Rimrunners (18 page)

"Yeager," her personal com said, Bernstein alive and functioning.

"Yessir!" she said, never stopping the rhythm.

"See me when we're stable."

"Yessir." That tone was trouble. Her stomach had a new reason for upset.

"This is the captain speaking. A bogey of carrier-class entered system. Our exit

at an opposed angle gives us a considerable lead time into this system, we hope

enough to make finding us difficult. We are presently low-V and positional

calculations are virtually complete. I'm allowing crew to stand down from battle

stations on a condition yellow. Off-shift crew, rig for jump. We'll remain in

condition yellow until further notice from command. …"

"We will manage a shift-change in five minutes," came the precise, clipped voice

she'd learned as alterday command, Orsini—via the general com, while she was

having a sandwich, privilege of being stuck in rec with the mainday lot.

"Alterday crew prepare your lists."

"What do I do about shift-change?" she asked Bernstein via com.

Bernstein said, "Call it luck. I'll skin you next shift. Tell Jim Merrill get

his butt up here on call."

"I got to tell him?" she protested. Merrill probably reckoned that her presence

here in rec having a sandwich meant she'd been half-shift on a temp, and that

Jim Merrill was therefore going to skip a little duty-time.

"He can bring your stuff up," Bernstein said.

So she had to go to Merrill, over on the bench contentedly having his sandwich,

and say, "We're complete on the galley plumbing job. I got a call from Bernstein

says tell you report on the change and bring the gear up."

"Shit!" Merrill said. She unbelted the tools, took off the com and turned it and

the duty over to him.

But before she could get back to the counter she had Liu-the-bitch on her,

telling her she was low man in Engineering and she was pleading off on

Bernstein, getting special privileges like a half-shift and that sandwich and by

implications too vague to prosecute, fraternizing with some unnamed officer to

do it.

You didn't argue with Liu, the word was. Liu was senior on mainday Engineering,

a small, almond-eyed, black-haired woman who carried a knife, at least on

dockside. Bet looked down at the shoulder-high attack, Bet listened patiently to

the high-decibel shouting, then said: "I got no quarrel with your worrying about

it, mate. But I spent down to jump under that damn galley cabinet, and she's all

fixed and you got hot water and the sandwich was free, so I'm not going to turn

it down. Matter of fact, I was up there handing out packs and hauling out

sandwiches with Cook, it being my shift. Don't tell me about lay-abouts."

Liu fumed. Merrill sulked. Other crew stared, a whole shift of people she didn't

know—a scary lot of people she didn't know, who had themselves a shouting

controversy to entertain them instead of the chance of a take-hold and another

jump.

She got speculative stares, caught a little edge of a whisper to the effect

that: "That's Yeager. Liu better watch herself. Want to lay a bet?"

The other man made the obvious pun.

She'd heard that one since she was eight. Funny, she thought.—Like hell.

"Shift-change! No loitering and no talking!" Fitch's voice went straight to the

bone. "Inverse order of seniority, sign-off protocols are word of mouth! Go, go,

go!

Everybody made it, mainday to stations, alterday back to quarters, at least to

the corridor where mainday had rigged the hammocks. She saw Musa and NG come in

and she treated herself to a beer, since Cook said her credit had come through,

and she bought them both one, no question about her being polite to her whole

shift, and getting briefed while she was doing it. "Go on, sit down," she said,

to both of them, while they were drawing the beers, "I can buy my mates a drink,

f'God's sake, NG, you don't have to be such an effin' stand-off—" Innocent as

could be, for the benefit of whoever was listening.

And: "Yeah, NG, sit down," Musa said. "Woman wants to buy you a beer, you better

be polite about it."

NG sat down, worried-looking, on Musa's other side, in the crowded goings-on in

rec, people so busy getting fed and settled, Bet thought, nobody was going to

notice.

"Everything come through all right?" she asked.

"Damn press was running," Musa said, "and we got the master shut-down, but we

got stuff stuck all over the mold. Mainday's going to bitch—"

Liu was Musa's opposite number. Bet grinned and sipped her beer.

And NG, quietly, never looking exactly at her while he ate: "Bernie couldn't

raise you." With the implication of no little worry around Engineering.

"Damn compressor going in my ear," Bet said. "I never heard the bell. Bernstein

wants to see me, I got an idea I'm going to catch hell."

"Well, lookit what we got," a tech named Linden jeered at NG's back, sitting

down with a couple of his buddies, and NG heard it, Bet figured, since she did;

but Musa leaned over to look past NG, and said, loudly:

"Is that Linden Hughes down there? H'lo, Lindy! How's it going?"

"How you doin', Musa?" the answer came back, man leaning to see who that was, a

whole lot more polite.

"Not so bad." Musa leaned back again, and Linden Hughes leaned back, avoiding

conversation. NG, between, swallowed a last gulp of his sandwich and washed it

down, fast, finishing the beer.

"Going to my hammock," NG said. "Thanks."

"Damn mouth," Bet said. "NG—"

"Let it go," Musa said, putting a hand on her knee; and NG just went to wash up

and turn in.

"It's not damn right," she said.

"Shut up," Musa said.

So she shut up, Musa's advice generally seeming worth listening to.

CHAPTER 13

« ^ »

Quiet night, all told. The morning bell went off and the com flooded

announcements at them:

This is the captain speaking. We've passed beyond our alert parameters without

incident. I'm downgrading the alert to stand-by. We're remaining on passive-scan

only. We've communicated our sighting to an allied ship which made jump during

the last watch…

No different than in the Fleet, Bet thought. You got your information after the

fact and if you got killed it was generally a surprise to you.

So the hammocks stayed rigged, but you could get back in quarters and get a

shower, which was high priority after a jump right along with other things, your

skin tending to shed a bit and whatever you were wearing tending to make its

seams too well acquainted with your joints, not mentioning it smelled like old

laundry. So she took a fast one, changed to sweater and pants and kited on out

to breakfast—no sign of Musa and NG, which meant she was running late or they

were in the showers.

Chrono by the counter said a little late. So she put a little push on it, gulped

her toast and tea and a cup of orange, and headed on to Engineering.

Musa was there. Musa gave her a jaw-down nod and a cut of the eyes toward

Bernstein, and she wiped her hands off on her pants and went over to Bernstein's

station.

"Sir."

Bernstein gave her a slow look. "You want to tell me about the com?"

"No, sir."

"You tell me about the com, Yeager."

"Yes, sir. Fell out of my ear, sir."

"Didn't hear the bell."

"No, sir. Thank you for the page, sir."

Bernstein looked at her a long few seconds.

"You stayed in there getting that fuckin' water on. You damn fool, if that line

wasn't secure we could've emptied the damn tank all over rec-deck."

"Yessir. But I dunno heaters. Just pipes. Didn't want anything to blow. So I

turned it on."

"That's the trouble with you damn big-ship trainees. You dunno heaters. You know

pipes. Everybody's a fuckin' specialist."

"Yessir."

"What'd you do as a hire-on?"

"Sit watch, sir. Small repair. Never claimed I was more'n that when I hired on.

Said I wouldn't muck with a system I didn't know, sir. But I didn't figure a

galley heater was critical to the ship."

Bernstein stared at her like she was something he was thinking about stepping

on.

"What condition was that line in when you got my page?"

"Just wasn't hooked on the clip-end, sir. I heard you, I hooked it up, I cut the

water on, I moved, sir."

Long silence out of Bernstein. Long, deep breath. "Yeager?"

"Sir."

"You come on here with no papers, you got the spottiest damn training I ever

worked with—I ought to chuck you right over to Orsini and let him put you in

Services."

"Yessir."

"'Yessir.' 'Nossir.'—You got an opinion, Yeager?"

"Rather be in Engineering, sir."

"Tell me the truth, Yeager. Did you ever have papers?"

"Lost 'em in the War, sir."

"Don't lie to me."

"No, sir."

Another long silence. "Spottiest damn training I ever worked with," Bernstein

said. "But you got the hands and you got the nerves. You know anything I can

rely on, Yeager?"

"Hydraulics, sir. Electronics."

"What else?"

She thought fast and hard. "Small com systems. All small systems. Motors.

Pumps."

Bernstein frowned. "Real specialist. What class freighters you been working on?"

"Small, sir. Some stationside work." She drew a breath, took the jump, because

she wanted to establish her alibis. "Did a little stint in militia before this."

"Where?" Bernstein asked sharply.

"Pan-paris." Records were blown there. It was Union territory now. No way to

check it. No way to check anything she claimed there.

"You ever worked with weapons-systems?"

"A little." The air felt too thin. She cleared her throat. "Much as a merchanter

carries, sir. And station systems. Small stuff."

Bernstein sat looking at her. Looked at her up and down. Nodded slowly. "Tell

you what I'm going to do, Yeager. I'm just going to keep this in mind. You just

don't do any damn showoff stunt again."

"Yessir."

"Sign in."

"Yessir." The hand twitched. She didn't move it. She found her shoulders in a

brace and gulped air and relaxed, walked over and did the sign-in, exchange with

Jim Merrill, who was waiting with no great cheerfulness, with Ernst Freeman.

"Take your time," Merrill said.

"Sorry about that," she said.

"You got no continuances except the clean-up in shop."

"Right," she said. "Thanks, Merrill."

"Where's NG?" Freeman asked.

"I dunno," she said, and looked around, all the way around. Freeman was NG's

mainday. Freeman was still standing here, not waiting on Merrill, Merrill having

left. "I'll find out."

Her eye tracked to the clock. Fifteen minutes past. Her heart sped up. She went

over to Musa, at the counter an aisle back. "Musa," she whispered, "—where's

NG?"

Bernstein came walking from the other direction. "Either of you seen NG this

morning?"

"No, sir," Bet said.

"Saw him in quarters," Musa said, frowning.

"Shit," Bernstein said, and yelled at Freeman: "Go on, you're relieved. I'll

cover you myself."

Freeman left.

"Shit," Bernstein said again. "Musa, go look in the shop."

"Yessir," Musa said, and left.

Best they could do, Bet thought. Short shift, boards to be covered, NG missing

and Musa off looking—that left herself and Bernstein.

So she grabbed the board and ran NG's checks, took down numbers and called

Bernstein to look-see on a fluctuation. "Inside parameters," Bernstein said.

About that time Musa came back. "Not in the shop," Musa said.

"I'll check quarters," Bet said.

"He's not there," Bernstein said. "I already put in a call. Man's ducked into

some hole, is what. Shit!"

"Let me try to find him," Musa said. "Sir."

"This department's got work to do, dammit! Get on that check, or we're going to

have Orsini down here.—Damn that sonuvabitch!"

"Let me look," Bet said.

"You don't know where to look."

"I know a few places. I seen a few things on this ship. Sir. Please."

"If you find him—"

"If I can get him back here—"

"You got an hour," Bernstein said. "You try the core-access, you try the

lockers, the stowages—"

Bernstein ticked off the places on his fingers, a few more than NG had named to

her.

"Seen him last in quarters," Musa said. "He was dressing, nothing was wrong that

I know."

"Nothing's ever wrong that anybody knows," Bernstein muttered. "Get the hell

gone. Get him. Hit him over the head when you find him. Move, Yeager!"

She moved. She went back up to the shop-storage, she looked in the nook she knew

to check. No luck.

Dammit.

Nothing was wrong that I know—

No way that you cut up into officers' territory, no damn way you even thought

about that. There were the several accessways to core, but they were low-G and

colder than a rock and no way in hell a man was going to hide out there unless

he was desperate.

Lockers weren't NG's favorite place, considering, but they were the likeliest

and they were on the way—past a fast check on the core-lift bay, no joy there

either.

She just started opening doors, God knew what you were going to find at this