“Why is it that the only thing anyone remembers from Lhyn’s interviews is the part about the swords?”
He shrugged. “Because we all secretly wish we had one.”
CHAPTER 24:
Symptoms
Over the next five days, Ekatya lost track of how many times she wished she had an Alsean empath on board. It would have been so easy if Andira were here. She could have introduced her to Dr. Wells, asked a few questions about Sholokhov and spying, and known immediately whether her chief surgeon was involved.
Since Andira was not available, she had to do it the hard way. Lokomorra was working with the data systems analyst, looking for any other clues in both security and communication logs, but so far he had come up blank.
“It doesn’t look good,” he said at lunch one day. “We’re not finding anything exculpatory, and the fact that she’s not in the security logs at that time is pretty damning. Lieutenant Kitt says that the technological know-how needed to erase someone from a video log is already daunting. She thinks there might be five people in her section who could do it, including her. But inserting someone into an existing video log—the tech doesn’t exist. It’s too complex; nobody could do it in such a way that the insertion would stand up to scrutiny. So Dr. Wells couldn’t cover her tracks by putting herself into the security logs at that time. All she could do was go to the medbay toilet to give herself an excuse for vanishing off the logs.”
It was a smart move, Ekatya had to admit. Security cams only covered the handwashing stations and open areas of the toilets; by law, they could not record any activity in the stalls. Privacy advocates had fought for that law, and Ekatya fully endorsed it, but at the moment she was finding it most inconvenient.
On top of that, Wells herself was taking every opportunity to demonstrate her disdain for Ekatya. She was sarcastic to the point of insolence, and while Ekatya knew from her personnel file that her commanding officers had consistently found her “outspoken,” this felt different and more personal. She could not understand why the doctor had accepted the post if she had such a distaste for the ship’s captain—unless, of course, she had been ordered to take it.
The situation bothered her so much that she wasted most of a precious quantum com call with Lhyn talking about it. Lhyn listened patiently, asked for clarification on several points, and then made an observation that floored Ekatya with its simplicity.
“Seems to me that you’re looking at the wrong end of this. The point isn’t that it’s impossible to insert a person into a video. It’s that it’s feasible to erase a person from a video.”
“I can see your big brain whirring,” Ekatya said. “But I don’t know where it’s going.”
“Think about it. Isn’t this a little too easy? Dr. Wells is suspected because she’s the one who found the packet on her desk. And then it’s discovered that she’s magically missing from the security logs at that exact time. What if the same person who left the packet not only erased him or herself from the office logs, but also erased Dr. Wells from the medbay logs? And then rearranged things so that she was seen entering and leaving the toilet at the right time indexes?”
Ekatya stared at her. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”
Lhyn shrugged, a soft smile on her face. “You’ve been very busy, taking a floating city out in space.”
“Not so busy that I shouldn’t have been able to spot a frame job when I saw one.”
“So why would Sholokhov want to frame her?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” She rested her cheek on her fist. “Damn, I miss you.”
“Because I keep solving your problems for you?”
“Amusing, you are. Don’t you feel it, too? I’m beginning to understand why Andira was so shocked to learn that we spent most of our time apart. It’s almost…physical.”
Lhyn nodded. “I’ve felt it since the hour I walked off your ship. At first I told myself it was perfectly normal. We’ve lived together for eighteen months, including Alsea, and now you’ll be gone for at least five weeks. Anyone in our situation would feel the same way, but…”
“But you don’t think it’s normal anymore.”
“No, I don’t. I’m not sleeping well, and you’d think that would make me tired, but it’s like I’m buzzing with nervous energy that I can’t get rid of. I’ve been going for walks, trying to burn it off—”
“But it only helps for a short while.” Ekatya lifted her head, more alert now. “Are you having trouble concentrating?”
Lhyn gave a short, unamused laugh. “Shippers, yes. Remember how I said my book deadline would be an easy target? I thought I’d have the final chapters done early, so I could have at least two weeks to work on my keynote speech for the Anthropology Consortium meeting. But I have the attention span of a barn fly. At this rate, I might be making an apology call for missing my deadline.”
“You never miss deadlines.”
“I know! That’s really how I know this is not normal. And my chest hurts. On the fucking left side, like every bad novelist’s cliché of a broken heart. Not always, just—”
“Sometimes it feels a little too tight, like if you could rub it the right way, the muscles would loosen.”
With a long exhale, Lhyn said, “We’re feeling the same things, aren’t we?”
Ekatya nodded.
“What are we going to do about it?”
“What we already planned. We survive this shakedown cruise, and then you come to Quinton Shipyards so we can make the most of the two weeks the engineers will spend checking every system on the ship.”
“And then you go off on your original space station tour, and I go to the Anthropology Consortium meeting.”
“And after that, you meet me at Erebderis Station, and I bring a new civilian consultant on board. Nothing has to change, Lhyn. We’ll get through this.”
“I know we’ll get through it. Eventually. But…you know what this is, don’t you?”
Ekatya wished she had thought to pour a drink before starting this conversation. “Not until one minute ago.”
“I didn’t think it was possible. We’re not Alsean. Why didn’t we have any symptoms before Alsea? We were apart for ten months.”
“I think you know the answer to that.” There was only one likely cause.
They stared at each other in shared amazement.
“Doesn’t this bother you?” Lhyn asked.
“Yes,” Ekatya said truthfully. “But I’ve only known about it for a few minutes. It hasn’t sunk in yet. I might be more upset tomorrow.”
With an uncertain smile, Lhyn said, “I’m actually…um…”
“You’re excited about it. And probably taking notes for a new book. Or an addendum to the one you’re writing.”
The smile grew more assured. “You know me so well. Ekatya, we are unique. We’re like hybrids, except we were produced by the sharing of emotions rather than chromosomes.”
“Please choose a different word besides hybrids. I don’t mind unique, but…ugh.”
“Don’t be so squeamish. Haven’t you ever heard of hybrid vigor? We might represent the best of both races.”
“Or the worst.”
“Pessimist. I can’t wait to talk to Lanaril about this. There’s so much to think about! And we should have our symptoms measured and catalogued, so we can set a baseline and see if there are changes…”
Lhyn was off and running, energized by yet another new research project, but Ekatya didn’t hear her next few sentences. She heard Sholokhov instead, explaining why he didn’t send alpha-band classified orders over the quantum com. Sholokhov, who had a spy on her ship and almost certainly someone watching Lhyn, and who would no doubt be horrified by the idea of Protectorate citizens having their brains altered through contact with an Alsean. Especially when one of those citizens was commandi
ng a warship.
“Stop,” she blurted, interrupting Lhyn in mid-sentence. “Don’t call Lanaril. Don’t talk to anyone about this. And especially do not put it in your book.”
Lhyn stared, her mouth half-open before she closed it and tilted her head. “Why?”
“Because it’s not safe for either of us. Lhyn, please. We’ll talk when we can see each other, but not like this. Do you understand?”
For a moment, as a familiar stubborn look appeared on Lhyn’s face, she thought she would have to marshal a more specific argument. Then understanding dawned.
“I do,” Lhyn said with a sigh. “He has his fingers everywhere, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, but it’s not just him. The political situation is worse than it used to be. We don’t want to add any fuel to the fire.”
They looked at each other in silence until Lhyn forced a smile. “On the positive side, the symptoms can’t get much worse. Because I can’t miss you any more than I do already.”
“I know what you mean.” Ekatya relaxed. “I keep feeling like I’m going the wrong direction.”
“At least you have a ship to distract you.”
“Right now, I’d trade you some of my distractions.”
“You’ll figure out what’s going on with Dr. Wells,” Lhyn said with complete assurance. “Tell me when you do?”
“I will.”
They spoke a few minutes longer until Ekatya’s quota of quantum com time ran out. As soon as they had said good-bye, she opened the intraship com and sent Lieutenant Kitt a message. Then she sat down on her couch with the drink she had missed earlier and let her head fall back.
“Phoenix, set my display to Alsea One. No, belay that, Alsea Three.”
The large display taking up most of the opposite wall blinked to life, revealing a hauntingly familiar scene. Above a sea of trees rose the dome of Blacksun Temple, and beyond that was the skyline of Blacksun itself. It was the view from their suite in the State House, so sharp and realistic that she could almost convince herself that all she needed to do was open the window to smell that piney air or feel the breeze that was stirring the trees into motion. Lhyn had recorded it before their departure, along with several other Alsean locations.
Ekatya sipped her drink, thinking of all the times she and Lhyn had sat in their Gov Dome apartment, relaxing with scenes of Alsea on their much smaller display.
“I wish you were here now,” she whispered, and rubbed the tight spot on the left side of her chest.
CHAPTER 25:
Dr. Wells
By mid-morning the next day, Lieutenant Kitt had re-analyzed the security logs and confirmed their suspicions. There was indeed evidence of alteration in the time indexes.
Ekatya was in the medbay ten minutes later.
In her earlier career, she had been on ships where the medbay lived up to its name: a single bay, with a few beds separated by curtains. Privacy was nonexistent, and no one could avoid hearing the noises of patients who were sick or in pain.
On a Pulsar-class ship, the medbay was a hospital. It spanned four decks, with equipment and storage on the top level, surgical bays on the third, labs and offices on the second, and treatment rooms on the first. She stood inside the entrance on the first level, taking in the space.
The lobby was two decks high. Second-level offices looked down onto the open area, their windows right above a hanging garden that climbed the walls and draped into the space below. Small trees grew along the wall behind Ekatya, still too young to reach past the first level. In another year, with rapid growth assistance from the ship’s botanists, they would attain full size and brush the ceiling. Somehow, the combination of plant species neutralized the antiseptic odors that normally filled a hospital. All that remained was a pleasant scent of greenery, with a faint floral note from the blooming Filessian orchids that dotted the hanging garden.
In the center of the lobby stood the intake station, normally staffed by three nurses around the clock, but currently housing only one. Fully enclosed and soundproofed treatment rooms lined three of the walls, each fronted with plexan, a transparent material that could be made opaque with the flick of a switch. Unused rooms were always open to the lobby, as were rooms in which the patient needed constant visual monitoring. But when privacy was required, it was easy to attain—a luxury Ekatya very much appreciated.
To her right and left were arched doorways, each leading to the U-shaped corridor that separated the interior treatment rooms from the larger, second set that could not be seen from the lobby. These were for the non-emergency cases, the long-term patients, or those who wished for extra privacy.
And just past the left doorway, leaning a shoulder against the clear plexan of an unused treatment room, was the person she had come to find. Dr. Wells was in deep conversation with another doctor, giving Ekatya the opportunity to observe how she interacted with someone else. Her expression was open and warm, and a quick smile crossed her face in response to something the other doctor said. Ekatya had never seen her look that way before. A few seconds later, she watched a more familiar expression appear as Wells caught sight of her. The smile dropped, her expression closed off, and she gave a tight nod of acknowledgment. She turned back to the doctor to end their conversation, smiled and touched him briefly on his shoulder, then walked over to Ekatya with distaste oozing from her pores. Hands in her jacket pockets, she stood rigidly erect, making the most of her slight height advantage.
“What can I do for you, Captain?”
Ekatya looked at her light brown hair, piled in a twist at the back of her head, and remembered the piece of evidence that Lieutenant Kitt had finally pulled out. There had been no digital traces of the time index switch, but when Wells appeared on the security logs prior to the packet showing up on her desk, her hairstyle had been neat, with nary a strand escaping. When she was seen entering and exiting the toilet, the twist had been loose, as if several hours had passed since she put it up. And on the logs after the packet appeared, her hair was neat once more.
A technologically untraceable frame job, defeated by a hairstyle. Ekatya had to appreciate the humor.
“May I speak with you in your office?” she asked.
Wells frowned and brushed past her, leading the way across the lobby. She bypassed the lift and trotted up the stairs without a word.
The chief surgeon’s office was centered on the back wall of the lobby, overlooking the intake station and the front entrance. Wells stalked inside, then turned and leaned against the front of her desk. With her hands braced on the edge of the desk and her legs crossed at the ankles, she was sending a very clear message that Ekatya was not invited to sit down.
Her office was tidy now, the totes unpacked and put away. There were a few more books on the shelves, art scattered about the room, and an antique brass microscope holding pride of place in an illuminated display case in one corner. But the desk was still messy.
Ekatya closed the door. “I think we’ll need the privacy shield for this.”
For a moment, she thought she saw fear in the doctor’s eyes. Then Wells twisted her upper body, reaching back to press a control on her deskpad. As the wall of plexan turned opaque, she crossed her arms over her chest and waited.
“Do you remember this?” Ekatya held up Sholokhov’s packet, now folded back into its original shape.
Wells glanced at it. “Yes, it was on my desk the day we launched. I gave it to Commander Lokomorra to give to you.”
“Do you know who it’s from?”
She shook her head.
“Director Sholokhov.” Ekatya watched her carefully but saw no signs of recognition. “Does that name mean anything to you?”
“No. Is there a point to this?”
“So you don’t know who framed you.”
“What?” Wells dropped her arms. “What are you talking about?”
With deliberate movements, Ekatya pulled out the guest chair she had not been offered and sat in it. “There is a spy on my ship, Doctor. Placed here by Director Sholokhov, the head of Protectorate Security. This packet can only have come from Sholokhov himself; he uses them to send his most secret orders. The fact that you delivered it put you under a cloud, and that cloud got darker when we checked the security logs and found two things. One, the logs had been tampered with so that this packet simply appeared on your desk, with no record of who entered your office to put it there. And two, you vanished off the medbay security logs at that exact time index.”
Wells stared at her, then pushed off the desk, walked around it, and collapsed into her chair. “I am not a spy.”
“I know.”
“I don’t—” She stopped and shook her head. “Why would anyone want to frame me?”
“To instill suspicion, is my guess. I think you and I might be victims of a sick little game. So I’m here to ask you for an honest answer. What do you have against me? Why did you accept this post if you dislike me so intensely?”
In the long pause that followed, Wells’s face grew expressionless, then gradually hardened, as if she were holding back the words that pushed to escape.
“The fact that you can even ask that question tells me how few ethics you have left,” she said at last. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have come if I’d realized you were the one who signed that order. I didn’t find out until it was too late.”
“Which order?”
“The one I was nearly court-martialed for circumventing! Did you sign so many of them that you can’t remember?”
Her sarcasm had no impact; Ekatya was too busy trying to understand. “Why don’t you assume that I have no knowledge of what you’re talking about,” she said. “Which is the truth. There’s nothing in your record about a court-martial. Walk me through this.”
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