In the Company of Others (59 page)

Grant nodded very slightly, then, slowly, almost reluctantly, touched one finger to the small, faded scar on his temple, then traced another oval in the whole skin—lower and closer to his ear.

An implant.
Positional data at least—probably, from the care he was using talking to her, audio as well. It would depend on how closely they were being shadowed.

No wonder Grant looked like a man being eaten from inside. Gail leaned forward until her cheek rested against the back of his hand, the one holding hers. “If you expect the full cooperation of the science staff, Commander Grant,” she said calmly, and not for his ears alone, “I suggest you start by letting me back into my lab.”

She felt something feather-soft on the top of her head. Grant's chin on her hair, or perhaps a kiss.
Acknowledgment and relief, definitely.
But his voice remained as businesslike and unyielding as before. “That's actually why I'm here, Dr. Smith.

“There's been another incident.”

Gail smiled.

“WE don't want any more trouble, Malley.”

Considering the man expressing this desire was dripping blood from both nostrils, with one eye disappearing under a rapidly swelling lid, Malley thought this quite reasonable.
From the FDs' viewpoint.

The stationer grinned. “Then you'll open the door,” he concluded helpfully, crouching with hands at the ready.

The four men still facing him, which included a surprisingly tough and determined Philips, looked grim. And more than a little dismayed at the prospect of another round. Malley wasn't—this was the most fun he'd had since coming on the
Seeker. With no dibs to pay for breaking furniture
, he reminded himself contentedly. The three groaning on the floor probably didn't agree.

Aisha, standing behind them, gave him the thumbs-up signal. She was done. “Fine,” Malley said, straightening up and holding out his open palms. “No more trouble from me.”

They didn't look comforted, searching him with unusual diligence and a remarkable lack of success. Philips kept watch; Malley kept smiling. Since he was already locked up and under guard, there wasn't much more they could do with him.

Just like old times
, the stationer thought, even though some of the Earthers were no longer very happy being crowded together in the lab. He couldn't see why: there were enough chairs or cots for everyone to sit at the same time—and an abundance of food and drink for the asking. All they needed was some music and beer—even that gut-rotting liquor of Grant's would do—and this place would be perfect.

“Hey!” Malley objected, suddenly noticing one of the FDs returning with a fistful of binding cord. “I said I was done—you don't need to do that!” Bad enough Philips was grimly determined—the FD with the cords was Mike Barber, a man who usually had a wicked sense of humor. He didn't look to be joking now.

“Excuse us if we don't take your word for it,” Philips said dryly. “Have a seat, Malley.”

Aisha and Temujin stepped forward, a couple of the other Earthers joining them. “We'll take responsibility for him,” Aisha offered. “Malley just—panicked. It's got to be hard on the man when he doesn't know what's going on or what to expect.”

Malley began tensing his muscles, in case the scientists weren't persuasive enough. It might buy him some slack—assuming they didn't notice and also assuming they conveniently wrapped the cord around his bulging biceps and not his wrists. He'd have more confidence in the vid-fantasy trick if he'd tried it before, but being tied up wasn't one of those things that had happened in his life. Yet. Still,
nothing ventured.

Johnson, the FD with the bloody nose, wiped his face with a cloth and eyed the scientists. “Panicked, Dr. Lynn?” he questioned skeptically. “If this is how your friend here reacts to temporary overcrowding, maybe we should trank him instead.”

Before Malley could laugh at this, a new voice intruded, saying: “I'll watch him.” Sazaad came to loom over Aisha, gazing eye to eye with Malley, his expression unreadable. “There won't be any more outbursts from this lunatic.”

Maybe Johnson read Malley's tension as preparation for a renewal of their one-sided struggle. Or, given how little Sazaad had endeared himself to the techs, maybe the FD looked forward to watching the scientist forced to make good on his promise. Regardless, the man lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Then he's all yours, Dr. Sazaad, Dr. Lynn. Just keep him away from us, please?”

“Of course,” Aisha agreed, hurrying over to Malley as the FDs moved off to consult with their group, Philips turning to keep watch. Malley tossed him a casual salute.

Once safely surrounded by Aisha and her companions, Malley bent his head and asked softly: “Was I right? Was it a message?”

Sazaad smiled broadly, showing his too even, too white teeth. “Sent from my quarters, you notice.”

Aisha rolled her eyes theatrically. “Sent from wherever she could. Quick thinking, Malley.”

The stationer didn't bother pointing out he'd likely been the only one thinking in the lab at the time. “Made sense Gail would try to get news to us if she could—and she'd need a way that Grant's people wouldn't be monitoring.”

Luck had played a role
, Malley admitted to himself, glancing over their heads at the D-board and its ever-changing list of materials and procedures. He'd been near it when the display had flashed to Sazaad's sequence of experiments, a red flashing bar indicating new changes being added. Since Sazaad himself had been standing in the middle of the lab, complaining about something or other, and so obviously not entering any information to the system, Malley had quietly attracted Aisha's attention.

He'd then very noisily attracted the attention of the FDs by trying to break out the door.
That had been the fun part.

“What did she say?”

“Here,” Temujin said, passing what looked to be a sequence of mathematical notations to Sazaad. “These were for you.”

Sazaad went from puffed pride to puzzled as he read. He muttered something in another language under his breath, then simply walked away from them.

“Any idea what that's about?” Malley asked.

Aisha's eyes sparkled. “I'd say it's a challenge. The rest was for all of us. The situation's as you thought, Malley. Grant's taken control of the entire ship, locking up Gail and the Captain as well as those crew not part of his unit. Those not in here are confined to the dining lounge in the science sphere. Don't ask me how Gail got into quarters.”

Malley shook his head. “Doesn't matter. Did she say anything about Aaron?”

“Somewhere in the science sphere. She believes Grant's isolated his potential problems away from the command sphere—including Aaron.”

The stationer's voice dropped an octave. “Where?”

“Any problems?” Philips asked, appearing behind Sazaad.

Malley gave him the smile that usually made Sammie bring out his antique baseball bat for insurance. “These fine people are explaining everything to me,” he told the former tech. “It's vastly reassuring. How are the ribs?” he asked solicitously, quite sure a couple had bent, if not cracked, when Philips had gotten in his way.

“Sore,” the smaller man said bluntly, then grinned. “But still in one piece. What did you hit me with anyway?”

Malley lifted his left hand and made a loose fist. It was nearly as big as Philips' head, and that worthy's eyes grew round as he looked at it. “Let's not do that again, okay?”

“Absolutely,” Malley promised. Philips gave him a very sharp look but decided not to pursue it.

Once Philips was out of earshot again, Malley asked Aisha: “So, where's Aaron?”

“Gail didn't know. But wherever he is, he's safe,” she said flatly. “The FD aren't here to harm anyone—if Aaron needed medical care, they'd bring him here. We have to concentrate on what Gail's asked us to do.”

The stationer frowned. “Which is?” he growled suspiciously.

“Apparently we have some allies nearby,” Temujin broke in excitedly, a state he'd been in since the moment the Quill had presented their statue. “Gail wants us to contact them.”

“From here? While we're watched?”

Temujin smiled like a child given permission to draw on the walls of his room. “Malley, you've no idea what we can do from in here,” he boasted, gazing around the lab with pride. “And neither does Commander Grant.”

Gail found this a peculiar comfort, as if she needed to know her original estimation of the man had been right all along. Had almost dying together forged some bond between them?
More likely
, she reminded herself,
it was her stubborn pride, insisting on trusting her own judgment of others despite evidence to the contrary.

Whichever it was, Gail walked beside Grant—preceded and followed by guards who'd only yesterday answered to her as science staff—and felt as though the universe was back in balance.
Cockeyed as usual, but balanced.

Maybe it was as simple as knowing the right target.

“You don't seem surprised we've had some problems in the lab,” Grant said as they approached the main door.

“You left Malley in there, didn't you?” she said matter-offactly. “Did you really think he wouldn't have an—opinion—to express about matters?”

A corner of Grant's mouth rose. “There's that. Taggart, what's the situation?” he asked the FD standing outside the door.

Taggart gave Gail one of those “sorry, ma'am” looks she was growing accustomed to receiving from just about all of Grant's people—as mutineers, they were strangely apologetic types—and replied: “Nominal, sir. Everyone's getting a bit impatient, but they're being civil about it. There was a small fracas involving the big guy . . . Malley . . . but the others have calmed him down.”

“Any injuries?” Gail asked expectantly. She was far from ready to forgive the FDs.

Taggart blushed, but stayed at attention. “Philips has three broken ribs, Dr. Smith. Johnson thinks his nose might be as well, but . . . the commander knows how sensitive Johnson is about his nose.”

“Thank you, Taggart,” Grant growled. “Open up.” Gail managed not to smile.

But she couldn't help it when facing what amounted to a hero's welcome in the lab. The sixty-odd people waiting for her hadn't had a chance to celebrate what had happened on the planet's surface: the success of the suits, the discovery of the Quill—let alone the astonishing development that the Quill might be sentient. All this, plus the suspense of being bottled up in the lab for hours had most of her staff as giddy as if they'd been drinking all night.

There was shouting and laughter as well as the odd tear—not to mention a considerable number of bad jokes at the expense of the First Defense Unit and its commander, who stood watching from the doorway with an indefinable expression. Gail found herself hugged and kissed by people who'd never so much as started a conversation with her before.

She had her answer as unmistakably massive arms swept her right off her feet and she found herself suspended in midair. From the look on his face, the stationer was in no mood to celebrate—in fact, he looked as though he was debating with himself whether to toss her against the nearest wall or simply snap her in half.

Gail didn't give him time to make up his mind. She wrapped her arms around Malley's broad neck and kissed him soundly on the mouth. Then, before he could put her—or, more likely, throw her—down, she buried her face on his shoulder, as if succumbing to emotion.

It put her lips near his ear. “Aaron's all right, Malley,” she whispered urgently. “He's in the holding area, but we'll have him out in a few minutes. Don't put me down yet, you idiot—” this a hiss as Malley's grip loosened. Obediently, he hugged her to his chest. Gail wheezed and he let go slightly. She slipped a piece of paper into his pocket.

“The military has a ship trailing us. Grant's got an implant: a tracer, audio as well,” she hurried, knowing there wasn't much time. “Grant had no choice but to follow FD protocol—but he'll help us as he can. Did you get my message?”

“Yes, of course I missed you, Cupcake,” Malley said heartily, lifting her up again as if she was some prized hunk of metal he'd found. Before she could more than wince—
Cupcake?
—Gail found herself on the receiving end of an enthusiastic kiss.

A little too enthusiastic.
Gail squirmed her way out of it, only to see the warning in Malley's eyes. She glanced left. Loran was approaching. “Cupcake?” she spat under her breath. “Put me down.” This louder.

Malley looked unrepentant as he deposited Gail gently to the floor. “You kissed me first,” he said mildly.

Gail collected herself enough to glare at him. “I kissed everyone,” she told him. “Spirit of the moment. I'm over it.”

“Whatever you say, Dr. Smith,” Malley returned with that lazy smile, his voice rumbling at its more devastating depth. The flirting wasn't for her benefit—Gail could read a completely different message in the tension of his shoulders and the fresh cuts on his hands. Malley'd fought once today and was hoping for more.

Gail preferred a more civilized, less messy approach. “Where's Sazaad?” He'd been conspicuously absent from the greeting throng, a relief in a way, but worrisome in others.