She got this colder and colder feeling. She wiped the bit of plastic to a smear, twice, to be sure. You could die for what was written there.
She whispered, "Don't know, don't know. Tell NG—tell him twenty-four hours. Tell him for God's sake wait. Trust me. I'll find out."
Merrill caught a mouthful of air. "I'll tell him," Merrill said. And opened the door to go.
Face-on with Fitch.
"We got a problem, Mr. Merrill? Ms. Yeager?"
"Nossir," Merrill said, and ducked out.
"We got a clear run on number one," Bet said, fast, before Fitch thought of a second question. "I got the patch on number two there, going to run the rough adjustments off me, far as I can, save you some standing, sir. Then I got to have the body that's going to wear it—about two hours to fit it. Best I can do."
Fitch stood there looking at her. She wondered if guilty thoughts showed that much.
"You sure you don't have a problem, Ms. Yeager?"
"Nossir," she said. Her voice was going. It cracked when she was trying to keep it steadiest. "Nossir, everything's fine."
"You sure Engineering doesn't have a problem?"
"Nossir. Not any problem."
"We're running behind," Fitch said. "You understand me, Ms. Yeager?"
Time-sense was gone. "Yessir," she said, thinking, I got to sleep. I got to sleep, I can't think like this—
She was shaking when Fitch shut the door. She drank the tea and slopped it.
Lying to me. Man's lying.
What in hell's he want out of me, why in hell'd Wolfe hand me to Fitch and leave"?
Going to make a damn mistake, like to make one with Fitch, like to adjust that rig for him, damn, I would…
She had crazed thoughts, like Fitch pulling a gun, like Fitch just killing her outright once she was through and taking the rig for one of his cronies—
Who's my size, that'd stand for Fitch"?
Kill him first. I could. This thing could. Just walk out there, do everybody a favor—
But the captain put me here. Captain knows about that wobble NG's talking about—
Damn. Damn! What's the hurry-up on these rigs? What changed, since we made dock"?
Who'd risk blowing the ship, if all he's got to do is break Wolfe's neck, promote his own faction, and cruise on into Pell?
CHAPTER 26
She slept again, just a sprawl on the deck while she waited for Merrill to bring a finished job up, lay down with her cheek against the icy deck-surface and went out cold a precious quarter, maybe half-hour, because except that, it was done.
It was a mistake, maybe, because she came awake with Merrill shaking her, and couldn't remember for a couple of beats where she was, couldn't get her arms to work to get herself off her face, because her back wouldn't take her weight. Just dead, gone. And the back hurt and the joints hurt and the cold had made her stiff.
"You all right?" Merrill was asking her. "You all right, Yeager?"
After a while you got from being afraid you were going to die to wanting to get it over with. She crawled up off her nose, butt-high, elbows on the deck and just rested there a second while Merrill told her how NG was all right with waiting, NG and Mike Parker both, but on an in-case, they were going downside to work on the outside lock controls, two Systems guys used to throwing around giga-numbers out there trying to hotwire a security circuit—
God. "Fitch'll know," she hissed at Merrill, scared somehow Fitch had the place bugged, Fitch was right outside. "Dammit, where's the captain?" Merrill was downside, Engineering was right alongside ops, right down there next the lock, they'd hear it if anybody came or went.
"No news," Merrill whispered. "Nothing. Like there wasn't anybody out there…"
"Crew's got to know they got the ship closed up, dammit, aren't they going to wonder? Aren't they going to ask? What the fuck are they doing out there?"
"Nobody knows," Merrill said. "We've called the bridge, Mike asked to get a call out, tried that. No go. Two on the bridge and us."
"Fitch out there?"
"Goddard."
Hughes' operator. "Shit." She sat up, crashed back against the wall, banged her head. "Fitch's sleeping!. Screw that! Tell 'im I need 'im, tell Goddard get him up, it's time to do that body-fit."
You stripped down to fit the rig, you started with the boots and you built up from there, and it was cold, damn, it was, no locker on the ship had good vents.
Gave her a good deal of satisfaction, Fitch standing there in his underwear—not bad scenery, either, even if he was a sonuvabitch, kept himself right in shape bouncing crew off the walls. Few scars, real good one on the ribs, probably a knife in some sleepover, probably deserved it, she thought, tightening up little screws.
Put a little black crud on the braces inside the boot, clamp the boot shut and adjust until all three braces left a stain on the skin. Not neat, gugged up the suit-surfaces something awful, but if you had to fit a neo it was easier than asking did it touch: it always felt like it touched, till you knew better.
Besides, it was Fitch.
Left boot, right boot, left shin, right shin, knees and chisses.
While Fitch stood there with a com-plug in his ear listening to stuff she'd have given a deal to hear.
And with a damnable lack of attention to the discomfort, like what he was hearing was a hell of a lot more real to him.
Lower body. She flat had to sit down in a minute and take a break. Her hands were shaking so her fingers couldn't keep the driver in the damn little invisible slots.
And of a sudden Fitch moved, knocked the fragile driver out of her fingers, hurt, dammit, so she sat down hard on her backside, not sure for a second he wasn't coming past her.
But you couldn't walk fast in that weight. Fitch activated his com, said, "No answer," to whoever was listening, and repeated it, louder: "No answer, dammit, do what I said…"
She picked herself up, rapped on the armor-leg to get his attention, started to work again—flex here, turn there, sir, hold it there, sir…
Push it, sir, or it'll stop you there…
Damn, she'd like to set it about one tick looser.
But give Fitch one thing, Fitch had his mind on business and you told him to hold and he held, no twitches, no complaints. Fitch wasn't real rested either, eyes looked like hell.
"Think this thing's going to work," she confided in him, what little voice she had left. "Ran a systems-check, it didn't blow…" And jumped to the question she was after. "We prepping for fire, hard vacuum—what?"
"Anything," Fitch said. "Anything it has to."
"You ever stood up in one of these, sir?"
Dead silence.
"Power goes on, you got to relax. That's the main knack to it. Minute you tense up, you got the rig taking orders, you twitch, like you're going to fall, rig's going to over-react and you'll lose it. Some like it set real loose, some want a hair-trigger react-time, you got your choice, sir—this one's set fast, I can take it down half."