A cold, dark silence. “I’ll tell you—if you want to raise issues this afternoon, I’m perfectly willing to make clear to the committee that you’re a composite, lieutenant, a shell steered by non-command personnel and an absentee captain, and you clearly don’t have the administrative experience to handle your own security, much less speak with expert knowledge on systems you’ve never seen. I’ve held this office for thirty years, I’ve seen all sorts of games, and your commanding officer’s leaving that carrier to subordinates and your own abuse of your commanding officer’s communications privileges is an official report in my chain of command. This is not the frontier, this is not a bare-based militia operation, and if your service ever hopes to turn these trainees into competent military personnel you can start by setting a personal example. Clean up your own command and stop fomenting dissension in this facility!”
“I do not accept that assessment.”
“Then you can leave this office. And if you are called on to testify, you’ll be there as one of the pilots personally involved in the accident, not as a systems expert. You’d be very unwise to push past mat position—or you’ll find questions raised that could be damned embarrassing to your absentee superior and your entire service. I’m talking about adverse publicity, if you give grounds to any of these senators or to the high command. Do you understand that? Because 1 won’t pull any punches. And the one security no one can guarantee is a senator’s personal staff.”
“Are you attempting to dictate my testimony, colonel? Is that what I’m hearing?”
“In no wise. Give my regards to your captain. Good day, lieutenant.”
Something had come loose. Banging. The tumble did that. Dekker reached after the cabinet, tried to get to the com.
Hand caught his arm. Something shoved him back and he hit pillows.
Bang from elsewhere.
“Hey, Dek. You want eggs or pancakes?”
He couldn’t figure how Ben had gotten onto the ship. Ben had rescued him. But he didn’t remember that.
“Eggs or pancakes?”
“Eggs aren’t real,” he said. “Awful stuff.”
“They’re real, Dek-boy. Not to my taste, living things, but they’re real enough to upset my stomach. Eggs, you want? Orange juice?”
He tried to move. Usually he couldn’t. But his arms were free. He stuffed pillows under his head and Ben did something that propped the head up. Ben went out in-the hall and came back and set a tray down on the table, swung it over him.
“Eat it. That’s an order, Dek-boy.”
He picked up a fork. It seemed foreign, difficult to balance in .9 g. His head kept going around. His arm weighed more than he remembered and it was hard to keep his head up. But he stabbed a bit of scrambled egg and got a bite down. Another. He reached for the orange juice but Ben did it for him, took a sip himself beforehand and said, “We got better at Sol One.”
Maybe it was. Maybe he was supposed to know that. Ben held the cup to his lips and he sipped a little of it. It stung cuts in his mouth and it hit his stomach with a sugar impact.
“Keep it up, Dek-boy, and they’ll take that tube out.”
He didn’t know there was a tube. Didn’t know how Ben had gotten here. Or where they were now. Didn’t look like the Hole at all. Didn’t look like R2 hospital. He reached after the fork, took another tentative nibble at the eggs. God, he was weak.
“Where’s Bird?” he asked.
“What year is it, Dek-boy? I warned you there’d be a test this morning.”
He shut his eyes. Opened them and Ben was still there. In this room. He recalled something like that. Ben was going to beat hell out of him if he missed.
“2324.”
“Good boy. Have some more oj.”
“Can’t.” His stomach suddenly felt queasy, when he thought about that number. Number had to be wrong. He waved the cup away and watched Ben drink it.
Ben, in a UDC uniform.
He was going crazy. It was 2324. Ben didn’t belong here.
Ben said, “You remember Meg and Sal?”