Linesman by S. K. Dunstall

wouldn’t have wanted to be there.
    â€œYou can get dressed.” He helped Ean up, almost as if he realized Ean wasn’t sure he could manage it himself. “I want to see you back here every day until I say otherwise. And I want to know all the symptoms. Including those you haven’t told me today.” He walked to the door with him. “And you’ll do every jump under observation. I’ll make sure Captain Helmo doesn’t jump until you are here at the hospital.”
    Which was really going to endear him to the captain.
    Radko left off baiting the other two spacers as he came out. Neither of them seemed the worse for the extra wait.
    â€œBring him back tomorrow,” the medic told Radko.
    â€œYes, sir.”
    Maybe she just called everybody sir.
    She led him out at the same fast pace. He struggled to keep up. “The mess is open all hours,” she said, then stopped and looked back over her shoulder. “You should probably eat in the VIP dining room.”
    He couldn’t take Admiral Katida or Tarkan Heyington right now. “All they’ll do is hand me things to carry.” Even if he had no right in the mess, he wouldn’t have to be social.
    A dimple showed. It looked like Michelle’s dimple. “They would,” she agreed, friendlier suddenly.
    The mess was quiet at this hour. The chef cooked Ean up a huge meal, despite Ean’s protests that he wasn’t hungry. After the first mouthfuls, he realized he was hungry after all, and that it tasted good. Radko, seated opposite, ate a smaller portion of the same meal with gusto. If this was typical of the fare, then the crew were well fed. But then, he could have got that from line one. Or could he? Could you break the line down into specifics like that? Ean, strong enough now with food inside him, listened to the song of line one and tried to separate out anything to do with food.
    The lines were clear in his head. Clearer than they had been yesterday. It was as if going through the void had switched something on and forgotten to turn it off again. Which was impossible, of course.
    All he could get was something about Empire cake.
    â€œWhat is Empire cake?” he asked.
    Radko pushed aside her empty plate with a sigh of pleasure. “You’ve heard about that, have you?”
    He half shrugged.
    â€œAnd let’s hope we’re rid of this lot before it happens,” Radko said. “Because I don’t want them spoiling the tradition.” She looked at him and blushed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
    â€œEmpire cake?” he prompted.
    â€œThe Crown Princess’s birthday cake. It’s divine. And only ever made on this ship. It takes weeks to prepare. Chefs were buying ingredients while Princess Michelle and Commodore Galenos were out hunting tens.”
    It was interesting that she called Michelle by her Lancastrian title. Or maybe not, because it was a Lancastrian ship, but off Lancia, she was generally known as Lady Lyan—all the legitimate children were known as Lord or Lady Lyan—because on many other worlds the title prince or princess was reserved for the ruler.
    Her birthday must be close if the cake figured so prominently in the lines.
    â€œIt’s more than just the cake,” Radko said. “It’s the tradition. We’ve all been with her a long time.”
    â€œEven you?” She didn’t look old enough to have been anywhere a long time.
    â€œTen years in two tendays,” she said.
    Which meant she had to be at least his own age. “You came straight from training to here?”
    â€œNo one comes straight from training to here. I spent two years in general corps first, then three in Special Weapons.”
    Maybe older. She didn’t look it.
    Radko dimpled at him. Her dimples were exactly the same as Michelle’s. Come to think of it, her eyes were the same shape too, if a lighter blue, and even though her short