In the Company of Others (33 page)

Reinsez levered himself up, wrinkled lips pressed together in a thin white line, his eyes hard. But he knew better than to argue. Gail had half-hoped he would, but the spectacle of watching him dragged off the bridge was an indulgence she could ill afford. She did wave one of the FDs to follow the angry professor. No point giving Reinsez encouragement to reconsider his destination.

“Did you make a copy of whatever he sent out?” she asked Aleksander after the bridge was clear, feeling her heart pounding with frustration.
A frightened man and a petty one. What had he told Titan?
She'd have to send her own report chasing after his—and soon.

Grant's Second looked faintly insulted. “Dr. Smith,” she protested.

Gail smiled an apology. “I shouldn't doubt you. I'll view it in my office please.” She hesitated, then added: “And have the room swept again. I think Dr. Reinsez and whomever he has working with him among the crew may have been busy while we were otherwise occupied. Now. Captain Tobo.”

“Oh, don't apologize to me, Dr. Smith,” Tobo assured her. “You have my unending gratitude for removing that pestilent lump from my bridge. I'm surprised you didn't space him. There's a thought . . . it could be an accident.” Tobo looked to be only partially joking. He must have been interceding on her behalf with Reinsez more than she'd realized. She'd already been relying on the Captain to handle all the dealings with Thromberg—as well as keep a watchful eye on reports from home.

Gail made a mental note to send a bottle of Tobo's favorite brandy to his quarters later. She'd brought a few in her luggage, knowing she'd be bending their friendship regularly during the mission.

“Space him?” Gail chuckled but shook her head. “I'll keep it in mind. I still need Dr. Reinsez, a happy and cooperative Reinsez, when we dock at Titan U, or my career options narrow to teaching first year biology in an asteroid dome.” Gail took the first officer's chair, avoiding the damp armrests, and motioned to Tobo to join her. For a brief moment, they sat peacefully side by side, looking out over the heart of the
Seeker
.

For no particular reason, Gail found herself wondering what Rosalind Fournier would think of this bridge. A far cry from anything docked at Thromberg—or Earth, for that matter—but the 'sider would find familiar elements. Its design drew heavily on deep-space experience as well as more traditional starship models.
The result
, Gail thought,
was stunning as well as functional.
A bonus for her unusual level of responsibility on this mission.

The center point of the bridge was the display screen. Instead of being along a wall, or crammed into small screens per station, the
Seeker
's screen filled one half of a broad, flattened column rising up from the lower level to just below the ceiling. The screen could be split into multiple readouts, or, as now, be set to a view outside the ship. Duty stations spiraled outward from it, command stations on a second, shoulder-high level allowing easy viewing of any point on the bridge.

It was an unusually large bridge for the size of ship, but that was to allow each station room for two sets of chairs, both to allow smooth changeover at shift's end, and a convenience permitting additional personnel to be present as observers. While the latter was intended so scientists could be involved in any ship's maneuvering that might affect particular experiments, the reality on
Seeker
's first mission was something different.

The extra seats allowed Grant's people to sit at key stations with the crew.

In a sense, Tobo's practical jokes on the military component of the ship had served them well. There'd been virtually no tension left on the bridge since the episode of the surprise null gravity drills. Gail suspected Grant of unusual tolerance in that regard for much the same reason.
Whatever got the job done
, she reminded herself.

When docked under normal conditions, only comm and ship systems were crewed this late into ship's night,
or early in ship's morning
, Gail corrected. It was a sign of the tension in and out of the ship that Tobo had a full crew in place and had chosen to stay here instead of relinquishing command to his very capable First Officer Frank Szpindel.
Capable
, Gail suddenly remembered,
but also one of those who'd been added to the crew on Titan's direct recommendation rather than hers.

A sleepless night for many.
But not Pardell
, Gail thought, seeing his slack features and golden-veined skin in her mind's eye.
Could he really be alive? Or was Malley simply refusing to admit defeat?

“You know who's behind this?” Tobo raised the note in one hand.

“There was a woman—ah, Grant,” Gail paused in her explanation to greet the commander. “We have a new situation.”

Grant took the message from Tobo and read it swiftly. His expression, when done, was about what Gail expected. She shook her head before he could open his mouth, saying firmly: “We aren't leaving the station.”

“That's—” he began.

“An order. But redeploy some of those spy 'bots of yours, if it will make you happier. I doubt Station Admin will object under these circumstances.”

“Krenshaw, see to it. Dr. Smith? I strongly recommend an exterior patrol as well.”

Gail closed her eyes to better recall Rosalind Fournier. “No,” she decided, opening them again. “If it's the Outsiders, your people would be at too great a disadvantage. We aren't risking any more lives unless absolutely necessary.”

“A laudable intention,” Tobo said. “But, not to parrot the departed Manuel, aren't you risking all of us already?”

“How much time is left on that ultimatum?” Gail asked instead of rising to the bait.

The comm tech answered, his voice sounding strained: “Thirty-seven minutes, Professor.”

“Three 'bots deployed, sir,” reported Krenshaw from his station at the far end of the bridge. “Aft, stern, and longitudinal sweep.”

“Send one of them toward the other ships,” Grant commanded. “And put the feed on screen.”

“Has Thromberg responded?” Gail asked Tobo.

“Not a word over regular channels. Unless the good commander has heard otherwise?” Tobo was unshakably convinced Grant's experts could and did monitor every comm frequency shipside and out. Aware of how stretched the FDs were—especially after losing five of their own, Gail seriously doubted they were bothering with more than the emergency surveillance already in place.

Grant's lips twisted sardonically as he confirmed her thoughts. “Believe me, Captain, if we knew anything about this, I'd have told you both before now.”

The 'bot's feed was already showing on the screen—Grant must have kept them ready to relaunch despite her earlier disapproval. The assorted sounds on the bridge subsided as everyone's attention was caught by the image.

Thromberg's curving side was presently black on black, punctuated by running lights marking the various docking ports and air locks. Most of these had gaps like missing teeth, as if replacing failed exterior lighting wasn't a priority.
Or
, Gail realized,
as if replacement parts were impossible to come by.

The various docked ships splashed their own lights against the station, washing the darkness back in overlapping circles. Everything looked normal as the 'bot was taken closer in—

“There! Veer left.” Krenshaw obeyed so quickly he must have already spotted what caught Grant's eye.

At first, all Gail saw was another work crew—there were several such.
Business as usual, even-cycle day
, Gail told herself. It was important to remember Thromberg never slept.

Krenshaw dropped the 'bot closer.

Not a work crew.
They were looking down at a tight group of at least fifteen figures, in those patched suits Gail was beginning to find very familiar. They carried tools—tools that could be weapons.

“A boarding party,” Tobo concluded unhappily, probably thinking of his own precious ship.

Two of the figures looked up and pointed, one raising what appeared to be a grappler to aim at the 'bot. Just as Grant said: “Back it off,” Gail snapped: “Hold.”

“Hold,” Grant confirmed, glancing at her.

She'd recognized one of the suits. She was sure of it.
Gail watched with the rest as the figure she thought might be Rosalind took a few steps away from the rest, staring up, then beckoned to the 'bot.
Down
, the gesture said.

“Drop it down,” Grant said. “Slowly. We don't have a limitless supply of these things.”

Krenshaw brought the 'bot to hang directly in front of the figure's helmet, but out of reach. The helmet, another museum piece but originally of higher quality than Pardell's, reflected the 'bot rather than revealed anything, then the figure must have switched on the interior lights.

The dim, blood-red glow shone over the cheekbones and brows of an unsmiling Rosalind Fournier. Gail released the breath she hadn't been aware of holding.

Rosalind mouthed some words, tapped her helmet, then pointed at the 'bot.

“Krenshaw, scan and capture the local signal. Pipe it through.”

It was Gail's turn to look at the commander.
How did the 'sider know something about the capabilities of Grant's little spy satellites she didn't?

“—welcome to my world, Dr. Smith.” Slightly distorted, Rosalind's voice remained exactly as Gail remembered it from their first meeting—calm and utterly sure of itself. “I've been waiting for you.”

MALLEY wasn't good at waiting. Most things in his life moved when he'd wanted them to—usually right away. Even the daily ration line was something Malley couldn't tolerate without a reader in his hand or a good argument underway. Aaron, always the more cautious, had long ago given up preaching the value of patience. But then Aaron would stand and count to a hundred and one just to be sure there wasn't anyone watching him go home. A count he'd cheerfully restart at zero if Malley interrupted—and would continue to restart as many times as Malley chose to be a nuisance.

Even Aaron's patience might have been tested by now. The neurologist, Sazaad, gave every appearance of being hard at work, adjusting controls, muttering to himself, leaping up dramatically every so often to pace back and forth—with more muttering. All a great show of getting something done.

The metal seat of the stool felt as though it was growing attached to Malley's behind, but he stayed in place. He wasn't going to be the one to interrupt and restart this so-called genius.

The only problem with sitting quietly was that it encouraged thoughts. Noisy, irritating, hard-to-ignore thoughts. Malley wasn't sure which ones bothered him more: not knowing what was happening in the rest of the ship and on the station, or thinking about being on a ship and not on the station.

He firmly quelled any tendency of his thoughts to wander into the dangerous territory guarded by dimples and deep blue eyes. Gail Smith might be many things, but a romantic fantasy she wasn't—not if he was going to save Aaron and—

Malley shifted on the hard metal. The “and” part was another path to steer away from, since it led inevitably to heart-pounding, mouth-drying panic. Aaron knew all about ships and the nasty, cold, black places surrounding them. Once they were ready to return to Thromberg, Malley would be content to shoot himself with a trank or two and let Aaron drag him around for a change.

Not the most helpful of plans, but it did make sitting and staring a hole into the back of Sazaad's head seem like progress.

PROGRESS, of a kind.
Gail rose to her feet without conscious plan, feeling as if Rosalind could see her and it was important to stand her ground. She'd wanted to talk to this 'sider again. Rosalind might be her only chance of finding Pardell's ship and records.

Facing off with an ultimatum between them hadn't been part of the plan.

“Rosalind Fournier,” Gail said evenly, trusting Grant's people had set up the necessary comm links. “We've received your message. I'm not sure I understand what it has to do with us.”

Being lit from below gave all the wrong shadows and impressions to a face. Still, Gail thought, the menace in Rosalind's slow smile was probably accurate. “Time's passing, Earther. Bring me on your ship and I'll explain.”

Gail ignored Grant's silent but vehement “no.”

“Agreed,” she said.

Rosalind's helmet returned to being a reflection of the 'bot's lenses. She seemed to take Gail at her word, gesturing to the others, then beginning to walk with surprising speed. The 'bot followed, giving an unnecessary view of the
Seeker
ahead.

Grant growled something and the 'bot returned to watching the remaining ‘siders. The screen split, giving two new views of Rosalind's approach as Krenshaw picked her up on the ship's exterior vids.

“May I ask why we are immersing ourselves deeper into Thromberg's woes?” Tobo asked with deceptive mildness. “When we could simply leave?”

“I have my reasons,” Gail told him, hoping he'd take that as “
not here, with so many ears.
”

Grant was in full officer mode, standing at attention as if in mute reproach at her violation of what he doubtless viewed as minimal safety protocols.
Fine
, Gail thought, unrepentant. If safety was the important thing, they'd be back orbiting Titan by now. “Look after the details,” she told him. “I'll be waiting in my office.”