by Sage Walker
Two women emerged from the elevator, Andrea Doan taller than he expected, her shoulders rounded a little as she leaned down to listen to Mena beside her. Andrea wore a canvas smock thing over her jeans, a work jacket with many pockets. Her fists pushed two of them forward. The effect was that of a pregnancy, but she wasn’t pregnant and hadn’t applied for a pregnancy. Her black hair was slicked back tight, as it had been in her mug shot, and it was shiny in the mid-morning October light. Andrea Doan was not as plump now as she had been in the mug shot, and Helt realized it had been taken fifteen years ago, when she came aboard as a colonist. She looked strong and she looked like she didn’t care much for men, or women, either.
He watched Andrea Doan move, her legs longer than Mena’s and not quite matching Mena’s stride. Move ahead, halt and wait; it made the woman look impatient with her companion.
Forget the bio, he told himself. Remember that you have never seen this woman before. But he knew that her family had been in Mexico for three generations after leaving Vietnam and that she was a brewmaster, and he knew that Mena’s farmers were happy enough to see her transferred from time to time.
Mena looked up and then both women did. Mena offered Helt a quick smile. Andrea Doan didn’t. Mena opened her office door and Helt followed the women in. A waft of fresh hay and manure came with them. Helt sneezed.
“Bless you,” Mena said. “Coffee?”
“Of course,” Helt said. “Thank you.” Mena motioned for her two visitors to take chairs at a worktable. It held workstation screens, but there was no clutter for Helt to focus on, no rubber chickens or other oddities.
What social preambles are appropriate before you announce to someone that their current life has been destroyed because of a bank deposit? Helt wasn’t sure. Mena brought him a mug of coffee and supplied Andrea Doan and herself with cups of tea.
“So you’re Helt Borresen,” Andrea Doan said. She dragged her cup to a convenient position and ignored Mena’s courtesy in offering it. Her face was broad, with regular features that were pleasant enough. She had smooth skin, no sun damage despite her forty-plus years. Her narrow lips were pursed in a thin, tight line, as if to guard against saying what she really wanted to say.
“I am,” Helt said. “And you are Andrea Doan, who is responsible for some of Kybele’s finest beer. Do you know what you’re in for this morning?”
Andrea Doan’s eyes flashed pure hatred. She’s bitter, Mena had told him. But she’s a good brewmaster.
“Mena says you think I know something about the man who was murdered.”
“I’m the Incident Analyst for SysSu,” Helt said. “I’ve been given the title of Special Investigator to determine who killed Cash Ryan. I asked Mena to bring you here. There are questions I will ask, but I’m not here to arrest you.”
“You would have sent someone in uniform for that,” Andrea said.
The idea was tempting. Helt didn’t think he was going to learn anything here, or from any of the Seed Bankers. The timing of the discovery that they were aboard irritated him. In some ways, he wished Archer had waited a few days to mention them. The Seed Bankers on Earth had no terrorist history at all and disowned members who thought violence was a good idea within nanoseconds, and that didn’t fit with what had happened to Cash Ryan.
“You worked in the brewery on Wednesday,” Helt said. “After that, you show up on the security camera records at a grocery on Level Two Stonehenge, at 1600. You left the grocery and went on foot to your quarters. You went from there to a potluck harvest supper at 1818. The people who were there told NSS you left them at around 2100. You didn’t have time to kill Cash Ryan that night and your neighbors can prove where you were. You aren’t under suspicion of murder. There are other things we need to know.”
“I don’t know anything about this and I don’t want to talk to you,” Andrea said.
“Andrea, please,” Mena said. “This is important.”
“To you, perhaps.” Andrea did not look at Mena. “Not to me.”
“Please think of this as a citizen’s duty.” Mena’s voice was one she seldom used, the “I will brook no nonsense” voice of the Biosystems Executive who meant precisely what she said.
Andrea Doan had obviously heard that voice before. “I see. I want legal counsel,” Andrea said.
Helt found himself wanting to lean back in his chair to get away from her. He didn’t do that. “Everything we’ve said and will say is being recorded. But if you think legal counsel is needed…”
“It’s Obrecht.” Mena’s voice had returned to its usual gentle cadence. “You asked me to call him, and I did. He says he has represented you before. Will he be acceptable, Andrea?”
“Yes.” Short, clipped, and resentful.
“Giliam, are you here?” Mena asked.
Giliam Obrecht’s freckled face and his remarkably narrow nose appeared on the table screens. “I’m here. Andrea, this was short notice, but I’ll give you the coaching I would have given you in private. Just talk to them. Answer their questions. I can ask to have things removed from this record if needed, but I doubt that will be necessary. Here’s the history of our interactions in the past, for the record.”
A sidebar appeared with the information that Andrea Doan had lodged a complaint against a noisy neighbor. Obrecht brought both parties to his office, a conversation ensued, and that had been the end of it.
Helt took a deep breath and moved his table screen so he could get a full view of the real, unrecorded Andrea Doan sitting at the table here. Maybe she wasn’t completely antisocial. People invited her to dinner, at least.
“Cash Ryan was a contract worker who was going back to Earth,” Helt said. “We think that two people, perhaps more, were involved in killing him. Of course we want to know who those people were, but the burning question is why they did it. And we don’t know that.”
Andrea hadn’t touched her tea. Her disapproving look didn’t change at all.
“Think about it.” Helt leaned forward and tried for eye contact. Andrea didn’t flinch from it, but her gaze was flat and hooded and hard to read. Helt wondered if she ever blinked, but then she did. “A man’s going to leave Kybele and be out of the picture forever, but someone kills him. Did you know him?”
“No.”
“What about him was worth killing? What was so important about him that just letting him leave wasn’t an option? Have you heard anyone talking about him, anyone wondering why he died?”
“No,” Andrea said.
“Not even gossip?” Helt asked.
“Just that a man was killed.”
Helt moved away from her a little and settled himself more comfortably in his chair. “I’ve told you why you’re here but I haven’t told you why I am. We know about the money, Andrea. The Seed Banker money.”
Mena put down her teacup. It made a sharp sound on the hard surface of the table. It didn’t break. “Helt—what are you doing?”
“I’m asking questions, Mena. That’s what I’m doing. Personally, I don’t think the Seed Bankers had any reason to kill anyone, much less an outsider like Cash Ryan. We suspect he was a psychopath. We know he was a stalker. I am worried that he might have threatened to sabotage something on Kybele for some twisted reason or another, and I don’t think I’m alone in that worry. So here’s a question, Andrea Doan. Do you know if Cash Ryan approached anyone in your group? For any reason?”
Andrea Doan’s eyes were wider now.
“These are the names of Seed Bankers we know are on board,” Helt said. “We’ve talked to Kelly Halkett and Susanna Jambekar. We’ll be talking to the rest of them today.” He flashed the names up.
ORIOL BRUGUERA
ANDREA DOAN
KELLY HALKETT
SUSANNA JAMBEKAR
BENSON LUSENO
AKILA SHENOUDA
MASAKA UEDA
Andrea Doan gave no visible reaction, no acknowledgment, no denial.
“Here’s what I think I know,” Helt said.
“The stated position of the Seed Bankers is that Earth needs to have an off-planet source of genetic material. Kybele’s been exporting some stocks to some of the seed banks and frozen zoos on Earth. Those places have been and will continue to be vulnerable to attack and sabotage. Some are lost and can’t be restored.”
“That’s common knowledge,” Andrea said.
“Therefore, Kybele should stay nearby and safe,” Helt said, “and not go chasing off after a future that may not be viable. Am I right about that?”
The muscles in Andrea Doan’s neck stood out like ropes. Her lips were sealed tight. She stared at Helt. She hadn’t glanced at Mena since she sat down, and she didn’t now.
“It’s not an evil position to have,” Helt said. “It’s a sound argument. It is, however, not Kybele’s goal.”
He let the silence in the room last for a time.
“Freedom of speech and freedom of opinion are important in this ship and I will protect your right to both as long as I am here,” Helt said. He could close this and let her run now to spread the news, and he decided to do that. “I will also respect your right to say nothing at all if that’s what you choose to do.”
Those narrow lips opened at last. “That’s what I choose,” Andrea said.
“If I were in your position, I might feel the same way,” Helt said. “However, if there’s anything you want to tell me, now or at any time, I hope you will call me. Not because you like me. Not because you trust me. But because I’m in a position to take action on what’s happened. And what hasn’t.”
Andrea Doan’s look said it would be a cold day in hell before Helt heard from her about anything.
“What hasn’t happened yet.” Helt let the implication hang in the air, to plant the tiny hope that he might be able to change her fate.
“Am I free to go?” Andrea Doan asked.
Helt nodded. He stood when Andrea did, because that’s what his mother had taught him, and watched the woman stalk out the door. Andrea didn’t slam it behind her, although Helt was braced for the noise.
Mena’s teacup was in front of her mouth, a shield to hide her lips. Helt had seen her do that before, sometimes to hide a smile. He didn’t think she was hiding a smile right now.
“Well,” Giliam Obrecht said.
“Do you think she’ll come straight to your office?” Helt asked him.
“I will be remarkably surprised if she doesn’t.”
“So will I,” Helt said. “But I’m hoping she’ll contact some of the other Seed Bankers on the way.”
Giliam Obrecht sighed. “You seem to have given Legal some new clients. Seven of them.”
“I’m afraid so,” Helt said. “You have the list, right?”
“I have it. Mena, why didn’t you warn me?”
Mena put her cup down. “Because I didn’t know any of this was going to happen,” Mena said. “Have a good day, Giliam.”
“I’ll try.”
Mena flicked the screens dark. “Talk to me, Helt,” she said.
“Gladly.” Helt held out his coffee mug. “May I have a little more coffee, please?”
She got up and came around the table to take his cup from his hand. “At least you say please.” Her back, turned away from Helt, was rigidly straight. She brought the mug back steaming and sat down in a chair next to him. She looked at him as if he were a mold on a cluster of grapes, something to be destroyed if it threatened her crop.
“All the Seed Bankers have been under surveillance for days,” Helt said. “They haven’t been in dead zones at the same time; they have had no face-time together for Severo’s people to listen in on. Even the two Seed Bankers in Biosystems, who might be expected to cross paths in the Library, haven’t done that.”
“So you kicked the anthill,” Mena said.
“Mena, NSS is plowing through alibis for as many people as they can for the four hours we need to fill in. I want the Seed Bankers implicated or thrown out of the pile.”
“They know, as of now, that they’re on their way out,” Mena said.
“Maybe not quite yet,” Helt said. “It could be that Andrea went to Giliam’s office before she talked to them. But they’ll know very soon, even if she did.”
“Why aren’t you worried about what they might do before they leave?” Mena asked.
“As I said, they are in sight and hearing of NSS day and night. I gambled that the risk would be small.”
Mena looked at the wall, not at him. “You’re rushing things because of Elena.”
“Yes,” he said, and he wondered how Mena felt about what they had been, Helt and Mena, what they could never be again. Whatever she was feeling didn’t look like regret. It looked like anger mixed with fear. “Yes, in part, that’s true. But, like you and Archer and Doughan, I’m not fond of the idea of leaving a murderer loose on board.”
Mena nodded.
“And you could, as you said, keep your midwife and Andrea, if you want to,” Helt said. “Neither of them killed the guy.”
“I said I wanted to keep Susanna. It was a bluff.”
“To mess with Doughan’s head?” Helt asked.
“You know me too well.”
But that couldn’t have been her only reason. Mena’s outburst after Susanna’s interview had been meant to be alarming, and it had been. It wasn’t unplanned; couldn’t have been. She was after something else, perhaps a reaction from Doughan but possibly one from Helt. He didn’t know what she had on her mind when she gave them both her challenge, and her intent was no clearer to him now than it had been on Sunday.
“Your position of power is an odd one,” Helt said. “Until the ports are sealed, you and the other execs have absolute authority about who stays on board. There is no legal recourse for anyone if you choose to send them away, so Andrea can yell and bang her heels on the floor all she wants. It won’t change a thing.”
“And poor Giliam will have to listen to it,” Mena said.
“He’s trained for that. Do you really want to keep Susanna?” Helt asked.
“Yes. I don’t know. I wish I knew.”
“Will you let me know when you do? The execs need to have their lists of new colonists ready. Biosystems and SysSu can pick two new colonists each, and Navigation gets three.”
“I hadn’t thought about that,” Mena said. “Most of the people on the Biosystems list were on leave from one institution or another, experts on sabbatical.”
“You know some of them want to stay,” Helt said.
“I haven’t asked,” Mena said. “Helt? Usually if there’s someone truly special, someone who belongs here, I know it because I hear about it. Not this time. So I have to wonder why I didn’t get the speeches, the pleas to keep Jane or John whoever as a colonist. Is it because Biosystems people have closed ranks against outsiders so soon? Are we acting like an elite? A cadre of the chosen; no newcomers wanted?”
“I think the whole ship is doing that,” Helt said. “Closing ranks. We’re all we have, and we’ll work with it. That’s a mind-set that has a heavy dose of reality in it.”
“I didn’t realize. Yes, that’s my attitude, and I’m the boss. So people here think I don’t want newcomers and I wouldn’t listen. That scares me.”
“Have you stopped listening?” Helt asked.
“Perhaps I have.”
“What’s wrong, Mena?”
She looked at the wall for an instant longer and sighed. “Whitetop.”
“Huh?”
She stood and walked to the window. “Whitetop, hoary cress, Cardaria draba.” Mena’s words came fast, as if she was relieved to offer up a worry she could talk about. “It’s Asian, a mustard, an invasive species if you’re re-creating North American grassland, and that’s what we did here. It’s pretty, white flowers and soft leaves, and it’s not good quadruped feed, and it takes over. It’s in some of the meadows. A stray seed got in somehow, and thrived.”
“You’ll get rid of it,” Helt said. He got up and stood beside her at the win
dow. The view was clouded fields and distant trees. He saw nothing moving there.
“We will. It’s just sometimes—Greenhouses are tricky, Helt. This is a very large greenhouse.” She stared out at the curved world. “Do you have any idea how wrong things could go?”
A hollow ball coated with green slime was a worst-case scenario, a nightmare to imagine even for him. He didn’t want to think about Mena’s nightmares.
“When did you find it?” Helt asked.
“Some flowered this year,” Mena said.
“You’ve associated your visiting profs with noxious weeds,” Helt said.
“Some of them are North Americans, yes. It’s unlikely they brought the seeds in. Quarantine is thorough. But they arrived when the weed did.” She looked up at Helt and her face was a little softer, a little more relaxed. She tried a little smile. “I suppose I could look at the short-timers again. I will. I’ll find colonists for us to keep before the shuttle docks.”
“I know you will.” Helt hesitated for a moment but Mena didn’t reach out to touch him, or hug him. “Send the list when you can, okay?”
“Andrea Doan was on a harvest crew that gave themselves a potluck celebration dinner,” Mena said. “She was included out of common courtesy. She would not have been there otherwise. She’s hard to love. I feel sorry for her, actually.”
Mena turned back to the window.
* * *
Elena was in her lab, where Helt wasn’t going to go, but he remembered the bugs in his pocket and went downstairs. He pasted a few bots over the lab door. It was open. Elena heard him; he wasn’t trying to keep quiet but he hadn’t said anything.
“A minute,” Elena said. She closed her screens and spun her chair to look at him.
“I don’t want to bother you,” Helt said.
She stood up and stretched. “Bother me,” Elena said. She shrugged off her lab coat and grabbed a jacket from the rack. This one was a windbreaker, dark gold. “You have a little time before your next appointment.”