In the Company of Others (57 page)

She paused, then tapped the tabletop in emphasis. “Think about it. If the Quill are intelligent—where does that put our mission? We were supposed to find a way to destroy the things, not talk to them! The stations? What do we tell them? And it could get worse, much worse.” Gail steadied her voice. “What position will Earth take, if the first alien intelligence we meet turns out to have already conquered every human-inhabited planet outside of Sol System? Can the Quill be proved murderers? People will start taking sides, Tomoki. The riots on Thromberg might only be a taste.”

Tobo shook his head. “It doesn't have to come to that. You have the people and expertise on this ship to determine if the Quill are intelligent. If they aren't . . . nothing's changed. If they are? Then we ask them to stop killing us.”

Gail laughed bitterly. “Right. The last time I thanked your wife for supper, Ayo thought I was asking for a second helping. And that's between two biologically similar individuals who knew the precise context of the conversation, as well as understanding several words in each other's language. Who both have a language! I don't care how many linguists and comm techs Grant's tucked on this ship—they aren't experts in communicating with anything as alien as the Quill.”

“Your young man might be.”

No doubt the same thoughts were going through Grant's head
, Gail told herself. No matter her reasoned arguments for Tobo, her calm exterior, she knew herself so angry her very blood felt like ice—knew herself so deeply betrayed she had no trouble keeping her fury contained.

Until she had a target.

MALLEY knew the signs, all right.

Aisha and the rest of the science staff who'd gathered in the lab were milling around, a dozen conversations underway at once as they tried to make sense out of what was happening. They were surprised by Gail Smith's sudden absence from the comm and her “replacement” by Commander Grant and his second, Tau—but not alarmed. Of more concern, it seemed, was the time it was taking the FD to deliver the long-awaited sample of Quill tissue to their hands. The hint of an alien intelligence at work had them buzzing with excitement. Still, they'd been told to wait here and be ready; most seemed prepared to wait as long as that took, as long as they would be involved in this momentous discovery.

Like 'tastic junkies, every one.
Malley doubted any had noticed the FDs' reaction to the mysterious codes Grant had snapped out over the comm, or seen how those assigned to the lab had quietly stepped outside, then closed and locked the doors behind themselves.

He was quite sure no one else had seen how about a quarter of those gathered in here to watch the landing on Pardell's World had exchanged startled, excited looks, then, gradually, moved together to form a quiet, cohesive group—separate from the others, but not obviously, nothing so blatant . . .

This was how it had always started on Thromberg, whenever Station Admin had had enough of Outward Five's independent ways and scanty record keeping, and planned a cleanup visit. From one minute to the next, there would be new voices on the public comms, new faces at the ration distribution points and checkpoints. As suddenly, there would be a wordless sorting out among those in groups—lines drawn between those prepared to support, or at least tolerate, Admin when it arrived in numbers, and those bloody-minded enough to want to scrap about it first.

Martial law or mutiny.
It depended on your starting point.

Grant's was obvious. The military, obeying its older mandate to find and protect alien intelligence, had taken control of the
Seeker
from Gail Smith and, so, Titan University.
That
, Malley told himself grimly,
could be an improvement.
Grant had brought Aaron back to the ship. Point in his favor.

Aaron hadn't been seen since.
Point against.

Gail must have been locked away—Malley grinned. Definite point in Grant's favor.

He was locked in here. While Malley wasn't happy about it, it was better than being locked up elsewhere—or being searched. One of his first tasks had been to double-check his small arsenal. Two knives and the trank.
Well, a little more than that now
, Malley admitted to himself: three knives, the trank, the comm he'd somehow forgotten to return to Taggart, and a set of tools most on Thromberg would consider very useful indeed. And a roll of remarkably strong string he knew Aaron would like.

The statue, or whatever it was, still dominated the room. At some point, everyone in the lab—including Malley, though he found the backdrop of sky and irregular ground somewhat unsettling—had stared, transfixed by the final image left on the screen.
Grant's idea
, he had no doubt. Make sure the first and only sign of purposeful action by the Quill stayed in their faces at all times, lest any in here doubt it or, Malley growled to himself,
lest anyone think the First Defense Unit was off its collective rocker taking over the ship for a planetful of slime
.

The Earther scientists seemed well on their way to group insanity, some excited to tears.

The stationer couldn't deny the slime had indeed constructed a compelling image—what troubled him wasn't the fact, but the intent. The figure of a woman and baby was a message for one human in particular, Aaron Pardell. Given Aaron's tendency to drift from reality under ordinary conditions, Malley wasn't at all comfortable with where his friend's mind might be wandering after this.

WHERE was Pardell?
There'd been no word, nothing. He would have contacted her—Gail knew it—if he could.

Gail had expected better of Grant. What would it hurt his rebellion to keep her posted on the
Athena
's return? He'd been friends with Aaron—he knew she'd want to know the 'sider was safe.

At the very least, Grant knew she'd spent most of her life—and risked what remained of it—trying to find the Quill.
Where was her sample?

Gail sipped her tea and smiled quite menacingly at the figure rushing to her table.

“You have to do something, Dr. Smith! This situation—it's intolerable! Simply intolerable!”

Considering the unmistakable aroma of sherry accompanying these emphatic statements, Gail was quite impressed Reinsez was tackling any word more challenging than her name. “What do you expect me to do, Manuel,” she asked, bored enough to be curious. “Call up the good commander and ask for my ship back?”

“You could call in the patrol ships—” Even this inebriated, Reinsez realized when he'd let something major slip. His normally gloomy face assumed an almost deathlike pallor. “You could call Titan and have them send patrol ships,” he said hastily.

Gail arched one eyebrow. “Let me have your translight comm and I'll shout as loud as you'd like.”

Reinsez's eyes scanned the dining lounge as though looking for help, stopping a moment where Rosalind Fournier was deep in conversation with First Officer Szpindel. “What makes you think I'd have such a thing?” he blustered.

“Clever,” Gail acknowledged, her voice silky smooth. “Forming an alliance with the leader of the 'siders? I wouldn't have thought you capable, dear Manuel. Still, even the formidable Rosalind can't access equipment that isn't here, can she?” Gail leaned her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hands. “What was your bargain with her?” She shook her head. “No, don't tell me. Let's see if I can guess. With Szpindel's help, she could get you our destination easily—after all, Rosalind could open the records from the
Merry Mate II
and retrieve her course data; you'd only need to get her into my office safe to access my copies. How did you contact Titan after Grant and I took away your comm privileges? You had your own—and where better to hide it than with—Rosalind! Did you promise her entry codes to Sol System in return for her help against me?”

Gail made as if to stand. “Should I go over to Rosalind and mention—just casually, you realize—that you knew full well you'd never be able to obtain such codes? What might we expect from the woman who's already risked her own life and that of several hundred thousand other people?”

“No. Sit down. Please, Gail.” Reinsez licked his lips, then blurted out: “I don't want to die out here. I want to go home.”

The truth at last
, she judged it, whether brought out by the sherry or the honest dread of an old and frightened man.

Gail settled back into her seat, doing her best to appear calm and confident. “Then, Manuel,” she informed Titan's spy, “you'd better be ready to back any play I choose to make, because your safety and comfort aren't even on our good commander's list.”

More than that, she didn't bother saying. The man was drunk and scared enough to be careless—if he was even capable of remembering their conversation.
No
, Gail thought, gazing around the room at a truly pitiful collection of potential allies—other than Tobo, whom Grant would be watching like a hawk—
she wouldn't be relying on Reinsez or his cronies for backup any time soon—except one.

Gail got up and walked over to Rosalind Fournier's table, noting the poorly hidden looks of dismay from several individuals she passed. Reinsez's lot, drawing their own conclusions about her conversation with their “leader” and her actions now.
Fools.

“Tell me, Dr. Smith,” Rosalind said, not bothering with a greeting and using a shooing gesture to remove her companions from the table. “Did you have any notion Earth planned to take away your precious ship?”

“Complete surprise, Rosalind,” Gail admitted freely. “May I join you?”

“Oh, please do. The conversation was quite dull. You'd think these people had never experienced a disruption of the chain of command before.”

“It's not particularly common, where we come from,” Gail reminded her.

Rosalind smiled. “One forgets,” she said.

Unlikely
, Gail thought, but smiled herself “I must apologize for the inconvenience. If you like, I'll talk to Commander Grant about your situation. He must realize you are a—disinterested third party.”

The 'sider's eyes glinted. “Must he?”

“Of course,” Gail said smoothly, capturing the basket of rolls from the center of the table. “Why should you care who is in command of the
Seeker
, as long as you believe—” she stressed the word, “—that you'll ultimately get what you want.” As she spoke, Gail divided the rolls between two plates. Three each. She pushed both plates into the middle of the table and waited. They were being observed, without doubt.
But would the observer understand this?
Gail sincerely doubted it.

Rosalind steepled her fingers, examining the offering but not moving to touch either plate.

Gail poured two glasses of water and put one within reach of the 'sider. She lifted hers almost to her lips before saying: “This assumes the present situation—remains stable. Are you a gambler, Rosalind?”

Rosalind tilted her lean head, as if the angle gave her a better view of Gail's face. “I don't take unnecessary risks, Dr. Smith.”

“Neither do I,” Gail said immediately. “But I do take the necessary ones.”

The glass was in Rosalind's hand. Gail waited.

“This action by the Quill,” the 'sider said, staring at her glass. “It has made the situation on this ship—unstable. One hardly knows what to expect next. Alliances, promises. These now appear less than reliable.” An eyebrow rose. “I'm tempted to lock myself in my quarters until you Earthers settle things. But I doubt you'll do so to my—satisfaction.”

“That's the obvious interpretation,” Gail agreed, keeping her hand and voice steady. Rosalind had to know what she offered—a personal alliance with her, not Reinsez. Not Grant. Not Earth. “It may not be entirely accurate.”

Rosalind flashed her an enigmatic look before raising her glass and swallowing.
No blame, no apologies—only what promoted survival for another day.
Gail echoed the gesture with a mixture of relief and caution, aware exactly how temporary this alliance could be.

The 'sider chose one of the plates, Gail the other. “I wait what develops with great interest, Dr. Smith,” Rosalind told her, a careful choice of words. Reinsez must have made her aware of the Earthers' lack of respect for privacy.

“As do I.”

“And young Aaron? Surely he has gained significant value in the eyes of your Commander Grant.”

Gail looked at Rosalind sharply, stung by the implication that Aaron was another bargaining chip, not surprised by it either. She might have been tempted to talk to the older woman about Aaron, to learn more about his life, his past. But Gail was quite sure Rosalind would put a price to every answer, every revelation. This wasn't a mother, concerned for her son. This was a leader, ready to spend whatever lives she felt necessary.

“Quite significant,” Gail nodded agreeably, grimly aware she knew exactly where they stood—and the coin Rosalind would understand. “Thank you for sharing your table,” she added, standing. “I'm sure we'll be in touch.”

Rosalind's eyes gleamed with anticipation. “I look forward to it, Dr. Smith.”

Gail felt some anticipation of her own as she walked away from the table. She'd made a start. Now it was time to do more.