In the Company of Others (63 page)

Nothing had prepared her for the sheer sensuousness of it. Gail moaned deep in her throat and only the wall kept her standing—the wall and a rapidly diminishing sense of danger. His eyes leaped to hers, as though the sound had startled him and he had to be sure it was of pleasure. She had to fight the instinct to arch her back and press herself against him—

The distant rattle of metal against metal was shocking, like the scream of air out a ruptured hull.

Aaron reacted first, turning so his body blocked hers from view as he stared into the darkness. The noise had come from the next aisle.

Gail took a steadying breath and stood away from the wall. “Someone's working in here. That's all,” she said, fighting to firm her voice. “We have to go. You have to go. First, or Malley will think I've locked you away somewhere.”

He swung around, a look of sheer desperation on his face, his hands rising as though to gather her in, then dropping to his sides. “But—”

“Go,” she urged and found a smile. “No matter what anyone says—whatever happens—this wasn't good-bye, my love. I promise.” She wasn't sure if Aaron believed her or wanted her to believe it, but he nodded slowly.

“I'll hold you to that, Earther,” he told her. “Are you sure you don't want me to wait?”

Somehow, Gail grinned at him. “You're too distracting,” she accused and had the joy of seeing him blush. “Now go! I need to pull myself together.”

She waited, frozen in place, until Aaron disappeared at the opposite end of the storeroom and a brief, distant brightness marked where he'd opened and closed the door to the lab.

A tall figure formed itself from the shadows. Gail didn't look at Grant. She pulled up her blouse and began fastening it—her hands shaking, this time with fury. Tears tracked the fabric. “You couldn't give us even a moment alone?” she asked, hearing her voice as though it belonged to someone else. “Not even that much?”

She didn't think he'd dare answer her, but he did, with impeccable, despicable calm: “My duty is still to protect you, Dr, Smith.”

“What did you think was going to happen?” Gail cried, throwing up her head. Whatever else she might have said was silenced by the depth of compassion in his eyes, the grim downturn of his mouth. Instead, she looked for her lab coat, cold to her bones, abruptly too cold to move.

Grant bent and retrieved it, holding it open for her to insert her arms, then did up the buttons, as though she was a child. Gail shivered, then found herself held tightly.

He didn't speak or move as the first anguished sobs tore themselves from her throat.

Only years of practice let Gail walk out of the dark storeroom and back into the people-filled lab, her head high and her face, if not smiling, then at least normal enough so no one seem to notice.

It wasn't good-bye.
But it could be. She wasn't a blind optimist. Grant couldn't hold off much longer—he'd probably come very close to rousing the suspicions of his listeners as it was. Malley, and likely others, would willingly fight to keep Aaron here, but the 'sider would never permit it.

So it was up to her
, Gail told herself firmly.
Aaron would have a say in his own destiny, and the varied self-interests of the universe be damned.

Almost time.
Just as well Grant had—interrupted them. Gail wormed her way through the throng, hurrying to her workstation. Aisha was there and nodded a greeting, busy sorting instruments and humming to herself. Without intending to, Gail found herself capturing her friend's warm fingers in her hand. “What is it?” Aisha asked, frowning slightly as she searched Gail's face.

Gail stretched her lips into a smile and let go. “Know how much you hate my mental leaps?” she asked lightly.

The other scientist frowned a bit more. “Why do you ask?”

“Just remember how often they've been right, that's all,” Gail said.

What Aisha might have replied was interrupted by a dull thud, as if a workbench had overturned, then a sudden, loud snap. As everyone started looking for the sounds, the lab lighting turned garish orange and alarms began to shrill.

Crack!
A long, jagged rupture flowed down the side of the case holding the Quill fragment, joining one already climbing from the bottom.

“Everyone out,” Gail ordered, hearing the order repeated throughout the room as people headed for the doors. “Leave that!” she called to a tech snatching up pieces of equipment.

No panic, but plenty of confusion and raised voices. Gail eased back, one step at a time. They'd practiced evacuating the lab on the way to Thromberg—for whatever good it did when everyone considered the alarm a break from routine and the ultimate danger being a scathing memo. The doors were open; a steady stream of people moved out through each. The FDs were proving useful at something other than guard duty.

A hail from somewhere. “Gail?”

“On my way,” she called out, for once glad to be a head shorter than most. Instead of a door, Gail's target was the nearest biohazard panel, one being located every few meters along the permanent walls. Gail keyed in a specific sequence, then waited for confirmation.

“Gail—” Aaron appeared at her side, Malley right behind. “You have to get out, too.”

“I think it's too late to make it to the door,” Gail said calmly, although there were at least a dozen people still moving toward the exits. “Right, Malley?”

It was the first time she'd spoken to him since their argument about Aaron. Malley's face was being lit by a flashing orange light. He stood there, looking for all the world like some stone gargoyle illuminated by lightning. “Go with her, Aaron,” he said abruptly, his eyes not leaving Gail's. “The halls aren't safe for you with this crowd rushing about. Get.”

Pardell looked surprised but not suspicious. He nodded. “Where?”

Malley pointed. “Be good,” he growled, before moving away with that unexpected speed of his—incidentally sweeping up three straggling techs in his big arms and hustling them toward the door. Gail heard him shouting to the room in general, not particularly helpfully: “She's gone out the other door!”

The 'sider hesitated, looking back at the now-completely fractured case and its colorful, motionless occupant. “The Quill isn't going to hurt anyone, Gail. If you want, I can put it into another box for you.”

“Leave it. Come with me, Aaron,” Gail said quietly.

“What's this all about?” he asked, with the beginnings of a frown.

Gail grinned as the floor shuddered once beneath them.

“How much I hate good-byes.”

PARDELL had been raised where ship's alarms were taken very seriously.
Danger, damage, thieves!
It didn't feel right ignoring this one, if that's what Gail was doing.

Not that he had much choice. Malley seemed to be single-handedly preventing anyone from coming back in, while Gail hurried them both behind a screen.

Which hid an air lock.

“We're taking shelter in there?” he asked. Which explained why Malley went for the door option, if nothing else.

“Not exactly. Help me with this.” This was the set of three inner locks. They came open with the smoothness Pardell had come to expect from the
Seeker
's equipment. It still astonished him at times.

Pardell was equally astonished by what was inside the air lock. “Hurry, Aaron,” Gail said, giving him no time to do more than follow her inside. She started closing the door immediately.

“Gail?”

She seemed unable to stop long enough to look at him, as though momentum was all that kept her going. “I don't want it opening from the inside,” she explained as she started wrapping a length of wire around one of the inner locks.

“That won't be enough,” he said knowingly, glancing involuntarily at the suits hanging to his left. Three. One extra large. One small enough for Gail.
And his
. “Do you want something permanent?” It pained him to suggest damaging the immaculate ship.

“Not if we don't have to.”

There was an emergency tool kit mounted on one wall. For the first time in Pardell's experience, there were tools in it. “Give me a couple of seconds, then,” he assured her and found a couple of multigrips with handles the right size to jam into the lock mechanisms.
A shame to treat tools or doors that way
. “Done.”

“
Good. Thanks.” She was busy pulling on the smallest suit.

“Gail.”

“Get dressed, Aaron,” she said, not looking at him. “Please.”

The piece of Quill wasn't a threat—if anyone knew that, Gail did.
Something was up. Equally obviously, she wasn't prepared to stop and explain. Muttering under his breath, Pardell went over to his suit. He wondered which would impress her more—his ability with tape or that his suit held air—then really looked at what hung on the wall.

“What have you done?” he breathed, all questions and impatience forgotten.

“They tested everything; it's vacuum-ready. You don't mind, do you?” A pause. “I didn't think you'd want one of the
Seeker
's.”

He hardly heard, busy running his gloved fingers over what had been his suit and was now this beautiful thing. Someone with far more skill than any spacer or engineer Pardell knew had not just repaired it, but restored the suit to its original condition. Better, probably, since what working ship's crew bothered with polish and perfect stitching? There were a few additions—he turned it over and saw new power couplings, a propulsion pack he hardly recognized—but nothing that took away from this being his. Even the hooks for sliding cable were on the belt, cleaned and gleaming.

“Tobo's chief engineer, Michael Gilbert, took it as a personal challenge—he's a collector as well as an artist. I hadn't known before I asked him to take a look at it. It is all right, Aaron, isn't it?”

Pardell nodded. “I'll want to thank him.”

“Prove it works,” she suggested.

Anxious.
He heard it in her voice. Much as he would have liked to linger over each invisible repair and flawless new part, Pardell suited up faster than ever before. It was certainly an improvement not to have to tape up seams or coax a reluctant conditioning system to work. He did pause before pulling on the boots. “They fit,” he said out loud, dismayed beyond reason to find the mags no longer protruded past heel and toe.

“Gilbert said the ones you had were the best part of the suit and worth saving. He didn't replace them—only trimmed them to your size.”

A profound change
, Pardell thought, but forced himself to stop hesitating. When he had his helmet on and clamped, he switched on the interior light so she could see his face. The homemade gauges hadn't been changed—safety, he decided, inclined to believe the mysterious repairman had known Pardell might not have time to learn a new system.

Gail reached for the control to evacuate the air, but Pardell tapped her on the shoulder. “Tie up first,” he said through the comm, making sure it was private. She nodded, following his lead in snapping one end of their belt tethers—another marvel: his was brand-new cable—to the ring beside the exterior door. He set the controls and watched the indicators tracking the decreasing pressure. Fast and smooth.

Pressure against his chest. Pardell looked down but couldn't see what it was. Then Gail moved to stand facing him, and he realized it had to be her gloved hands.

She'd noticed he'd safely touched her shoulder.
Or
, he reminded himself,
she knew from her own experiments that this double layer of metal-laced fabric was enough to protect the two of them, if not against the Quill, then from his skin.

A second, better surprise. Gail put her arms around him, as far as they could go in the bulky suits, and leaned her helmet against his. He couldn't see inside from this angle, but the sound of her breathing carried through the comm system, clear, soft, and not quite regular.

Careful of tubing and seals, Pardell wrapped his arms around her in turn, awed by the sensation of enfolding her smaller self and the powerful protective feeling it aroused. “Now that you've got me where you want me,” he said, keeping it casual and cheerful, the way Malley would, “want to tell me what's happening?”

“Trial Number Six,” she said, just as the indicator light flashed green and the outer air lock door swung obediently open.

She must have known what he would see; she didn't let go and turn, but simply added:

“Assuming you can get us across that.”

THEY'D break through the inner door. Her air supply would run out. The sun would stop shining. All this and more would happen before Gail felt like leaving the first embrace of her life that sang to her soul.

“Gail.”

The voice of reason, accompanied by a firm push to set her at a distance. She gave herself a mental shake before looking up. Aaron stared past her, outward, then bent his head down so she could see his half-smile. “You've been busy,” he commented.

“Level three biohazard,” Gail said absently. “Automatic sphere quarantine.” She didn't say any more, having a healthy respect for the FDs' abilities when it came to invading private comm links.

Level three—the waist alarm would have sounded, its walkway accelerating to remove—more or less intact—any person with unfortunate timing. Then, evacuation to hard vacuum as the accordion walls stretched, thinner and thinner, until waist became tether and the
Seeker
became two.