Fine. Great. He said, in deep Belter brogue, “Not my pick, mate, they do the numbers.”
Wasn’t what they expected out of a UDC mouth. Postures altered, faces did.
“You wouldn’t be Pollard, would you?”
He’d hoped to get his assigned bunk, nothing more. But mere was no good making enemies here. He said, grudgingly, “Yeah. Benjamin J.,” and saw expressions go on changing for the positive. Not the reaction he generally got from people.
“Pollard.” The head troublemaker came over. “Almarshad.” A gesture to left and right, behind him. “Franklin and Pauli. What’s the word on Dekker?”
Dekker didn’t attract friends either, not among people who really knew him; and when a guy introduced himself the way Almarshad did you should worry about bombs. He shook Almarshad’s offered hand, said, conservatively, “Not the best I’ve ever seen him,” and watched reactions. Looked like they were friends of Dekker’s. And it was true Dekker was a Cause in the Belt. A Name—among people who didn’t know him. Not with Shepherds, much as he knew, and that was what this set looked to be—but it could be Dekker had found a niche in this classified hell.
Franklin asked,
“He say who hit him?”
Or these guys could be the committee that put Dekker in hospital, for all he knew.
He said, again carefully, “Bounced on his head too often. I don’t know. He doesn’t. —Friends of his, are you?”
Almarshad seemed to comprehend his reserve, then, frowned and said, “He’s got no enemies in this barracks. You keeping mat uniform?”
He hadn’t many allegiances in his life. But, hell, the UDC fed you, gave you everything you could dream of, held out the promise of paradise, until Dekker helpfully dropped your name in the wrong classified ears—which landed you up to your ears in an interservice feud; and now some Shepberd-tumed-bluecoat wanted to make an issue of your uniform? Hell, yes, you could take offense at being pushed. “Yeah, I’m keeping it. Far as I know.”
“Shit,” Pauli said with a roll of his eyes, and turned half away and back again with an outheld hand. “Tanzer give you your orders?”
“I don’t know who gave me my orders. Captain over FSO Keu got me out here. The Fleet got me out here. Humanitarian leave. Now it’s a fuckin’ humanitarian transfer, I can’t find my fuckin’ baggage, I can’t find my fuckin’ bunk, I got no damn choice, here, mister! I’m supposed to be in Stockholm! I’d rather be in Stockholm, which I won’t now! —I’m a security Priority 10, and they got me in here for reasons I don’t know, with a damn classified order I’m probably securitied high enough to read. But you don’t question orders here, I’m certainly finding mat out!”
A hand landed on his shoulder. Almarshad. “Easy. Easy. Pauli means to say welcome in. Tanzer’s a problem, we know who you are, we know damn well you’re not his boy.”
“I don’t fuckin’ know Tanzer!”
“Better off,” Franklin said under his breath. “Where’ve they got you? What room?”
“We got rooms.” Thank God. “Said just—here.”
“You’re Dekker’s, then. A-10. Demi-suites. If you count four bunks and a washroom.”
Personally he didn’t. But he’d been prepared for worse in the short term. He said, “Thanks,” and took the pointed finger for his guide.
Hell if, he kept saying to himself. Hell if I’m going to stay here. Hell if this is going to be the rest of my life, —Mr. Graff, sir.
He’d flunked his Aptitudes for anything remotely approaching combat, deliberately and repeatedly: he couldn’t pass basic without a waiver for unarmed combat on account
of a way-high score in technical; he’d worked hard to clean the Belter accent out of his speech and to fit in with blue-skyers and here he was resurrecting it to deal with some sumbitch Shepherd who’d have walked over him without noticing, back in R2. Get into technical, get his security clearance—get connections and numbers, the same as he’d had in R2, that was his priority. His CO back in TI, Weiter—Weiter had connections, Weiter had let him make his rating in very fast order, and George Weiter had had the discriminating good sense to screw the regs, bust him past tire basics and into levels where he could learn from where he was and get at those essential, top-ievel access numbers.