A Company of Heroes Book Five: The Space Cadet (22 page)

“Don’t you point that thing my way,” said Wopple, raising his own weapon to cover the mate. He called to the second mate, “Ain’t I right, Mr. Glom?”

Taken a little aback at being suddenly drawn into a debate he wanted no part of, Monkfish Glom blurted: “Well, yes, I suppose she didn’t wake until eight bells. I had to rustle her twice, I know that. I guess it must have been someone else, Mr. Queel.”

“Enough of this,” growled the captain. “Take that female forward. Mr. Wopple, lower that gun. Remember where you are. I can make allowance for mistakes in judgment, but put that gun down.”

“All right, sir, but I couldn’t keep shut under the circumstances.”

“Men,” said Captain Krill to those crowding the floor below him, “take that girl forward and take your grub with you. I don’t want to see it or smell it. I told you you’ll be getting no different until you give up the man what crippled my first mate and I got no reason to change that order.”

“How can we do that, sir?” replied Bob. “He won’t give hisself up, knowing he’s likely to be killed. And there’s no other way to find out. And we can’t eat this stuff no more, sir.”

“That’ll do! Get forward!”

“All right, sir, we’ll go, but can we ask you, sir, if you’ll make the cook shake out the maggots before he cooks up the hash?”

The request was made respectfully and reasonably and, surprisingly, seemed to have an effect on Captain Krill, who said to the steward, after a moment’s hesitation and in an uncharacteristically calm voice:

“All right. Serve the men from the new stores. Give them the allowance but not an ounce more, understand? Now, men,” he said to the crew, “I’m giving you new grub for just one month and if you don’t give up that murdering thief by then, back you go to what you’ve been getting. But if you do, it’s full and plenty.”

“Thank you, sir, we’ll do what we can.”

The crowd broke up, moving forward, a half dozen carrying Judikha’s still unconscious body. Her face and right temple were marred by the long scorched welt left by the toaster. A swath of hair was burned away, like a firebreak in a forest, and the skin was raw and broken as though it had been abraded by coarse sandpaper, leaving her face smeared with red. When she was moved, there was left on the deck a perfect outline of her head in blood.

-X-

“Am I a slave or a convict?” she asked later. Lieutenant Birdwhistle was bandaging her head while she sat unsteadily atop a barrel in her quarters. They were alone. Her watch was at work in the engine room and Birdwhistle’s was in their quarters, trying to swallow breakfast. “Isn’t there a law,” she asked, “about these things?”

“Sure, but not much justice,” replied the lieutenant grimly. “Thank Musrum he didn’t get you between the eyes. Well, now you know what kind of men you’re dealing with. Queel didn’t think twice about shooting you merely on suspicion. If he didn’t kill you, well, I can only suppose it’s because he’s not handy as a left-hand shot. The same icewater runs in the captain’s veins.”

“Well, sir, I’ll tell you this: when our time comes I’m shooting to kill.”

“Quiet—someone’s coming.”

It was the second mate and he said, “All right, enough philandering there. Come on out of there and turn to.”

“Just a moment, sir,” interceded Birdwhistle, “and I’ll have her ready. Just let me finish this bandage. She’s lost a lot of blood and she’s weak, sir.”

“Who asked you?” Glom said as he took a pace toward them. “I don’t want to hear any of your lip.” And without any warning whatsoever, backhanded the lieutenant across the face so violently that he stretched him out on the floor. Judikha felt a hot flush of anger at seeing the defenseless man treated so contemptuously. Had there been a weapon within Judikha’s reach—a knife, a length of pipe—it would not have been well for any of them. The lieutenant merely sat up, keeping his eyes lowered to the floor, and said meekly through lips and tongue mashed to bloody pulp, “I was only stopping the bleeding, sir, so she wouldn’t get any weaker.”

“Dry up, you damned pussy.”

The mate grasped Judikha’s collar in one massive fist and hauled her to her feet. He shoved her toward the door and when she staggered he raised his foot and kicked her into the engine room. She fell to the deck outside and as she raised herself painfully erect she saw the old reddish tinge creep over the walls and deck—perhaps not so brilliantly as of old but strong enough to remind her of her old curse of temper. By a supreme effort of will she forced herself to visualize the fatal consequences of an altercation with the second mate; worse: it would not be what a Patrolman would do; she brought herself down to a dull, repressed anger. The steel around her cooled to its familiar dingy grey. This effort, in her weakened condition, cost her senses and she dropped to the deck like a sandbag.

She recovered consciousness to find herself drenched in icy water and Glom straddling her, an empty bucket in his hands.

“All right,” he snarled, “going to get up and turn to or do you want to be tucked into your cradle and rocked to sleep?”

Judikha staggered to her feet and just managed to stay erect. But she couldn’t speak, if for no other reason than the distraction of the wobbly and hazy appearance of her surroundings, as though her eyes were made of jelly. The second mate was only a opaque blur, an effect which would have been, of course, welcome in any other circumstance. A second blur joined it and she heard the captain’s gruff voice.

“You blundering fool! Your damned senseless idiot, are you trying to kill this girl, just because you know how? Don’t you know when someone’s had enough, or will you never know anything? I’ve been watching you the last ten minutes, bully ragging a spaceman already under control, with the rest of your watch lazing around doing nothing. Attend to your affairs now, or I’ll have no more of you!”

Glom, cowed and frightened, hurried away. Captain Krill regarded Judikha with hard, cool eyes. She was dripping wet, shivering, her face pale; the bandage had fallen away and fresh blood was mixing with the water that dripped from her hair.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“J-jud-ah-Veronica, sir.”

“Well,
Veronica
, are you the one what crippled my mate?”

“N-no, sir,” she stuttered. “I never saw him before this morning. I was in my bunk when that happened, sir.”

“Are you hurt bad?”

“Only an open scalp, sir. I’m a little weak, but I’ll be all right.”

“Get to your bunk. Peel off them wet duds and I’ll send the steward forward with some first aid. Let him dress your wound and don’t turn to until you feel up to it. Your not lazy, I can see that, and I don’t want no sick spacemen aboard the
Rasputin
. It’s a waste and I don’t tolerate waste.”

“T-thank you, sir.”

Birdwhistle, who had remained aside, came forward and assisted her to her bunk. The steward appeared soon thereafter with hot water, bandages and medication. She slept through three watches, not awakening until suppertime, still weak and nerveless but clear-headed and with an appetite for the now-welcome cold boiled meat and hard bread, neither of which was more than a year old.

She found Birdwhistle sitting outside the galley hatch staring at a gleaming pile of pots and pans. He asked after her health, then pointed to the pile of utensils.

“See that? Took all afternoon, all by myself, too. I tell you, I’m proud of it—I really am. I like to look at them. It fascinates me. The cook gave me an extra piece of pie. Here, I saved you the crust.” He handed her a chunk of pastry wrapped in waxed paper as though he were displaying a medal.

“No thanks,” said Judikha. “To tell you the truth, I’m full. Besides, I’m more accustomed to this kind of food than you are.”

“Go on, take it,” insisted the lieutenant. “Do you think that I’ve resisted the temptation to bolt the whole thing for an entire hour, just to weaken now? Eat it. Consider it an order.”

She ate the crust.

“This morning,” continued Birdwhistle, “when I saw that brute beating you when you were completely defenseless, it was all that I could do to restrain myself. But I managed; I did it.”

“You must be proud. Tell me,” Judikha asked, “do you ever see red when you get angry?”

“No, but I suppose you do.”

“Usually. I did this morning, anyway, when the mate kicked me. I would have jumped him if I hadn’t been so far out of it. At any other time I would have gone crazy.”

“That’s bad. That’s when people do murder. It’s a weakness of the vascular system, you know—I once heard a lecture about it—certain nerve centers failing to act and all that and there’s a rush of blood. But it’s all really just a matter of the will, Judikha. Just make up your mind to control your temper. That’s all there is to it. Will power.”

“I did try this morning, and it worked, but only for a second—then I was ready to kill again.”

“Well, keep on trying. You’ve got to for your own sake and, besides, it’ll do you good in the long run. You’re too good a spacer to be toasted.”

“What do you think of the skipper’s sending me off duty? Show’s he’s got some semblance of humanity, don’t you think?”

“It was purely a business proposition. He can tell you’re a good spaceman and it would just be poor judgment to ruin you. The time lost letting you heal would be a lot less than that which would have been lost if he’d let Glom continue ragging you. Give him half an excuse and he’ll kick you just as hard as the mate did.”

“Well, what about the cook? Think he’s taken to you? A possible ally?”

“Hardly. He’s as corrupt and opportunistic as the rest, and maybe twice as stupid. Besides, all he has on his mind is the engineer. He’s as nervous as MacHinery and ten times more of a cutthroat and coward. That pie I got was just a bribe. He’s hoping that I’ll keep an eye on the engineer and let him know what he’s up to.”

“I told him,” said Judikha, “that I saw MacHinery sharpening his broadaxe and heard him say that he means to split the cook’s head open.”

“Good thinking.”

“I still don’t think that the cook has forgiven me for what I did to him. What do you want me to do if he comes after me?”

“Run. Your legs are long enough. But I don’t think that he’ll bother you. He’s spiteful enough to never forgive an injury, but he’s also the rankest of cowards. I told him that you’d killed a Serpukhoffian in Picaroon, another in Habobenny Bay and had developed a taste for it. He asked me if you were down on all his kind, or merely him. I told him that you weren’t especially particular as to whom you killed so long it was a Serpukhoffian. Devilishly questionable behavior for a Patrol officer to get in, lying and all, but—well, all’s fair, I suppose, in love and—hellships.”

Judikha smiled bitterly in the darkness. Both were silent for a moment, then Birdwhistle spoke softly: “‘All’s fair in love and war,’ they say—yet there are many things that are not fair— which are decidedly not fair.”

Judikha waited for him to say more, but there was nothing. Then she thought, for the first time since the drugging, of her own unworthy position—that it was entirely because of her alone that this well-bred young gentleman was slaving in the galley of an outbound hellship. Perhaps due to her still-weakened condition she felt a surge of guilt.

“I know what you’re referring to, Mr. Birdwhistle,” she said, “and, believe me, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have had it happen for the world.”

The lieutenant faced her squarely, but it was too dark to make out his expression.

“I know I was an idiot,” she continued, “If I hadn’t gone out of my way to insult you back at Bettina’s we wouldn’t be here.”

“Oh,” said Birdwhistle, letting go a long breath. “Is that all that’s worrying you? I wasn’t even thinking about that. Don’t apologize, Judikha, we’re getting along first-rate now—perhaps we can even eventually become friends. There’s much about you that I—I like—and admire, all things considered. But when I arrested you that evening, I hated you more than I ever thought I’d hate a woman, let alone a fellow human being. I did it for the honor of the Patrol and I’d do it again if I had to.”

It was not a pleasant thing, to be told that one was once hated, even if the telling is in the past tense. Judikha decided not to say anything and the two sat in silence, staring at the heap of gleaming cookware. Whatever Birdwhistle was thinking, Judikha could not guess.

She thought, with rare appreciation, of the character of Lieutenant Birdwhistle, sensitive and sore, hating her, yet cheerfully risking his life and liberty on her behalf. Would she have done as much for him? Her brain said yes but her heart said no. The comparison forced another query upon her: which of the two of them was worthiest? This time only her heart answered—

He is a gentleman. I threw soup at a Serpukhoffian and ran.

From the direction of the galley came the soft
wheeze wheech
of the cook sharpening his knife and she shivered.

“The next time you want to douse him,” said the lieutenant with sudden venom, “hold his head in it until he drowns.”

Which just goes to show, Judikha decided, that even a gentleman may occasionally be a little human.

-XI-

Mr. Queel resumed charge of his watch the following morning. Since Wopple had proven himself to be a capable officer, he was transferred to the first watch under the first mate while Mr.Glom returned to the second watch. This was good news for Judikha, as it removed her from most direct contact with Monkfish. It was unfortunate news for Birdwhistle who had already earned the contempt of the captain and the engineer; now he must bear with a watch officer who actively disapproved of him.

But Judikha soon found that the lank, watery-eyed first mate was a past master of an art in which Monkfish was but a bungling amateur. While the latter was a heavy-fisted ruffian who balked at no curse or epithet, and, under the protection of his rank, did not hesitate to assault his men on the slightest provocation, Mr. Queel, without moving from his position on the catwalk, with only a 500-watt toaster tucked in the crook of his arm, did more, in the eight to twelve watch that night, to lessen Judikha’s self-esteem than had any other malevolent influence that had entered her life. The mate’s orders were invariably correct—spoken loudly only when necessary, soft as a mother’s murmur when the men were near; but there was acid in his tone and menace in the drooping lids of his sleepy eyes and the nervous grip on the butt of his weapon. Yet it was not these—not the visible and physical manifestations of his power—these could be met with like manifestations with more or less success. No. It was the colossal ego of the man—an innate and aggressive belief in his sacredness and necessity to the universe. It was his supreme contempt for the animals whom he oversaw, a contempt that found expression in that they dared take the form of human beings and dared think, speak and suffer in a human way. He used but little profanity and only once had recourse to his toaster—when Aarngla-ak-Paleen the Spazite brushed him in passing. For this breech of ship’s etiquette he was knocked senseless by a single jolt from the toaster. Mr. Queel then calmly stepped on the poor creature’s throat as he walked forward to order the unconscious body to be removed.