by Kathy Tyers
Something to do with the volcanoes, he guessed. Twisting the dial on the prospectors’ antenna rotor, he tried listening for Center. In that direction, he heard silence. Encouraged—at least it wasn’t static—he called, “Hello, Center?” He leaned closer to Kevan’s button mike and tried again. “This is Trev LZalle. Emergency. Center, do you copy?”
Into his fifth pause came a faint voice. “LZalle, we read you. This is Center, Echo Five 632. Where are you? Do you have an operating number?”
Elated, Trev whooped. “Echo Five 632, yeah, um, I’m at . . . 2.15 degrees south, 4.7 degrees west.”
“We read you, LZalle. Operating number?”
“Jeez,” he exclaimed. Were the idiots going to stand on procedure? “I have an injured man here. Concussion. Repeat, my friend has a concussion. Possible brain injury. He’s been unconscious almost twenty-four hours. Can you send a medical team?”
―――
Edie Varberg stared at the two children who lay sleeping alongside the wall in the “room” she and Will had found—a half empty medical storage area. Their own daughters, long grown, long gone, had been this small once. It would’ve nearly killed her to have had them kidnapped, no matter how happy the outcome.
These children wouldn’t be harmed, of course. But she understood why Lindon DalLierx needed to suspect they might. Will had explained carefully. Since the Trident’s first eruption, her night terrors had returned, wakening her screaming and sweating. If Chairman DalLierx didn’t perceive a threat, the shuttle coming to fly her back to hab life might not have been launched.
One child rolled over, whimpering.
“Will,” she called softly, “they’re beginning to move.”
Her husband sat cross-legged in the corner nearest the door, mumbling to his pocket memo. He put it down. “Take care of them. Best if they don’t wake up all the way.”
Edie pulled the whimpering one—Sarai, the smaller—to her feet. With her arms around the girl’s shoulders, she sleepwalked her to the chamber pot they’d set up behind cargo containers. Helping the little girl with her needs reminded Edie of the sweet days when she had toddlers of her own.
She covered the pot with a plate-shaped lid. Then from a distilled-water flask, she filled a small beaker and reached into her pocket.
Her groping hand didn’t find what she needed. “Oh. Sit down, Sarai. I’ll be right back.”
The groggy child obeyed, sliding down the wall to sit against it. Edie handed her the beaker. She held it two-handed, staring.
Edie approached her husband.
“Now what?”
She looked down at the concrete floor. On second thought, maybe she could find them herself. “Oh, nothing,” she said. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”
Will scowled, and she realized she’d better explain. He was so jumpy these days! “I forgot and repacked the pills. She’s still not quite awake.”
To her relief, he grunted and went back to work.
Now, where did she put that prescription? She rummaged into the large flexcase she and Will had packed. The vial wasn’t in the side pocket where she expected to find it. Perhaps, by mistake, she’d tucked it into Will’s kit bag. She opened the small leather pouch. Several prescriptions were in there, normal for a man his age . . .
What was this? She lifted an aerosol inhaler wrapped in offworld plastic. A typed label read Staph 6-ICZ.
She almost dropped it. Why, that was the organism that had nearly killed Chairman DalLierx. What was it doing here? She turned the inhaler in her hand. It would be easy to hold this to the mouth and nose of a drugged, sleeping child . . .
Her hand fluttered. For weeks, she’d wondered if Will needed psychiatric help. She’d been afraid to admit it to herself, terrified to suggest it to him. She needed to get him away, safely off Goddard, before he hurt someone.
It looked as if he’d already tried.
Horrified, she repacked Will’s kit, then searched her own. The sleeping tablets were tucked into her hairbrush’s hollow handle.
Prying off the cap as she crossed the little room, she returned to Sarai. The thin child blinked. “Here,” Edie murmured. She shook out half the pill she’d broken earlier, presenting it between thumb and middle finger. “Swallow this. Good girl.”
Sarai gulped the white half-tab with water and let Edie guide her back to her sleeping spot. It hadn’t been this easy to drug them the first time. Merria HoBrace slept on; since she was larger, they’d forced a full adult tablet down her throat. Edie shuddered at the memory. Poor things.
Edie freshened her lipgloss, then lingered, screened behind the cargo containers.
It was one thing when Will hit her, because she’d married him knowing his wild, romantic nature. But others . . . It might be easier to use that aerosol a second time. She wanted to leave Goddard—desperately—but not so desperately that she’d let her husband harm a child.
She peered around the barrier at him. This was the man who’d fathered her daughters, who’d bought them pretty things, who’d wept openly at their graduations and weddings. He’d felt so bad about what happened to Jon Mahera. What had happened to her husband on Messier, and now here in this terrible place? He needed rest and a chance to escape the hideous planetary environment. If this was the same organism that was given Chairman DalLierx, it would take time to act. Antibiotics, promptly administered, would prevent tragedy.
Unless he’d already made them breathe it, while she slept? That thought made her gasp. No, no, he wouldn’t!
Even if he hadn’t, they could be arrested as kidnappers.
It was a little late to think of that, but she ought to try to free the girls. It would be difficult, since they couldn’t run.
Then she pulled back behind the screen, reconsidering. Will was so frightened. He hated Goddard, hated it when she questioned his plans, and he was determined to stay with Gaea. The tension had become so bad she’d had to hide one bruise for weeks. She couldn’t have lied if Melantha Lee had seen it.
She ached to do something, but her brain just didn’t seem to function independently anymore.
God’s Elect
Trev swung through the hall door into Graysha’s lab. Ignoring the sudden dig of Emmer’s short claws, Graysha wrapped her arms around him. “You made it!” she cried. “You’re all right!”
“If you’re going to hug people, do it right.” He kissed her enthusiastically, his breath heavy with smoked meat.
Emmer growled. Graysha pulled free, stroking Emmer to calm her down. Today, feeling as if she’d ignored her pet too much, she wore the beast. Emmer would help her stay awake, too. She was sleeping less every night, then dragging around her lab all day—even on this sunny Bday. “What happened? Where did you go down?”
Jirina hurried in, clutching a marking stylus. “Did I hear Trevish?”
“You did.” He seized Jirina, kissed her, too, then backed up to a countertop. He planted his hands on it and sprang up to sit. “We set down out in the wild when we saw the storm coming. Ran into a couple of loners—prospectors. Waited out the storm there. Yukio got a concussion,” he added, tucking his chin sheepishly. “It wasn’t a good landing, and it wasn’t until Center flew him out that he came to.”
“Is he hurt?”
“Yeah, but he’ll be all right. Got dishes to wash?”
Startled, Graysha eyed him, looking for some outward change to match this sudden shift in his attitude. He seemed downright eager, as if he’d made peace with some demon of inward terror.
Jirina crossed her chest with one arm and curled her fingers around her biceps. “You heard Varberg snatched those two little—”
Trev nodded vigorously. “I told you he was schizic. Are they sending D-group over?”
If only you knew how crazy, Graysha thought, and for how long. But the new theory of attempted murder was still secret. “Not that I heard,” she said. “But they’re finally holding elections today.”
Trev snickered. “I’ll
bet DalLierx is so hot over Varberg he’s toasting the ceiling.”
Graysha shut her eyes, disappointed. “Oh, Trev. Have a heart. That’s his child.” Then she remembered how Trev felt about his own father. “He really loves his little girl,” she added.
“Okay.” Still looking mightily pleased with himself, he jumped down. Jirina bumped him with one hip, spun around, and headed out.
“Trev, wait,” Graysha called. “Come here.” When Jirina’s footsteps had faded and Trev stood close enough to hear her whisper, she added, “I tried to inventory Varberg’s organisms. Someone sterilized the entire tube rack, right here in my lab. I’m almost ready to give up.”
“That’s too bad.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the glassware racks. “Hey, when you make CFCs, what’s the hardest ingredient to get hold of? Did you tell me it was carbon?”
She no longer cared if he really listened or learned. She had life-and-death matters to worry about. “That’s right, elemental carbon. Why?”
“Because I think we might’ve found some.” Whistling, he opened the ion-field sterilizer and started unloading glassware.
Graysha signed on the net and sent a message to Lindon’s office. +Prospectors, where Trev came down—carbon source? GBP+ Really, it was just an excuse to contact him. She needed to communicate with someone who cared. Yesterday, she’d sent one last message to the HMF, appealing the denial of her clearance refusal. Yael GurEshel was not answering her queries.
Lindon didn’t answer right away, either. He had to be busy with election affairs. Yawning, she checked her t-o button, popped a sour candy into her mouth, and returned to her workload. It had been so long since she’d felt rested. Recent tests on the drip greenhouses showed the beginnings of a mycotic infection. Keying up the appropriate sample, she set a DNA analysis to run.
Evidently, she would contribute nothing more here than what Gaea Consortium hired her for.
She made it to lunch, then dragged through the afternoon. At four-thirty, she switched her terminal on to the colony net and lugged a scope from her lab into the office to count spores on stained bacterial slides. At 4:45, letters started appearing on the screen. She made herself watch the counter finish before looking up.
General Election
Colonial Affairs Chair, Axis Plantation
Lindon DalLierx, 1425 votes, 48%
Ari MaiJidda, 1459 votes, 49.5%
Write-in candidates, 59 votes, 2.5%
Graysha leaned back in her chair, stunned. She’d never expected this. Lindon worked himself ragged for these people, and—by thirty-four votes, which the write-ins might have affected—they tossed him out. He should demand a recount.
She knew Lindon too well, though. He wouldn’t do that.
Just like that, this suddenly, the rules in this little planetary drama had changed.
He might leave Axis for one of the other settlements. She might never see him again.
That shouldn’t bother her. She shouldn’t waste emotional energy on someone who had other priorities, and she’d wasted too much time this afternoon. Springing to her feet, she pushed back her desk chair. On her way up the corridor, mentally planning to tidy up details of her granary check, she stumbled to a halt. She’d shut off automatic watering in that drip greenhouse two days ago and never switched it back on.
She wheeled around so quickly Emmer dug in with all twenty again, and she jogged the other way.
Just inside the greenhouse’s door, she paused. “Look, Emmer,” she whispered, “it’s all right.” The gribien answered with soft throat clicks, the kind she often gave if intrigued by some scent or sound.
“Wheat,” Graysha explained. “Here, smell.” Carefully she plucked one stalk and held it to Emmer’s nose. Tiny white teeth showed momentarily, latching on to the stalk. Graysha sank down on the walkway, relaxing. Crisis upon crisis might drive humans to distraction, but the gribien’s perspective never changed. If food existed, life was good.
Slowly, Emmer munched her way up the stalk toward the seed head. Slowly, Graysha’s eyes closed.
―――
When Ari MaiJidda arrived at the Colonial Affairs office after dinner, one secretary sprang up to shake her hand and said, “Congratulations, Chair MaiJidda.” Others stayed at their desks, some smiling approval, some turning away from their work to nod at her. Lindon’s door hung open.
Hitching her carry-case higher under one arm, she strode toward the office door and knocked on its frame.
“Come in,” he called. As she stepped in, she saw him sweep something from a wall cupboard into a well-used cargo box. “I’ll try and be out before the swearing-in.” He glanced up. “Oh, there’s been a carbon find where Trevarre LZalle was stranded. You’ll want to check it out.”
“That and ten thousand other things. Take your time.” She leaned against the windowsill, reviewing mental lists of people whose jobs she wanted shifted and programs she meant to change. She had new incentives in mind for metals prospecting. Without better ores, D-group would never achieve respectable military status. More research assistants for Port Arbor. And new religious education would start immediately at the crèche level. That excited her most of all.
When he started rolling the cargo box toward the door, she pushed away from the window. “What plans do you have?” she asked. Not that she cared, but she was curious.
“For now, to take a few Goddardays off and finish recovering. Yael GurEshel has been chasing me with sleeping pills.”
And then what would he do? She studied his back as he packed another compartment. He didn’t look as slump-shouldered as she had hoped.
So what? The point wasn’t to beat him. The point was to win.
What to do with him now? He’d often said he considered the chair a two-person job, but if she needed an assistant, she would not hire him. She’d designated an aide to maintain the accelerated D-group training schedule, for now. “Quick trip to Hannes?” she guessed. “You must feel rather awkward about the situation over there. Maybe you could help free Sarai.”
“Awkward,” he said brusquely, “isn’t the word. When you have children, you’ll understand.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“Anyway,” he said without turning around, “I wouldn’t accomplish anything. I’d get in Chenny’s way. Do let me know,” he added, shifting his feet to reach for his precious antique books, “if you think of positions where I could be useful.”
She despised his accommodating nature. “I will.” The first position that came to mind involved dry-waste recycling.
Another knock at the door preceded Kenn and Taidje. Half a dozen other colonial officials—Second Circle committee members and advisers—followed them in. Ari straightened up, smiling. If the Noetics were right and she had an aura, it probably glowed.
The swearing-in lasted five minutes. Taking possession, she sat down in the tall chair and clasped her hands on the desktop.
Strain lines showed at Lindon’s eyes. Events had swept along quickly, and she guessed he needed to be alone for a while.
Taidje FreeLand touched his arm and turned to his successor. “Ari,” he said, “no matter what’s still on record for your use, this man has two terrannums of invaluable experience. I suggest the Colonial Affairs Committee retain him as senior advisor, to ease the transition.”
Kenn VandenNeill lifted his square chin. “I would second that if you made it a motion.”
She hesitated. They’d think her arrogant if she refused in front of so many people. “Yes, Lindon,” she said smoothly, “stick around. I want to talk to you before I turn in tonight.”
In his glance down at his cargo box and the hand that twitched, she saw that he wanted to escape. “That would be fine,” he said.
One by one, the others congratulated her and moved toward the door. She heard “Good work, DalLierx,” from a secretarial worker whose name she’d forgotten.
Ari caressed the chair’s armrests, l
etting Lindon wait a few moments longer. If he stayed at Axis Plantation and had time on his hands, he might spend time with Novia Brady-Phillips’s daughter, courting her toward that commitment to Goddard, telling her dangerous secrets.
It was high time Graysha rejoined the D-group.
“Would you close the door?” she asked when the last of her congratulators slipped out.
Lindon shut it and took the side chair. She smiled, liking the look of him sitting down there.
“I want a full report on Dr. Brady-Phillips’s atmospheric research to date,” she said bluntly. “Also, have you supported it from this office in any material way? It’s imperative to have that work completed rapidly.”
He frowned before he started talking. She didn’t care. Let him suspect her motives. He had to support her in this. It was very nearly his favorite cause, and she wanted that research wrapped up quickly.
At Graysha’s next D-group session, Ari’s aide would make sure the woman was pushed hard enough to need that glucodermic.
―――
Half an hour later, Trev LZalle stood on the other side of Ari’s new desk. The light of purpose shone in his eyes. His news about the prospectors encouraged her. Maybe he would also help her tap the LZalle resources.
First, she had to find out if Graysha already knew—or guessed—what Lindon planned for her. Those gene-pure children he wanted to give her would be his if she had probes done, and Ari bristled at the thought. “I have a job for you this evening,” she told Trev, “one I think you’ll enjoy. But you’ll need Dr. Brady-Phillips’s assistance. By the way, has she ever implied she might consider a permanent change of residence to Goddard?”
He wrinkled his pug nose. “Implied? Huh. That’s a pretty loose word. Maybe. I don’t know. Don’t think so. I think she still feels Goddard is dangerous to her health.”
If he only knew. Under her desk, she drummed the fingers of her left hand on her knee. Carefully, casually, she winked. “Is she still sweet on DalLierx?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Visibly.”
A chill tickled her between the shoulder blades. If Trev was that sure, she had every reason to go ahead with her plan. “How quickly could you assemble gear for this atmospheric sampling she wants to do?”
