In the Company of Others

by Julie E. Czerneda

  “Listen,” she demanded. “We’re on your friend’s ship, the Merry Mate II. It’s under attack.”

  Been busy again, haven’t you? Malley rolled to sit up on the cot and stared at the tiny device. “Who took you there?” he demanded. “Did you make Aaron—?”

  “No.” Flat, definite, and convincing. Malley sagged in relief, then sat up in outrage again. Rosalind! She was the only one Aaron trusted with his codes. Several things became more than clear. Malley looked around for something to throw. Something large.

  “You gave one of our comms to your friends, Malley,” Gail had continued, her voice cool enough, but rapid-fire. “Rosalind thinks those attacking the ship—and us—might be from Outward Five. Is there anyone you can contact? Someone with authority there who can stop them?”

  He didn’t deny it. Waste not, want not, was prime stationer thinking. “I’ll do my best—but why are they attacking at all? And what makes her think it’s stationers?” Malley swallowed his pride and admitted: “A lot are like me—they don’t like it Outside. And there aren’t many intact suits left. The ’siders have been trading—or stealing—parts for years.”

  “Since you are in a better position to answer those questions than I, Mr. Malley,” Gail responded with a more familiar bite, “I suggest you start calling. Before your ‘friends’ turn the ’Mate and us into a debris field around the station.”

  “So glad you need me,” he rumbled back at her before thumbing the link closed.

  Once he had, Malley noticed Taggart waiting by the open door. “I’ll need to talk to Aaron—the other one from the station—about this,” he told the FD. “He’ll know who might be involved. You heard the lady. It’s urgent.”

  Chapter 44

  HOWEVER urgent the reason, it was good to be out of the dark room and back in the lab. The doors were just as locked, but the big, busy room didn’t feel much like a brig. Aisha had been delighted to see them, although the Earther guard had kept away anyone else, keeping the two from Thromberg in a corner. A shame, thought Pardell, the reason for their most recent liberation was the destruction of his home.

  He counted to one hundred and one under his breath, tapping a finger surreptitiously against one thigh. Malley hated it when he was compulsive, but right now, the old habit was all Pardell could claim as his own.

  “Rosalind has the right to let the Earthers on board,” he’d told the indignant Malley, along with other not-quites like: “I wasn’t planning to go back to the ’Mate regardless,” and “I don’t care what happens to her.” The ship—or Rosalind? Or the Earther? He was confused himself which her he meant.

  Malley likely bought it all. Easy to convince him about disliking the ’Mate. He’d been on board only once, that horrific day he’d lost his mother and been forced Outside. Suffice it to say the ’Mate held no good memories for the stationer.

  She held those and everything else for Pardell. Now the ’Mate was lost to him—Danger, Damage, Thieves!—Pardell’s insides churned with grief. His ship was more than home and shelter. She’d been a companion and mother, confidant and playmate. If he imagined how the ship might feel in return, he grew almost paralyzed.

  He understood the method of attack—better than Malley. They’d tear the ’Mate apart, if allowed. That’s what the launchers did. There was no science or plan when attackers welded them on and set them off, no matter how they claimed to be trying to peacefully remove squatters. Ships cracked and their human insides spilled out, scrambling for shelter in other ships, or crawling into the station to beg for air.

  He’d miss Raner’s teaching vids the most—who’d have thought it? Dry things—a self-conscious man doing his best to provide an education for his son. And his readers. Probably the Earthers had the same titles and thousands more, but not the ones he’d held until his hands cramped, until his eyes throbbed, Until . . .

  “Aaron. Stay in the here and now, if you please. We have a situation to deal with—remember?” Malley, seeming satisfied by Pardell’s look upward that he had his attention, waved the comm device in the air. “I gave one of these to Syd. But we need to tell him who’d be in range of your ship. The nearest section, at least. It’s the late end of odd-cycle night. Who are we likely dealing with?”

  “In other words, who wants me dead?”

  Malley’s face tried to restructure itself into denial and failed. Instead, his friend’s broad mouth turned down at the ends, and he gave a sigh like a bellows emptying. “Fine. Who wants you dead? Although I was hoping we could stick to guessing who’d want Her Ladyship cast adrift for a few days.”

  “Her Ladyship?”

  “Gail. Gail Smith. The Earther behind all this mess? The woman who causes trouble just by breathing? The plague—?”

  “Then why’d you kiss her?” Pardell asked.

  Wonders, Malley actually blushed. “Who told you about that?”

  Pardell’s eyebrows shot up involuntarily. “You mean you did?”

  “Listen,” Malley started to say, then rubbed one hand over his face. “Forget it. What can we do from here to help them out? Who can we reach—?”

  Who cares? Pardell thought, but didn’t say it out loud. Regardless if something was or wasn’t going on between Malley and Dr. Smith, past experience had taught him the pointlessness of expressing an opinion about any female Malley found enticing. And there was always, he remembered with unexpected amusement, at least one.

  “The nearest access point to the Merry Mate II,” he told his friend, “is E49.”

  Malley’s expression was all he could have wished. “You’re kidding.”

  “Would I joke at a time like this? About something so important?”

  “That’s the closest ’lock to Sammie’s. You never use that one. All these years, you’ve made me hike a quarter spin around Outward Five with you. No matter how drunk or how late or how many were chasing us—and you lived right there!”

  Pardell shrugged nonchalantly. “Makes sense, don’t you think?”

  “Only to a paranoid ’sider,” Malley said with a growl. “Okay. So Sammie should know what’s going on—if anyone does.” He held up the comm as if to use it, then paused, glaring at Pardell. “Right there, huh? All this time.”

  Pardell gave his most innocent look.

  The clarity of the voices, all of them, impressed Pardell—the present conversation didn’t. He stood as close to Malley’s shoulder as he dared, out of habit knowing to allow space for the bigger man to swing his arms when exasperated. Malley never had figured out how much useful air that took from a room.

  The stationer had also failed to calculate just how drunk their friends might be at this hour. “Syd, just get to the bar and pass this over to Sammie, okay?”

  “Hi, Malley!” Syd said happily, and for the third time, shouting to be heard over that dull, familiar, background roar. “How’sss tings—thhh-ings?”

  It might have been funny, except that lives hung in the balance. The Earthers had set up a more powerful comm system on one of the lab benches, not wanting to risk a smaller unit being jammed. Given the amount of attention the receiver of the signal was paying to its content, Pardell thought almost hysterically, the extra power hardly made any difference.

  “SAMMIE. NOW.”

  Well, there was the bellow into the pickup grille approach. The Earther helping them, Taggart, winced with Pardell.

  “You don’t have to shout, Malley,” Syd said with the abused dignity of the truly soused. There were some indeterminate sounds, including a curse or two and what might have been a chair breaking, then a new voice.

  “Malley?”

  “Tanya,” a word spoken with complete relief “We’re okay,” Malley said quickly and urgently. “Aaron, too. But I need to talk to your grandfather.”

  A rustle overlaid the drone of voices and clink of mugs. Pardell could almost see Tanya turning from the crowd—waving an apology to those howling at being abandoned—then edging past the other bartenders until she was again
st the back wall. “He’s not here tonight,” breathless and low. “He and the older ones had a meeting. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

  “Ask her. What was the meeting about?” Pardell whispered, feeling suddenly cold inside. “Was it about me?”

  Malley made a shushing gesture with one hand. “Tanya. What were they talking about—do you know?”

  “Where are you? On the Earther’s ship—the way Syd’s been saying?”

  “Yes. Now about you—”

  “Is Aaron there?”

  When Pardell would have answered, Malley repeated his gesture to silence him. “He’s on the ship, but not right here,” Malley lied easily. “Should I get him?”

  Then Pardell lost any urge to speak as Tanya said in a low, distressed voice: “No. Don’t get him. But it’s good he’s on the ship with you. That’s really good, Malley. You keep him there, okay? There’s bad things running the halls about him—things people here, who grew up with Aaron, don’t believe. You have to tell him that.”

  “I will,” Malley said in a strangled voice. “But I need to know what kinds of things, Tanya. How serious is it? The man wants to get home eventually.”

  She didn’t answer for so long, Pardell wondered if their link had been severed. He looked over at Taggart, who was monitoring the equipment. The Earther shrugged and nodded, as if to say everything was still okay.

  “What are they saying, Tanya?” Malley repeated.

  “That Aaron killed some stationers for the Earthers. That he’s got some kind of power. Power like the—”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the Quill. It’s foolish stuff. The kind that rattles around here when there’s nothing better to talk about. No one believes it.”

  “Are Sammie and the older ones talking, Tanya? Or are they doing something?”

  Pardell shaped the word No with his lips. Don’t ask, he begged silently, too late. I can’t hear this.

  Don’t answer it.

  “Aaron’s with you for sure, Malley? On the Earther ship?” Anxiety in her voice now. No denying it. “There was word he’d come back to his own—Outside. People started acting crazy, Malley.”

  “Aaron’s sleeping in the next room,” Malley told her in so calm, so friendly a voice, only the cords standing out on his neck betrayed the effort it took to keep it that way. “They’re taking good care of us both. Prime stuff, all the way. Real orange juice.”

  “Thank God.” That break in the words. She was crying now.

  “So Sammie and the others—which others, Tanya?”

  “All sorts. Immies. Stationers. Some ’siders. They needed a bigger place to meet—Sylvie grabbed her extra sweater. It’s cold in the aft—” her voice faded.

  “Docking ring,” Malley said, words falling like rocks now. “They’ve gone after Aaron’s ship, haven’t they? That’s why Syd’s drunk himself stiff—he couldn’t bear to think our own would turn on Aaron like that.”

  Sobbing now. Tanya never cried. Heaven knew what the rest at the bar would think at the sight. “Malley—I tried to stop them. They don’t think Aaron’s in control of it any more. They’re—afraid.”

  “Listen to me, Tanya,” Malley said “You get there—or send someone reliable. Those are Earthers on Aaron’s ship right now. They’ve gone to get his stuff, hear me? If anything happens to them, you know Earth is going to send troops in—they’ll want heads bagged and ready to go. You get the word to them that Aaron’s here and staying here. Where he’s safe from his friends.” This last with a bitterness that made Pardell close his eyes briefly.

  “I’ll do it, Malley. But you’re wrong about his friends. Tell Aaron,” her voice choked, then went on: “Tell Aaron his friends stayed here. All of us. We know what he is—and it isn’t what they say. Syd and the rest, they told us it wasn’t Aaron’s fault. Those out there—they’re parents and parents’ parents. They want to protect us. They’ve been doing it so long now, they don’t know what to protect us from anymore. Tell Aaron that, Malley. Make him understand it, if you can. Please.”

  “I’m not sure I do, but I’ll try. You keep the comm, Tanya,” Malley said gruffly. “Damn Syd can’t hold his beer at the best of times. I don’t know when I’ll be back your way. But I will.”

  At Malley’s signal, Taggart switched off the unit and the sounds of Sammie’s Tavern were gone.

  Pardell listened to imaginary echoes; it was easy in the complete silence surrounding him. Without looking up, he turned and walked away.

  He didn’t know what his face showed.

  He did know he didn’t want anyone, even Malley, to see it.

  Chapter 45

  “STATIONERS and immies with ’sider help. That’s a new Sone,” Rosalind pronounced, the curl of her lip and disdainful tone suggesting this wasn’t a development she personally favored in the least. “You do have a talent for stirring the pot, don’t you?”

  “I’d say your spoon was in this one as well,” Gail retorted.

  They were still in the Merry Mate II, but Grant had moved them into the air lock—tight quarters, but the sturdiest available. Most likely, he also wanted them close to the only exit. They’d had a terse report from one of Grant’s people. Malley had succeeded in contacting the station and identifying those outside. It remained to be proved if he’d accomplished more than that.

  Still, the ship had been quiet for several minutes. When Gail had ventured this was a positive sign, Rosalind had reminded her about the launchers and how the stationers were likely welding the small rocket packs all over the hull. Quietly.

  Ironic, Gail told herself. To come so far, with all the latest technology at her disposal, only to be stopped in her tracks by the very people her success would help most. She supposed it was her own hubris, not to have laid all her cards out in front of the station, to assume she could breeze through here, grab what she needed, and leave.

  A strategy that had always worked nicely in Sol System.

  The comm link activated. From the slight distortion, it was from Seeker.

  “I want to talk to Dr. Smith, please.”

  The voice was male, but unfamiliar. She didn’t know all of Grant’s people. “This is Dr. Smith.”

  An odd pause, as if the other person was checking something, or hesitating. “Yes,” Gail prompted. “What is it? Do you have any word on Malley yet? Was he able to talk some sense into these people?”

  “Can Rosalind Fournier hear me, too?”

  Oh, no, Gail thought, feeling the blood draining from her face and hands. It’s Aaron Pardell. Who’d authorized him—?

  “Yes. This is an open signal, young Aaron,” Rosalind’s voice came through Gail’s helmet. She couldn’t see her, or anyone but Grant and Bennett from her position, squeezed at the rear of the ’Mate’s airlock. “I am pleased you are—back.”

  “You let them on my ship, Rosalind.” His statement wasn’t quite an accusation. There was a note of puzzlement, Gail decided, as if Pardell groped for understanding rather than condemned. “You gave them my codes.”

  “You were unconscious, young Aaron,” Rosalind informed him, the truth as she knew it. Then her voice acquired a sharper note: “Or were you?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, to Gail’s surprise.

  “Can we open the air lock without being attacked?” Grant asked impatiently, obviously not caring who gave them the good news.

  “I want my things.”

  “We have all of your ship’s data, including personal logs,” Gail said quickly. He couldn’t mean the rags hanging in the corridors.

  “What personal logs? Rosalind? What is she talking about?”

  “A layer of encrypted records that predate Raner’s, young Aaron. From your family. The Earthers knew it was here.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Grant muttered. Louder: “Pardell. You can discuss anything you like with Dr. Smith once we’re back on the Seeker. Is it safe to go outside or not?”

  The calm, gentle voice seemed
impervious to the commander’s parade-ground snap. “Rosalind? Show them where to find the readers from my cabin. And Myriam’s sketches. There are some things in my trunk. Just bring it all. And don’t forget the ’Mate’s certification. It should come off the wall pretty easily. I’d like to keep that.”

  Gail could see Grant’s face inside his helmet and it looked apoplectic. “Mr. Pardell,” she began, unsure if the ’sider was taking some bizarre revenge on her or had left some of his brains in the tank—but quite sure she was going to talk to Tobo about who’d let Pardell take over this comm link. When she was back on board. “This is Dr. Smith. We’d like to bring your things, but this is an emergency situation. There simply isn’t time—”

  “I’m not crazy, Dr. Smith, You see, that’s my life you’re going to pack up for me. I think it’s only fair, considering you’re the one who made it impossible for me to continue living it. And there’s plenty of time.” The gentle voice became even softer, but somehow Gail felt a chill running down her spine, as though each word was an icy finger. “Anyone can leave the ’Mate without harm, as long as it isn’t me. You’ve made sure of that, Dr. Smith. Those outside the ship—stationer, immie, ’sider—they’re going to wait and see. They need to be absolutely sure Malley told them the truth, that I’m leaving with you.

  “You wanted me, Dr. Smith,” Pardell’s voice continued. “By making sure no one else does—you’ve got me.

  “And don’t forget my socks. They should be dry by now.”

  A rough estimate? She’d been in the shower stall twenty minutes—about a quarter of the time it had taken to scour every conceivable personal belonging of Mr. Aaron Pardell out of its cupboard, box, and corner, everything tossed into bags or tied in bundles, then ferried through the ship’s dank, dark corridors to the air lock. The seemingly-permanent, fifteen-degree list of the ’Mate hadn’t helped.

  Gail wasn’t going to begin to guess how many trips she’d made herself. She had blisters on both feet from her mag boots.