Malley, still holding the grappling hook in a hand that dripped blood in mindless little spirals on the floor, didn’t. She saw him close his eyes once, tightly, as if his relief was too much to bear, then open them and stare at her.
“Your ship,” Malley began in a hoarse whisper, as if that warning shout had scraped his throat raw. “It has the latest Earther med tech? Real doctors?”
Gail nodded. “The best,” she assured him quickly, startled how her own voice came out thin and liable to break.
“Malley—?” This protest from the stationer near Gail. “You can’t—”
“What choice is there?” Malley answered roughly. “Do you think he’s going to sleep this one off without help, Syd? If he does, think their families—” his wave included all the fallen, but lingered over the circle of corpses near Pardell, “—could bear him to stay?”
There was a low murmur of voices from the fifty or so who’d remained. One came louder than the rest: “Wasn’t Aaron’s fault.”
“When did that matter?” Malley coughed to clear his throat. His next words, “I’m going with him,” brought a sudden silence.
The stationer he’d called Syd was the first to speak up. “Malley. Makes some sense to let them take Aaron—help him, if they’re willing—but it makes none to have you tangled up with Earthers. People will talk—”
“Talk,” Malley repeated, his tone one of utter scorn and his raw voice breaking with passion as he went on: “You think I’m worried about talk! Those who know me won’t believe it—those who don’t? Guess who locked Outward Five down! So you worry about talk. I’m going to make sure the Earthers treat Aaron right.”
Here and there, Gail saw heads nodding slowly, grudgingly, then more. Then most. In spite of giving their approval, expressions ranged from grim to grief-stricken.
“I’ll watch your stuff, Malley,” Syd offered, giving yet another of his heavy sighs.
“Uh-uh,” Malley disagreed. “Your wife can watch it.” This prompted a smattering of laughter as Syd blushed. “Have Amy settle my tab and Aaron’s at Sammie’s—don’t any of you try to claim what’s not yours.”
No one seemed to be fooled by this last warning. Gail watched, hardly sure what she felt as one by one, the stationers thumped, patted, or hugged Malley in farewell.
Afterward, each took a turn to gaze down at Pardell, some brushing tears from their cheeks. Many crouched at a distance, or went to a knee to whisper something. No one touched him.
“We’ll see you to the ship, then.” This wasn’t so much an offer as an order from the stationer named Syd. It brought another, quicker, round of nods.
Gail looked at Grant, recognized his “not-on-my-watch” look, and spoke before he could open his mouth.
“Whatever—or whomever—it takes to get Pardell on the Seeker,” she ordered, pitching her voice to his ears alone. “That’s what matters now.”
Chapter 19
SO they retraced their steps through the strangely vacant docking ring surrounded by another escort in stationer gray. Gail was still flanked by guards—Loran and Grant, Tau and their surviving rescuer, who turned out to be Ops Specialist Allyn—and Malley was with them.
Malley and some of the others had righted the trolley and scavenged a metal slab, used as a countertop in a nearby office. Without offering an explanation of why they wouldn’t touch Pardell or accept help, they’d employed other scraps of metal to push and pull his body on to the rectangular slab. It was then lifted on the trolley, making a reasonable gurney. Now, ahead of them, Malley pushed it alone, moving as quickly as the rickety structure would allow. He’d also refused any first aid for his hands or lower arms. He, like Grant, seemed to think their solitude could end without warning.
Grant, unwilling to gamble on what might happen if either the authorities or the mob returned, had asked the stationers to carry the bodies of the fallen FDs so he and the rest could keep their weapons ready. Others brought the suits from the air lock. Gail had suggested leaving them behind, an idea the stationers seemed to find incomprehensibly wasteful. She didn’t waste her breath arguing.
Despite an air of urgency, it was a funeral procession, not a rescue, Gail thought, hoping she had more than deaths to bring back to the Seeker. Her eyes kept flicking to the limp form on the trolley, questions she didn’t bother asking—yet—filling her mind so she was honestly startled by how soon they reached the Seeker’s ’locks. They’d been that close.
The mob had done its best to get at the ship, with bare hands and, from the look of it, some portable cutters and welders. The main and freight ’locks were inoperable; Gail didn’t need to be an engineer to see that for herself. The inner door of the emerg ’lock was damaged, but intact, being designed to stay functional through worse.
However, that entrance into the Seeker was guarded.
A lone figure stood statue-still in front of the inner door, an older woman with graying hair wearing a space suit remarkably like Pardell’s. She dangled her helmet from one hand, watching them approach. Another Outsider, Gail concluded.
Malley stopped the trolley with Pardell’s body several paces before reaching the air lock, ignoring Grant’s immediate protest, then moved to stand to one side of it. The other stationers halted as well; the Earthers doing the same as Gail fiercely ordered them to hold still.
Gail heard a name whispered somewhere behind her: “Rosalind.”
“Dr. Smith,” Malley called without taking his eyes from the woman. Gail shook Grant’s hand from her arm impatiently and went to stand on the other side of Pardell, careful not to touch even the edge of the slab supporting him—much as she would have enjoyed something to lean against. She could feel Grant moving up behind her shoulder.
“Is he dead, young Hugh?” the woman asked, her voice toneless and flat. Her face reminded Gail of a painting she’d seen of a saint—ascetic, proud, intelligent. The ’sider must have been stunningly beautiful before events carved themselves into her skin. Even now, she was remarkable.
“No, ma’am,” Malley said. “It’s one of his fits. Too many—too many touched him before I—there was no way—” Another might have taken pity on the man as he struggled to speak through his emotions, offered comfort. This Rosalind merely waited while Malley steeled himself to go on. So, Gail thought. No friend of yours, stationer.
Gail spoke first. “I’ve offered the medical facilities on my ship to help Mr. Pardell. Are you a relative? Do you want to come with him?”
Those cold eyes released Malley and turned on her. With an effort, Gail kept from flinching; there was that much latent power in the woman’s gaze. “Offer me your ship, Professor,” Rosalind said, “and I’d consider it.” The woman’s empty hand lifted in an odd tossing-away gesture. “Otherwise, I prefer my freedom.”
Gail nodded gravely. More than another Outsider, she decided. A former spacer, that was certain. A leader here? Definitely. “My invitation remains,” she said calmly.
The woman came forward, ignoring them as she looked down at the unconscious Pardell. Without warning, she reached out to grip his jaw. Gail wondered why Malley didn’t object, since he’d prevented all other contacts, then she saw that the woman’s left hand was robotic, clumsy and ugly, but capable of gently turning Pardell’s head from side to side as if she tried to read something from his slack features and closed eyes.
There was nothing to read on her face at all.
The woman named Rosalind let go, then backed away to leave the path to the emerg ’lock open. “He’s beyond what we can do,” she said to Gail. “If you are willing to try, do so. But don’t think this puts young Aaron—or any of us—under obligation to you. Those scales are not in your favor, Earther.”
“I understand—” Gail started to say.
“Do you?” Rosalind challenged, but instead of elaborating, she crooked one steel “finger” at Malley. “Young Hugh. Make sure he comes home again. Alive—or dead.”
Malley nodded, lips tight. Accepting h
is vow, for Gail judged it no less than that, the ’sider woman lifted her helmet and lowered it in place on her head, her face vanishing behind its reflective visor. Gail realized with a shock both her hands were artificial—what she’d taken for a clamp held in a gloved hand was the woman’s right hand. The arms of Rosalind’s suit ended in cuffs locking over her wrists.
“Hold, there! Earthers! Don’t move!” Gail, like the others, turned her head at the distant shouts. There were figures walking, not running, their way. She looked back quickly, only to find Rosalind was nowhere to be seen.
“Interesting woman,” Grant said with distinct admiration. “Who is she?”
Malley shook himself, like a man rousing from a trance. “That, Commander, was Rosalind Fournier.” He looked at Gail as though tempted to say more, then shrugged and said: “We don’t have time to waste out here. Let’s get him inside.”
“There’s a stretcher on the way,” Grant assured them. It was obvious the impromptu trolley wouldn’t fit through the hatch.
Then there was the question of getting Malley himself in—Gail eyed the huge, exhausted-looking stationer, wondering if one trank would be enough.
As if he’d read her mind, Malley pullIed his lips back from his teeth in what didn’t remotely resemble a smile. “If you can keep both doors open, Dr. Smith, I’ll get Aaron—and myself—inside.”
Gail nodded and looked pointedly at Grant, who shook his head but pulled out his transmitter to consult rapidly with the Seeker on how to override the air lock’s protocols. Leaving Tau to keep watch, he sent Loran and Allyn hurrying through the ’lock. Between them they carried Peitsch’s body.
Meanwhile, Malley went over and collected his space suit from the stationer who’d carried it this far. Taking one leg of the suit in each hand, Malley grunted with effort then pulled. The fabric resisted then gave along old seams and new ones. He kept ripping at it, his expression surprisingly peaceful considering the effort he was exerting, and the speed with which the authorities—for Gail could now recognize Forester among those in the lead—were approaching. There was a bustle around the air lock as horrified crew members came out to retrieve the remaining bodies.
The suit tanks fell loose and rolled away. Then a battery pack. A stationer picked those up. Those nearest looked more amused than surprised. Syd, again close to Gail, confided: “Malley’d never put it on anyway.”
When he was done, Malley kicked aside most of the suit pieces but held what now were two long strips.
“Malley—you Stationers! Keep the Earthers away from their ship!” This order was a little too clear for comfort, although its effect on their escort was to provoke some loud, and cheerfully obscene, countersuggestions. Malley’s friends moved out in a ring, making it clear they planned to block or delay any interference.
Malley himself was moving with feverish haste—Gail wondered how much of that speed was his fear of the authorities and how much was covering his terror of the air lock. She resisted Grant’s effort to push her toward the now-open inner hatch, but took a quick look to be sure she could see through the interior of the air lock to the open outer door. Yes, the Seeker’s bright welcoming interior was in plain view. There was a stretcher waiting, with FDs starting to bring it through.
There wasn’t time. The first group of Forester’s people had arrived and, from the angry shouts, were trying to bully their way through. They were outnumbered by Malley’s cohorts—temporary situation in light of the reinforcements heading their way.
But Malley was ready. He’d already tossed the two straps he’d made over Pardell’s body at chest and hips, bringing the ends around under the rectangular metal slab, and tying them tight. He then bent at the knees beside the trolley, massive thigh muscles straining his coveralls, and reached one long arm underneath to hook his wounded fingers over the slab’s far edge, gripping the nearer one in his right hand. He tucked his left shoulder under the metal.
Gail thought no one watching believed what Malley was intending. She’d seen the bruises on his shoulders from lifting and carrying, but this was beyond reason. Just as she started to call for them to abandon the stretcher and help the stationer—bedlam behind letting her know the struggle was growing physical—Malley expelled a quick breath and simply stood up.
It didn’t matter that he immediately lurched sideways under his awkward burden—he turned that movement into a staggering lunge toward the opening to the Seeker. Gail expected both men to land on the floor plates, but somehow Malley kept upright and moving, even as his whole body shuddered in reaction to passing inside the ’lock. The crew with the stretcher scrambled out of his way.
Grant pulled her along behind Malley. “Don’t touch the body!” she shouted desperately, then saw Loran among the group waiting for them. She’d know to warn those inside.
Scattered cheers spilled around her before all sound from the docking ring was muffled by the inner door. Grant threw the lever to lock it.
Somehow, Malley’d made it all the way into the Seeker’s umbilical corridor—a temporary, though solid, link to this air lock they could retract or abandon, depending on the situation.
Gail suspected he couldn’t have stopped inside the air lock itself.
The stationer was on his hands and knees, taking huge, rapid gulps of air. He’d dropped the slab to the floor, one end of it having caught the lower rim of the outer doorframe so the whole sloped. The makeshift straps held, keeping Pardell in place. The rough handling hadn’t touched his slack expressionless features.
One of Pardell’s arms sprawled limply over the side—gloved fingers so close to Malley’s, Gail rushed forward in alarm. “Get back,” she ordered a curious crewman. “Malley,” she began more gently. “Watch your hand—”
His bent head moved in what she took for a nod of understanding, then he drew his hand away from Pardell’s, leaving a bloody streak on the floor. Another deep breath, then Malley pushed himself up to sit back on his heels. His eyes were blood-shot but alert enough.
“How do we handle Pardell?” she asked bluntly. He looked up at her and nodded, rising to his feet. Around them, the confusion was developing order as fresh faces in FD blue-gray and crew white took over, a steward rushing to help Gail out of the space suit she didn’t realize she still wore, two more with med staff bars on their shoulders standing hesitantly near their supposed patient. Either the dead guards or something said by the living ones made those two look very nervous. Gail, looking down at that pale, thin, somehow deadly face, couldn’t help but agree.
“He has a—condition,” Malley said, relaxing enough—or exhausted enough—to lean on the nearest wall. “It hurts him to be touched. Always has. Makes him sick. Sometimes, it sends him into fits like this, where he’s unconscious for a few minutes.”
“There’s more,” this grim accusation from Grant, who hadn’t left Gail’s side. “Something happens to people who touch him.”
Malley shook his head—not denial, Gail thought, but regret. “A nasty shock, usually, like the kind you get from a static buildup.”
“That wouldn’t kill anyone,” Grant pressed, staring down curiously at what appeared to be a harmless young man. Perhaps he was assessing a new lethal weapon. Gail understood that side of the military mind-set—it was useful, even if she didn’t care much for it.
“Aaron’s never killed anyone,” Malley started to protest, then sighed. “Okay. The worse it is for him, the worse the shock you get if you touch him. See? Until now, nothing like this—he’s knocked out a couple of people. It isn’t pleasant.” Despite his words, Malley’s tone lightened momentarily, as if remembering an incident from their childhood. Then his lips tightened. “What happened out there—it was bad. I’m amazed he survived—”
“Those who touched him didn’t,” Gail finished. “How long does this—reciprocal charge—last?”
“It doesn’t matter. You can’t touch him. Ever. Not even with gloves. Understand?” Malley’s voice was under iron control, but still
had a desperate edge. “It hurts him.”
Gail looked down at Pardell’s skintight gloves, noticing they were newer than the rest of his clothing as if recently replaced. If they weren’t protection, she wondered abstractly, why did he wear them? “That’s the drill, then,” she told the med staff. “Use surface contamination protocols and remote handling arms only. Make sure everyone’s informed and the affected corridors are cleared ahead of time. I don’t want accidents.”
Malley sagged, as if he hadn’t been sure she’d take his word. Gail saved any further questions—they had time on their side now—and stepped out of her mag boots when the steward nudged her legs in reminder. It actually hurt to be free of the extra weight. Gail knew herself close to the end of the energy adrenaline and necessity had given her—just like Malley.
Grant, on the other hand, appeared disgustingly fresh, as if the day’s events had been a training exercise. Gail used this as her reason to glare at him and order: “I want Mr. Pardell taken to the science sphere’s medical facilities, not to the Seeker’s hospital bay. Understood?”
“Yes, Dr. Smith.” Smoothly. Gail supposed the professional paranoid in Grant was satisfied by the tighter security possible there. Fine. She wanted the widest scope of testing equipment available—and her scientists, not a crew doctor, conducting those tests. If there was anyone else she could have delegated to command—or it had been any other situation—she pushed away the desire to head to the lab. Curiosity was a luxury she couldn’t indulge.
Malley straightened from his slouch. He didn’t say a word as he watched the med staff and two of the FDs carefully lift the slab, and so Pardell, to the waiting stretcher. He didn’t need to.
“Mr. Malley will be staying with Mr. Pardell,” Gail added. At least then it sounded like her idea. “Make sure he’s comfortable and those wounds are treated.” She let her eyes travel over all of them. “Commander, report to my office when you’re done in the science sphere.”
In the Company of Others Page 17
