Miles, Mutants and Microbes - Lois McMaster Bujold [71]
"The real trouble will start," said Silver, "when they've figured out what we're really up to and start trying to take the ship back."
A glum silence fell. For the moment, even Siggy had no suggestions.
Leo found Van Atta in the downsiders' gym, tramping determinedly on the treadmill. The treadmill was a medical torture device like a rack in reverse. Spring-loaded straps pulled the walker toward the tread surface, against which his or her feet pushed, for an hour or more a day by prescription, an exercise designed to slow, if not stop, the lower body deconditioning and long bone demineralization of free fall dwellers.
By the expression on Van Atta's face he was stamping out the measured treads today with considerable personal animosity. Cultivated irritation was indeed one way to muster the energy to tackle the boring but necessary task. After a moment's thoughtful study Leo decided upon a casual and oblique approach. He slipped out of his coveralls and velcroed them to the wall-strip, retaining his red T-shirt and shorts, and floated over and hooked himself into the belt and straps of the unoccupied machine next to Van Atta's.
"Have they been lubricating these things with glue?" he puffed, grasping the hand holds and straining to start the treads moving against his feet.
Van Atta turned his head and grinned sardonically. "What's the matter, Leo? Did Minchenko the medical mini-dictator order a little physiological revenge on you?"
"Yeah, something like that . . ." He got it started at last, his legs flexing in an even rhythm. He had skipped too many sessions lately. "Have you talked to him since he came up?"
"Yeah." Van Atta's legs drove against his machine, and angry whirring spurted from its gears.
"Have you told him what's going to be happening to the Project yet?"
"Unfortunately, I had to. I'd hoped to put him off to the last, with the rest. Minchenko is probably the most arrogant of Cay's Old Guard—he's never made it a secret that he thought he should have succeeded Cay as Head of Project, instead of bringing in an outsider, namely me. If he hadn't been slated for retirement in a year, I'd damn well have taken steps to get rid of him before this,"
"Did he, ah—voice objections?"
"You mean, did he yowl like a stuck pig? You bet he did. Carried on like I was personally responsible for inventing the damned artificial gravity. I don't need this shit." Van Atta's treadmill moaned in counterpoint to his words.
"If he's been with the Project from the beginning, I guess the quaddies are practically his life's work," allowed Leo reasonably.
"Mm." Van Atta marched. "It doesn't give him the right to go on strike in a snit, though. Even you had more sense, in the end. If he doesn't show signs of a more cooperative attitude when he's had a chance to calm down and think through how useless it is, it may be easier to extend Curry's rotation and just send Minchenko back downside."
"Ah." Leo cleared his throat. This didn't exactly smell like the good opening he'd been hoping for. But there was so little time. "Did he talk to you about Tony?"
"Tony!" Van Atta's treadmill buzzed like a hornet for a moment. "If I never see that little geek again in my life it will be too soon. He's been nothing but trouble, trouble and expense."
"I was rather hoping to get some more use out of him, myself," said Leo carefully. "Even if he's not medically ready to go back on regular Outside work shifts, I've got a lot of computer console work and supervisory tasks I could delegate to him, if he was here. If we could bring him up."
"Nonsense," snapped Van Atta. "You could much more easily tap one of your other quaddie work gang leaders—Pramod, say—or pull any quaddie in the place. I don't care who, that's what I gave you the authorization for. We're going to start moving the little freaks down in just two weeks. It makes no sense to bring up one Minchenko wouldn't let out of the infirmary till then. And so I told him." He glared at Leo. "I don't want to hear one more word about Tony."
"Ah," said Leo. Damn. Clearly, he