Free Hex by Allen Steele

wall hook. “I could find a gun and shoot myself in the foot, but someone would just haul me to the autodoc.”
    â€œThat someone would probably be me.” A wry grin as Mark planted his own shoes against the floor. “And you don’t want me to get pissed off at you.”
    â€œAn empty threat, and you know it.” Sean slipped on the vestlike waistcoat. “ Sa’Tong ians are pacifists. You wouldn’t do anything to me even if your own life was at stake.”
    â€œWrong. I’m a pacifist only so long as my own life is concerned. But the Fourth Codicil gives me permission to kick your ass if it’ll stop you from hurting yourself or others. And until you get over your problems with your mother...”
    â€œNever mind.” Sean sighed as he found his uniform beret in the waistcoat’s side pocket. He thought about putting it on, then decided against it. Too formal. “Let’s just drop it, okay? I’m sick of talking about it.”
    â€œReally? That’s funny. As long as I’ve known you, you’ve never told me what this is all about.” Mark folded his arms together. “What do you have against your mother, anyway?”
    â€œIt’s a long story.” Sean turned toward the door. “C’mon. Let’s get upstairs before the lieutenant has a fit.”
    The wardroom didn’t look like any other compartment on the Montero . Indeed, Sean reflected, it looked very little like the way he’d remembered it from when the Montero was called the Castro . Over the years, the crew had made it as homey as possible; the utilitarian furniture had been replaced with a long blackwood mess table and leather-backed chairs, and the floor was covered by a handmade carpet with an intricate Navajo design. The walls had faux-birch panels upon which artwork had been hung; there was a framed painting of the Gillis Range on Coyote, but also a crayon drawing of the ship that apparently had been done by the kindergarten-age child of one of the crew members. Someone had even tacked up a restaurant menu beside the galley serving window; it wasn’t until Sean looked more closely that he realized it was a joke since everything on it was a gourmet version of the ship’s standard fare: potage au chicken noodle, grilled ration bar, and so forth.
    The chairs and table, of course, were useless until the Montero was under thrust; when he and Mark arrived, they found the rest of their team using hand and foot rails to keep themselves in place. Cayce glared at Sean as he came in. “I take it you’re no longer feeling ill,” he said, his tone suggesting that he suspected Sean’s earlier excuse to be false.
    â€œNot at all, Lieutenant. Thanks for asking.” Using the wall rail, Sean pulled himself across the room until he reached Kyra’s side. “Did I miss anything?”
    â€œOnly a chance to get acquainted with the crew.” There was an amused glint in Cayce’s eyes. “Of course, you probably know one or two of them already.”
    Ignoring the jab, Sean turned his head to gaze out the window, a broad oval that took up most of one wall; through it, he could see the gatehouse a little more clearly. As he watched, a skiff glided away from the Montero , heading toward the station. The small craft had apparently just dropped off the expedition’s final member; he guessed that one of the crew was probably escorting the company rep to his quarters.
    â€œSo who is this guy, anyway?” Standing at the other side of the room, Sandy LaPointe gazed out the window past Sean and Kyra. “Not just a company suit, I hope.”
    â€œHe’s a senior vice president with Janus,” Cayce said stiffly. “Which means that this better be the last time I hear you call him a suit, Corporal.”
    â€œOh, okay... so he’s a very important suit.” Sandy winked at the others. “Glad to have that cleared