In the Company of Others

by Julie E. Czerneda

  Patience wasn’t his strong point, Malley sighed to himself, staring down at Aaron’s still form, watching the streams of fine bubbles rising up through the blue liquid.

  “Philips? Get over here,” another tech, a woman named Benton, called softly. Funny how they whispered during their night, Malley thought, as though someone might be asleep in a nearby closet. Even-cycle day should be so considerate. He could have slept easily through any sounds these people made.

  Philips went to join Benton, both tipping their heads to examine a readout. Malley followed casually, keeping out of the way but making sure he moved close enough to overhear.

  “I can’t believe you only just ran this, Benton,” Philips was saying in a fretful voice. “I thought Dr. Smith wanted it done immediately.”

  Benton shrugged. “Then she should have gone and pried the equipment from Dr. Sazaad. You know what he’s like . . . middle of an experiment, oh, I’ll lose all my data, oh, the universe will implode . . .”

  “I know. I know. Well, it’s done now.” Philips paused, then said in a heavier voice—perhaps forgetting Malley was near. “This is the second trial?”

  Malley wasn’t sure why his heart started hammering.

  “There’s no mistake,” Benton said, pointing at a screen and tracing her finger along a flat, horizontal line. “See the base? I’m telling you, we should call this, Philips. He’s gone.”

  With remarkable restraint, Malley took each of the smaller techs by a shoulder instead of a throat to swing them around to face him. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

  Their mirrored looks of sympathy made him drop his hands. “What are you talking about?” he repeated, or thought he did. Nothing seemed to come out of his mouth.

  They spoke quickly and at once: “Only preliminary findings—” “We should report to Dr. Smith—”

  “Now!” he demanded.

  Philips’ shoulders slumped but his eyes met Malley’s. “Benton ran a cog screen—a cognitive function assessment—on your friend. There’s—the baseline’s flat. There’s nothing. I’m sorry, Malley.”

  “What do you mean—nothing?”

  Benton spoke up when Philips didn’t—or couldn’t—answer. “It means that even though his body is still functioning, your friend, Mr. Pardell, is dead.”

  Chapter 26

  THERE were things that shattered sleep, rather than simply woke a person. Gail felt alert and fragile at the same time, as though she’d forgotten to collect all of herself before leaving her bed. But the summons had been more than urgent and left no time for fantasies.

  Pardell was dead.

  FD Picray had been on watch in the science sphere. He’d reported to the Second on duty, who’d reported to Grant—another rude awakening. Grant had wasted no time disobeying her orders not to be disturbed.

  Pardell couldn’t be dead.

  They hadn’t found his ship.

  The commander had intercepted her at the door to the waist, still pulling his belt through its loops and thus relieving her of a long-standing suspicion, that he slept in uniform. Together and silently, they’d taken the walkway to the second locked door, and then rushed into the science sphere proper, Gail doing her best to keep herself centered and calm and failing miserably. This was the last straw, even though she’d suspected as much.

  Even Malley had said it—how could Pardell survive?

  Now, breathless moments later, Gail stood watching Malley rather than the body in the tank. Part of her mind was cold and detached, congratulating herself on having the foresight to arrange the genetic sampling when Pardell had first arrived, minimizing deterioration. The rest of her mind spiraled around useless things to say, meaningless words, nothing that could possibly comfort the stationer. As Chief Scientist and Project Leader on the Seeker, she’d never had so much power in her life before—and so little it could accomplish now.

  “Malley?” Gail ventured. Malley was sitting as they’d found him, on his bed, her research papers strewn about. So. He’d been reading them. She didn’t notice at first how he was clean and better dressed—it hardly mattered next to the lost look on his face, the limpness of his massive frame. His right hand rested loose and open on his knee, his left was clenched around the metal support at the head of the bed, knuckles white. The metal had bent.

  “Malley. I’m—”

  “Sorry?” his eyes flashed up to meet and hold hers.

  Gail swallowed what she might have said. “I wish I’d known him,” she told Malley instead. “You said he was a good man. I—”

  “You’re as bad as the rest of them. Stop talking about Aaron as if he’s dead,” Malley snapped. Gail sensed more than saw Grant easing to her side, as if he feared the stationer would try to take out his anger and pain on her.

  Gail didn’t think so. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure what to think. Could Malley know something none of them did? Was it possible—or was it just her own hopes? There was something about his eyes, she decided. He was miserable and distraught, but not grieving—not yet. Why? “There are no measurable higher brain functions,” she challenged the stationer. “That’s the going definition, Mr. Malley. Lawyer approved.”

  Malley’s head sank into his shoulders, like a bull about to charge. “So you think he’s dead, too.”

  “A machine says he’s dead,” Gail corrected. “What do you say?”

  The stationer unclenched his left hand, looking at the white ridges left on the palm from his grip with a puzzled expression, as if its actions hadn’t been his, then stood. When he reached his full, towering height—prompting Grant to straighten even further—Malley said in a monotone: “I don’t know. I hope not. Aaron told me once that his foster dad, Raner, had him wired to a machine like yours, that measured higher brain function, back when they were still trying different things and looking for a cure. He said the readings dropped to zero when he had one of his seizures. It scared his dad, but then Aaron woke right up again and the machine recorded him normal as could be. They decided it was a glitch in the machine—heaven knows where Raner got hold of one in the first place—but now I’m wondering. What if it can’t follow where he goes?”

  Malley didn’t wait for her answer. Instead, he strode impatiently over to the racks of monitors. He knew which one, Gail thought as she followed, ignoring the rest of the devices to stop before the cog screen. “You’ve been hunting for ways Aaron might be different from other people,” the stationer continued. “What if that includes something in the activity this machine measures? If his brain is somehow different, would this machine still pick it up? Can you be sure?”

  “Philips, get Sazaad in here,” Gail ordered without hesitation. “He’s our neurologist,” she explained to Malley. She didn’t bother adding that Tabor Sazaad was the most difficult of several unique personalities Titan had allowed her to bring on the Seeker—Malley’d find out soon enough. The man had built the device presently damning Pardell; they needed his expertise if it was to do anything else. “What else can you tell me?” Gail asked instead. “Did Raner somehow make Pardell have a seizure in order to test him? Was it coincidence?”

  “That’s all I remember,” Malley growled with obvious frustration. “We were kids. At the time, Aaron thought it was pretty funny, scaring his father like that.”

  “Never mind.” Gail said absently, reaching out almost idly to shift the frequencies being scanned and displayed by the cog screen. Nothing. The flat line irritated her, a puzzle without clues.

  “Aaron’s body—is it maintaining itself, or have these—” a disparaging gesture at the whirring, blinking machinery to either side, “—taken over?”

  The question might have sounded matter-of-fact. Gail sensed it was nothing of the kind. “The life support is connected as insurance,” she said, glancing up at Malley. He seemed calm enough. “His autonomic functions appear unaffected, but we’re keeping his systems under close watch in case something changes.” Gail hoped he’d settle for the half truth, knowing full well
what Malley was really asking: Would she order Pardell’s body kept alive in case Malley might be right? Or for her own reasons?

  She really didn’t think he’d like her answer.

  She did know, his promise to Rosalind notwithstanding, Malley would never be allowed to remove his friend’s body from the Seeker. Not now that Reinsez had made his preliminary report back to Titan U. A dead Pardell was simply too valuable.

  A living Pardell? He could have a few more choices.

  Waiting for Sazaad to arrive took on the bizarre trappings of a social event. Gail asked for coffee, something Grant and Malley were quick to second, and soon all three found themselves perched on lab stools near the tank with Pardell floating inside, for all the world as though they’d arranged to meet for breakfast. Gail didn’t bother checking the wall chrono to see how long it would be before the Seeker’s cooks began serving that meal. The expression “the dead of night” was pretty much on target.

  Malley looked reasonably fresh—this would be early evening for him, Gail calculated, and he’d had some sleep courtesy of the tranks. She yawned and took her cup from Benton with a grateful nod. “What’s keeping Sazaad?” she inquired, before the woman could retreat.

  Benton, one of the older, more experienced lab techs, gave an eloquent shrug as if to suggest Gail should know better than to ask, but said: “He shouldn’t be long. All you have to do is imply one of his gadgets isn’t up to par and he’s down here like an avalanche.” Then she grinned, bright blue eyes twinkling. “If the twins aren’t visiting, that is.”

  Gail wasn’t amused, though she heard Grant choking on a mouthful of hot liquid. Sazaad had substantial appetites and it wasn’t a secret he’d brought along a matched pair of assistants who shared at least one. If the young ladies in question had been anything less than superbly qualified electronics techs, Gail would have sent them packing. As it was, Sazaad appeared to be the envy of several on board.

  And if Sazaad’s feminine distractions were keeping her waiting now, they’d be moving into the bowels of the command sphere to work on the Seeker’s comm systems for Tobo.

  “Any word from Station Admin?”

  Startled, Gail looked at Malley. He raised one eyebrow. “I don’t know. I’ve been asleep,” she said without thinking, then found her face heating up with embarrassment. She wasn’t sure if it was the connection to Sazaad’s preoccupation or her own displeasure at being reminded how Malley had sent her to bed, like some errant child. The stationer, Gail decided, was far too good at making her doubt her own reactions.

  Grant beckoned to one of his guards. Picray, Gail recalled. “Any updates from the bridge?” the commander asked quietly.

  “One, sir. Aleksander came on an hour and a half ago to report there’d been a query about the state of the Seeker’s supply lines.” Picray smiled wolfishly. “The station was offering to repair the damages and restore the connections. The First Officer politely declined, as per Captain Tobo’s orders.”

  Fast work, Gail thought. But then, she’d never doubted the FD could take things apart, only that they’d wait to ask her permission.

  Grant turned to their guest. “Were you expecting something in particular, Mr. Malley?”

  “Malley. No Mister. Was I expecting something? Not really. Opposite cycle folks usually try to keep out of the messes they wake up to—it makes life simpler.”

  “So a closer watch when Forester’s group is back in charge,” Grant nodded affirmation of this to Picray, who went to the nearest comm panel to spread the word. “Thanks, Malley.”

  “Don’t thank me,” the stationer objected. “All I want is to get back into what’s routine.”

  Gail nodded thoughtfully, not in promise but in understanding. To change the subject, she asked: “What do you think of the Quill now?”

  “Having gone through your work?” Malley’s eyes gleamed suddenly. “I’d like to read what you don’t want me to know.”

  At this rate, Gail told herself dispassionately, Grant was never going to get an intact swallow of his coffee. “Ah,” she said, sipping her own, inwardly pleased to have judged Malley so well.

  “Ah?” he echoed, raising one eyebrow.

  Without planning to, Gail found herself raising her own. “What do you think I left out, Malley?”

  Instead of answering, Malley swiveled on his stool until he was facing the far wall. Then he lifted one long arm and simply pointed.

  Gail fought the urge to grin. Of all the work left abandoned here to deal with Pardell, somehow Malley had spotted what really mattered. She imagined Grant was probably ready to clap him in irons about now. She had a different idea. Gail hopped off her stool and motioned Malley to follow.

  What had caught Malley’s attention was a transparent case, taller than he was, holding nothing but a dark blue, one-piece jumpsuit, complete with feet. The fabric was suspended from a spiderweb of fine connectors frosting its surface. A nearby bench held smaller, but otherwise identical cases, some with gloves and one with a goggled headpiece. Gail hit the switch to turn up the task lighting. The fabric gathered the light and reflected it with diamondlike fire.

  Beautiful, she thought admiringly, in the way purposeful, dangerous things could be.

  Malley walked around the case. “When you talked about a Quill retrieval device,” he said with wonder, “I thought you meant some type of remote probe, or robot.”

  “They’ve been tried. And failed.” Gail continued sipping her coffee, gazing at her creation with a faintly impatient pride. “The Quill Effect remains the only way to confirm the Quill are present in a place. Until now, we couldn’t use human investigators because they’d experience that effect ...” She left it hanging.

  “By dying,” Malley finished, but thoughtfully. “So what’s the principle here? Surely someone’s tried making a protective suit before.”

  Before Gail could start to explain, the stationer rested one hand on the case and then looked over at Pardell’s tank. “You said you’re collecting genomes from selected human lines—why?” He nodded rapidly to himself twice; Gail watched him think it through with the anxious delight she felt when a promising student worried at a new concept. Do you understand now, Grant? she crowed to herself. This was why they needed Malley.

  He’d gone on: “You’re after the descendants of the terraformers. The ones Susan Witts gave Quill. You think the Quill on those worlds might somehow respond to their genome and not harm someone wearing—” Malley stared at the suit again, “—the right genetic disguise.”

  “Seems you had more than enough to read.” This dry observation came from Grant.

  “I didn’t ask for the privilege. I preferred believing the Quill were three-meter googly-eyed alien monsters,” Malley said. “If you wanted me kept ignorant, you should have consulted with your boss.”

  Gail felt the rising tension between the two men and said impatiently: “Ignorance is never preferable.”

  “Really?” Malley countered. “I’d prefer ignorance over knowing you, Gail Smith. But we can’t always have what we want.”

  An honest man. Gail turned up the left corner of her mouth, quite aware this deepened the dimple on that side. You use the weapons at hand. “No,” she agreed easily. “But I’m sure you’re a man who plays the cards he’s dealt, Malley. Especially when the stakes are this high—”

  A call from the door. “Dr. Sazaad’s coming, Dr. Smith.” It somehow came across more as a warning than an announcement.

  Gail sighed, watching the commotion as Sazaad made his entrance.

  Too short a night and, now, what promised to be a long day.

  Chapter 27

  WITH the exception of Sector Administrator Forester, the vastly annoying Todd brothers who’d lasted a scant quarter shift in the recycling depot with him, and now Gail Smith, Malley wasn’t prone to automatically dislike someone. He prided himself on being a broad-minded, fair man. One who went on actions, not first impressions or by what others said.

  I
n the case of Dr. Tabor Sazaad, Malley took one look and knew he’d probably kill the man if they spent any significant amount of time in the same room.

  Not reassuring in the person who was supposed to prove your friend was alive.

  It didn’t help that Malley could see the identical response, insufficiently smoothed under a civilized veneer, from Commander Grant.

  Gail Smith, on the other hand, had her civilized veneer very much in place, greeting her colleague with every appearance of apologetic charm for disturbing his sleep. Malley began to seriously doubt he’d ever seen an involuntary, open expression on her face—then he remembered the look of outraged shock when he’d stolen that kiss.

  Probably wouldn’t work twice either.

  Sazaad was older, closer to station average, Malley judged, though he suspected the well-nourished Earthers appeared younger than they were. The scientist arrived, not in pajamas, as the unfortunate Temujin had earlier, but dressed in a tailored jacket and pants that were probably current fashion back in Sol System, dark hair immaculately in place. Obviously, he hadn’t taken Gail’s summons as overly urgent. Or his pride required the clothing, Malley speculated to himself.

  No doubt about Earther arrogance here. Sazaad hadn’t shut up since arriving, mainly delivering a diatribe about how techs panicked at the least irregularity and he needed his rest. Some of it had been interesting—Malley hadn’t realized the cog screen was based on neural-speak technology, with living neurons within the device analyzing the voltages from cells in Aaron’s brain. Sazaad’s speech included numerous, and quite probably true, protestations of how his machine was beyond anything ever made before. Malley was prepared to be impressed by the technology, if not its creator.