In the Company of Others (25 page)

“Here, sir,” one of the med staff tugged at his elbow, holding out a sheet of what looked like clear plastic. “For your hand.” Before Malley could argue, the Earther took his wrist and turned his palm to face up. He quickly applied the plastic sheet, simply laying it over Malley's hand. It seemed to melt into a pliable gel on contact, perhaps responding to warmth, oozing into the lines and creases—and wounds—on any skin it touched. Equally startling, the material immediately stopped the throbbing pain Malley honestly hadn't noticed until now.

Wordlessly, he held out his other hand, This time he saw how the Earther pulled the plastic clear of a protective layer, careful not to let it touch any surface before the stationer's skin. When the man pointed to Malley's shoulder, Malley shook his head. “That can wait. But this—” he held up his hands, now encased in what felt like transparent gloves, “—this is amazing. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Malley,” the med answered with a smile. “We'll seal the cuts permanently for you later. And please don't worry. Commander Grant's right about the equipment on board. Your friend will get the best care outside of Sol System.”

Young
, Malley realized abruptly. The med, now back to pushing the stretcher with his partner, couldn't be any older than the man lying on it. He was likely younger. Thromberg didn't have any residents this—new. It was a sobering thought.

“About the care. He's right,” Grant said quietly.

Malley raised his shoulders in a shrug, hiding the wince moving his left shoulder caused him. He was stiffening up already, even in this warmth. From the feel of the nerve spasming behind his shoulder blade, he'd likely pulled a muscle or two.
Nothing new.
Aaron always accused him of treating machinery better than his body. “I've no doubts you have all the technology you claim, Earther,” Malley said. He wriggled his plastic-wrapped fingers in front of Grant's nose. “My only problem is what you plan to do with it.” He put his lips together and let out an irritated noise. “No, that's not true. I have another problem.” Grant raised an eyebrow in invitation. “How big is this damned ship?” Malley grumbled.

That heartfelt complaint surprised a chuckle from Grant and two of the others. “We're almost there,” Grant promised.

Almost?
The Earther's promise translated into an improbable distance along a curved hallway and a lift ride up, down, or sideways—no way to tell—to an equally featureless, and peopleless, curved hallway. For all indications otherwise, they'd gone in a circle. Malley would have suspected Grant of trying to confuse him, but the man looked too tired and in too much of a hurry to bother. Malley gave up his first plan of remembering how to retrace his steps through the ship, and thought glumly of the odds of finding maps or a willing guide when, not if, he and Aaron made their exit.

Another obstacle to be overcome was their destination, which turned out to be an unusually large, guarded door that reminded Malley of one of the ration vaults on Thromberg. Once there, Grant dismissed the med staff, changed the guards on the door for two of those who'd accompanied them, then stood to be identified by the lock. Malley leaned on a wall beside Aaron's stretcher and watched.

The door seemed pleased and hummed to itself as it opened. Grant's lip twitched up in a half smile as he looked back at Malley: “Saw how it worked?”

Malley grinned wolfishly back. “There's more than one way through a door,” he assured the Earther, although he had no idea—yet—what that could be. The damned thing looked able to withstand an explosion.
What was on the other side, so worth protecting?

He took a curious step forward to see for himself, and froze.

It wasn't just another air lock. That would have been bad enough.

You couldn't see space from inside Thromberg. Or from the inside of an air lock. You only guessed it waited outside, ready to rip the life from you.

They'd removed the walls and let the utter worst of his nightmares take their place. If his muscles hadn't locked in terror, Malley would have been running. There was no question that's what his mind was ordering: Run! in any direction away from that roadway to the void.

After a second, Malley heard a mindless whimpering and knew the sound.
Someone had broken.

He found a small, thinking part of his mind could feel pity.

Then he realized the sound came from his own mouth.

THE boost shot
and
a shower—once Gail saw her reflection she'd made the time—might have helped erase the wear and tear of the last few hours, but it was pure and simple triumph that let her sit upright in her chair and calmly survey the others.

So this was what it felt like to be the eye of a hurricane.
Grant, who'd arrived late to give a bald report, “things were settled,” with no explanation, perhaps knowing she wouldn't want details in this company, was doing his best impression of a snarling cat; Tobo was pacing, with frequent stops to throw up his hands in exasperation; and she suspected Reinsez's rambling, disjointed arguments were the result of his having prepared himself for unpleasant topics with too many nips of sherry.

On the surface, her command threesome was arguing her decision to stay attached to the station. They were really venting their frustration at not knowing why.

Gail saw no reason to enlighten them, given she sincerely doubted the knowledge would help matters.

“If you are quite done?” she ventured in the next mutual pause for breath. “If you are, there are some constructive things to—”

“No, Dr. Smith,” Grant was actually gritting his teeth over the words. She'd never seen anyone do that before and was inclined to be impressed. “If we cannot persuade you to take the safer, more rational course of action and pull the
Seeker
out to orbit distance, I will not call in the 'bots. In fact—Captain Tobo agrees with me—I want to put out armed patrols. We are vulnerable to sabotage—”

“—sabotage?” Reinsez's eyelids pried open further than Gail had ever seen before. The extra expanse of yellowed eyeball did nothing to improve the man's appearance, which today included clothing even more rumpled than his skin. “That's the kind of risk we can't allow, you know. The man's right!”

Her lips curved in a deliberate smile. Without a mirror, Gail wasn't sure if it looked more like a threat than courtesy. She didn't particularly care. “You've vids scanning every square centimeter of our hull as well as all approaches to the ship,” she reminded Grant. “You've guards watching the vids. You've guards watching the guards watching the vids. The only thing the 'bots are accomplishing beyond that is to inflame Thromberg even more—if that's possible.” She paused, then turned her attention to Tobo. “Are you getting anything coherent from the comms yet, Captain?”

Tobo started to throw up his hands, then realized what he was doing and clasped them behind his back instead. “Coherent? If you count receiving dozens of invoices for damages.”

“Ah,” said Gail, genuinely pleased. “That didn't take long. Good.”

Reinsez's face folded into a perplexed maze of wrinkles. “And how could you possibly conclude anything good about that, Dr. Smith?”

She steepled her fingers and gazed from one to the other. “Because it means Station Admin is back in control—partially or better. It also means they want to talk. Think about it. No matter how emotional their population, those in charge have to be readying themselves for the potential repercussions. They'll know this mob attack will play against them in Sol System should I choose to publicize it. I haven't—yet. They know that, too. Guaranteed translight communications are being monitored here. So, an attack from their accountants? A bluff, my dear Dr. Reinsez, to save face. Let them fling paperwork at us. Captain Tobo? I suggest you have your chief steward tabulate a few bills of our own. Make them big.”

Grant had fallen silent. Gail pursed her lips, then added sincerely: “If you want me to press for murder charges, Commander, I'll do it. But do you really believe we'll ever know who was responsible?”

His eyes flashed at her, then dulled as if she'd given him an opening he'd give anything to use, but wouldn't. “Wrong place, wrong time,” was all he said. “They knew the risks.”

They had to talk
, Gail realized, understanding perfectly who Grant held responsible. He'd need to get that out of his system before he would stop second-guessing her decisions.

And before she could rest, she wanted the names of those who'd died for decisions she'd already made.

“As a gesture to diminish tensions,” Gail said firmly and very clearly, “I want those 'bots of yours back in their boxes, Commander Grant. And there will be no exterior patrols. I consider the situation as stable as it's going to get, gentlemen, and we will avoid any actions with potential to change things for the worse.” She hesitated, then looked at the vastly unhappy Tobo. “While I don't condone sabotage under most circumstances, it might be prudent to make sure Thromberg can't restore the
Seeker
's docking connections from inside. I'm sure the First Defense Unit can provide the necessary—expertise.”

“Tech Specialist Aleksander is my Second, this shift, Captain,” Grant said immediately. “She can set up the appropriate team for you.”

“Thank you, Commander. Consider it done, Dr. Smith,” the Captain replied with a distinct lightening of his expression.

When the others left, Tobo taking Reinsez's arm and literally hauling the protesting man out after Gail's meaningful look, Grant dropped into the nearest chair as if his spine had melted. He waited until the door closed before speaking, the guards outside under strict orders not to let anyone back inside during their private conversations without permission—even Tobo. One of these days, Gail feared the Captain would try and find this out. He was unlikely to be pleased.

“They're in the science sphere,” Grant reported. “Dr. Temujin took charge. I assume that's acceptable—you hadn't specified.”

Gail clicked her tongue against her teeth thoughtfully. Temujin must have been the seniormost on duty. A superb scientist—all her people were—but she'd have preferred Lynn or Sazaad, both having a more careful, methodical approach to novel situations. “As long as he agreed to the quarantine.”

The commander shrugged. “Didn't like it being spherewide, but not inclined to argue. There were—circumstances.”

“Circumstances?” Gail repeated, putting an edge to the word. “You went along to make sure there weren't any.”

One dark eyebrow rose. “Tell your big friend—once he sleeps off a double-trank dose.”

Gail understood immediately. “The waist,” she said numbly. “He had a panic attack when the door opened and he looked inside, didn't he? I should have anticipated that—” The last was said with real bitterness. She'd given in to her own weakness instead of taking the time to personally ensure Malley and Pardell made it safely into the science sphere.

“If you were aware of the extent of Malley's feelings concerning air locks and space, Dr. Smith,” Grant said mildly, “it might have been helpful to warn me about it. Fortunately, he was too terrified to put up the fight he was capable of—” He leaned forward, stretching one long arm to her desk, his hand opening to drop a small knife made from a shard of metal and one of the hand weapons he and the others had used on Thromberg. “I found these on our new guest.” He leaned back again, regarding her with a deceptively casual air. “No sign of the transmitter you gave him, by the way.” A significant pause, then: “Malley
could
have dropped it.”

Like Grant, Gail was under no illusion the stationer had been careless with such a valuable device. He'd no doubt given the transmitter to someone else—or hidden it on the station.

“Where is he now?”

“Science sphere, as ordered. He's snoring—very loudly, I might add—on a cot near Pardell. Dr. Temujin wasn't very happy about that. Mind you, he was even less pleased by the guards I left behind.”

Gail pushed at the knife with one finger, then made a decision. “Have these put back where you found them. Before Malley wakes up, if possible.”

Grant's look became appraising. “He's no fool, Dr. Smith. He'll expect us to have searched him. Finding these—the stationer will assume he has permission to carry arms on the ship.”

“He's used to alliances, Commander,” Gail countered. “We win his trust, or we lock him in the brig, because I'm sure you'll agree we don't need a man of his abilities loose and looking for trouble on board.”

“No argument there. But winning his trust? That'll take some doing.” He chewed on a bottom lip then said bluntly: “Why bother? He's already shown he'll help us with his friend.”

Gail shook her head. “Not good enough. Not for someone of Malley's potential. He's—” she shrugged. “I have a feeling about him.”

“An authority-hating metal worker who grew up on a station,” Grant said, as if making sure they were talking about the same person. He raised one eyebrow. “I'll have to look more closely at him myself, then—including, if you don't mind, keeping this new ally watched at all times.”

“Fine. Now—” Gail found herself hesitating, unsure where best to begin.
She
wasn't, she admitted in frustration,
particularly good at taking others into her confidence.

“Now, Dr. Smith,” Grant filled in helpfully, stretching the words. A man merely content not to move, Gail judged, until she met his eyes and saw the lingering shadows of grief and exhaustion there. “You have your 'sider—and our new friend. I must assume we're still here because you want something else. Planning to tell me? Or is this another of those details to be revealed when I least expect it?”