*
Massengale didn’t look up from his desk. “What took you so long?”
“I could have been here an hour ago,” Bandicut said evenly, “if you hadn’t—” He paused and shrugged.
Massengale drew a nostril-flaring breath and lifted his gaze to stare at Bandicut. “Siddown.” He jerked his thumb at a bench against the wall.
/// What a shithead. ///
Bandicut snorted, trying not to laugh.
Massengale’s eyes narrowed. “Problem?”
Bandicut shook his head silently, turning away to walk to the bench. /Stuff it, Charlie, until we get out of here./
/// Even if he is a—? ///
/Yes. Especially because that’s what he is. Anyway, how’d did you get to be so good with the cuss words, all of a sudden?/
/// I’m exploring
prememories of your culture.
Such expressions are common among your class,
are they not? ///
Bandicut had to agree that they were. But he was aware that Massengale was watching him suspiciously. To camouflage the blank gaze that had undoubtedly come over him, he rubbed the side of his jaw as though smoothing out a facial tic. “So,” he murmured. “I assume you have some other work for me?”
“Yeah,” Massengale said. “I thought maybe you’d been loafing out there on the crawlers long enough, and it was time for you to earn your keep. Since your own department hasn’t seen fit to ask for you back . . .” He paused to appraise the effect of his words, but Bandicut returned his gaze expressionlessly. Massengale shrugged. “I need you in Shaft Three. I got men out with injuries, and they’re short-handed.”
“I don’t know squat about deep mine work,” Bandicut pointed out.
Massengale chuckled. “So what else is new?” Bandicut flushed. “They’ll show you what you need to know. Just don’t screw anything up this time.” Massengale stared at him for a moment longer, and Bandicut could almost hear his thought: We don’t need any goddamn neurojack fairies down there, either, so whatever that look is on your face, wipe it off. But all Massengale actually said was, “There’s a supply van going out in twenty minutes. That oughta give you enough time to grab a suit.” Massengale’s lips curled into a faint smile.
/That oughta give you enough time,/ Bandicut mimicked, as he returned to the storeroom to check out a deep-mine suit. /I’d love to drop that guy down one of his own mine shafts./
/// In this gravity,
would he not fall slowly?
I wonder if that would create
the result you desire. ///
/It was a rhetorical comment./ The first Charlie would have understood that, damn it. But Bandicut didn’t have time to talk about it, and he didn’t want to have to explain things to this quarx. The storeroom robot was handing him the components of his suit, and he didn’t plan to step out of the ready room without thoroughly inspecting the pieces that would separate his hide from near vacuum. It was another thirty minutes before he was exiting through the airlock in search of the supply van.
/// What’s different about this suit? ///
Charlie asked, as he strode down the departure dock.
/A few more lights, more air, more protection against cave-in crushing,/ Bandicut murmured.
/// I see.
Cave-in crushing . . . ? ///
/Don’t worry, it rarely happens./ Bandicut peered around, and finally spotted the van in the glare of the floodlights. Two suited men were walking around outside it. /At least, I hope that’s true./
Charlie considered that for a long moment.
/// Do I understand that as
. . . humor? ///
/Ha ha ha./ Bandicut waved to the apparent driver of the van. He was answered by a gesture to hurry up and get in.
Charlie was quiet as Bandicut settled into the back of the vehicle and hooked his wrists into the restraints. The van jerked into motion, and he watched in silence as they pulled out of the docks and drove to the south, away from the surface mines, toward shaft three.
The ride was a short one. But Bandicut had a terrible sense of traveling a long way from where he wanted to go. A long way from Charlie-One’s cavern, a long way from the translator. A long way from understanding what the hell it was he was supposed to do—since Charlie-Two didn’t seem to know.
Before he knew it, he was hanging on to a handhold lift, descending into the sub-Triton depths.
Neptune Crossing Page 23
