by Audrey Faye
He was already stepping into the circle. “No, she runs on auto just fine. I did manual for you because of your high exposure risk, but my Santa shorts here have visited with Betsy a lot.”
He was done in half the time the machine had taken to inspect me. I waited, giving him time to dress. It wasn’t polite to press a man for information while I could still see his belly rolls.
I shook my head as my Talent buzzed lightly. Apparently, it was finding belly rolls attractive today. That tended to happen when they came attached to a guy with a sunny smile, a quick brain, and comfort in his own skin. I had a decided weakness for all three.
However, I wasn’t here to suss out the sexiness of the locals. That could happen after I got a look at my mission up close and personal. “Tell me about the people here.” I’d done my homework, but nothing was ever nearly as good as sharp eyes on the ground.
He walked me through into a waiting area that looked comfortable and homey. “There are approximately three hundred of us. About half scientists and techs, and half who keep Xirtaxis up and running.”
I was well familiar with being one of the worker bees.
“Residential areas and communal space are all central in the biome, with eight greenhouse domes on the edges where the real work happens.” He took a seat in a low-slung chair and gestured me to its mate. “You have a room in the visitor quarters in the scientist barracks. That’s where more of the problems have been cropping up, so I thought you might want a front-row seat.”
That felt loaded somehow. “That’s a reasonable assumption. I’ll let you know if it isn’t working.” His language was already giving me some possible clues, however. Things sounded regimented, vaguely military. “Regularized schedule?”
“Sort of.” His shrug could have meant almost anything. “Some people choose to live in the labs, and some disappear into their projects for weeks at a time and then come out when they’re hungry.”
That was pretty standard normal for scientists. “I was told there have been some unusual psychological issues cropping up.”
He nodded, reached for a tablet, and handed it to me. “I have the files you requested ready for you. Logs on each of the reported incidents, including my personal notes, and detailed personnel data.”
That was very thorough. Clearly cooperation from this quarter wasn’t going to be a problem. I scanned the first of the files and looked up in surprise. “You’re the one who found the connection?” That hadn’t been in my briefing.
He shrugged again. “I noticed elevated cortisol levels on a random check of regular lab work.”
That was indicative of stress. “Highest in people with reported incidents?”
“Some, but not all.”
That could mean almost anything. “But you saw a pattern.”
“Not one I could get anyone to take seriously.”
I looked up, catching the undertones. He wanted me to form my own opinions, as instructed—but the affable man who wore neon Santa shorts was worried. I had no idea what bureaucratic gunk had gotten in his way, but I could at least give him something. “We’re paying attention now.” Fixers didn’t get sent in otherwise.
He looked at me a long moment, and then nodded.
Sometimes actions meant far more than words. I tapped the data under my fingertips. “You’ve spent a lot more time with this than I have—seen any other patterns?”
He took a slow breath. “It’s mostly younger people affected, or they’re more willing to report. And most problems happen when people have been spending a lot of time in the domes, particularly the most experimental ones.”
None of that was a surprise, but it was all good to know. And it meant that either senior staff were very shortsighted, or they didn’t spend enough time with their hands in the dirt.
I would make neither mistake. What hurt one, hurt all, especially in a community this tiny.
I scanned the data quickly. I’d take a closer look later, but on first glance, I saw little beyond what Glenn had already spotted. “There’s certainly enough here to be alarmed about.”
I saw the flare of relief in his eyes, which told me plenty all on its own. “Thanks.”
We weren’t supposed to loop in our local contacts, but I broke that rule more often than not. “The two most likely causes are some kind of plant pheromonal activity, probably in dome Alpha or Beta, or one of your junior staff has psychic potential that isn’t so latent anymore. But we’ll keep an open mind—it could be almost anything.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Can you detect a sensitive?”
It was a different use of energy than Talents, but I might be able to, especially if they worked in the dirt. “Maybe. I’m betting on pheromones as more likely, though.” It wouldn’t be the first time that some innocent plant’s communication system messed with human receptors. It gave my theorizing somewhere to start, anyhow. As always, I’d be prepared to hastily revise on the fly. I yawned, feeling the relaxation that was travel lag’s first symptom kicking in hard.
Glenn hopped out of his chair, looking slightly guilty. “Sorry. I’ll take you to your quarters now, and you can unpack and catch a nap.” He grinned. “Doc’s orders. After that, would you like to tour the lab? There would probably still be time to meet most of the key players before work shift is officially over for the afternoon.”
I was tired, but I was still picking things up. He was smart, competent, and professional—and there was something he wasn’t telling me. Which was fine, but it did make me want to have the first meetings on more neutral ground. “I’ll catch everyone at dinner.” Food was always turf I felt at ease on.
A quick flash of respect. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
My Talent buzzed lightly again. I liked this guy, in ways I didn’t usually bother with when I was on assignment.
This time, Glenn noticed. I watched the reactions hit him one at a time—surprise, appreciation, and then something that looked oddly like professional relaxation. Like a worry he’d been hiding away had just exhaled. He turned toward a door that would lead us into the rest of the biome, but I didn’t miss what he murmured, almost under his breath. “You’ll do better here than I thought.”
I wasn’t dumb enough to take murmurs for shyness—he’d wanted me to hear, and he was giving me the choice in whether I responded. I made my decision quickly. Time to let his Santa shorts off the hook and collect some of my own first impressions. He’d already given me plenty. I gathered my travel bag, slung it over my shoulder, and gave Glenn what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Nap first. Then take me to your leader.”
When he laughed, I knew I’d made my first friend on Xirtaxis Minor.
And wondered just how tricky it might be to make the next one.
9
I sniffed the air as we approached the main cafeteria on Xirtaxis Minor. My stomach was currently voting strongly in favor of my plan to meet the science team on neutral ground. “Something smells delish.”
“Good raw materials.” Glenn had come to fetch me from my quarters just as the dinner bell sounded. “And kitchen techs who know what to do with them.”
Anyone raised on Lightbody family dinners knew the power of good food. Maybe this place wasn’t as wobbly as I’d thought on first impressions. Or maybe it was. I was keeping a careful eye on my companion. His mood had shifted slightly on the short walk from my quarters to the caf, or rather his body language had—from affable welcoming committee to something a little closer to guard dog. I couldn’t pick up personal resonances as well as Kish and Iggy, but I was pretty sure about this one. Xirtaxis Minor’s chief medical thought I might need protecting.
I straightened my shoulders and set my face in the cool, dispassionate look they taught all Fixer trainees. Glenn relaxed slightly. Guard dog realizing that the cute and friendly Grower had a spine.
He navigated us neatly into the line of people making their way past a buffet of food that would have done my aunties proud. I grabbed a pla
te and surveyed my choices. It all looked real, and incredibly good. Lunch on the Indigo felt like it had happened sometime last week.
“If you’re not a picky eater, everything’s tasty,” said the woman across the buffet from me.
I glanced up at her with a smile—and then took a more careful second look. I recognized her from Glenn’s files. Shelley Moritz, recent addition to the gardening team in dome Alpha. Solidly middle-aged, glowing work reviews, not remotely prone to outbursts or flights of fancy. Several weeks back she’d pulled up an entire planting of absinthiums because they were talking too loudly—and given a huge shiner to the very large man who’d tried to stop her.
Shelley met my eyes and gave a quiet, abashed shrug.
I read the unspoken message just fine. She was embarrassed by what she’d done—but unlike the leaders of this biome, she was glad help had arrived.
I wasn’t at all sure how much of that I’d be able to provide just yet, but I knew where to start. I held out my plate as Shelley scooped up some shredded beets. She looked a lot surprised, but carefully dropped a spoonful on my plate. I picked up some kind of stuffed, fried tube with tongs and raised an eyebrow her way. She stared at me for a long moment, head tilted, and then held out her plate.
I made my way companionably along the buffet, exchanging spoonfuls with my food buddy, and chuckling at the growly noises my belly was making. We got at least halfway down the line before I realized how many people were watching us. I cast a quick look at Glenn, but he didn’t look concerned—only a little bemused.
Hmm.
I kept going, and kept helping Shelley fill her plate, but now my Fixer radar was up. It didn’t take too long to realize that everyone else neatly piled food on their own plates—and only their own.
Clearly these people weren’t Lightbodies.
Whatever. Fixers were supposed to blend in as much as possible, but I wasn’t going to apologize for disrupting the culture of a buffet line, especially when that culture needed fixing. Tribes shared food, and the good ones shared it with happiness and generosity of spirit. That was a belief well established in me before I could walk, but I’d spent the last ten years in communities all over the quadrant, and that little piece of wisdom hadn’t been wrong yet.
When we reached the end of the buffet, I smiled a thanks to my temporary partner, and then I turned to Glenn. “Where to?”
“Far left corner by the windows.”
There were windows everywhere, but I assumed he meant the particularly spectacular bank of them at the far end of the caf, with what appeared to be a view of a lovely Japanese water garden. I headed that direction, moving slowly enough to make eye contact with the locals, and quickly enough that they didn’t try to stop me.
And learned plenty before I got to the far left corner.
For three hundred people, this was a very quiet cafeteria. What conversation there was stayed at the individual tables, and the people sitting together tended to be wearing skinsuits or lab coats that matched their table mates. If this was an organism, it was one where the cells didn’t talk much and definitely didn’t mingle.
I also saw more evidence of the recent disturbances. One young man with his arm in a cast—if I remembered rightly, he’d gotten in the way of a sleepwalking scientist and been pushed down a stairwell for his efforts. An older woman with curly hair and paranoid eyes, sitting at a table alone.
And those were just the visible wounds.
I was on high alert by the time I reached the table in the far left corner. It was raised on a small dais and surrounded by eight chairs, five of them filled. I navigated to an empty chair with my back to the gardens. For now, information trumped beauty.
I watched five sets of eyes as I set down my plate and took a seat. Politeness, and a veneer of welcome—but unlike Glenn’s genuine warmth, it didn’t run any deeper than that.
Or that was true for four of them, anyhow. The man on my far left was a study in dark and handsome, and as distant as the craters of Pluton.
“This is Mary Louise Bastur, and her husband, John.” Glenn had begun introductions, and I yanked my attention back to where it was supposed to be. “They head up the science team here on Xirtaxis Minor.”
Mary Louise was clearly the force to be reckoned with, and her eyes said she wasn’t yet certain whether she planned to let me do any reckoning or not. “I don’t know what you can do that we haven’t already done, Grower, but we’ll appreciate whatever useful assistance you can provide.”
I was fluent enough in diplomatic fencing to translate that just fine. She wasn’t expecting to find me useful.
Her husband smiled, his eyes kind. “I’ll be happy to show you around our facilities at your convenience. We’ve got some lovely gardens, and a hothouse facility you might find particularly interesting.”
His words were much more pleasant, but they translated exactly the same as hers. If I didn’t want to be pushed into irrelevance here, gently or otherwise, I was going to have to take a stand. I was, however, wise enough not to do it quite yet. I nodded mildly and turned to the next face at the table—fast enough to catch the quickly veiled surprise.
There was a lot of that going around this evening.
“This is Anastasia Toli.” Glenn kept the introductions rolling. “She keeps the labs running smoothly.”
She held out a businesslike hand for me to shake. “Welcome to Xirtaxis Minor, Dr. Lightbody. Everyone calls me Toli. If you need anything during your stay here, I’ll be happy to help you or find someone who can.”
She reminded me very much of the man who headed up our labs back home. Pragmatic, competent, and not remotely scared of skin contact with a Grower. She’d also made sure to recognize me as a scientist with a PhD of my own, which was causing some interesting ripples down the table. I shook her hand, my Talent registering the same personality my eyes had already figured out. “Most people call me Tee.”
It was too bad the labs were low on my suspect list. If the problems here resided in Toli’s domain, they’d be easy enough to deal with. That wasn’t the vibe I was getting from her, however. She wanted me to get this solved, and she’d help in any way she could—but she thought her turf was clean, and my instincts said to believe her.
Which made me very interested in the last two faces at the table, because their turf was the botanical domes. I turned to the man with the sexy face, noting that his eyes were no longer distant, and held out my hand.
He clasped it in both of his, eyes firmly on mine. “Welcome, Dr. Lightbody. I’m Jerome Salmera, the lead researcher here when I’m not out in the domes getting my hands in the dirt.”
His hands didn’t speak of dirt at all—they spoke of something far more primal and dangerous. I could feel every hair on my skin lifting, my Talent raising an unnecessary alert. This was wild overkill, even if the man fancied himself the resident Lothario. And it was blinding my Talent to reading much of anything else.
Time to use my eyes.
I let go of his hand to dampen the energetic overload, and watched his face. A flicker of disappointment maybe, nothing more—and the distance was back. I set my hands down on my thighs, trying to release the crackling energy somewhere reasonable. Touch rarely backfired in my line of business, but this was one of those rare times. “I often play in the dirt back home—I’ll look forward to a tour of your domes as soon as I get the chance. How many are there?” It was an inane question, and one I already knew the answer to, but I needed to get him talking.
Which didn’t happen.
The fifth person at the table, not yet introduced, leaned forward. “We have seven in active operation, one in renewal. Primarily we work on terraforming species here, and we have five domes set to simulate a specific range of ecological conditions that we tend to find on colonizable planets. I manage those, beta testing species that are close to ready for release.” He paused to take a bite of his dinner and then kept talking as he chewed. “The other two are Jerome’s, for plantings still
in the very experimental stages.”
It was clear what he thought about anything that raw and messy. I smiled, and wondered if maybe his ordered brain was finding a way to express itself elsewhere. He wouldn’t be the first sensitive found under that kind of rock.
He swallowed and gave me a dirty look. “I’m Gordie, by the way. And whatever the hell is going on here, it’s not happening in my domes.” He glared at the table in general. “None of my people are having these bullshit dreams and behavior problems. They’re all solid.”
Solid wasn’t a defense against psychological trauma, but I’d argue that later if I needed to. In the meantime, he’d raised a point I was curious to push on. “Are there patterns in who has been affected? Particular work zones or living proximities?” I watched the table carefully, interested in how they would react to another question I already knew the answer to.
Gordie just kept glaring, but I could see the other people at the table exchanging looks. They were scientists—and good scientists follow the data, even if they find it distasteful.
In this case, something clearly didn’t taste good.
Jerome offered a charming smile. “They don’t want to tell you that most of the affected people work in the experimental domes.”
I smiled back, utterly confused by the man. He’d changed his skin at least three times since I’d sat down. “That must be difficult, watching the people you work with experience problems you can’t solve.”
I could hear Glenn’s quietly hissed breath beside me. Apparently most people didn’t poke at Dr. Lothario, at least not this directly.
Jerome leaned forward, every inch the amenable, earnest scientist. “Of course it is. It affects the work, and it affects the human climate we work in.”
I was still trying to catch up with the skin shifting. “Tell me about your work.”
He looked over at the two head scientists, clearly handing this one off—and surprising me again.
