Rimrunners by C. J. Cherryh Page B

the mines and she wanted
    starships more than she wanted anything.
    And the fool kid had found herself in something she'd never remotely imagined,
    and the fool kid had figured out damn fast how not to be a fool. The Fleet
    taught you that straight-off, or it broke you, and she was still alive.
    The fool kid had gotten part of what she'd wanted. She still reckoned that had
    to be worth the rest of it… and still must be, since she'd just had her chance
    at station-life, and here she was back again. If it killed her, she thought,
    right now it was like something in her was back in connection again and a part
    of her was alive that wasn't, on station.
    And you couldn't make sense of that, but it was true.
    She drank her soup, she kept her mouth shut except when a man two places down
    the row asked her questions—like her side of the business on Thule.
    Like it was behind her already; and that was a breath of clean air too.
    "I killed a couple bastards," she said quietly. "They picked it. Me or them."
    Fitch walked in. Her pulse picked up. She looked up very carefully while Fitch
    made himself a cup of tea at the counter.
    Fitch stood there to drink it and look at her, and after a moment he tossed a
    key down three or four places down the row. It lay there a moment.
    Finally one of them, older man, picked it up and tossed it down toward her.
    The man next to her, the unfriendly one, picked it up and gave it to her.
    "Thanks," she said. She fumbled around and got the cuffs off.
    No one said anything. She certainly didn't expect a You're Welcome from Fitch.
    She just pocketed the cuffs and the key. You didn't leave junk on the deck, and
    nobody asked for it.
    "Hour till," Fitch said. "Yeager?"
    She looked up, fought the twitch that said stand up, reminding herself this was
    a civ ship. "Yes, sir?"
    "You like this ship?"
    "Yes, sir."
    "Like what you see?"
    "Fine, sir."
    Long silence.
    "You being smart with me, Yeager?"
    "No, sir. I'm glad to get off that station."
    Fitch sipped his tea. And ignored her after that, thank God. Fitch left, and
    some of the rest did.
    "Is there a place I'm supposed to pick up a trank-pack?" Bet asked the man next.
    The man shrugged, pointed with a forefinger and his cup. "Galley. Right there by
    the hot, should be."
    She got up and went and opened the cabinet, found the plastic-wrapped packs and
    found the c-pack in a clip beside it. "Thanks," she said, coming back to sit.
    "Name's Masad," the man said, and indicated the man on his left. "Joe. Johnny."
    The one past that.
    "Bet," she said.
    Other crew came through the section. And the jump-warning sounded.
    "Better get hammocked-in," Masad said. Olive skin. Fortyish. Shaved head. "You
    got any problems?"
    "No," she said, and got up and offered a hand for other cups—hard to do, a
    lets-be-friends move; but she was smarter than she'd grown up: the surly brat
    who'd signed onto Africa had gotten hell and away smarter nowadays. And a little
    friendly move won things with strangers, sometimes. So they handed theirs over,
    she chucked them all in the galley bin, then walked with them down-ring, found
    herself a vacant hammock, stepped in, wrapped up and snugged the tabs closed.
    Then she carefully put the c-pack in her breast-pocket and took her trank-dose.
    Going out of here, she told herself, while the bell kept ringing and the ship
    drove toward jump. She had no idea where they were going. It could even be Pell.
    But she felt the trank take hold and felt herself drifting, old familiar
    feeling, live or die, you never knew how or if you'd come out when the ship made
    transit.
    The burn stopped. They went weightless for a few seconds, inertial. And slowly
    the G started pulling her down horizontally instead of vertically. Main-deck
    orientation, now. The light that had been shining in her eyes was clearly, by
    body-sense, truly in the overhead, and her back was to the deck.
    Going out of here.
    Goodbye, Thule. Goodbye, Nan and Ely. You give stationers a