by Kathy Tyers
With the inoculations complete and locked down, she had no reason not to go back to her rooms and bathe thoroughly. It felt good to get the broth-and-spoilage work scent off her body. In an effort to look as professional as possible, she took an offworld dress suit out of her drawer and shook out the wrinkles. Emmer uncurled and stretched on the bed as she pulled on the off-white ensemble, and Graysha was reaching down to stroke her when someone knocked.
“Just a minute,” she called. She adjusted her hair tie in front of the mirror, slipped a few essential items into one jacket pocket, then opened the door. Trev waited there, wearing local browncloth, but these were darker, more formal pants than she’d seen him wear before, and his shirt was embroidered with crimson floss in a parallel-zigzag design.
“An attempt to please the old man.” He ran a hand along the pattern. “I went shopping.”
She eyed him closely. He stood evenly braced on both feet, and his jaw twitched. “Couldn’t hurt,” she said. There was no need to tell him she saw his fear. She hoped he was overestimating his father’s wrath.
“Thought you might appreciate company for lunch.”
“Sure. I’m ready. Let’s go.”
She picked a pasty with gravy from the Gaea cafeteria’s selection. Despite Dr. Lee’s warning, Trev chose a table far from where Jirina and Paul were already eating. The big room was still almost empty. Apparently Lee hadn’t called in the colonists yet.
Where, she wondered, was Lindon? “Trev?” She tipped her head in Jirina’s direction. “Over there, with them?”
Trev frowned. “Today I think I’ll take my chances with the colonists.” He quirked an eyebrow, regaining a hint of the cocky Trev she knew. “But if you’d feel safer with Paul Ilizarov—”
“No,” she said firmly. “This is fine.”
Trev’s first sandwich vanished almost instantly. The second went down slower. Watching the cafeteria’s fanfold door, Graysha spotted Melantha Lee by her broad silhouette and curly gray hair. She spoke to someone, who immediately rapped a fork against a drinking glass. General conversation dribbled away to silence.
“The Gaea representatives’ shuttle reached parking orbit roughly thirty minutes ago,” Lee said. Hands behind her back, standing with her dark dress coat hanging open, she tapped a foot on concrete. “We anticipate lander arrival in about forty minutes. Please sit close together and leave tables for colonists who choose to attend. Thank you.” She joined the shortest lunch line.
“Guess we can stay here,” Graysha observed. “Or you can. Now that I think of it, I should pick up some hard copies over at the lab.” And check my organisms. “Save me a place, all right?”
Trev grunted. His hands had started twitching again.
“You don’t seem quite yourself.”
He pulled back his hands and sat on them. “I wish you wouldn’t put it like that. If he’s got any kind of legal papers with him, I probably won’t look like myself in about one month.”
Despite scars and blotches, she’d come to like that face. “Why are you sticking around, then? Take that copter Lee offered me. Go find Kevan—”
He pursed his lips and said, “I don’t know why I don’t. Maybe I just hate to run again. Maybe I hope I can buck him this time. Graysha, he means to make things ugly for Gaea. For Goddard. And for me most of all, but . . . well, we’ll see.”
She eyed her young assistant. Maybe he wanted to face his father as a man, instead of hiding. He really was growing up. “Good for you, Trev,” she muttered. She folded her napkin. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”
Back in her lab, she waved Kevan’s key across the lock of his water bath safe, and it popped open. Her cross-inoculated tubes sat in the water bath in neatly numbered rows, all 576 of them. Four hours after inoculation, it was too early for turbidity or color change, but she couldn’t resist holding a few to the light. Every one remained as clear and blue as she’d left it.
She sniffed one, then smiled. Thanks to Kevan—and Lindon—this time she had no fear of disinfectant.
On her desktop, where she’d left it, lay a black folder. Fearing she’d find it empty, she opened it. Inside were several sheets of precious paper, hard copy authorized by Lee for the occasion and printed down at Lee’s office. Graysha lifted them one by one. Here was her original proposal. Here was new scanning-scope and DNA-filter data on S. gaeaii’s rugged cell walls, which protected the organism so well from free chlorine, and a second proposal suggesting possible procedures for combating the gaeaii strain with by-products of whatever new bacterium inhibited its growth . . . if she could find one that did.
At least Lee was letting her hypothesize.
Ruefully she read the second proposal. S. gaeaii’s exponential multiplication could be intercepted before passing out of control, she was suggesting, if Gaea Consortium instigated emergency measures immediately: biochemical protection for soil streps already in place, if possible, followed by a massive cloud spraying effort. Even, maybe, comet harvesting to try replacing cloud water that the sprays could bring down.
Can we do it? she wondered. She almost wished she could stay here, on the job, instead of attending the meeting.
Before heading for the elevator, she locked everything down one more time and pushed her key deep into a pocket of her suit pants.
When she reached the hub again on her way back to the Gaea cafeteria, a crowd of colonists flowed toward Gaea housing. She let the press carry her. Shoves from either side, rougher than they needed to be, confirmed Lee’s guess—the colonists weren’t feeling friendly today.
At the big doors, she saw that someone had moved the tables close to the cafeteria’s open end, creating standing room near the servers. Other people sat between tables on the concrete floor. Trev perched sideways on their bench, fending off interlopers.
“Thanks.” Graysha slid into the spot he’d saved. Immediately, a woman wearing smudged coveralls wedged in alongside her.
Graysha peered around, searching for Lindon. Near the food lines, Melantha Lee waited with Thad Urbansky, Antonia Fong, Will Varberg, and Varberg’s D-group bodyguard. In that group, no one but the guards looked at Varberg. Graysha didn’t see his wife, Edie, anywhere.
After several minutes, a track-cart’s rumble approached out in the corridor. The general roar of conversation died out. The track-cart appeared at the broad doors, and several people stepped off. One woman wore the blue-and-green Gaea uniform Graysha hadn’t seen since leaving Halley Hab. One man wore ExPress Shuttle gray. Behind them strutted a dark-skinned man with wildly incongruous red hair. He wore absolute black. Judging from Trev’s slouch toward the table, he knew him.
So did someone in the back. A chant started over on one side: “Blase, Blase, Blase.” Someone else shushed it.
The man’s face, Graysha decided as he walked up an aisle toward the serving area, was neither strikingly handsome nor gruesome. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but Blase LZalle, in person, wasn’t the monster who chased Trev through her dreams. Slightly taller than Trev, he walked with a confident, swaying gait. Trev comes by his cockiness naturally, she observed. Two other arrivals, following the lead group, were dressed like techs. Graysha barely glanced at them before settling her stare on the uniformed Flora Hauwk. Gray hair pulled severely back from her face did nothing to soften a long thrust of nose, and from ten meters away the woman’s flawless skin gleamed like ivory. Only her quick, shallow breathing hinted that she had to be in her seventies—or was that her reaction to Goddard’s strange smell?
Graysha took a cautious sniff. She no longer noticed the odor.
The cafeteria quieted. Melantha Lee needed no amplification to make a formal welcome. Hauwk shook hands with all the department heads but Varberg. When he was introduced, colonists sitting on the floor near Graysha whispered, heads nodding.
Lindon appeared out of the crowd, wearing a finely tailored gray wool suit, its short coat double-breasted with a pronounced waist. H
e, too, had to be saving offworld clothes for special occasions—expensive offworld clothes, she realized. Seeing him dressed like that, after what transpired yesterday in the HMF lab, made her wish she stood beside him, offering whatever support she could. Taidje FreeLand followed Lindon, then Kenn VandenNeill, both dressed tastefully, though Lindon would have stood out even if she weren’t drawn to him like a needle to magnetic north.
Where was Ari MaiJidda, the colony’s new CCA? Working feverishly at the D-group building, Graysha guessed. She was probably watching space for other arrivals and posting guards at sensitive locations.
Handshakes were repeated with the man in black. Colonists in the back and on the floors remained silent this time. Watching, listening.
“Gentlemen and women,” VandenNeill said loudly, “I understand there are several topics on your agenda. One which we wish to add, and to discuss as early as possible, is the matter of possible refinancing.”
A woman sitting close to Graysha on the floor leaned toward her neighbor, lips moving rapidly. Her sweaty neighbor glared at the Gaea group.
VandenNeill continued without pausing. “Extremely rich boron ore has been found south of here, and Goddard Colony would like to petition for the application of a substantial payment to the principal of our colonizing loan.”
A few colonists standing in back clapped approval. Clearly surprised, Supervisor Hauwk accepted several sheets of paper from VandenNeill and scanned them rapidly.
Now, Graysha guessed, Hauwk would want to know where Ari was.
To her astonishment, Trev sprang up off his seat and climbed onto the tabletop. “Blase,” he shouted. “Dad, whatever you’re planning, I need to talk to you first.”
“His son?” Graysha heard the loud whisper from a group of pigtailed young women near the end of a table. Heads turned, zeroing in on the famous performer’s offspring.
“Hah,” said Blase LZalle. “And you thought—”
“Wait,” Trev called out. “Whatever you’ve got to say, hold it for five minutes. Let me talk to you.”
A sea of sitting colonists parted for Trev to push his way forward. Flora Hauwk stood scanning VandenNeill’s papers. Graysha held her breath.
By the time Trev reached his father, he was already talking earnestly, gesturing with both hands. To Graysha’s relief, the older man cocked his head and gave every appearance of listening.
Hauwk raised her head. “These are indeed interesting, Vice-Chair VandenNeill. I will read them carefully, later. However, it is the state of the ecosphere we have come to discuss. That matter must be settled before we speak of finances—or of mineral mining, which can be done even on uninhabited asteroids, using proper equipment. Dr. Lee, I believe you wished to speak?”
Melantha Lee produced her own handful of hard copy. “Thank you, Supervisor Hauwk. I will try to be brief.” As Trev and his father backed away from the serving area—Trev was gesticulating now, waving one arm out toward the wild—Lee reviewed the state of terraforming on Goddard, listing growth and successes along with regressions and failures. Graysha noticed she said nothing about atmospheric tampering or Graysha’s efforts to counteract it. Graysha’s neighbor picked at a loose thread on her sleeve.
Lee called the department heads forward one by one. Urbansky insisted the volcanic eruptions posed no insurmountable threat and urged continuation of the Goddard project. Antonia Fong’s testimony was more disappointing. The difficulty of fencing small ecosystem areas suggested a need to work with larger overlapping ranges. Ben Emerson claimed the only significant sociological problems had been friction between Lwuite colonists and Gaea employees, and he returned the floor to Dr. Lee on a positive note.
Graysha guessed she was being saved for last, like a banquet’s dessert course. She wondered how it would feel to be publicly picked to pieces.
Seated in a chair produced by cafeteria staff, Flora Hauwk listened blank-faced, letting her pocket memo transcribe. The gray-uniformed ExPress pilot stared at his feet. And still, Trev and his father talked in hushed tones.
Rather than call Varberg as head of his department, Melantha Lee ended with the official version of all his actions. At this point, Flora Hauwk rocked forward on her chair and asked, “What disciplinary action have you recommended?”
Lee covered one hand with the other on top of her folio. “A transfer seems appropriate at this point. Kidnapping charges were dropped, pending his cooperation on attempts to undo the atmospheric alteration. I feel that this, in addition to loss of potential copyright of the CFC-breakdown organism, is action enough.”
But he hadn’t cooperated with her investigation, beyond discovering the loss of the suicide gene. Afterward, he’d vanished to some secret lockup.
And Lee said nothing about that sentence the colonists imposed on him for accidental manslaughter. He stood clasping both hammy hands in front of his legs, leaning backward with that maddening me-dominant gleam in his eyes. He was going to go free, the monster!
Taidje FreeLand rose and asked for the floor. “Dr. Hauwk, with due respect, the Lwuite colony of Goddard requests custody of Dr. Varberg.”
Ah. The colonists had not forgotten. Graysha folded her hands tightly on the tabletop.
Melantha Lee nodded toward Varberg. “The kidnapping charge has been dropped, Vice-Chair FreeLand.”
“I realize that.” FreeLand dipped his white head. “But recent evidence suggests that a new charge of attempted murder must be brought against him.”
Varberg’s confident posture deflated. His mouth gaped, and he looked left, then right.
Lee waved her papers at FreeLand. “Dr. Varberg was cleared of voluntary intent in Dr. Mahera’s death, as you’ll recall. His punitive debt to Dr. Mahera’s family can be worked off elsewhere.”
“Your pardon, Dr. Lee,” said FreeLand, spreading his hands, “but we must regretfully charge him with attempting to kill former Chair DalLierx.”
“What?” Varberg barked. “That’s ridiculous. Lee—”
Melantha Lee made a shushing gesture. Varberg closed his mouth. So did a woman near Graysha’s feet, whose reaction was emphatically vocal.
Flora Hauwk spread her hands, looking like a queen perched on a cafeteria-chair throne. “I am certain this matter can be settled before we take off, Dr. Varberg. Provisions exist in the Gaea charter for commissions to recommend or drop formal charges. Let us hear, first, about the research in progress to reverse atmospheric changes. By the way—” Raising a hand before Graysha could stand up, Dr. Hauwk turned to Varberg and smiled. “Regardless of other charges, I congratulate you on developing that organism. Well done.”
Et tu, Flora Hauwk? Graysha wanted to shout. Varberg rocked back and forth, toes to heels, and dipped his head to Hauwk.
Trev edged away from his father, who snatched the boron papers from Flora Hauwk and stood scanning them. As he did, Trev vanished into the crowd.
Melantha Lee stood in front of them, evidently not seeing Graysha. She peered out over the crowd. “Dr. Brady-Phillips, are you here?” she called.
Graysha pushed up from the table and made her way forward. Her legs felt like lead. Please, she muttered silently. Help!
Lee presented her to Hauwk and the elder LZalle, adding for Blase’s hearing, “Dr. Brady-Phillips has been your son’s supervisor. She says his work is commendable.”
Blase raised his head from the boron papers. “Trev knows how to work?” His lips twisted sideways, and the expression reminded Graysha so much of Trev that it was uncanny, given their external dissimilarity. Evidently facial gestures were determined by muscles that LZalle’s surgeons hadn’t altered.
“He does,” she said softly. “I’ve seen him make remarkable progress.”
LZalle Senior raised an eyebrow.
Flora Hauwk hitched one arm over the back of her chair and frowned up at Graysha. Up close, she looked older, with nets of fine lines surrounding her mouth and eyes. “As Gaea understands the situation,” she said, “the
biosphere is about to be ruined.”
“There is a chance of that, Dr. Hauwk.” Graysha couldn’t deny that fact. She cleared her throat. Hardly anyone in the cafeteria moved for the next several minutes as she presented her papers in a voice steadied by several terrannums of teaching experience.
“Nothing has proven effective, though,” Melantha Lee interrupted before Graysha finished making her conclusions. “Dr. Brady-Phillips’s report does not state this, but virtually all her samples of the mutant organism proved unviable under laboratory conditions. I entertain serious doubts as to whether any laboratory organisms would be fit specimens for antimicrobial trials.”
Lee had read the proposal, Graysha realized, and forced a conclusion from the repeated sabotage. So . . . was she not responsible after all?
She had to be. Graysha could think of no other suspect. She took a deep breath, bracing herself to rebut, and as she faced forward again, she noticed a staring face—a woman standing just beyond Flora Hauwk.
Mother!
Her spine seemed to melt. All conclusions, all rebuttals vanished out of her mind. Novia was here, incognito—and her lips twitched in a slight smile of greeting.
This could mean only one thing—a Eugenics investigation was already in progress—and she knew far too much about Lindon and his people.
Had they known Novia was coming? Was that why Ari was elsewhere?
Impossible. Graysha’s mind spun like a stalled track-truck. “I’m . . . planning a second sampling trip later this afternoon,” she said hurriedly, stalling for time whether or not her statement made logical sense. She had to think of some way to warn Lindon without drawing attention to him. “Dr. Lee graciously offered use of a hovercopter.” Don’t look at Novia. Don’t look at Lindon. “It’s poss-possible,” she stammered, “that the previous batch of organisms was particularly lab sensitive.”
“I don’t know if that is necessary.” Dr. Lee spoke from the other side, and Graysha was glad for the excuse to look well away from Novia. For Goddard’s sake, she had to flee Axis and escape her mother. But at the same time, for Goddard’s sake, she had to stay, finishing her research. “I feel,” Lee said slowly, “that at this point, closure of the Goddard experiment, for reasons of ecological failure, could be appropriate.”
