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.
Ben said remember. But he couldn’t remember any specific time in the sims. He could remember an examiner giving him his C-3. He could remember the first time he’d Men me boards. Remembered pushing beams at Sol. Supervisor had said all right, he could do that: he was under age, but they needed somebody who wouldn’t ram a mass into the station hull. His head was bandaged, his ribs were. His knees ached like hell, he thought because he had hit the counter, trying to hit the button, but he wasn’t sure of anything. You blinked and you got green numbers and lines, and if you followed them too far you never came back. Midrange focus. Back it up, all the way inside.
There’d been an accident and the ship had blown up. And his partners were dead. Or maybe never existed. It was a sim. Bright ball of nuclear fire. And he was here and they were in it, and it was all green glowing lines out there, whipping and snaking to infinity.
He remembered faces now. People he thought he liked— Bird. Meg and Sal. Cory, and Graff. Pete and Elly and Falcone. Faces. Voices. Falcone yelling, Hey, Dek, see you tomorrow.
But Falcone wouldn’t. Elly wouldn’t. They never would.
“You damn bastards!” he yelled. “Bastards!”
Interns came running, grabbed hold of him. “No,” he said, reminded what happened when he yelled. “No. Tommy!”
“Get the hypo,” one said, and he got a breath, he got a little sanity, said, “I’m not violent. I don’t need it. It’s all right. Let go, dammit! Get the doctor!”
They eased up. They stopped bruising his arms and just held him still.
“Just be quiet, sir. Just be quiet.”
“No shots. No damn shots.”
“Doctor’s orders, sir.”
“I don’t need one. I swear to you, I don’t need one.”
“Doctor says you’re not getting any rest, sir. You better have it. Just to be sure.”
He looked the intern in the face. Big guy, red face and freckles, lying across him. Out of breath. So was he. And two other large guys who were leaning on him and holding his legs.
“Sorry,” he said, between breaths. “Don’t want to give you guys
“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.
Ben said remember. But he couldn’t remember any specific time in the sims. He could remember an examiner giving him his C-3. He could remember the first time he’d Men me boards. Remembered pushing beams at Sol. Supervisor had said all right, he could do that: he was under age, but they needed somebody who wouldn’t ram a mass into the station hull. His head was bandaged, his ribs were. His knees ached like hell, he thought because he had hit the counter, trying to hit the button, but he wasn’t sure of anything. You blinked and you got green numbers and lines, and if you followed them too far you never came back. Midrange focus. Back it up, all the way inside.
There’d been an accident and the ship had blown up. And his partners were dead. Or maybe never existed. It was a sim. Bright ball of nuclear fire. And he was here and they were in it, and it was all green glowing lines out there, whipping and snaking to infinity.
He remembered faces now. People he thought he liked— Bird. Meg and Sal. Cory, and Graff. Pete and Elly and Falcone. Faces. Voices. Falcone yelling, Hey, Dek, see you tomorrow.
But Falcone wouldn’t. Elly wouldn’t. They never would.
“You damn bastards!” he yelled. “Bastards!”
Interns came running, grabbed hold of him. “No,” he said, reminded what happened when he yelled. “No. Tommy!”
“Get the hypo,” one said, and he got a breath, he got a little sanity, said, “I’m not violent. I don’t need it. It’s all right. Let go, dammit! Get the doctor!”
They eased up. They stopped bruising his arms and just held him still.
“Just be quiet, sir. Just be quiet.”
“No shots. No damn shots.”
“Doctor’s orders, sir.”
“I don’t need one. I swear to you, I don’t need one.”
“Doctor says you’re not getting any rest, sir. You better have it. Just to be sure.”
He looked the intern in the face. Big guy, red face and freckles, lying across him. Out of breath. So was he. And two other large guys who were leaning on him and holding his legs.
“Sorry,” he said, between breaths. “Don’t want to give you guys
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