Outward Bound, page 12
"You sorta mentioned it a couple of times," Flash said. "So what kinda stuff's he into?"
"Oh, it gets a bit technical. Control and sequencing systems mainly—involved with confinement fields and plasmas. From his mail I think it's connected with fusion: energy systems and propulsion."
Flash and Linc exchanged silent looks of bafflement. Sometimes Willie forgot they came from different worlds.
Linc realized that Arvin had been staring at him fixedly. It was there again—an unspoken intimation of something waiting to be said. Linc tried to act normally and show that he was approachable, yet without going out of his way to make things too easy either. There were rules . . . . And then once again, Arvin seemed to change his mind at the last instant and turned away to busy himself with something else. Before Linc was able to make anything more of it, the door opened and Senior Cadet Sulliman, Derek J., who was doing the clerking shift in the Day Office, appeared. Seniors were ones who had completed the initial two months and as such carried a single stripe on their sleeves. "Hey, Marani. You've got a phone call."
Linc looked at Rocky. They both raised their eyebrows. "Only one way to find out," Rocky said in answer to the unspoken obvious.
Cadets in the Turret lived in the Stone Age. Personal mobiles were not permitted, and the only communication was via a line in the Interview Room next to the Day Office, which they all had to share. Linc followed Sulliman back into the corridor and through some connecting passages to the Admin Section, where Sulliman gestured toward the door of the Interview Room and walked away. Linc let himself in, eased down into one of the seats at the fold-down metal table, and picked up the handset from its cradle.
"Linc Marani here."
"Is that the general, sir? Permission to speak, please?"
"Who is this?"
"You don't recognize me already? What are they feeding you guys in there? Or do you only recall on order now?"
The voice conjured up an image of red hair and a beefy face patchy with freckles. "Mace?" Linc grinned suddenly. "Is that you?"
"You took your time."
"It would have helped if you'd said so. Are you up here on Grayling now?"
"I sure am. In fact, we got here over a week ago. But people said not to overdo it on contacting you guys—not for the first four weeks, anywise."
"Yeah, that's the way it is. So did it all work out with the rigger number you were trying to land? You're all set?"
"It looks like it. There was just some extra stuff they wanted to put us through down at Yuc before we shipped up."
"That's terrific, Mace. We'll be coming out of here in another two days. You can tell me the whole score then. So who else is up here now?"
"Well, that's what I was really calling you about, Linc. Your old buddy Rick made it."
"They told him he can be a carpenter."
Linc shook his head. "That's crazy. How many trees they got growing in the Zone?"
"Beats the hell outta me . . . . And Vic's here."
"Don't tell me. And he's gonna be a chef, right?"
"How'd you guess?" There was a short pause. Then, "Oh, yes. And I almost forgot. There's also someone that I thought you might be particularly interested in. Do you remember a certain number that was also at Coulie—black hair, eyes made outta ice, makes you think of a cat made out of velvet when she moves?"
Something like an electric jolt hit Linc in the back of the neck and traveled down to his shoes. He blinked. "You mean Julie?"
"Ah, right. That was her name. Seems she may have talents in a medical direction too, and right now she's working an orderly stint in the North Wing sick bay. I just happen to have her number here, if you think you'd maybe like to . . . you know, give her a call and say hi or something."
"You really think she'd be interested?" Just at the moment, Linc was having trouble collecting back together the mess of pieces that his thoughts had fragmented into. It was one of the rare moments when he realized he was saying something inane.
"Why not just call the number and find out?" Mace suggested.
Chapter Twenty-Four
THE Recreation Deck was located near the bottom of the West Tower, along with two accommodation levels and a cluster of general-purpose compartments that served as meeting rooms, classrooms, and the like, as required. (Since centrifugal force increased and was directed away from the spin axis, the outward direction was "down," and the towers came together at their "tops.") The rec deck provided local catering in the West Tower and served as the general entertainment and social center for the whole station. In the latter capacity it boasted a bar of limited stock (age limit for alcohol, eighteen), tables and booths for seating, and a corner area available for dancing when it wasn't being used as a stage for theatrical, cabaret, or musical presentations. Adjoining space on the same level housed the general gym and a gallery with various games and amusements.
Linc arrived early from the conveyor elevator in which he'd traveled from the Axle. It was just a regular evening, with no special events scheduled. He had dropped out of the group that he had intended coming with originally, explaining that something had come up causing him to make other plans. He got himself a frail ale at the counter and moved to a far corner, where he selected one of the small, fold-down wall-tables with just two seats. Since space was at a premium everywhere in Grayling, a larger booth or a table would have been an invitation to share. He was hoping for a little of the nearest to privacy that could be hoped for.
The place was starting to fill up after being freed up from whatever it had been used for during the day. The music was piped—a mix of slow-and-easies and rock classics from the late nineteen hundreds to warm up the dancers. It would speed up later. Arvin was there already, sitting on the far side with one of the regular recruits and a couple of civilians—it was strange how naturally the word came to mind to describe the rest of the world already. Kamila, the Iraqi schoolteacher, was there with her husband. Liz was sitting with a couple at a table nearby, constantly looking toward the door—probably waiting for Rocky. Most of the other guys hadn't shown up yet.
Linc had tried calling Julie right away after talking to Mace, while he still had the phone, but she was working that shift. So he'd just left his number. She'd called back ten minutes before lights-out in the billet—Linc's second call in a few hours, provoking undisguised disapproval from Senior Cadet Sulliman. So there hadn't been time for them to say very much. But she had wanted to talk to him. He sensed it in her voice. She had learned from the others that he was there but been reluctant to bother him after what she'd heard about the first month of cadet training. (Or had there been a touch of the female not wishing to appear too eager? He was hardly going to run far.) She was doing okay, she'd told him, working hard but discovering new sides to herself. The same with him, Linc had told her. They'd arranged to meet in the rec deck when Linc and the other rookies got their leave.
He had saved a set of dress grays fresh from the laundry, taken extra care shaving and combing his hear after he showered, and used an aftershave, which he normally didn't bother with. He fiddled with his can and fidgeted, finding he was unable to maintain the relaxed cool that was normally his style.
"Hey, partner. Used to wear a uniform not too different myself. Old navy man. Is anybody using the seat?" Linc looked up. The speaker was in his fifties maybe, with lean, ruddy features and a crooked nose showing veins. Someone late in life to be starting anew, just wanting to talk. Linc forced a grin.
"Sorry, sir, but it's taken. I'd be happy to another time."
"It'd be my pleasure. Excuse me." The former sailor moved away.
Why, Linc asked himself, did he feel like some kid on a first date, anxious not to make a mess of it? Because, he supposed when he thought about it, he was a kid on a first real date with someone he didn't know too well, and he didn't want to make a mess of it. He shook his head to himself and sipped his drink.
"Hey, Linc, what's the matter? Scared we'll give you some kind of disease? Come on over." More cadets had arrived and were crowding around the bar counter.
"I've been living in a tin can long enough with you people," Linc threw back.
"Didn't you hear? Linc's deserted already. Big date tonight—a face from the past."
"Seriously?"
"Oh, big action, man . . . ."
"Is that right, Linc? She bringing any friends? Don't forget who your buddies are, now. Who helped you out with that R-13 today?"
"Hey," a different kind of voice said behind him. He turned back. Julie had come in while he was looking the other way. The expected medley of hoots and comments came from the gang but faded rapidly into the unheeded wastelands beyond the fringe of Linc's awareness.
She was wearing a simple, short-sleeved top with a dark skirt—the exact colors were lost in the light. Her eyes shone their silent, mischievous laughter, even here. He had forgotten the lines of the firm mouth set in the tapered face. She had her hair shorter than at Coulie. Linc stood up awkwardly—something he'd never done for a girl before. A little of Dr. Grober coming back, maybe. Guys who had style did it in movies. For some reason all of a sudden, none of the lines he had rehearsed in his head felt right. "Hi," he managed instead.
Julie looked him over approvingly. "My, I like the outfit!"
"Oh, really?"
"It's very . . . There's a word, but I can't think of it." They both smiled together, self-consciously. Linc realized that she had been as nervous as he. She sat down.
"Can I get you something from the bar?" Linc said.
Julie motioned toward the can on the table. "One of those would be fine. Maybe something to munch on too."
"Sure . . . Er, I'll be right back."
He returned a couple of minutes later with her drink and a bowl of mixed snacks, and sat with his back turned solidly toward the smirks and looks being directed across the room. The dancing was picking up in the open square nearby, which made the room seem bigger and generated a better feeling of privacy. Julie had put on a perfume that smelled good, Linc noticed.
They made halting small talk for a while, exchanging bits of news on others they had both known at Coulie. Julie hadn't heard further of Angelo, which surprised both of them since he had seemed likely to go far. Shel had gone to Boston but been RPO'd there, and Karen had quit too rather than carry on without her. Insecurities eased gradually, and talk became more relaxed. Julie had decided, after a few stints of helping out in the sick bay, that nursing was what she wanted. For the first time, Linc was able to ask her about the background that had resulted in her ending up at Coulie.
"Oh . . ." Julie looked away, as if for a pointer to where to begin. "It was one of those stories of not being exactly the luckiest person in the world parentwise, you know . . ."
"In what kind of way?" Linc asked.
"You've probably heard it all before—the drugs-and-drink scene."
Linc nodded.
"I mean, big. Somebody got the police to break in when I'd been left on my own for two days—I'm talking about way back, when I was just a baby. I got taken away, and after that it was care centers, then finally a foster family. That was all in L.A., where I grew up."
"And that didn't work out?" Linc guessed from her tone.
Julie shook her head. "It was horrible. They had three kids of their own, but there was this double standard—as if I was the house servant or something. There were a lot of books there, but I was the only one who read them. I think that made the parents kinda mad too, as if their kids were stupid . . . Well, they were stupid. They could have had anything."
"So, what happened?"
Julie selected a cashew nut from the snack food and sighed. "Oh . . . I took off finally and got in with the bad side—people with expensive habits, who cleaned high-end pads to pay for them. I never did much stuff, but I ran wheels. Somebody snitched, and I got stopped hauling a load to a fence in Sherman Oaks."
"One-timer? A file sheet like yours and you got sent down?" Linc made a dubious face.
"There was this cop in the Junior Services Division. He thought he had me set up. The case background was perfect. But I said I wouldn't play, and they could do what they liked." Julie shrugged. "So I get a ticket for the main line, but then at the last minute another option comes up . . . And the rest you know." She sent across a questioning look. Linc knew the routine. Female favors demanded; if not granted, somebody would be sure to find drugs and implications to other unsolved things. His anger probably showed, but he made no more of it. "How about you?" Julie asked.
Linc summarized his own story as it was—plain and straight, without trying to embellish or excuse anything. Julie watched his face intently while she listened. It was one of the few times Linc had ever had the feeling of somebody taking an interest in him just for his own sake. He was unaccustomed to it. People had only shown an interest in him for what they thought they could get.
"I take it you're done with all that now," she said when he had finished.
"Well, there are a couple of scores I still have to settle. Then I'll be done with it."
Julie looked at him doubtfully, then seemed to decide that she didn't want to pursue the subject. Instead, her gaze strayed back to his uniform. "I was surprised when they told me you'd gone in for the military," she said. "It didn't sound like you somehow. You seem, oh, I don't know . . . like the kind of person who could do without people pushing him around."
"It wasn't what I wanted," Linc said. "I was more interested in engineering—making and shaping things. But I guess that sometimes we're not as smart as we think. I couldn't get the hang of the math part of it."
"That's funny. I never thought of you as doing some kind of job in a factory either."
Linc waved a hand. "That wasn't what I meant. It was more, you know—creating mechanisms, precision parts."
"You mean like the guys who made guns and things in the old movies?"
"More than that. The prototypes of instruments and machines, the things you see inside turbines and engines . . . . There's something about being able to make parts accurate to a tenth of a thousandth of an inch, and then fit them together into something that works. It's like an art. You feel as if—"
"Yes, it is!" A grinning black figure with curly hair came around the knot of dancers. "Hey, Linc! How's it all been?"
"Rick, old buddy! Just fine. I heard you were up here too."
"How come?"
"Mace called the other day. He told me."
"Say, that's right." Rick looked at Julie. "You didn't waste much time nailing him."
"Mace had a hand in it," Julie said.
"Sounds nice and sociable of him."
"So what's all this about you're gonna be a carpenter of all things?" Linc said to Rick. "How much carpentering d'you expect to find out there? You think they're gonna start growing trees on asteroids or something?"
"It's all different there. Wood is like a precious metal. Think of luxury ornaments and special decorations . . . ."
Rick trailed off and looked away as the sound of voices rising came from farther along the room. Three young men, in their late teens or early twenties, were standing over a table where Willie Camarel and another cadet were sitting with two girls. "No, I don't want to! I'm sitting here talking," one of the girls shouted, shaking a hand off her arm.
The one standing between the other two, who looked like the leader, was heavily built and holding a half-full plastic beaker. His eyes were puffy and his expression mean. "What's the matter? You think these fancy clothes make 'em better 'n us or something?" His voice grew to a bellow. "I mean, doesn't everyone know that half of 'em are trash that the jails wouldn't take? Ain't that right, boy?" He jabbed Willie on the shoulder. "You think that makes you a soldier? Figure you could take me on, huh?" The dancers were stopping and looking across. The music cut.
"Look, I really don't want any trouble," Willie pleaded.
The youth tipped part of his drink over Willie's jacket. "Is that so? Well, that's good, 'cause I just had an accident."
"Excuse me," Linc said, slipping out from his seat.
"Linc . . ." Julie called after him. But it was just a token gesture.
He got there at the same moment as Arvin from the opposite direction. "Okay, guys, why don't we just cool it . . . " Linc began. But then three of the veteran troops cut in. One was Dierot, a former Israeli tank man and French para who had fought seemingly everywhere, was as hard as tool steel and looked it; the way the other two moved in was equally deterring.
"Break it up!" Dierot barked. "We're all 'ere to 'ave a good time, okay? Some other nice girls will dance with you later. You guys just go take a little walk around the gallery. Get yourselves some coffee." The leader of the three youths backed off sullenly. They let themselves be herded away by the soldiers.
