In the Company of Others (44 page)

“Over there, Dr. Smith,” one of her shadows offered helpfully. Gail wondered if the FD really believed anyone could miss Malley and his hair, even at this distance, but nodded she her thanks.

The two men had prepared for her arrival by having a glass of water matching theirs placed before the third seat. Pardell tilted his head interrogatively at the FDs following her. “They won't be joining us,” Gail announced before he could ask. The FDs took the hint but moved no farther away than the next vacant table.

This hadn't been part of her carefully planned schedule
, Gail thought as she took her seat, trying to analyze why she'd accepted Pardell's invitation. There were four days remaining—no one, least of all Gail, had time to waste.
They could have pumped her for information, doubtless the reason for this, back in the lab.
With a sense of things skewed from predicted, Gail lifted her glass to theirs in what seemed a customarily formal toast. Rosalind had done the same with her tea.

Before she could put down her glass, Malley said sarcastically: “Grant's clones tuck you in at night, too?”

Pardell merely watched her, his eyes curious.
So
, Gail thought. “Not quite,” she answered. “They stand outside my door so I'm not disturbed. Most comforting.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Malley said, but it wasn't banter. He was after details. Gail was willing, to a point, to supply them.
Questions could be more illuminating than answers.
The stationer continued: “I can see having security on Thromberg, but here? These people can't hate you that much.”

Pardell coughed suddenly, a hand over his mouth as though to hide a grin. Gail didn't bother to hide her own. “Most of these people, Malley, have worked with me for years. Many are friends as well as colleagues. Grant's unit is assigned to protect the project, not me. But since I'm the head of the project, Grant has interpreted that protection as meaning having me followed everywhere. Even on the
Seeker
. Call it professional paranoia.” Gail let her grin widen. “In case you haven't noticed yet, you two recently made Grant's Vital to the Project list.”

“We've noticed,” Pardell said, nodding toward the matched set of FDs at another table. “They wouldn't sit with us either.”

“On duty,” Gail explained. “Grant's a bit of a stickler for that sort of thing.”

“And you are on duty, as well, Dr. Smith,” Pardell said, rather than asked, lifting his glass and waiting.

“On duty?” Gail reached for her water again, thinking over the question. She didn't take anything from Pardell—or Malley—as idle conversation. Pardell sipped as she did. She wasn't surprised Malley didn't; she thought this an Outsider ritual. “Always,” she said honestly. “Until we find a way to find, capture—and destroy—the Quill.”

“Thank you for sparing the time to join us,” he replied with unexpected seriousness. “We value your sharing a meal with us, on this shift, and on this ship.”

Alerted by the changing nuance of Pardell's voice, the formality in his choice of words and how he said them, Gail paused. She met his eyes and saw nothing beyond polite interest. She looked at Malley and saw resignation, as if the stationer knew exactly what was going on and no longer disputed it.

Before Gail could speak, the steward arrived with three identical trays. Malley surveyed his with displeasure. “I thought in here I'd get to choose my own food,” he complained to Gail.

“Dr. Lynn has explained the complexity of getting a full range of nutrients after relying on Thromberg's rations,” Pardell said firmly. “This is from her approved list. If you had your way, we'd be living on spiked orange juice and candy.”

The stationer roared with laughter and the tension at the table subsided, but only barely, Gail thought.

She reached for her fork, but Pardell and Malley did not. Instead, they gently pushed their trays inward, until they touched in the middle of the table. There was space left for hers.

Gail hesitated, then copied their action so all three trays were together. She looked to Pardell for some clue as to what was happening. He appeared to be studying the trays, comparing one to the other. Finally, he smiled and reached for her tray.

Before Gail could protest, Malley took Pardell's, then pushed his over to her. “Enjoy your lunch, Dr. Smith,” he said. He appeared more relaxed, and began attacking his apple crisp with enthusiasm.

What was all that about?
Gail wondered, accepting Malley's tray.

Pardell's eyes twinkled. “It's a Rule, a custom,” he offered, unasked. “To accept anyone on board a ship—or in station quarters—that person must show and share food. It's more ceremony than substance, now that Thromberg has enough rations to go around. But it was—necessary, once.”

“My aunt shot a man for hiding a day's ration in his pants,” Malley claimed, straightfaced. “You can imagine how she found it.”

Pardell shot a quelling look at his friend. “These days, it's the thought that counts.”

“I'm glad of that, Mr. Pardell,” Gail replied demurely, “considering I've no intention of searching Malley's pants.”

They both looked stunned, then burst out laughing—Malley loud enough to attract attention from most of the lounge. Gail shrugged mentally.
There were worse ways for the staff to notice her.
“Thank you for explaining the ceremony, gentlemen,” she said, when they'd calmed to the point of wiping their eyes. “And for including me in it.”

“It means more than the sharing of resources, Dr. Smith,” Pardell told her, his expression turning serious again. “After the terrible battles and riots on the station, people needed a way to return to normal, to think about survival instead of grudges and revenge. Thromberg wouldn't be here, otherwise. The Rule is that adversaries, old and new, must come together at the table, show all they have, share all they have. As we've done.”

“Making the best of what remains,” Gail said, thinking back to that night and Pardell's words with new understanding. “No blame; no apologies. It could stop a lot of needless conflict if more people ascribed to that philosophy, Mr. Pardell.”

“Aaron.”

“Aaron. I hope, like Malley, you'll start calling me Gail.”

The stationer almost choked on a pierogi.

Pardell nodded easily. “Thank you.”

From that moment, Pardell, and to some extent Malley, set themselves up as her hosts, complete with an entertaining series of stories which were about as believable as anything Tobo might come out with after a few brandies. If Gail hadn't known she was on her, own ship, she'd have thought they'd taken her into their own homes on the station. She wasn't sure exactly how they managed it—perhaps because the lounge was a strange setting to her as well—but the fact remained she'd quite literally lost any control of the situation or conversation from the moment she'd sat down.

Something
, Gail told herself, still waiting for the reason they'd sought her company,
something Pardell could well have planned.

That something was still unclear after they'd finished eating. Gail didn't need to look at her chrono to know she was overdue to be anywhere but sitting here, no matter how diverting, if unpredictable, her companions.
It would be nice
, she thought rather grimly,
to gain something other than food from all this, if only information.
“What do you think of the dining lounge, Aaron?” Gail asked, running her fingers down the stem of her glass. “I imagine it feels something like Thromberg—so many people together.”

“This place?” Malley looked amused. “It's almost deserted.”

Pardell had taken her question more seriously and turned in his chair as though to examine the entire room. He stayed like that for a moment.
A very long moment.
Gail was about to ask what fascinated him so, when Malley leaned back in his chair with a creaking sound and shook his head. “You shouldn't have set him off, Gail. Trust me.”

“Set him off?” Gail looked at Pardell, whose head remained turned away from them, as though he could see something beyond the near bulkhead. He wasn't staring at anyone in particular—there wasn't an occupied table in that direction—but the 'sider seemed to be completely focused. Gail thought he was unaware of being talked about. “What's the matter with him?” she demanded in a whisper, trying not to alarm the nearby FDs.

Malley put his large hand over hers on the table, effectively capturing it unless she pulled it free with force. “Nothing to worry about,” he said, leaning close and speaking just as quietly. “Aaron gets spacey at times. Tunes out the universe. He calls it thinking. I couldn't tell you if it is or isn't—he doesn't talk about what he thinks, that's for sure.”

“How long does it last?”

“Never know,” Malley replied with a slow smile, his fingers wrapping warmly around hers. “But look at it this way, Gail. We don't get much time alone. ...”

Gail didn't bother fighting for her hand or smiling. “Do you want me to clear the room, Malley? Or is it enough to have everyone here see how helpless he is at the moment?”

“I'm only being friendly, Gail.” Malley's lips twisted wryly and he released her fingers. “Hey, Aaron,” he said, at his usually forthright volume. “You in there?”

Pardell shuddered and turned, as though Malley's voice had given him the ability to move again. When Gail saw his face, his eyes were at first dilated and startled, then returned to normal. At the same time, the high bones of his cheeks colored, as though the 'sider realized what had happened and was now thoroughly embarrassed.

Another difference his friends ignore for him
, Gail concluded, feeling a mixture of curiosity and triumph.
It wasn't necessarily a favor.
She dropped her eyes to her glass and kept her voice casual. “What did you see, Aaron?”

“See?” The word faint, as though Pardell didn't believe the question. Or that she'd asked it.

She lifted her eyes to hold his gaze. “You saw something, didn't you?” Gail said, aware Malley was bristling beside her. “My question to you about the lounge—it made you see more than this room. What was it?”

“Leave him alone,” Malley warned. Pardell raised his gloved hand to stop anything further.

“No, it's all right,” the 'sider said, his expression flashing between puzzlement and something closer to relief “Seeing. Yes. That's what it's like. How did you know?”

“I—”
Fair was fair.
Gail pressed her lips together then admitted: “I didn't know. I guessed. I—” She took a hasty swallow before going on, afraid she was about to blush herself. “I lose myself sometimes . . . when ideas come at me faster than I can absorb them. It's like seeing the same, everyday things, but they appear strange—reconnected differently than before. While I'm like that, the world unfortunately tends to keep going without me, especially in meetings.”

She might have grown antennae, to go by Pardell's expression. Then it softened into something closer to awe. “That's it. Exactly it. But I can't stop it,” he told her in a low, intense voice, eyes sliding to Malley and back to her again. “I can't keep my mind on what's real sometimes. It's—it can be inconvenient.”

Inconvenient?
Gail suspected that wasn't the word Pardell wanted to use, but a lifetime spent trying to fit in with others couldn't have made it easy for him to confess either the depths of his differences or his feelings about them. “That's unusual,” she told him honestly, “but not unheard of. We have a couple of cog function researchers on the
Seeker
. If you like, I can have them look into how you could gain more control.”

“Aaron isn't nuts.”

“I didn't say he was, Malley,” Gail countered. “Everyone needs training to get the most from their abilities. Don't you agree?”

Gail wondered if it was the startling idea that his affliction might be an ability that drained the color from Pardell's face. He swallowed, his throat working. There was a nakedness to his face, a depth of hope surely beyond anything she'd implied. Gail had a moment's doubt—
what did he think she'd promised to do for him?

Before they could pursue it, the steward reappeared to collect their trays. Hers was almost full, but Gail waved it away. It didn't matter what Pardell thought—what mattered was getting him back into the lab this afternoon, fit and ready for the next trials.
Definitely some new possibilities to consider—

“That's all you're eating?” The sneer from Malley interrupted her thoughts. No more polite host—the stationer was back in full attack mode. Gail guessed he hadn't liked either her admission, or Pardell's reaction to it. Sure enough, he didn't stop there. “Oh. I forgot. You're probably riding another boost by now.”

Gail folded her napkin and put it beside her bowl.
Coming here, allowing herself to interact on a social level with them? A mistake.
She stood. “I'll see you gentlemen back at the lab,” she said tightly.

Pardell stood as well. “I'll walk with you.”

“As you wish.”

She didn't see whatever signal Pardell used, but Malley remained seated, glowering at them both, but silent at last.

They walked out side by side, Pardell keeping his distance from her and those they passed. Three FDs followed, her two and one for Pardell. Gail didn't bother arguing that one wasn't enough to leave watching the big man with the temper.

“I want to apologize for Malley,” Pardell said quietly as they reached the relative privacy of the corridor.