“They’re putting him in single command,” Demas said.

“God.” He didn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe it. But Demas went on:

“The EC stamps his personnel choices as a matter of course. Yes, he does the things that have to be done. But he’s not following the rules we laid down.”

“Hellburner has all but foundered,” Saito said, “on citizen groups that fear the EC, who’ve insisted the UDC do what it doesn’t have the personnel to do—”

“They’ve run us out of time,” Demas said. “So now, now the EC steps in and gets us the power to do something— but it’s Mazian they give it to. The captain’s still sitting at Sol One with a mess on his hands, the whole UDC administrative system suddenly shoved inside our operations, but—”

“We begged him,” Saito said, “to break with Mazian, to repudiate his personnel assignments, catch the commercial back here and take command of the carrier, the hell with Mazian’s reputation with the EC.”

His heart was beating faster and faster. He was sure what he was hearing, and surmised what must have been passing, God, on FleetCom—

“But the captain won’t do it,” Demas said, “won’t expose dissent among the captains. Not now, he says: with Earth, appearances and public belief are everything. If we don’t get the riders and the rest of the carriers funded in this legislative session, we’re back to the spooks and the rimrunners.”

He was still reeling from the first shock. Nerves wanted to hype and he tried to hold it. “What in hell did the captain want me to do here? Was I supposed to foul it up so badly he’d have to take it over? —Or is Porey what I won us?”

“That rump session of the committee wasn’t supposed to come here,” Saito said. “You handled it as well as it could have been handled. You were sincere. You were indignant. You were the epitome of the Fleet’s integrity and professionalism. You didn’t know anything to the contrary.”

“So now we’ve got Mazian’s hand-picked command here? Mazian’s put Edmund Porey over a program that’s already self-destructing? Have you worked with this man? I have. I was in the Belt with him.”

“We’re extremely concerned,” Demas said. “We’re concerned about those carriers out in the Belt, and at Mars, that have yet to have officers assigned. Yes, they’ll bring in our people. But fifteen of the captains will be UDC. That was the deal that was cut.”

His stomach turned over. A second time. “You’re serious.”

“That is the deal. Fifteen of the carriers—with Earth-born command.”

“Who do they have?”

Saito made a ripple of her fingers. “They’ll have a selection process. Earth believes in processes.”

“That’s fifteen dead ships—first time they take them past Viking.”

“J-G, this is the crash course on truth in this venue. Mazian projects well. As a strategist he’s even competent. But thank God for the Keus and the Kreshovs. They’ll keep us alive. They may even keep Mazian alive.”

“I’ve got a—” —kid on the verge of insanity, he was about to protest, when he recalled he didn’t have anything, he didn’t have a command, so far as he knew. “Dekker’s not going to work well with Porey. Dekker’s the best we’ve got. Mitch is not going to work well with Porey. He’s the next. We’re going to lose this program.”

“No, we’re not,” Demas said. “Porey’s in command of the program. Porey’s put you in charge of personnel.”

“Me? Where did you hear this?”

“Say it went through channels.”

“Did he do the picking? Or was my selection—”

“Compromise. Though in Mazian’s view I think you’re to keep us in line,” Saito said. “Technically, we equal his rank. But we’re not command personnel. We’re not designated as such, by the captain. Consequently the captain can recall us at will and Porey can’t take us under his command—or get us assigned to that carrier. I’m afraid that isn’t your case.”

“We’re concerned for that,” Saito said. “But there’s nothing we can do, but advise, where our perspective is of use.”

He was glad he’d not had time for supper. He thought he might lose it, if that were the case.

“All personnel?”

“All flight and technical associated with the program. Tanzer’s still there, of course, but he’s promoted sideways, still in charge of R&D, but Hellburner’s being lifted out of R&D—”

“Into what?”

“Fleet Ops. The parts manufacturers and the yards are being given a go-ahead, on a promise of funds tied to test success. They’re pushing this ship for production, we’re funded for one carrier’s full complement, but no further; and the plain fact is, we’re out of time. Latest projection is—we’re going to see the first carrier-rider system in the field in six, seven months. Theirs or ours. Naturally we have our preference.”

“What in hell are they asking me to do with these people?”

“Mazian sets the priorities. Porey carries them out. You keep the crews sane.”

“You mean I promise them anything. Have I got a shred of authority to carry it out?”

For the second time, Demas evaded eye contact. “I’d say it’s more than we can do. But, no, in effect, you don’t.”

“Is he asleep?” Ben asked quietly—made a trip to the bathroom while Sal was drowsing and stopped for a look-see. Dekker looked skuzzed, thoroughly, face down in the pillows. Meg was using his reader, scanning through Dekker’s manuals—there was a lot of study going on in the barracks, over cold dead hamburgers and breaded fish. The smell out there could gag you. And the atmosphere was crazed. Guys glad they were going to fly this thing—the pilots and the lunatic lead techs who made up the core crew.

He should have counted, he told himself. He’d been a numbers man. He should have added it—and panicked when the number of him and Dekker and Meg and Sal tallied four, same as the other core crew units out there.

“He’s out,” Meg said. “Cold. Thank God. Man’s seriously needing his sleep.”

He came and sank down on the edge of the other bunk, said, ever so quietly, “You like this guy?”

Meg shrugged. You never got unequivocal out of her or Sal. But she was here. She’d risked her neck and her license for him. Partner, yeah. But Meg didn’t do things for one reason, or even two. A solid part of it was in that datacard, was in the way Meg looked right now, sharp and serious and On as he’d ever seen her.

He didn’t say what he’d sat down to say: Flunk that damn test. He slid a glance at Dekker and back and said, “You know, you better carry a pocket wrench.”

Any Belter knew what a wrench was for, on helldeck. Meg’s mouth quirked.

“The CO’s crazy,” he said very quietly. “I flew out here with that guy.”

“So did we.”

“That where they got him? Belt garrison?”

She shook her head. Whispered, “That carrier came in from deep. We dunno where. All the time we were on there, we saw crew, never but once saw him.”

“What’d you think?”

Meg frowned. “Didn’t like the signals.”

He said, under his breath, “We got a serious warning. Don’t know what that guy’s problem is, but it is. We saw him far more than once. Just watching us. The body language. He wants his space, he wants yours. Smiles and laughs but he doesn’t smile, you know what I mean? He watched Dek real close. Dek didn’t like him.”

“Grounds?”

“Just that.” He didn’t think the place was bugged. Events hadn’t proven it and it was too egocentric to mink Polrey’s security had made a straight line to their quarters. But he got uneasy with the topic. He said, “Helldeck radar, maybe. Guys you’d insist do the EVA, if it was the two of you in a miner can, you know what I mean?”

Meg got real dead grim. “Ask Sal about that kind.” And then bit her lip like she’d said too much of Sal’s business. “Yeah. Same signals. You ever ship with Sammy Wynn?”

Awful thought. Guy with some serious personality faults, that wouldn’t get better on a long, lonely haul. “I wouldn’t share a bar table with Sammy Wynn. Whatever happened to him?”