The Seventh Angel - Страница 50

He gave Ann a patented Sheldon smile. “You want some breakfast, or not?”

Ann looked one way down the hall, and then the other. “Lead the way. I can never find anything in this metal maze.”

“Follow me, Madam,” Sheldon said. “One guaranteed five-star military breakfast coming up.”

Ann followed. “Right. I’ll settle for not getting food poisoning.”

As usual, Ann was totally lost. Every door, valve, and electrical junction box was stamped or stenciled with a number. She knew the numbers were all part of some kind of coordinate system for locating equipment, and for finding your way around the maze. But she didn’t like ships enough to invest the effort required to learn the numbering scheme. So she was stuck with trying to recognize landmarks in a world where everything had the same utilitarian blandness about it.

She spotted the door to the wardroom, and was surprised when Sheldon walked past it without stopping. “I think you just missed our exit,” she said.

Sheldon started down one of the steep metal staircases. “I thought we’d go down to the crew’s mess, and eat with the enlisted personnel this morning.”

“Why? Have our wardroom privileges been revoked?”

“Not as far as I know,” Sheldon said. “But the Combat Systems Officer told me they’re holding a tactical planning meeting in the wardroom this morning. And we’ve sort of cut ourselves out of the tactical loop.”

“You mean I cut us out of the loop,” Ann said.

Sheldon stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned back toward Ann. “We’re a team,” he said. “It doesn’t matter who threw the penalty flag. We’re both out of the game. So I figure we should stay clear of the wardroom until they’re finished with the planning meeting.”

“What do you think they’ll do?” Ann asked.

Sheldon started walking again. “I’m sure they’ll try to helo us out of here as soon as possible,” he said over his shoulder.

“That’s not what I meant,” Ann said. “I mean what will they do without Mouse? What’s their Plan-B?”

“I don’t think they’ve got a Plan-B,” Sheldon said. “Unless I’m mistaken, Mouse was something like their Plan-Z. I think they exhausted every tactical option they could come up with before they ever considered something as crazy as Mouse.”

He stopped again, and turned to face Ann. “Mouse is prototype technology,” he said. “It’s full of bugs, and it’s undependable. They know that. And you and I, Princess Leia, are civilians. That makes us unpredictable, and difficult to manage. They can’t order us around. In other words, we’re undependable too. And they know that.”

Sheldon tilted his head forward and looked out of the tops of his eyes. “Do you really think these Navy guys would be calling on undependable civilians with undependable equipment if they had another option?”

Ann didn’t answer.

Sheldon continued walking. Ann followed. About fifty feet later, they came to a long line of Sailors, all dressed in blue utility uniforms.

“I believe this is what they call the chow line,” Sheldon said. He sniffed the air theatrically. “Mmm … Smell that? That’s good Navy chow.”

Ann wrinkled her nose. “Yuck!”

She sighed. “You think I’m wrong, don’t you?”

“It’s a matter of taste,” Sheldon said. “Shipboard food isn’t for everybody.”

“Not about that,” Ann said. “About Mouse. You think I’m wrong for not helping them, don’t you?”

“What I think doesn’t matter,” Sheldon said. “You’re the only person you have to look at in the mirror. And I can certainly understand your position. You didn’t sign on to kill people. Not even indirectly.”

“No,” Ann said. “I didn’t.”

Sheldon said nothing.

The line moved ahead a little, and Sheldon lifted two thick plastic cafeteria trays off of a spring-loaded metal rack. He passed one to Ann.

“You’d help them, wouldn’t you?” Ann asked.

The line moved another pace forward, and Sheldon pulled two sets of knives, forks, and spoons out of round metal holders.

“Yeah. I would help them,” he said. He sorted out a set of utensils and passed it to Ann.

She accepted the small bundle of flatware. The metal was warm, and still a little damp. The utensils were obviously fresh from the dishwasher.

“Why?” she asked. “I know you, Sheldon. You haven’t got a violent bone in your body. Why on earth would you participate in the killing of 130 human beings?”

Sheldon started to say something, and then checked himself. “Let’s talk about this later. This is not a good conversation to have, just before we eat.”

“Now,” Ann said. “Answer my question.”

Sheldon exhaled sharply. “Did you ever study First Aid?” he asked. “Do you know what a tourniquet is?”

Ann nodded.

“I was a Boy Scout when I was a kid,” Sheldon said. “I had merit badges like you wouldn’t believe. I loved it. I was on my way to Eagle Scout. And one summer, I took my little brother camping on Dutch Island, in the Wilmington River. I was fifteen that year, and Charley was thirteen. We had to get there by boat. And man, it was the stuff of pure adventure.

“Imagine it,” he said. “Two boys on an island by themselves. It was Huckleberry Finn and Treasure Island, all rolled into one. And on the third day of the camping trip — it was supposed to be the last day — the hatchet bounced off a knot when Charley was chopping firewood. The blade hit his left wrist, and it cut him bad.”

The chow line had moved forward, but Sheldon made no attempt to follow it. He put his tray back on the rack, and returned his utensils to their holders. Then he turned toward Ann. “I couldn’t stop the bleeding,” he said. “I tried direct pressure, and pressure points, and all of the First Aid tricks in the Boy Scout handbook. But nothing would stop the bleeding.”

Sheldon swallowed, and looked away from Ann. “And all I could think of was a tourniquet.”

Someone tapped Ann on the shoulder and she turned to see a line of Sailors bunching up behind them. She tugged Sheldon to the side, and waved for the Sailors to go around.

Sheldon’s voice was hoarse now. “I remembered my scout training,” he said. “They told us to never use a tourniquet unless there was no other choice. Don’t use one unless it’s a choice between the tourniquet and death. Because the limb begins to die the second you tighten down the tourniquet. It shuts off the blood flow to the wound, but it shuts off the blood flow to the entire limb as well. Most of the time, after a tourniquet has been used, the doctors have to amputate the arm or the leg.”

Sheldon wiped at one of his eyes. “My little brother is bleeding all over the pine needles,” he said. “And I can’t stop it. Nothing is working. It’s coming out like a fountain, and I cannot stop it. And I know, if I put a tourniquet on Charley’s arm, the doctors are going to have to amputate. They’re going to take the arm off.”

Sheldon looked at Ann. “Charley’s thirteen years old, and they’re going to have to take his arm off. But there’s nothing else I can do. My belt is too thick to work, but I’ve got boots on, with heavy laces. I double one of them up, tie it off just below Charley’s elbow, and I slide a little piece of tree branch in for tension. And I twist that stick, tightening the tourniquet. And I twist it again. In my heart, I know with every turn of that stick, that I’m killing Charley’s arm. But I twist, and I twist again, until the bleeding stops. And then I carry Charley to the boat, and I head for the docks at Tidewater.”

Ann returned her tray to the rack, and her eating utensils to the round holders.

“Come on,” she said. She turned away from the waiting line of Sailors and started walking.

Ann had no idea where she was going, but Sheldon followed her through the maze of passageways. She came to a staircase and climbed. After a few wrong turns, she found a watertight door that led outside. Sheldon followed her out into the frosty pre-dawn air.

The wind hit them immediately, and it was far colder than Ann was expecting. The sun was a feeble glow below the slate gray horizon, and the sky was still dark enough for the stars to stand out clearly.

Ann’s teeth began to chatter, and her eyes started to water. She wondered if the cold-blasted tears would freeze on her skin.

They’d only stay out here for a minute or two, but Sheldon needed the change of scenery to reset his mental clock. They’d be okay for a couple of minutes. At least Ann hoped they would.

She looked at the dark and motionless form that was Sheldon. She couldn’t see his eyes, but his body posture suggested that he was looking toward the dusky blur of the horizon.

Ann hesitated. She wanted to ask a question, but she was not at all sure she was ready to hear the answer. She braced herself for the worst, and took a breath. The cold air bit at her lungs. “What happened to Charley?”

“They saved his life,” Sheldon said softly. “He lost his left arm, but the doctors saved his life.”

“No,” Ann said. “You saved his life.”

“Yeah,” Sheldon said. “I guess.”

His face was still pointed toward the horizon. “You asked why I would help the Navy guys destroy the submarine,” he said. “That’s why. Because sometimes there aren’t any good choices. Sometimes you have to choose between something bad, and something worse.”