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One thing he couldn't help noticing was that Pell Quinlan was in command over
Janith Reggs, who obviously knew more than Quinlan did. It wasn't that Quinlan was
dumb, but that Reggs was smarter. The discrepancy puzzled Bran but he didn't
know how to ask about it. Then one "day" it was his turn to be given his first space-
walk training, and it was Janith Reggs who helped adjust the too-large suit to him
as they waited in the air lock. She was making sure that their mutual life line was
properly secured, both to them and to the stanchion by the entrance, when suddenly
Bran realized that the air lock's bulkheads totally shielded their suit radios from any
outside listener.
So he asked. "Ms. Reggs, you have seniority on Mr. Quinlan and you know more.
Nothing against him, but how come he's in charge and not you?"
54
She had her gloved hand on the hatch control, but didn't operate it. Through his
faceplate and her own, Bran couldn't be sure of the bitterness he thought he saw in her
brief smile. She said, "How long have you been at the Academy? Nat long, I imagine-or
you'd know that UET never gives command to women. Not of anything at all . . . even a
scoutship. We can be anything else, including second-in-command, but never first."
"But . . . that can't be true. Why, there are women on UET's Presiding Committee,
that runs the whole show."
"I know," she said. "But that's ownership-the Committee is the majority shareholders,
with some kind of arbitrary cutoff as to amount of holdings, that they don't tell us
about. So not even Minos Pangreen, the Chairman, can keep women off his precious
Committee." Bran heard her laugh but her face didn't show it. "The funny part is that
Pangreen has no sons. His daughter will inherit." She shook her head. "Enough talk.
We're taking too much time." The hatch opened, and Bran had his first experience of
space itself.
For the first few steps he took walking the scout's hull, Bran thought he'd never get the
hang of it-how to activate his bootsole magnets for solid footing, then release a foot to
move, with any kind of continuity, let alone grace. But after an error that left him
dangling at the end of his life line, so that Reggs had to pull him back in, the burst of
panic-adrenalin seemed to give an edge to his coordination. And soon he was stepping
along the hull, almost automatically handling the suit and its magnets, while he scanned
the visible star field, distorted by the scout's fraction of light speed. He found himself
forgetting to breathe.
Not thinking that others might hear, he said, "Oh, Ms. Reggs! This-it's worth all of
it! The Slaughterhouse, all the crap. I-"
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In a sharp tone she interrupted. "All of us know that the Academy can be rather
grim sometimes." He caught the message-their talk here was not private. "But as you
say, the goal is worth it." He looked to her, and nodded his thanks for her help, saying
something trite and bland to cover his lapse.
AH too soon it was time to go inside again. In the air lock they unsuited, and Bran
learned that spacesuits make you sweat in a particularly stinking fashion. Reggs said,
"Quinlan says we're crowding our water-recycling schedule. So I hope you don't mind
sharing a shower."
55
He wasn't sure if he did or not, because he wasn't sure what the offer included.
While he was trying to think what to answer, she said, "I like you, Tregare. I like
your work and I like your thinking, though you'd be well-advised to keep some of it
close to your vest." When he only nodded, she went on, now beginning to undress,
"Six weeks is a long time, and there won't be all that many chances. Would you like
to?"
"I---"
"Or do you only do it with the other boys? Or ever?"
He shook his head. "No boys. And just once, so far." Her clothes were off now,
and without them, somehow the extra weight' didn't show so much. She reached for
him, and he nodded.
While she helped him strip, she said, "To the others, we'll have to pretend this
didn't happen."
"Yes, I know, Ms. Reggs."
"Janith. Here, I mean. Ms. Reggs outside of here." She kissed him. The two of
them crowded into the tiny booth, and had to move cautiously to get the spray
everywhere that both needed it. Then, having sex standing up was fun but not easy-
and a good thing, at climax, that there was no room for him to fall down. When his
legs felt solid again, they washed a little more before indulging in a final hug". This
time, in the kissing, he .did a better share of it.
"Thank you, Janith."
"And you, Bran Tregare." They got dried and dressed. Just in time for dinner.
Later, Quinlan and Reggs did a wrap-up report on the cadets' spacewalk
performances. Bran was pleased to place high in the evaluations, but he wasn't tops
of the group. Where he truly excelled was in piloting maneuvers, nudging the scout
through simulated combat situations. By instinct, before anyone had the chance to
instruct him, in evasive action he was "cheating" on turns by throwing the scout
semi-broadside and hitting max drive blast, firing his single turret on override all the
way. After one practice session Pell Quinlan said, "If I ever rate command of a
combat ship, Tregare, I'd like you to pilot for me."
Janith Reggs spoke in mild protest. "But can't everyone learn that?"
"Learn, sure," Quinlan answered. "But this kid did it without learning anything."
56
So maybe, Bran decided, Quinlan did know some things that Reggs didn't. He still
liked her a lot, though.
After reaching a respectable but minor fraction of light speed, instead of going
into straight-line decel, the scout turned. One day in classroom mode Reggs asked
"At any velocity, how much energy does a right-angle turn require?" Bran fussed at
the question, trying to rig equations and getting nowhere. Then the answer hit him: a
right-angle means killing all your velocity and building a new vector from scratch.
So he had the answer: "Ms. Reggs? Same energy as to slow to zerch and then accel
to the same vee."
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