LINC adjusted the shower to a cooler setting and let water flow over his face and chest, carrying away last of an hour's worth of pressing, pulling, and stretching, followed by three simulated miles on the running mill. The time when he'd felt stiff and achy was long past now. His body had the satisfying feel of well-toned muscles exercised thoroughly but easily within their limits. He pushed his hair back to clear his eyes and stared for a moment at the jets streaming out from the nozzle, trying to convince himself that the water wasn't really felling but moving in a straight line while the floor's rotation carried him in a curve to intercept it. It was no good. He couldn't visualize it that way. He had lived all his life and formed his conceptions in real gravity, and that was the end of it. He thought instead about the prospect of leave finally, after four weeks of continuous grind in the Turret. Only two more days to go. Then, an escape, finally, to whatever the rest of the station had to offer. And after that, life should get more interesting. When they returned to duty, they'd be going on to suits and the actual space environment—getting their first taste of spacewalking and activity outside, learning something of what was involved in building and repairing structures.
Knowing about structures was important in space. Everything that Earth had once been naturally was now replaced by artificial structures that weren't indestructible, didn't self-renew, and into which everything needed had to be deliberately designed. Structures kept you close to the things you needed to stay alive, and separated you from everything else in the universe that was trying to see you dead. And in space there was nowhere for soldiers to dig foxholes and trenches to feel safer in. They built structures.
"Feels good, eh, Linc?" Mackerel's voice came from the next stall.
"You said it."
"How much did you clock on the mill just before we quit?" one of the others who were toweling off outside called.
"Just over three," Linc threw back.
"Pretty good time then," Mackerel said.
"Not bad." Linc cut off the water and ran a hand over his head to squeeze out the excess.
"You know what occurred to me," Gus said as Linc stepped out. "They recycle everything up here . . . . Where do you suppose this water might have been yesterday?"
"Take a break, Gus. I don't want to think about it."
Arch switched at Gus with his towel. "You've got leave coming up in two days, man. Think positive things."
"All the big-city lights of the Axle," someone at the other end said.
"Center of the inhabited regions of the galaxy."
"Big deal."
"Which part of town are you planning on hitting first, Linc?" Arch asked.
"That's a tough one. I'll have to think about it."
"Where do they keep all the girls? It has to be the rec deck. That's where I'll be heading." Arch meant the Recreation Deck, located in the West Tower.
"Girls? . . .What are they?"
"You know—curvy things that look like centerfolds."
"Oh, those. Yeah, I think I remember."
"You will conduct yourselves as soldiers," somebody threw in, imitating Schultz.
"Damn right!"
Linc put on a pair of long fatigue pants and a T-shirt, then collected his gear and left to return to the billet. Willie joined him as he began heading along the corridor outside. Although those like Linc—the ex-delinquents—were no longer required to conceal their backgrounds, the habit had become automatic. As a result, they inclined toward answering questions if asked, but without volunteering much beyond. Perhaps that had been the intention. Willie Camarel seemed drawn toward them as a group, maybe because of the image of solidarity and protection he saw in them. In return, his better schooling made him good to have around for help with the math and physics classes. He was from Oklahoma, Linc had learned, where his family ran a hard-sell Bible TV station. This was the only sure way Willie had been able to think of to escape.
"Do you have any particular plans on what you're going to do? "Willie asked.
"You mean in two days' time—when we get back in touch with the rest of that huge world out there?"
"Right."
Linc shrugged. "Wander around the station and check out what's happening, I guess. Maybe try the Low-g Court in the Axle. I hear it's fun. Got any better suggestions?"
"Not really. Mind if I tag along?"
"Not at all."
Willie glanced at Linc as they came to the lime-painted alloy stairs leading up to the billet deck. "Sometimes I kind of envy the way you guys had it," he said, as if an explanation were called for. "It's as if it equipped you to deal with anything, know what I mean? Maybe the rest of us missed out somehow."
Linc snorted. "You're crazy. You didn't miss anything. Believe me."
When they came to the billet, Rocky, who bunked above Linc, was engaged in his favorite occupation of stretching out and contemplating the ceiling. Flash was farther along the room, talking with Arvin. There were others scattered around, some grabbing a few minutes of reading, one playing solitaire, a couple attending to their kit. A big advantage of being in space was not having to clean up after hours of rolling around in sand and dirt and mud. Schultz was always looking for ways of making up for what must have been, to him, an intolerable deficiency.
Since distancing himself from Arvin, Flash had been taking on the role of a go-between, trying to stay on as good terms with Arvin as his solidarity with Linc permitted—maybe hoping to reconcile things between them. Linc didn't really have a problem with that, but as far as he was concerned he had nothing more to prove, and it was up to Arvin to make the moves. Although Arvin's star had dimmed a magnitude or two since their final run-in at Seville Trace, Linc wasn't entertaining high expectations. Arvin seemed to have retreated inward, keeping to himself far more than he had previously—no doubt due in part to his not having anyone to connive with when nobody stepped in to fill Welsh's place. Whatever the reason, Linc wasn't about to lose any sleep over the matter. It wasn't the biggest thing in his life. New times lay ahead, and the days were too busy.
"I was thinking," Rocky greeted Linc and Willie, looking down as they came in. "And no, it didn't hurt. Not so much that you'd notice, anyway."
"What?" Linc said.
"That Low-g Court they've got in the Axle. The pool in there is supposed to be quite something. I reckon we should go look at it."
"We were just talking about that. Willie says he'll be stringing along with us too."
"Great."
"How much room is there? Does anyone know?" Flash called over. "I mean, if we all hit it at once, is it gonna cram the place out? Maybe we should do it a bunch at a time and organize some kind of schedule."
"I don't think that'll be too much of a problem. By the sound of it, most of the guys'll be heading for the rec deck," Linc answered.
"Why? What's there?"
"What do you think? What planet are you just back from, Rocky?"
"Oh. Right."
Willie had squatted down to stow his gear back in his locker. "I hope you get to meet my uncle when we finally make the Zone, Flash," he said over his shoulder. "Did I ever tell you that he's into computers too? Now there's somebody whose brains you need to pick."
"You sorta mentioned it a couple of times," Flash said. "So what kinda stuff's he into?"
"Oh, it gets a bit technical. Control and sequencing systems mainly—involved with confinement fields and plasmas. From his mail I think it's connected with fusion: energy systems and propulsion."
Flash and Linc exchanged silent looks of bafflement. Sometimes Willie forgot they came from different worlds.
Linc realized that Arvin had been staring at him fixedly. It was there again—an unspoken intimation of something waiting to be said. Linc tried to act normally and show that he was approachable, yet without going out of his way to make things too easy either. There were rules . . . . And then once again, Arvin seemed to change his mind at the last instant and turned away to busy himself with something else. Before Linc was able to make anything more of it, the door opened and Senior Cadet Sulliman, Derek J., who was doing the clerking shift in the Day Office, appeared. Seniors were ones who had completed the initial two months and as such carried a single stripe on their sleeves. "Hey, Marani. You've got a phone call."
Linc looked at Rocky. They both raised their eyebrows. "Only one way to find out," Rocky said in answer to the unspoken obvious.
Cadets in the Turret lived in the Stone Age. Personal mobiles were not permitted, and the only communication was via a line in the Interview Room next to the Day Office, which they all had to share. Linc followed Sulliman back into the corridor and through some connecting passages to the Admin Section, where Sulliman gestured toward the door of the Interview Room and walked away. Linc let himself in, eased down into one of the seats at the fold-down metal table, and picked up the handset from its cradle.
"Linc Marani here."
"Is that the general, sir? Permission to speak, please?"
"Who is this?"
"You don't recognize me already? What are they feeding you guys in there? Or do you only recall on order now?"
The voice conjured up an image of red hair and a beefy face patchy with freckles. "Mace?" Linc grinned suddenly. "Is that you?"
"You took your time."
"It would have helped if you'd said so. Are you up here on Grayling now?"
"I sure am. In fact, we got here over a week ago. But people said not to overdo it on contacting you guys—not for the first four weeks, anywise."
"Yeah, that's the way it is. So did it all work out with the rigger number you were trying to land? You're all set?"
"It looks like it. There was just some extra stuff they wanted to put us through down at Yuc before we shipped up."
"That's terrific, Mace. We'll be coming out of here in another two days. You can tell me the whole score then. So who else is up here now?"
"Well, that's what I was really calling you about, Linc. Your old buddy Rick made it."
"They told him he can be a carpenter."
Linc shook his head. "That's crazy. How many trees they got growing in the Zone?"
"Beats the hell outta me . . . . And Vic's here."
"Don't tell me. And he's gonna be a chef, right?"
"How'd you guess?" There was a short pause. Then, "Oh, yes. And I almost forgot. There's also someone that I thought you might be particularly interested in. Do you remember a certain number that was also at Coulie—black hair, eyes made outta ice, makes you think of a cat made out of velvet when she moves?"
Something like an electric jolt hit Linc in the back of the neck and traveled down to his shoes. He blinked. "You mean Julie?"
"Ah, right. That was her name. Seems she may have talents in a medical direction too, and right now she's working an orderly stint in the North Wing sick bay. I just happen to have her number here, if you think you'd maybe like to . . . you know, give her a call and say hi or something."
"You really think she'd be interested?" Just at the moment, Linc was having trouble collecting back together the mess of pieces that his thoughts had fragmented into. It was one of the rare moments when he realized he was saying something inane.
"Why not just call the number and find out?" Mace suggested.