“Yeah, well, he’ll pull it out. Knock him down and he bounces.”
“Don’t stress him, lieutenant. I really don’t advise another confrontation. He’s been concussed. We want to keep that blood pressure under control.”
That was about worth a laugh. Dek was already stressed. Dek was in an out-of-control ship in a ‘driver zone with his partner lost. He said soberly, “I’ve no intention of upsetting him.”
The doctor opened the door, the doctor walked him back to Dekker’s room and signaled an orderly for a word aside in the hallway.
Ben walked on in, pulled a chair over and sat down by Dekker’s bed. Dekker’s eyes tracked his entry, stayed tracked as he sat down, he wasn’t sure how focused. Dekker had been a real pretty-boy, a year ago, fancy dresser, rab hair, shaved up the sides. Still looked to be a rab job, give or take the bandage around the head; but the eyes were shadowed, one was bruised, the chin had a cut, lip was cut—not so long back. The hollow-cheeked, waxen look—did you get that from a bashing-about in a simulator a few days ago?
“You look like hell, Dekker-me-lad.”
“Yeah,” Dekker said. “You’re looking all right.”
“So what happened?”
Dekker didn’t answer right off. He looked to be thinking about it. Then his chin began to tremble and Ben felt a second’s disgusted panic: dammit, he didn’t want to deal with a guy on a crying jag—but Dekker said faintly, shakily, “Ben, you’ll want to hit me, but I really need to know—I really seriously need to know what time it is.”
“What time it is?” God. “So what’ll you give me for it?”
“Ben, —”
“No, hell, I want you to give me something for it. I want you to tell me what the hell you’re doing in here. I want to know what happened to you.”
Dekker gave a shake of his head and looked upset. “Tell me the time.”
Ben looked at his watch. “All right, it’s 1545, June 19 th—”
“What year?”
“2324. That satisfy you?”
Dekker just stared at him, finally blinked once.
“Look, Dekker, nice to see you, but you really screwed everything up. I got orders waiting for me back at the base, I got a transfer that, excuse me, means my whole career, and if you’ll just fuckin’ cooperate with them I can still catch a shuttle in a few hours and get my transfer back to Sol where I can stay with my program. —Dek, come on, d’ you sincerely understand you’re screwing up my life? Do me a favor.”
“What?”
“Tell the doctors what happened to you. Hear me? I want you to answer their questions and tell them what they want to hear and I don’t, dammit, I want to be on that shuttle. You want me to call them in here so they can listen to you explain and I can get out of here?”
Dekker shook his head.
“Dekker, dammit, don’t be like that. You’re a pain in the ass, you know that? I got to get back!”
“Then go. Go on. It’s all right.”
“It’s not the hell all right. I can’t get out of here until you tell them what they want to know! Come on. It’s June 19 th. 2324. Argentina’s won the World Cup. Bird’s dead. Cory’s dead. We came out here on a friggin’ big ship neither of us is supposed to talk about and Gennie Vanderbill is top of the series. Do you remember what put you here?”
“I can’t remember. I don’t remember—”
“Because you climbed into a friggin’ flight simulator tranked to the eyeballs—does that jar anything loose?”
A blank stare, a shake of the head.
Ben ran a hand over his head. “God.”
“It’s just gone, Ben. Sometimes I think it’s the ship again. Sometimes it’s not. You’re here. But I thought you were before. What are they saying about the sim?”
“Dekker, —” He gave a glance to the door, but the doctor-types were conferring outside. He said, in a low voice: “You’re not hooked on those damn pills again, are you?”
Dekker shook his head. Scared. Lost. Eyes shifted about. Came back to him.
“Ben, —I’m sorry. Please tell me the time again.”
He didn’t hit Dekker. He leaned forward and took Dekker’s hand hard in his despite the restraints and said, very quietly, “It’s June 19 th. Now you tell me the year, Dek. I want the year. Right now. And you better not be wrong.”
Dekker looked seriously worried. A hesitation. A tremor of the lips. “2324.”
“Good. You got it memorized. Now there’s going to be a test every few minutes, hear me? I want you to remember that number. This is Sol Two. You had a little accident a few days back. The doctors want to know, that’s not so hard to hold on to, is it?”
“I can’t remember. I can’t remember, Ben, it’s just gone...”
“Shit.” He had a headache. He looked at Dekker’s pale, bruised, trusting face and wanted ever so much to beat him senseless. Instead he squeezed Dekker’s hand. “Dek, boy, listen. I got a serious chance at Stockholm, you understand me? Nice lab job. I’m going to lose it if you don’t come through. I really need you to think about that simulator.”
Dekker looked upset. “I’m trying. I’m trying, Ben. I really am—”
Something was beeping. Machine up there on the shelf. Doctors were in the door. Higgins said, “Lt. Pollard. He’s getting tired. Better leave it. —Ens. Dekker, I’m Dr. Higgins, do you remember me?”
Dekker looked at him, and said faintly, “Ben?”
“You do remember him,” Ben said. “Hear me? Or I’ll break your neck!”
“Don’t go.”
“He’ll be back tomorrow.”
“The hell,” Ben said. “Dekker, goodbye. Good luck. I got to catch a shuttle. Stay the hell out of my life.”
“Lieutenant.” That was Evans. “In the hall.”
He went. He got his voice down and his breathing even. “Look, I’ve done my job. I’m no doctor, you’re the psych, what am I supposed to do?”
“You’re doing fine. This is the first time he’s been that sure where he is.”
“Fine. I’ve got orders waiting for me on Sol One. I haven’t got time for this!”
“That’s not the way I understand your orders. You have a room assignment—”
“I haven’t got any room assignment.”
“—in the hospice a level up. It’s a small facility. Very comfortable. We’d prefer you be available for him 24 hours. His sleeping’s not on any regular pattern.”
“No way. I’ve got a return order in my pocket, my baggage is still right back there in customs. Nobody said anything about this going into another shift. That wasn’t the deal.”
“Nobody said anything about your leaving. You’d better check those orders with the issuing officer.”
“I’ll check it at the dock. I’ll get this cleared up. Just give him my goodbyes. Tell him good luck, I hope he comes out all right. I won’t be here in the morning.”
“Hospice desk is on level 2, lieutenant. You’ll find the lift right down the corridor.”
Ben had been there a while. Ben had told him—
But he couldn’t depend on that. Ben came and Ben went and sometimes Ben talked to him and told him—
Told him about an accident in the sims. But if it was a sim then maybe people he thought were dead, weren’t, even if they told him so. The doctors lied to him. They regularly lied, and Tommy didn’t come back. They kept changing doctors, changing interns, every time he got close to remembering....
Only Ben. Ben came and he started to hope and he knew that hope was dangerous. You didn’t hope. You just lived.
Ben asked him was he on drugs. He had been once. He had been crazy once, now and again, but Ben and Bird had pulled him out. The ship was spinning. Cory was out there alone, and somebody had to pull him out—
Ship was spinning. Pete was yelling. And Cory—
Ben said he would kill him if he was crazy and he hoped Ben would do that, if he truly was, because he didn’t want to live like that.
Ben said remember. But he couldn’t remember any specific time in the sims. He could remember an examiner giving him his C-3. He could remember the first time he’d Men me boards. Remembered pushing beams at Sol. Supervisor had said all right, he could do that: he was under age, but they needed somebody who wouldn’t ram a mass into the station hull. His head was bandaged, his ribs were. His knees ached like hell, he thought because he had hit the counter, trying to hit the button, but he wasn’t sure of anything. You blinked and you got green numbers and lines, and if you followed them too far you never came back. Midrange focus. Back it up, all the way inside.