Gene Wolfe - Home Fires

“I won’t,” Skip said quickly. “Now take your hand off your gun.”

Susan did, and sat down on the bed.

He went to her. “You’ve become what you told Chelle you were. It’s a business relationship, a permanent one, and that’s how it’s going to stay. Let’s shake hands.”

Susan’s hand seemed damp, weak and a trifle too small, and he realized with a start that he had already grown used to Chelle’s. Feeling awkward, he cleared his throat. “Now that you’re my confidential secretary again, I want to ask you a question. It’s a delicate matter, so don’t tell anyone I asked.”

“Of course not.”

“If you know anything, if you have even the smallest scrap of information, I want it. No matter how trivial it seems.”

Susan nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Have you ever heard of a woman named Jane Sims?”

For a fraction of a second, it seemed him that Susan had recognized the name; there had been, he felt, a flicker in her eyes, a slight tightening of her mouth. Then she said, “No, sir. Who is she?”

“She’s a woman Chelle mentioned. I don’t want to pry, but it’s something I may need to know. So I’m trying to find out.”

“What about Boris?”

“I’ve got him looking already. Are you sure you didn’t recognize the name?”

“Yes, sir. Unless you mean Jane Simmons. I used to know a Jane Simmons.”

“You’re no longer in touch with her?”

Susan shook her head. “Not for years, sir. We were never really close. She contracted with a woman in the rapeseed oil business, and they went off to someplace in Asia.”

“I doubt that she’s my Jane Sims.”

“So do I. You said you were tired, sir. If you’d like to lie down…?”

“I’d like to, but I can’t afford it. I was going to take a long, cold shower, then go back to the infirmary to see Chelle. Since you’ll be going there, we might as well go together.”

* * *

It was on J Deck, aft. The middle-aged nurse at the reception desk said, “You want to see Chelle Blue? Both of you?”

Skip nodded. “I’m Chelle’s contracto, and this is my secretary, Susan Clerkin. We need to talk to her together. It won’t take long.”

“Ms. Clerkin was here…” The nurse pressed buttons and studied her screen. “At fourteen thirty-five. Weren’t you one of the people who brought Ms. Blue in?”

Skip nodded again.

“Well, I can’t let both of you in together.”

“Yes, you can. Ask Dr. Prescott.”

The nurse frowned. “He’s not here.”

“In that case, I’ll have him paged.”

“Are you going to be long?”

In the end they were admitted, and found Chelle in bed with her head swathed in bandages and her right arm in a cast. She tried to sit up, and did when the nurse cranked up her bed. “This is great! Got my cabin card?” Her grin made Skip want to turn away.

Susan held out the card. “Here it is. I’m glad we didn’t wake you up.”

“Not a bit! I was just staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out how I’d like to die. Fighting, sure. But would I want to know it’s coming, so I could get ready? How much time? Stuff like that.”

Skip said, “That doesn’t sound healthy.”

“Sure it is—takes my mind off my troubles. I got blown all to hell up on Johanna, maybe I told you.”

Skip nodded.

“That was one hell of a lot worse than this. This is kid stuff. The dentist says not to eat anything tough for a while and my teeth should root again, or whatever you call it. Not come out. I got a scalp wound and they’re bleeding bastards, but it’s been sewed up good and they gave me a transfusion. I’ll be back on the field in the third quarter.”

Skip said, “What about your arm?”

“It’s busted, that’s all—simple fracture of the humerus, so there’s a titanium plate and a bunch of screws in there now. One of those bastards hit me with a crowbar. See this black dingbat in my cast? High-frequency sound, with all the best undertones and overtones. It’ll heal fast, and it’s been splinted and pinned already.”

Susan said, “Is there anything that we can do for you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, there is. That white box in the corner? My stuff’s supposed to be in there, only I’m not supposed to get out of bed. Look inside, and see if you can find my gun. The nurse says it’s in there, but who the fuck knows? I’d like to check on her.”

Skip opened the cabinet and pointed.

Susan said, “Yes, it’s right here.”

“Hold it up, okay? Don’t touch the trigger.”

Susan did.

“Great. Bring it over here. I just want to hold it for a minute.”

Susan hesitated, then looked her question at Skip.

He nodded.

“I’m not going to shoot anybody. I just want to feel it.”

Skip took the gun from Susan and put it into Chelle’s right hand.

“That’s great.” Chelle’s smile warmed him.

“What is it?” Susan asked. “I don’t know much about them.”

“A Springfield MIL 31-3. It’s got everything you need and nothing you don’t—high capacity, a comp that hides flash and doesn’t knock your ears off, ambi safeties, flat trajectory, lots of knockdown, and a jewel of a trigger. Was that old lady magic, Skip? Or was I?”

“Tante Élise? Both of you, I think.”

Chelle turned back to Susan. “You went down into the hold to get me, didn’t you? Somebody said that.”

She nodded.

“You had a gun? Do you still have it?”

“I … Yes. It makes Mr. Grison nervous, but I do.” After a moment she repeated, “I don’t know very much about them.”

“So you think people like me, people who love their guns, are nuts. I’ve used a gun to save my life. That’s the difference. They’d sent us some new ’bots, and they were good but it was desert camo. They might as well have been bright yellow, and they got picked off pretty fast. We were supposed to come in behind them—”

The middle-aged nurse in the office outside had raised her voice, “You can’t! Don’t you listen?”

The words of the reply were indistinct but its tone was unmistakable. A moment later, the door opened and a lean man in a tweed jacket stepped through. He shut the door firmly behind him and held it shut with his heel. “Bureaucrats!”

Skip said, “Chelle, this is Rick Johnson. He came with Mick Tooley and was one of your rescuers.”

Susan added, “Came prepared to fight. He has a gun like yours.”

“Not quite,” Johnson said, “but it’s a good one. You’re Mastergunner Blue, ma’am?”

“Sure.” Chelle grinned. “But I’m not really holding a gun on these folks. I just wanted to see it and make sure it was safe.”

“I understand.” Johnson was studying Chelle’s gun. “There’s no reason for you to trust me to keep it for you, but I will if you want me to.”

“So will I,” Skip said.

“Thanks.” Chelle moved the gun from her right hand to her left and gave it to him butt-first. “With three of you here, I’ve got a great chance to ask about the other guys who went into the hold.” She paused. “Not your bunch. Sergeant Kent-Jermyn’s and mine. Some didn’t come out alive. I know that. Does anybody know which ones made it out?”

No one spoke.

“From my bunch or the earlier bunch?” Chelle looked from face to face.

“I can’t tell you,” Skip said. “I know we freed some, but I’m not sure how many.”

“When I was down there,” Johnson said slowly, “we got out four, I believe. Four alive, not counting you. Three had to be carried.”

“I saw them,” Susan said.

“I took down seven,” Chelle’s voice had sunk to a whisper. “Somebody said there were eight in the first bunch.”

Skip nodded. “That’s what I was told, too.”