GENELLAN: PLANETFALL(156)

"Sorry, Pepper?" Buccari asked softly; anxiety welled within her breast.

With great effort Goldberg looked Buccari in the eyes and blurted, "I told the kones about the hyperlight drives." Her crying exploded to a higher pitch, her body wracked by sobs. "I'm sorry," she choked.

Buccari sat heavily, shocked and speechless. Why? she wondered. Goldberg sat and sobbed. Buccari's emotions organized themselves and anger dominated.

"I don't understand, Pepper. What did you tell them? Why...?" she demanded, her voice raising in pitch and volume. She stood, fists clenched, and moved toward the wretched female. She wanted to strike the pitiful figure, but stopped and turned away, chewing on her knuckle. Goldberg's narrow shoulders sagged, and she bawled great tears.

"I—I wanted to hurt you," Goldberg gasped, finally. "I was jealous. You're never taken for granted or pushed around like the rest of us. You don't have to clean fish, or—or do other things. You aren't treated—"

"Enough!" Buccari said, steel in her tone. "I don't need to know. Not now. We can talk later. It's important, but later, okay? What did you tell them?"

"I was so wrong. You saved my baby's life. I'm sorry." "Enough. Pepper, what did you tell them?"

Goldberg straightened. She swallowed and glanced sideways.

"Grid generators and power ratios," Goldberg said, gaining composure. "I never understood the matrix relationships, but I explained—"

"Did you talk about hyperlight algorithms? The Perkins equations?"

"I don't understand them. They never taught us that level of math."

Buccari sighed with relief and pulled the stool closer to the fire. Relentlessly, she interrogated the technician. After an hour of punishing questions Buccari determined that Goldberg was exhausted and incapable of providing new information. Buccari moved toward the door.

"We may be okay," she said. "Power ratios and grid relationships are important, but they won't get far without the equations. Did you tell them who else knows? Did you mention Hudson or Wilson or Mendoza? To whom did you talk?"

"I told them you knew a lot more than you've been telling them."

"Who, Pepper? Who did you talk to?"

"Kateos and Dowornobb. Those other two guys, too. The new ones."

"Mirrtis and H'Aare?"

"Yeah, whatever their names are. I haven't talked to them since you rescued Honey. Honest! I've avoided them. Please forgive me? I'm sorry!"

Buccari grew implacably somber, pacing the confined floor. She turned on Goldberg abruptly. "I deeply wish that you hadn't done it, Pepper. It's serious, Pepper. I don't know if I can explain to you how serious it is. It's deathly serious. What you did is justifiably punishable by death—disobeying a direct order and providing classified information to a potential enemy. No, to a known enemy! Men—men and women—have died, have been executed for much, much less."

Goldberg whimpered miserably and dropped her head. Buccari collected her thoughts. She weighed the obligations and responsibilities of her rank and position and looked down at the dejected female.

"What's done is done, Pepper. It can't be reversed. You did the right thing to tell me, and I'll not punish you. Under the circumstances that wouldn't make sense. We have other problems to deal with, and your help is needed if we're to survive. I need your help, Pepper. I desperately need your help. Do you understand me?"

Goldberg nodded.

"Good night, Pepper," Buccari said.

Goldberg stood. "What next?" she asked. "With the kones, I mean."

"Let me think about it," Buccari replied. "There's no hurry, is there? Winter's almost here. We won't see a kone for five months, maybe longer. For now, just forget about it. It'll be our secret." She forced a smile and opened the door. Goldberg quickly exited, head down.

Buccari shut the door and slumped next to the fire, staring into the flames, a burgeoning sense of depression and helplessness displacing her former contentment. Her deep thoughts masked the passage of time. As the fire mellowed to a soft glow, the temperature dropped. Buccari felt the coolness and stirred to throw a log on the fire. She pulled a silky rockdog fur over her shoulders and yawned. A soft knocking brought her reluctantly alert.

She moved to the door and opened it. MacArthur, his skin burnished, hair and beard streaked by the sun, stood at her threshold, smiling shyly. His gray eyes, made all the brighter by his tan, reflected the amber glow of her hearth. His smile dissolved. The handsome Marine peered intently into her eyes. She saw her own concern mirrored in his sharp features.

"Missed you at evening meal, Lieutenant," MacArthur said tentatively. An aroma of cooked meat drifted in. "Gunner thought you might want a piece of mountain goat. Told me to bring it over."