—and gulped another one immediately after that.

He looked around at the silent engineers and guards, all of them just staring at him, and wondered how long they'd been silent for. His guard had changed, and Radko and Admiral Katida were there. Radko leaned against the wall, foot up against it, her usual pose. She was watching the guards and engineers. Katida was like the others, staring at him.

“Are you under arrest, too?” His voice came out as a husk of sound.

He was embarrassed about the question as soon as he'd asked it. One didn't, and if she was, he'd put her there, hadn't he. She probably hated him.

“I'd heard about you,” Katida said. “But one has to really experience it to understand.” She sounded like Kaelea talking about the confluence, or Radko talking about his singing. He had been so wrong about the confluence and the ship being the same because of the way people talked about them. Maybe if he'd been around higher-level linesmen more, he might have realized it was normal.

Then she smiled at him, just a baring of teeth. “I'm here because someone outed me as a linesman, and right now only you and I can fix line seven.”

“And Rebekah.” He was glad they had another higher-level linesman. This ship needed all the help it could get. It still didn't answer if she was under arrest or not.

“Commodore Galenos wants to see you,” Radko told Ean.

He nodded. “I'll just finish line six,” took another gulp of water, and turned back to the lines, preparing to sing.

Radko punched him in the stomach. Not hard, just enough to knock the breath out of him. He gulped in air the wrong way and doubled over, coughing.

It was the only sound in the workshop. Even the noise of the lines stopped momentarily.

“When the commodore calls, you come.”

He nodded and followed her out, still gasping for breath. Two guards followed.

Admiral Katida's admiring voice followed them. “Who is that soldier?”

When Ean could finally breathe properly, he sang an apology to line six as he walked. He'd be back to finish later. Line six sang back. It understood. This was a military ship. There were other priorities.

He was bemused at that. He'd expected the line to take his side, not Radko's.

The lighting was dim. It must be ship-night. He'd been working all day. He was suddenly aware how hungry he was and how tired. He hadn't slept in what felt like days.

Radko led the way back to the central workroom. No one was there—except him and the guards. Then she left, presumably to find Abram.

Ean dropped onto a couch and lay back with a sigh. He closed his eyes for a moment; even the dim lighting hurt them. In seconds, he was asleep.

JORDAN ROSSI

“YOU KNOW THAT
Rebekah Grimes left her assistant behind,” Fergus told Rossi. “He's not happy. Not happy at all.”

Rebekah Grimes went through assistants like other tens went through lovers. “He probably did something to annoy her,” Rossi said. He knew Rebekah's temper.

“Apparently not. The Alliance refused to take him. He's not happy.”

“With the Alliance or with la Dame?”

“With Rebekah.”

Typical. Rebekah's assistants were usually chosen for their looks, not for their administrative talents. Rossi had always wondered if somewhere in the background lurked an ugly admin person who did all Rebekah's real work. She wouldn't have gotten where she was without someone trustworthy to do her dirty work.

Three days, and still no information on Rebekah's whereabouts. Rossi was starting to wonder if they'd ever find out.

“He and I had a long chat last night. He's looking to work for one of the other cartels.”

It wouldn't be beyond Fergus to hint that might be possible.

Many of the nonlinesmen who worked for the cartels—like Fergus—were halfway to being linesmen themselves. They had tested for line ability, apprenticed to a house, and done the training, but had failed the final certification test, the one that determined what level linesman you were. Others were groupies, hanging around for the prestige it gave them. Rebekah always chose the groupies.

“I've pretty much promised him a job if he lets us know when Rebekah calls him.”

Sometimes Fergus overreached himself. But not this time.

“Maybe we can palm him off to House of Rigel.”

“You wish,” Rossi said. “Rigel is too tight to take anyone who isn't a true linesman.” He'd find a lower house to take him even though the man would be expecting Rickenback. “You didn't promise which house?”

“Am I stupid?”

That was one thing Fergus was not.

•   •   •

ROSSI
found he was going to have to make good on the job offer sooner than he expected. Fergus called him two hours later. “Rebekah wants her assistant to meet her at Eco in the Pleiades Sector.”

“Well done,” Rossi said, and called Ahmed Gann first, then Janni Naidan. “We've promised Rebekah Grimes's assistant a new job,” he told her. “At another house. Can you organize it?”

“Don't know why you can't do your own dirty work,” she said. “If Rebekah's not where he says she is, I'm not ruining my reputation just to place him.” For Naidan, that was a mild grumble, so Rossi knew she didn't mind too much.

Jita Orsaya and Ahmed Gann were in his office before he'd even gotten off the comms to Naidan. Orsaya was wearing a uniform this time, and no surprise, it displayed the five stars of an admiral. Her uniform was beige, which was such a neutral color that Rossi could think of at least four Gate Union worlds who wore the color. Carina, Yaolin, Garam, and Greater Be. He'd have to ask Fergus later which one she was from.

Fergus just shrugged. He could stop most people. He hadn't even tried with these two.

Orsaya paced impatiently. “Let's go,” she said.

Go where? But it didn't take long to realize that she meant Rossi was to come with them. To Eco?

He was engulfed in sudden panic. “I can't. I have too much to do here.”

“What he means,” Fergus said from behind them, “is that nines and tens don't leave. They can't.”

Traitorous, traitorous Fergus who'd wanted to leave for months and didn't understand how the confluence dragged at you and filled your life so that you didn't need to leave.

They stared at him. He could almost see their thoughts as they worked through it, realizing that what Fergus had said was true. Nines and tens came here, but they didn't leave. Except Rebekah Grimes, who would do anything if the price was high enough.

“It's like a drug,” Fergus said.

“It's not. It's—”

“The only way you'll get him out of here is if you drag him out.”

“That's not the reason I have to stay. I have work to do.”

The soldier and the bureaucrat glanced at each other. Orsaya nodded once, then took out her blaster and changed the setting. “Very well.”

Rossi didn't believe she'd do it. “You don't have to threaten me. We can send someone else.” Naidan maybe.

She fired.