In the Company of Others (76 page)

Without another word to Grant, the stationer turned to the comm. “Hi, Syd. You know, we could use a bit of help at that.” Malley closed his eyes, deliberately keeping his voice light as he gave what might be a death sentence to his friends. “Remember the time you and most of Outward Five kept Sammie off our tails so that Aaron and I could liberate that excess furniture?”

“Which time, Malley? Seems we're always covering for you.” Despite the words, Syd sounded scared. Malley didn't blame him.

“I know it,” he said softly. “Do what you can—but make sure you listen to Amy. She's smarter than both of us. And don't land till you hear from me—me and no one else. Okay?”

A pause, then: “Sure. We'll be careful—you, too. See you and Aaron later, Malley.”

The stationer looked over to where Grant leaned against the controls. Blood and fluid oozed from so many tiny blisters, there hadn't seemed a point trying to stop it. “I certainly hope so,” the stationer told Syd, but it wasn't a bet he'd take himself.

A bright, blue, star-free sky would be nice
, Malley added to his list of hope-so's.

It seemed somewhat late to worry about such things now, but he'd never made it through one of Aisha's planet night simulations.

Gail sat, still and content, in a peaceful silence new to her, her throat sore with words, her ears ringing with Aaron's voice. It was as though they'd said a lifetime's worth of silly, solemn things to one another—finding more and more to say until they'd stopped and fallen silent at the same moment, knowing suddenly there was no reason to speak, and every reason to simply feel.

Perhaps it was Susan
, Gail thought, keeping her back to the mountains and the coming dawn, her face to Aaron's silhouette. Could the Quill have created this sense of connection between them even at a distance? Or had they, in this so short night, reached the point old well-married couples do, when words are shortcuts to what is understood and loved?

If it was Susan
, Gail told herself,
fitting they should share this night and these feelings with the Quill.
A being who hadn't asked to exist, but did. Who hadn't wanted to be alone, but was. Who'd never wanted to kill, but couldn't help herself.

Her last night, if they succeeded.
Susan's decision, not theirs.

A willing sacrifice or needful change? Altruism or some instinct inexplicably tied to the Quill's survival? Susan couldn't tell them—Gail couldn't begin to guess. But it seemed only right not to leave her alone.

Suddenly, they weren't alone either. Bob zoomed up at them. Instead of producing a voice, the little 'bot bounced up and down, its dark surface reflecting the remaining moonlight.

“Malfunction?” Aaron whispered, as though his voice was hoarse, too.

“Message,” Gail said reluctantly. She stood and stretched, arching her neck back to better survey the sky. The mountains were more than starless shadows now, they'd transformed into doom-sharp peaks edged by light.
Dawn was always in a hurry
, she thought to herself. “Grant must be on his way. I'd better go to the
Athena
and see if there's any word.”

“Why don't I wait here?” Aaron said with what might have been a laugh. Gail wasn't altogether sure—but if he wanted to play it light and cheery, so could she.

“Good idea,” she replied, straight-faced. “I'll be right back. Keep an eye out for company.”

As she went to the pod, she gazed down the hillside of ruined grass to the little community below. Voices couldn't carry this far, but the light of several small fires could.
What did it feel like
, she wondered,
to be outside after so long?
Did they celebrate a victory or huddle wearily together, relieved the worst was over? How did the younger ones feel—or would they sleep inside the ship until it was scrapped for materials, forcing them to come to terms with their new home?

The Quill fragment on her wrist dropped free as Gail stepped on the ramp—perhaps Susan consolidated herself, or perhaps she worried about losing another piece if Gail suddenly powered up the ship and left. Gail missed the subtle calming effect, but not as much as she'd thought. The peace of her night with Aaron stayed with her—for now.

Suddenly, a spectacular fireball streaked almost from horizon to horizon before it fractured and dissipated into light. More gouts of flame from above—a battle was raging!

Gail rushed into the pod. The comm light was already blinking, and she hurried to sit in front of the panel and key the control. A blast of overlapping sounds fired back at her, as though a dozen frantic voices tried to be heard at once.

She wasn't surprised.
So much for stealth, Grant
, Gail grumbled to herself, listening for anything sensible from the mess.

Deliberate confusion
, Gail decided a moment later, both relieved and concerned. Anything deliberate probably involved Grant, which was a hopeful sign. Unfortunately, she couldn't imagine any reasonable explanation for how the commander had apparently enlisted the help of those from the station in his quest.

“He didn't,” she whispered out loud.
Malley.
Despite being inside the pod, Gail looked up, as if she could somehow see what was happening at the limit of atmosphere, trying not to think of the ship that had already lost the battle and plunged to the ground.

Gail hurried back to Aaron, not bothering to add her voice to the cacophony. Of all the players in what was well beyond tragedy, she knew her mark on the stage.

“You think Malley's coming down here?” Aaron's voice went from hope to horror as he thought it through. “He can't be.”

“I don't know for sure, Aaron,” Gail cautioned. “Just—be ready, that's all. I hope it's only Grant in the pod—” they could see landing lights overhead, “—and he should be in the suit, so Susan won't react. But your friend has a way of surprising me on a regular basis.”

There was sufficient glow from the horizon to show his nod. “That's Malley, all right.”

They waited, together. There was nothing else to do but watch the lights approach. It seemed too slow, but Gail reminded herself the pods were designed to drift down on antigravs, a gentler and less destructive—if more expensive—landing than riding the flames of a starship's jets.

Gail used Aaron's face as her barometer for trouble. If the pod now landing mere footsteps away was filled with FD troops or other fools, she'd soon see him struggle to restrain Susan-Quill's instincts, try to help her identify each one as quickly as possible as not-enemy. Some would die. It couldn't be helped.

If, as it should, the pod contained Grant, alone and protected by his suit, Aaron's face wouldn't change at all, beyond perhaps a nod to let her know.

It took only twenty-five heartbeats for the pod to settle on its stubby legs and drop its ramp. Gail looked from Aaron to the ramp and back again, then her attention was distracted upward.

Something else was falling out of the sky—a ship. Under control and not another fireball, at least.
Damn!

“Gail!”

The sound of a new human voice startled her back to the here and now. “Malley?” Gail whirled. The gigantic stationer stepped out of the pod with a stasis box in his arms, the combined weight rattling the ramp with each step. “Stay there,” she warned. “He's got to tell her who you are before it's safe.”

Safe?
Somehow she doubted the Quill Effect was Malley's biggest worry at the moment. He was covered in blood, hopefully not his own, muscles trembling to keep hold of the heavy box, and his eyes were fixed on her with the kind of desperate look a drowning man might give a rope just out of reach.

The sky. Stars still showed—dimly now, to her night-accustomed eyes, but likely more than enough to remind Malley of his greatest fear. “Aaron,” Gail called softly. “Can Susan help Malley?”

It was a strange idea, but she thought if the Quill could selectively collect and retransmit emotion, perhaps the Quill could ease some of Malley's terror.

Not that Malley was doing badly.
He was aware and in control—so far. “Grant's here with me,” he was shouting. “He's hurt.”

“Go,” Aaron told her. Just the one word, as though most of his focus had to stay elsewhere.

Gail ran to the other pod and up its ramp. “You can put it down here, Malley,” she said right away. When he'd done so, and stood there looking down at her, Gail held herself from collapsing into his arms and sobbing by the single greatest act of will of her life.

“Show me Grant first,” she asked.

“What about Aaron?” the stationer demanded, his eyes wild. “Look at him—we can't leave him like that—”

“Be glad he's like that, Malley,” Gail said, hoping her voice was getting through. “If he wasn't—you'd already be dead.” She didn't bother telling him that it would be another minute or so before she could be sure Aaron had convinced Susan to spare these newest arrivals.
Why have more people worrying than need be?

She led the way back into the pod, only to stop and stare, aghast, at the body lying on the floor as if it had just fallen from the pilot's seat. The now-useless suit was the least of it. The body's head rolled around so a pair of familiar dark eyes could see her. “You look like hell, Dr. Smith,” Commander Grant said in a wisp of his former voice.

“You should talk,” Gail retorted, going to her knees beside him to assess the damage.
Force projectile, narrow spread, close range.
The images she'd been forced to endure in that forensics course many years ago were finally useful. “Do I want to ask questions?”

“Let's just say we won and leave it at that.”

Won.
Gail thought of the box outside and wondered if she'd ever use that word.

As she hesitated, Grant reached up with his good hand and gave her a push away. “I'm not going anywhere,” he said urgently. “You've got to hurry—ask Malley. We could have dozens of station ships landing any minute. They ran interference for us—one took fire—but the rest may be running too low on fuel to stay up any longer.”

Gail bent down and whispered: “I know what it took for you to do this, Commander. I won't forget.” She pressed her lips against his sweat-cold forehead, then stood, quickly, before her resolve could waver, and walked out of the pod without looking back.

Malley made a soundless protest but followed her. When Gail realized it, she stopped and put her hand on his chest to stop him. too. “Listen, Malley. I don't know if you should—”

He looked worn yet patient, like some mountain that had stood for millennia and wasn't shifting any time soon. “I've come all this way, Gail,” he said with unexpected calm, his low voice vibrating through her hand to her arm. “I want to talk to Aaron.”

As if she could stop him
, Gail told herself, but somehow knew Malley wouldn't go against her wishes this time. She sighed. “He's—he's not just Aaron any more. Can you handle that?”

“I've watched. I've tried to understand.” His straight brows drew together thoughtfully. “I think I can sort it out, if Aaron can.”

Gail was reminded of the fierce brilliance under that shock of standup hair and felt less alone. “Let's go, then. Bring the box. And don't worry about where you step. The Quill will get out of the way.”

He looked a little startled by that, but Gail had no more time to coach him.
Who knew what was still happening above?

“Aaron.”

“Aaron.”

Pardell pulled himself inward again, tightening his awareness until Susan-Quill retreated to one side, quiescent, patient, while he interacted with
those that moved.
As he became more himself again, Pardell gently rejected the label, careful to keep to those which belonged to his human self.

“Malley!” Pardell looked at the stationer. Even after a double shift, a brawl, and a night definitely not spent recovering, he hadn't seen this much wear and tear on the man before. And blood? “You're hurt!”

Malley brushed self-consciously at the stains. “No. Grant bled all over me. He's going to be okay. Tough guy.”

Pardell had wondered when the two big men would come to blows. He winced. “You didn't—”

The stationer's sudden grin transformed what had been a very grim face until now back into something Pardell recognized. “Wasn't me—more's the pity. There's been another mini-revolution upstairs. Earthers can't seem to make up their minds about anything without a scrap of some kind.”

“Sounds familiar,” Pardell said dryly, drinking in the sight of his friend like that first cold one at Sammie's. “Now that you're here, what do you think of my planet?”

Malley gave a theatrical shrug and peered over his shoulder at the light coming over the mountains. “That's—interesting,” he decided in a very noncommittal voice. “The ground doesn't seem to slide around, which is a relief. I wanted to see some growing things, but they're all gone.”