“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 19th. 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, mat’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 mat 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.