It must be all right, Hallan decided. Everything was normal on the boards. He felt after the nutrients pack. His hands were shaking. He’d never come out of jump so dehydrated or so wobbly. He could scarcely handle the pack without sticking holes in it, he couldn’t make his fingers work.
Truth was, he was scared—because there was nothing he could do for himself, because there was, beneath the ordinary and necessary chatter the crew made, a grimness that hadn’t been there on the jump before this. And it might very reasonably be because it was a kifish port and their lives were in imminent danger, and they’d lost track of the tc’a ships, all of which was very good reason to be upset.
But there was just this subtle turning of the shoulder Fala did toward him, and somehow she avoided looking at him or at Chihin at all. Everybody was upset with Chihin, the captain had been angry on the starting side of jump, and tempers might be a little cooler on this side—time passed, in hyperspace, a lot of time; and you didn’t come out of it as intense about most things as you’d gone in, even if it felt like only an hour later. It was a lot more than that, the body had had a chance to cool down, and the angers and the fears had a chance to settle and evaporate if they had no reason to start up again on this side of jump.
But he’d made a public scene; and as soon as people weren’t busy they were going to remember it, the same as Fala already did, as his fault.
He wanted to say something to Fala, he wanted to do something to set it right, but Chihin was sitting between them out there, and his brain was still caught in that sugar-short haze that deprivation created in jump. He was doing well to get himself to his feet when the captain told him: Go fix breakfast, be useful; and his trousers started a slide he only just stopped with a grab at his waistband.
Thank the gods Fala was busy on the bridge and the captain didn’t send her too. He couldn’t deal with it now. He could scarcely walk. He felt his way into the galley, which was next to the bridge for very good reasons, and giddily, wobbily, started locating the frozen dinners, keeping a hand sort of near safety holds, because a ship coming in from above a sun could find some other ship dropping in too close to them, even yet, and the ship could have to maneuver without warning.
But you didn’t plan for it. And probably you couldn’t really hold on if it did. Most times the off-duty crew began to stir about just now, only the Legacy didn’t have that many hands, and they took their breaks close to the bridge, where they could answer a sudden recall. People took breaks as they could, did necessary maintenance on the bridge and thereabouts …
And snacked, if they could keep it down. He popped another nutrient pack and shed fur over everything. He wanted a bath, but that wasn’t possible till they’d reached the inner system boundary: he’d asked for duty and he had it.
Crew was up and moving. Chihin went through, and gave him some kind of a look he didn’t dare meet; and came back through again, with her face wet and her mustaches dripping.
He was scared to death she was going to speak. But she didn’t. He had some chips, galley’s privilege, to keep his stomach from heaving, and it didn’t help much. He followed it with cold tea, from the fridge. And he thought he was going to be sick right there, he was cold from the drink and shaking and his stomach was trying to turn itself inside out. He leaned on the counter trying just to breathe, wondering if he should go for the facilities, or if jostling wasn’t the right thing to do just now…
A hand landed on his shoulder. “You need some help?” Tarras asked, and when he stood against the counter: “You all right?”