Miles, Mutants and Microbes - Lois McMaster Bujold [62]
"Huh. Yeah, well, that makes sense."
Leo waited a beat for the next logical question, which didn't come. Ti wasn't an idiot; he was therefore being deliberately dense. Leo pushed on relentlessly. "They plan to ship the quaddies downside to Rodeo, to an abandoned workers' barracks—" He repeated the forgotten-to-death scenario he had described to Pramod a week earlier, and looked up to gauge its effect.
The pilot's face was closed and neutral. "Well, I'm very sorry for them"—Ti did not look at Silver—"but I totally fail to see what I'm supposed to do about it. I'm leaving Rodeo in six hours, never to return—which is just fine with me, by the way. This place is a pit."
"And Silver and the quaddies are being dropped into that pit and the lid clamped over them. And the only crime they've committed is to become technologically obsolete. Doesn't that mean anything to you?" cried Leo heatedly.
Ti bolted upright indignantly. "You want to talk about technological obsolescence? I'll show you technological obsolescence. This!" His hand touched the implant plugs at mid-forehead and temples, the cannula at the nape of his neck. "This! I trained for two years and waited in line for a year for the surgery to implant my jump set. It's a tensor bit-code version, because that's the jump system GalacTech uses, and they underwrote part of the cost of it. Trans-Stellar Transport and a few independents also use it. Everybody else in the universe is gearing up to Necklin color-drive. You know what my chances of being hired by TST are, after being fired by GalacTech? Zilch. Zero. Nada. If I want a jump pilot's job, I need this surgically removed and a new implant. Without a job, I can't afford an implant. Without an implant, I can't get a job. Screw you, Ti Gulik!" He sat, panting.
Leo leaned forward. "I'll give you a pilot's berth, Gulik," he said clearly. "On the biggest jumpship ever to fly." Rapidly, before the pilot could interrupt, he detailed his vision of the Habitat converted to colony ship. "It's all here. All we need is a pilot. A pilot who can plug into the GalacTech drive system. All we need—is you."
Ti looked perfectly appalled. "You're not just talking grand lunacy—you're talking grand larceny! Do you realize what the cash value of the total configuration would be? They wouldn't let you out of jail till the next millennium!"
"I'm not going to jail. I'm going to the stars with the quaddies."
"Your cell will be padded."
"This isn't crime. This is—war, or something. Crime is turning your back and walking away."
"Not by any legal code I know of."
"All right then; sin."
"Oh, brother." Ti rolled his eyes. "Now it comes out. You're on a mission from God, right? Let me off at the next stop, please."
God's not here. Somebody's got to fill in. Leo backed off hastily from that line of thought. Padded cells, indeed. "I thought you were in love with Silver. How can you abandon her to a slow death?"
"Ti's not in love with me," interrupted Silver in surprise. "Whatever gave you that idea, Leo?"
Ti gave her an unsettled look. "No, of course not," he agreed faintly. "You, ah—you always knew, right? We just had a mutually beneficial little arrangement, is all."
"That's right," confirmed Silver. "I got books and vids, Ti got relief from physiological stress. Downsider males need sex to stay healthy, you know, they can't cope with stress. It makes them disruptive. Wild genes, I suppose."
"Where did that line of bullshit come from—?" Leo began, and broke off "Never mind." He could guess. He closed his eyes, pressed them with his fingertips, and groped for his lost argument. "Right. So to you, Silver is just . . . disposable. Like a tissue. Sneeze in her and toss her away."
Ti looked stung. "Give it up, Graf. I'm no worse than anyone else."
"But I'm giving you the chance to be better, don't you see—"
"Leo," Silver interrupted again. She was now sprawled on her stomach on the bed, her chin propped awkwardly on one upper hand. "After we get to our asteroid belt