Hellburner

“Yes, sir.”

“Hear they were good. Hear Wilhelmsen was.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So what are you?”

Nerves recently shaken, shook. He didn’t know what the answer was, now. He said, “I want to fly. Sir.”

“What are you, Dekker?”

“Good. Sir.”

“You’re going back in that chair. Hear me? You’re going to go back in and you’re going to forget what happened here. You want to fly?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you do that. You take that crew we’ve put together for you and you get back in that sim and you do it, do you hear me?”

He wasn’t thinking clearly. Nobody he’d ever been in a room with gave him the claustrophobic feeling Porey did. He wanted this interview over. He wanted out of this office… he wasn’t up to this.

“Do you hear me, Dekker?”

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“Then you go do that. I want results. You say you’re the best. Then do it. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“You’re dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” he said again, and then remembered Meg; and Ben; and Sal. “But with another crew, sir, than the one I’ve been given…”

“The Fleet’s assembled the crew you have at cost and expense, Ens. Dekker. We’re told they’re good. We’ll see it proved or we’ll see it disproved—in the field.”

“They’re not ready, sir.” He shoved himself forward, leaned on the desk and stared Porey in the face. “They haven’t had the year I’ve had, they’re not up to this, they haven’t flown in a year at least….”

Porey said, “That’s what the sims are for.”

“What are you after, a body count?”

People didn’t talk to Porey that way. He saw the slight surprise in Porey’s eyes, and something else, something that chilled him before Porey said,

“I’m after whatever you’ve got. As much as you’ve got.

Or you the. And your crew dies. That’s understood, isn’t it? We’re Test Systems here. And you test the systems. Do you want them to live? Then you don’t question me, you do it, mister. Do you have that?”

“It’s not reasonable!”

“I’m not a reasonable man.” Porey’s eyes kept their hold. “I never have been. I never take second best. Have you got it, Ens. Dekker? Or are you talk, and no show?”

He trembled. No human being had ever made him do that, but he shook and he knew Porey could tell it.

‘ ‘We give you everything you ask for, Dekker. Now you do what you say you can do, you pull the Hellburner out. You do it. Don’t give me excuses. I don’t hear them. Am I ever going to hear your excuses?”

“No, sir.”

“You’re meat, til you prove otherwise. Prove it. Or the. I don’t personally care, Dekker.”

He couldn’t get his breath. He couldn’t think, he wanted to strangle Porey so bad. He choked on it. Finally: “Yes, sir. I copy that clear. Am I dismissed, —sir? Because you fucking need me, don’t you, .sir?”

Porey kept staring at him. Looked him up and down. Said, “Aren’t you the bitch, Dekker?” and finally made a backhanded move that meant Get out. Dismissed.

He took it, saluted, turned and walked out, oxygen-short, still on an adrenaline burn, and snaking, while he was still remembering Porey from the ship, remembering that Graff had said even then: Don’t get close to him.

Then he hadn’t been able to figure whether Graff had meant that literally or figuratively, but he had a sinking feeling he’d just made a move that amused Porey—in the sense of defying Porey’s expectations. That was an intelligent man—maybe the most intelligent man he’d ever met; maybe too intelligent to mind who lived and who died. He believed what Porey had said—he believed lives didn’t matter in there, lives didn’t matter in this station at the moment, law didn’t matter…

Guards fell in with him, the same that had brought him there. He hadn’t even any notion where they were taking him, but they escorted him to the main corridor and told him go to barracks, everybody was confined to barracks.

Deserted corridor. Deserted conference rooms. Guards posted line of sight along the curvature. The vacancy of the corridors was surreal. The echoes of his own steps racketed crazily in his ears. The downside of the adrenaline surge left him dizzy and chilled.