Gene Wolfe - Home Fires

Returning to the front of the room, Skip held it up. “Look carefully. Chelle’s, which is probably a later model, has ambidextrous safeties. This one doesn’t. The safety is on the right side, where it would be operated by the thumb of the left hand. Here, compare it to mine.”

“They’re reversible,” Johnson told him. “I had the battalion armorer change mine.”

Tooley said, “I take it that Virginia’s wound is on the right side. I should have checked that.”

“I’ve seen it, and it is. On the right side, high up. She wears heels, as you may have noticed. The man who stabbed her need not have been freakishly tall, but he was certainly above average height.”

“You’ve got a gun in your hand,” Tooley remarked, “and nobody else has one except Susan. I take it you’re about to name the bomber.”

Skip returned his gun to the table. “I’m not. I wish I were. I got you together—Chelle would be here too if she weren’t so badly hurt—so I could tell you what I know and ask your help. You brought eleven people south with you, Mick?”

Tooley cleared his throat. “That’s right. Eleven including Susan and Rick.”

“Leaving nine. One of those nine almost certainly planted the bomb. Susan, you and Rick were with them before Soriano sailed, and afterward on the boat. Who do you think is most likely? I realize that—”

“Skip!” Vanessa interrupted him. “I must talk to you, darling.”

There was a knock at the door.

Thought and speech come easily to me. Action is hard. That’s a new realization; for so many years I thought myself a man of action. Yes, I filed appeals and sent others—always others—scurrying around in search of witnesses. I did those things and thought that I acted. More than once, I simply asked Susan or Mrs. Rosso to do them.

Our seamen are men of action. So are Soriano and his mercenaries. What of the men from Boswash whom Mick will list for me?

I think of them as men because Mick says they’re all men. Susan was the only woman. Can they all be men of action? The man we seek is a man of action surely. He learned very quickly that Vanessa was the social director and planted his bomb as soon as he could get away from the rest.

Although he may have learned it when he learned that Vanessa was on this ship. Why not? NB: Call Zygmunt. Who asked questions at the offices of the cruise line? Name and description.

I was a man of action while I carried my submachine gun. When I think back on what I did then I know it’s the truth. This pistol doesn’t have the same effect, perhaps because I’ve never shot anyone with it. Will I shoot the bomber when I find him?

Only if I must. I will shoot him and he will die, which was what he wanted when he joined the ring. They won’t try me for machine-gunning hijackers; they’d be laughed out of court. But if I shoot him? Say that it’s Rick.…

And it may well be Rick; a left-handed man could have stabbed her from one side; we’d have to know the direction of the wound.

Rick’s a veteran, and honorably discharged. He would have to have an honorable discharge to get that license. They’ll certainly want to try me for that, nor can I fault them for it.

* * *

The submachine gun is under my bed. I would never have believed that I would sleep with a submachine gun under the bed.

What else?

The suicide ring, of course, although it will be difficult. We lack the name of a single member.

We lack that, but Reanimation has it, Reanimation has one name at least, though Reanimation will not surrender it easily. Find the name of the employee they’re looking for—surely they’re looking for her by now—and trace her associates. One or more are on this ship. Two would seem more likely, and there could easily be three. Ask Mick. Did two or three enlist together? Did any of the men he enlisted appear to know each other? We must learn those things.

There’s more. The police will suspect certain persons of belonging to suicide rings. With luck, Zygmunt may be able to learn their names, or some of them. Mick said he could give me the service numbers of his men as well as their names. That suggests that none used aliases, though it doesn’t prove it. Have the numbers checked; the Public Service Administration will provide names.

When I shut my eyes I see the ruin blocking the corridor. I smell the smoke. There were no screams save Vanessa’s. She was on her way to her office, she said, when she stopped at the infirmary to talk to Chelle.

I see the dead hand, the nail polish and the ring with the big watery stone. Did the young woman I spoke to there have a ring like that?

I wish I could remember.

How pretty she was!

“Sit down, Don.” Skip indicated a chair. “Would you like something to eat? Or a drink? The first-class kitchen’s supposed to be a bit better than second class. It may not be true, but that’s what they say. I’d think the bars are probably about the same.”

“Dos Equis, sir, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course not. I’ll have one, too.” Skip picked up the telephone and ordered.

Miles waited expectantly.

“You’re wondering why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I need your help, or think I do. You’ve probably guessed that already.”

“I’ll be happy to help you any way I can, sir.”

“I know. I feel sure of that, but I’m going to have to ask you some personal questions. It wouldn’t be fair for me to do that without briefing you, without giving you some idea of why I’m prying into your private life. You went down into the hold with Sergeant Kent-Jermyn to fight the hijackers.”

“Yes, sir. It was a damned fool thing to do. I know that now.”

“It was a very brave thing to do. I admire you for it. Everybody admires you.” Skip paused, collecting his thoughts. “Some of you were killed. Others were captured. When you were, Mastergunner Chelle Blue led a party down there to rescue you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mastergunner Blue and I are contracted. Did you know that?”

“Yes, sir. Lieutenant Brice told me. He’s one of the ship’s officers, sir.”

“He is, Captain Kain has mentioned him. There’s a Captain Johnson on board, too. A captain in the Army, I mean. Do you know him?”

“No, sir.”

“He was in that meeting room when you came in. I should have introduced you to everyone, but I was so anxious to talk to you that it was all I could think of. Do you know Virginia Healy?”

“No, sir. Wait a minute—wasn’t that the woman who volunteered to go down as a prisoner? The first woman who raised her hand?”

“Correct. She’s Mastergunner Blue’s mother.” Skip sighed. “She’s Chelle’s mother, and someone’s trying to kill her. That’s one reason I’m poking and prying—a peripheral reason, or I think it is. Sometime peripheral reasons turn out to be not so peripheral later.”

Miles nodded. “Yes, sir.”

There was a diffident knock.

Skip opened the door, and signed the bill when the waiter had deposited his tray on a small table. “Did you fight?” Skip asked the waiter.

“No, sir. Not really. They put the older people in the second-class dining room, sir, and assigned four of us to guard them. I was one of those.”

“Did you have a gun?”

“Not at first, sir. A kitchen knife. We got guns after, sir.”

“Can you shoot?”

“No, sir.”

“Neither can I.” Skip added a tip to the check, and the waiter went out.

As the door closed, Miles said, “I heard you killed quite a few of them, sir.” He had not opened his beer.

“Yes, but I burned a lot of ammunition, and they were so tightly packed that when I missed one I hit another. I’ll try to do better next time, if there’s a next time.”