In the Company of Others (55 page)

“
Athena
comm . . . we've landed on Pardell's World.”

No one seemed to be breathing on the bridge. Dafoe's voice rang out clear and strong through the silence: “No alarms on any monitors. No symptoms of the Quill Effect. Proceeding with Trial Number One on your mark, Dr. Smith.”

The
Athena
was packed to tolerance with every measuring device the
Seeker
's scientists could imagine—and some Gail knew they'd made up on the way here. All were feeding their measurements and readings directly to stations in the science sphere.

“Proceed, Specialist Dafoe. Mr. Pardell.”

They didn't see the
Athena
's outer doors drop open. Instead, the screen showed a dizzying blur of movement as Deployment Specialist Krenshaw switched the feed to his station as he sent out a 'bot and spun it to face the little ship. The image stabilized.

Gail gripped the armrests with both hands.

Two figures stepped out onto the ramp, both in dark blue suits catching sparks from the sunlight as they left the shadow of the
Athena
's hull. Gail knew the shorter individual would be Aaron. Otherwise, they were identical, even to the thick umbilicals connecting them to the interior of the pod. The umbilicals were more than conduits of information on the condition of the two test subjects—they could be forcibly retracted by remote from the
Seeker.

Allowing recovery of the bodies
, Gail reminded herself. The equipment was hers—designed when she'd planned for every contingency but caring about the body being recovered.

“Dafoe reporting . . . no sign of the Quill Effect.” The woman's voice was steady, solid—Grant had picked well. Gail slid a look his way. The commander's face was impassive, totally focused on the task at hand.

As
she
should be.
“Aaron?” Gail asked. “Are you sensing anything unusual?”

He might have been standing beside her, his voice was so instantly and distinctly there. “The air's pushing at me,” he said with wonder. “Wind, right?”

“Wind,” Gail confirmed. “Anything else?”

He looked up at the 'bot and shook his head. The headgear was clear, but the coating made it one-way. Gail could only see the reflection of the 'bot where Aaron's face should be.
First design flaw.

“Dafoe. . . . I can see Quill. They're—My God, they're everywhere.”

Grant surged to his feet, but his tone stayed calm. “Krenshaw, switch to Dafoe's vid.”

The screen changed to show Dafoe's line of sight. At first, Gail didn't see what the FD was talking about—she was apparently looking at the nearest grass, bent flat by the edge of the pod's ramp. Then Krenshaw stepped up the magnification slightly.

The grass itself was subtly iridescent. The play of color stopped halfway up the plant, as though each of its stalks had been dipped in a fine oil. Even as they watched, the color detached itself, first from one stalk and then several, falling like thin ribbons through the tangle of crushed grass.

“Dafoe's heart rate's up to 130, Commander.”

Before Grant could reply to this advisement, Dafoe's voice came through the comm: “As if yours wouldn't be, Sensun.”

“Keep it professional, people,” Grant ordered dryly, but the break in tension was palpable.

“Did you expect so many, Dr. Smith?” Aaron asked. Without being told, Krenshaw changed to the 'bot's perspective, so they once again saw both figures and the
Athena
.

Sitting in her field of Quill
, Gail told herself, stunned as she tried to estimate how many Quill there could be, if every blade of grass hid a filament, and grass covered this world.

“We wanted to find them,” she said out loud. “Congratulations, everyone. Proceed with Trial Number One when ready.” Gail saw Grant stiffening slightly and changed her mind. “Wait. Before you do, let's see if you can catch some filaments from on the ramp.”

“Copy that, Dr. Smith. Setting up to retrieve filaments.”

While Aaron waited on the ramp, as if entranced by the view, Dafoe went back inside the
Athena
, returning shortly with a stasis box she passed to the 'sider, and a portable remote handling arm. They watched as she used the arm to gently grasp some of the grass that was still coated in Quill, then pull.

The Quill slipped off and disappeared. Not just the filaments Dafoe tried to grab, but the telltale iridescence vanished in the blink of an eye from every blade in sight.

“You said they couldn't move,” Aaron commented.

“They dropped to the ground,” Dafoe argued. “That's not moving. Sorry, Dr. Smith. I may have knocked them loose. I'll try scooping up some of the underlying soil and roots.”

“Bring samples of the plants, too,” Gail ordered. “There may well be changes in the biota we should examine at the same time.”

This task took a few more minutes. The root mass was thick and healthy, matted beneath decades of old growth. They'd known what type of vegetative cover to expect, since all terraformers started with self-pollinating perennial grasses to develop soil layers. The
Athena
contained tools to slice through the sod. It still took time for Dafoe and Aaron to obtain the samples. During the process, they stayed on the ramp and used the remote arm, the 'sider being careful, as always, to avoid touching his companion.

Gail had Krenshaw move the 'bot outward, slowly. Now that they knew what to look for, they could see the area of Quill-free grass made a perfect circle around the
Athena
, approximately ten paces in radius. Gail made notes to herself on a pad.
Was this how Jer and Gabby Pardell had been able to land safely and move about at first? Had the Quill been temporarily driven underground by the arrival of their shuttle?

“These suits could use some air conditioning, Dr. Smith,” their son observed.

“Take it up with the complaints department,” Gail retorted, but made a note.
Second design flaw.
There'd better not be any more.

“My own suit's worse,” he replied with a short laugh. “I'll start with that one when I'm back.”

“Dafoe. . . . Samples collected and sealed, Dr. Smith. What next?”

What indeed?
Gail asked herself She was almost certain there'd be no Quill tissue in the samples—she'd ordered them because she wanted every scrap of information possible.

“Proceed with Trial Number One, Specialist Dafoe, Aaron,” Gail said, keeping her reluctance from her voice. “Just take your time. At the first hint of any—trouble—I want you back in the
Athena.
Understood?”

“Dafoe. . . . Copy that.”

“No arguments from me, boss,” from Aaron.

Gail stood involuntarily as the screen showed the two figures walking slowly and carefully down the ramp, umbilicals trailing behind. She held her breath as they stepped off, boots landing on the neatly folded grass in unison.

“Dafoe. . . . Nominal.”

Ludicrous
, Gail decided, forcing herself back into her seat, aware she of all people couldn't show tension now, not with everything riding on these footsteps. At this moment, she couldn't want to be right—she had to be.

“Any reaction from the Quill?” Gail asked.

There were three on the bridge, including Grant's Krenshaw, whose sole duty was to watch all the available incoming vids. “The perimeter is unchanged, Dr. Smith,” one offered. Choi, Gail remembered. Eric Choi—the best of his graduating class on Callisto in remote sensing interpretation. One of the assets she'd insisted on having with her. “Thank you, Choi. Krenshaw, widen the field, please,” she said quietly.

The screen's towering image shifted until they were looking at Aaron and Dafoe, but backed enough so that the abandoned monitoring station and the
Athena
were both in view. “I believe I can enhance to show the extent of the Quill, Dr. Smith,” Choi offered.

“Do so.”

All of the grass, with the exception of the circle encompassing the two humans, became stained with red. Gail controlled a shudder. “Very helpful,” she said dryly. “Commander Grant? A word.”

Grant moved quickly, coming to stand beside Gail so he could keep his eye on the screen. “Yes, Dr. Smith.”

Gail lowered her voice. “There has to be physical contact for Trial Number One.”

His dark eyes met hers. “At your command, Dr. Smith.” Calmly, confidently, as if they discussed plans for dinner rather than lives.

“Have them move outward, slowly, until they reach the Quill. At no time are they to exceed the limits of their umbilicals. Make it clear to Dafoe—no unnecessary risk. Understood?”

Grant nodded, and returned to his station. Gail listened to him relay the order. Heard Dafoe's curt acknowledgment. Aaron was uncharacteristically silent.
Perhaps
, she thought,
he was busy experiencing his first encounter with plant life.
Or first footsteps on his homeworld.

A few more steps, and they'd reached the unflattened grass. Here, on the top of the hill, it rose well over their waists, but fortunately no higher. Closer to the creek, Gail estimated the occasional clumps of bluegrass would top Pardell's head for sure, possibly Dafoe's. No animal life hid among the stalks—unless Witts' meticulous records lied about that detail. There was no reason to suspect there would be. The mix of species used to kickstart a terraforming project began with botanicals and their microbial partners; other life—including human—was to be added later.

Was.
But had never been, thanks to the Quill. So Dafoe and Aaron were making the first-ever trails in the grass of Pardell's World, their feet cracking stalks down no matter how cautiously they stepped.

“We've movement from the Quill.”

I thought you said they couldn't move
, flashed through Gail's mind. “Show me.”

The 'bot's viewpoint pulled them down to the area directly in the path of Dafoe and Aaron. The red stain was slowly moving closer to them. Krenshaw upped the magnification, reestablishing normal color ranges so they could see how filaments were slipping up more and more stalks.

“Dafoe, Aaron—stay where you are,” Gail ordered immediately.

On one level, Gail was fascinated. Rather than climbing back up on the grass they'd abandoned moments before, shrinking the entire circle around the humans and their ship, the area being reclaimed by the Quill was small and coordinated, the result like the tip of some giant's tongue slowly reaching out for a taste.

Grant returned to her side. “Dr. Smith, shall I have them withdraw?” he asked quietly, covering the pickup on his headset with one hand.

“No.”

“This could be an attack—Trial Number One was to be a passive encounter.”

“They stay,” Gail bit off the words, not bothering to look at him. “If it's an attack, Commander, then it's the best possible test of the suits, wouldn't you say?”

“In which case, you're authorizing a jump to Trial Number Three.”

Now she did look at him. “They stay, Commander Grant. My authorization. There's no predicting biological systems to the nth degree—we have an opportunity here and I don't intend to back away from it.”

“Da-Dafoe here. . . . We have contact, Dr. Smith.”

Gail and Grant turned to the screen. Against the dark blue fabric of the suits, the Quill filaments showed clearly, slipping up each leg, halting just below the thigh, as if the humans were merely thicker stalks of grass.

The Quill were beautiful in the sunlight, like rainbows made real.

The voice coming through the speakers startled them all. “Dafoe here . . . repeating . . . we have contact, Dr. Smith. No negative effects. The suits are working.”

“Congratulations, Gail,” Tobo said heartily, rushing up to shake her hand. Suddenly, Gail was surrounded by well-wishers from the crew, some pounding her back, others standing nearby and smiling widely. Most stayed at their stations, but cheered. She looked for Grant.

The commander had gone to the station monitoring the pair's life signs.
Perhaps, like her, he believed celebrating might be premature.
Gail pushed her way to his side, smiling and nodding politely. “How are they?” she demanded, keeping her voice down.

“Dafoe's vitals are a little shaky. Pardell's rock solid. You'd think he stepped out on a planet every day.”

No surprise.
“He has a way of taking the extraordinary in stride,” she commented. “Let's have Dafoe get one or more filaments into a stasis box.”

Grant relayed the request. On the screen, they could see Dafoe nod even as she said aloud: “Copy that, Cornmander. Dr. Smith, do you want each filament in a separate box?”

“That's ideal, Specialist Dafoe, but if you have any difficulty, together is better than none at all.”

Another nod. “Let's get these back to the pod, Pardell,” they heard her say.

Aaron didn't respond.

Gail froze, staring at the screen.
What was he doing?
As far as they could see, the 'sider was looking down at the Quill on his legs. His hands were limp at his sides. She remembered the dining lounge—she'd seen for herself how Aaron's mind could fade from reality.
Damn, this was no time for him to become disconnected.

“Pardell,” Dafoe repeated. “Are you all right?” Detectable uneasiness in her voice now.
Did she fear the 'sider was succumbing to some attack?

Or
, Gail thought suddenly,
did Dafoe fear Pardell was about to become the enemy?