No one, least of all her, expected any of the probes to return with signs of the Quill. It wasn’t going to be that easy.
Pardell’s World, Gail named it to herself, eyes never leaving the planet showing its daylight side on the huge column. Clouds made of water droplets, atmosphere a deep blue by virtue of the right blend of gases in its mix, liquid water restless with the tides from two small moons, with more locked into polar caps. The land masses, with their telltale splotches of green, were too regular and in the wrong place, as if this was a child’s first rendering of Earth, but the whole was familiar enough to be a beacon to those evolved on that other world, a siren’s call to sailors in a black, empty sea.
As deadly, Gail thought coldly. She preferred her worlds teeming with civilization, with proof of their welcome in bright lights and buildings, even if those were domes floating in Europa’s frozen ocean. This place was a lie. A trap.
An opportunity. “I want to be ready to drop at one hour’s notice, Commander, Captain,” Gail ordered, tearing her gaze away. “Make sure your people are ready. I’ll wait for no one.”
Gail prepared for what could be the most significant moment of her scientific career by tidying her room. She did it on occasion—such as packing up to move quarters. This time, she wasn’t quite sure why she was shoveling paper into piles and surprising herself with clothes she’d forgotten she’d brought with her this trip.
Liar.
Standing from her crouch, Gail pushed back a sweat-soaked lock of hair and put her hands on her hips. “Enough already,” she told the room, and pulled out some data records to read on her bed. After only a few minutes, the numbers swam in front of her eyes. She rubbed her neck, trying to focus.
Liar.
“Fine,” Gail grumbled and tossed the pages into the freshly cleared section of floor, throwing herself back on her pillows. “So you’ve got the jitters.” She stared at the bag-hung ceiling. “It’s not helping.” A suggestion her body was ignoring.
Gail didn’t need to analyze herself. The combination of gut-wrenching excitement and mouth-drying anxiety was natural. There was no need to listen to any of the other false alarms from her body, including the ones to either run to the kitchen or the washroom. They’d all pass, once she had the comm signal that the probes had uploaded their findings and it was time to prepare to drop.
Today, she was going to find out if she was right—or wrong.
Today, a voice inside her head said maliciously, you get to find out the price of being wrong—you get to know who Grant has picked for the first trial run of the suit. He’d reserved the right to chose from his unit—they’d all volunteered, of course. Gail hadn’t the slightest intention of interfering, beyond being the one to give her first guinea pig his or her briefing.
She might have argued it was her place to go, but knew better—as did Grant. They both knew better. Later, after the trials proved the suits, after she was sure. . . .
Then, maybe Aaron Pardell could go down.
There was another issue altogether. Gail knew Temujin and most of the others—including Aaron, himself—thought the ’sider should go down in the first trial, not one of the FDs. Why bother testing a suit when they had a chance to test a living, breathing genetic match?
The exercise, Gail had reminded them all, was to find a way to put anyone on a Quill-infested world and retrieve a sample organism, not to see if Aaron Pardell could claim his birthright.
She could still see the betrayed look on his face after she’d said it, the hazel of his eyes closer to green in the briefing room fighting.
Worse, Gail knew why she’d disagreed. Cloak it in babble about controllable experiments and scientific reproducibility, but she’d refused to risk him. She couldn’t, whispered a voice inside her head, the one that had nothing to do with rational thought and everything to do with how her body melted each time his look consumed her.
Aaron claimed she didn’t trust him.
She could appreciate the irony, hardly able to stand up in a meeting of all interested parties, Reinsez included, and announce that Aaron Pardell, ’sider and probable part-Quill, was the only person on the Seeker she did trust, without reservation, without hesitation.
A knock. Gail didn’t move, but peered suspiciously at the door. No one knocked on her door. That was why she had a comm panel in her room and two FDs, today Loran and a newer face, Neil Johnson, outside. She put her arm back over her eyes and tried to rest.
Another knock, this time louder. Either her guards had abandoned their post, or it was Grant.
On opening the door, Gail discovered both surmises were incorrect.
Aaron Pardell stood there, Loran and Johnson to either side, carefully distant and looking a little out of their depth. “I have to talk to you, ’the sider insisted, his face pale and set. Then he looked past her and paused, red spots appearing on both cheeks. “Is there somewhere else we could go?”
Gail pushed her hand through her hair, using the movement to cover her own surprise. “You can come with me back to the lab—we can talk on the way,” she suggested. “Wait here.”
He—and the guards—looked relieved.
Gail took her time, gathering what she wanted to have with her while they monitored the trial, hesitating before sticking a boost needle in her pocket in case things dragged late into ship’s night. When she was ready, she went to the mirror and studied her reflection.
“Oh, great.” Her cheeks were every bit as flushed as Aaron’s had been. At this rate, Gail told herself, they might as well waltz around wearing signs: look at us—we’re fools. She was losing any ability to push thoughts of him away, no matter how much she understood the danger.
The danger. The part of her still able to be analytical cruelly suspected it only added spice to a powerful attraction. The emotional charge, however it was conveyed into Aaron’s body from someone else, grew with the intensity of the emotion. They’d proved that with Petra’s experiment, when the focused emotional load of her meditation had given Aaron convulsions.
With each look, each word—what was between them could rapidly grow beyond the bounds of sense or safety.
Thinking about running your fingers through his thick, dark hair? she asked her image. Be ready to hear his scream—and your own.
Thinking about lying next to him, of holding each other, of just one kiss?
Ready to die? Gail stared into her own eyes, heart pounding, abruptly afraid to know the answer.
“This is far enough. Holding,” Gail warned Aaron as she twisted her hand on the bar to pause the walkway, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. Midway, as before. Safe from eavesdroppers. Only the man with her had changed. She studied him when she thought he wasn’t looking. The ’sider looked healthier—the diet on the Seeker agreed with him. He still chose to wear the clothes she’d brought from the Merry Mate II. They were clean, if well-patched. The faded blue suited him—not that Gail thought Aaron paid attention to appearances. He just wanted to be himself.
“Why is it called the waist?” he asked, looking up in wonder at the view of the planet hanging overhead.
“The ship resembles an insect found on Earth—a wasp. There’s a similar elongation between its body parts. Same name.”
“I see.” If Aaron thought this a strange way to designate components of a starship, he was polite enough not to mention it.
“We don’t have much time here,” Gail said after a few seconds spent watching Aaron gaze at his planet—wary of the pleasure of seeing him enjoying himself.
“You don’t have surveillance in here, do you?” he asked, looking back at her.
One of those casual, bombshell questions Aaron excelled at, Gail reminded herself. He knew to ask. Who from Thromberg would? “No. The interior is scoured after each passage. As a rule, there are vids in every public place.”
“On the bridge?”
Gail smiled thinly. “The bridge—several. Protects the Captain and crew from accusations of misconduct; keeps
records of what’s happened on board.”
“Your office?”
She gave him a sharp look, but the expression on his face appeared to be mere curiosity. “Grant’s people remove them as quickly as they find them. I have to believe him when he tells me the FD don’t plant their own. Why?”
“I can tell when you think you’re being watched.”
“I’m watched most of the time, Aaron,” Gail shrugged. “It’s a luxury to have space where I’m not.” She paused. “But this isn’t what you wanted to talk to me about—so urgently you tracked me to my bedroom.”
“I knew where it was.”
Oh, dear. Gail found the toe of her boot suddenly fascinating. “Aaron—” she started to say.
“Don’t,” he ordered. Gail looked up and saw his face had grown stern, as if he’d aged years in front of her. “Let me say what I need to say, Gail.”
She nodded, her grip on the hold bar tightening.
Aaron pointed upward. “You have to let me go on the first drop.”
Gail blinked, then regained her composure. Of course this was what he wanted to say, she chastised herself. She shouldn’t have believed he’d give it up because she’d made an announcement in a meeting. This was the man who’d walked most of the station—outside—to find his friend. “I have my reasons,” she told him, having no intention of giving way on this.
“Do you trust me or not?”
“Trust is not the issue here—”
“It’s the only issue. You tell me I’m affected by the Quill—that I might be part-Quill for all we know. How can you risk anyone else?”
How can I risk you, of anyone? Gail froze, fearing she’d said that out loud. Fortunately, he was still waiting for her answer. Not angry, not yet, but with that stubborn pride she’d seen before. “You did enough by helping test the suits,” she explained. “We’ve trained personnel ready to use them. I don’t even know if a suit could protect you, Aaron.”
“I wouldn’t wear one.”
“Wonderful plan,” she retorted, furious. “Why don’t you just walk out the air lock?”
“You don’t know the Quill Effect would harm me. It didn’t before.”
She took a deep, reasoning breath. “You were a newborn baby. And who said you weren’t harmed.” Horrified by what she’d said, Gail added quickly: “Aaron, I’m sorry.”
“If I’ve paid the price,” Aaron told her, his eyes implacable, “I want something to show for it.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” They’d been standing a couple of meters apart. He stepped closer. “The Quill made me like this—I want to be the one to find them, to bring the sample back, so we can kill them.” Suddenly, Aaron was standing so close she could feel the warmth radiating from him. “There has to be something more to me—to my life—than this, Gail,” he said urgently, searching her face. “Don’t you see? If I can’t—” His hand hovered in midair, as if cupping her cheek. “Let me go down. Please.”
“You want to be a hero,” Gail said coldly, deliberately.
“I want to be human and hold you,” Aaron countered. “But you can’t make that happen, Gail. Nothing on this ship or back on Earth can do that. Let me go down.” He paused.
“All right.” Gail closed her eyes, feeling moisture escape them to make prickly trails down her cheeks. “Go,” she whispered.
“Gail—?” he sounded startled. By what, she wondered wildly, her giving in or the tears?
“Hold on. We’re moving again.” She opened her eyes but did-n’t look at him as the walkway slipped into motion, speeding them both along to the end of the waist. “There isn’t much time—I’m planning to decide on a site within the next three hours—and there are conditions. You’ll wear a suit. Allyn will brief you on it. And you’ll follow the procedures for Trial Number One. No creativity . . . in and out.”
“Thank you. I’ll—”
Gail turned so that she could see him. “And you’ll come back.” She didn’t care anymore what he saw in her face or heard in her voice. “I’m serious, Aaron. Go if you must. But you come back to me—or I’ll be down on the next drop to find you.”
Chapter 61
Titan University Archives Excerpts from the personal recordings of Chief Terraform Engineer Susan Witts Access Restricted to Clearance AA2 or Higher
... Pardell’s World, Jeremy. I named it, and your father, after your grandfather. Extravagant gifts for a man I barely knew? It didn’t seem so at the time, when the two of us were alone here, making love for hours on empty hilltops, sleeping by barren rivers—as if this world ached to hear new life and we were its instruments. We had to answer that need, however irrational it sounds now. Your grandfather? He went back to his ship when it made its next stop. Don’t be surprised. We enjoyed one another. That’s all it was, except your father was born of it. I loved him from the moment they put him in my arms, Jeremy. I always will, no matter what happened between us.
Now this world sings with life, Jeremy. It’s as ready for settlement as any of the sixteen, but Pardell’s World—your legacy—is still hidden, untouched. Our secret. You have the coordinates; I sent them to your father, years ago. If you haven’t found them before receiving this letter, look for them now. His gene key or yours, as well as mine, will unlock the data. Do with this world as you wish.
This may be my final visit to this place. Oh, it’s not my health. In fact, I’ve been approved for rejuv. No, I’m heading out to the next set of worlds, to oversee Stage Three. Titan came to its senses. I haven’t told them when I’m leaving—but you can be sure it will be before all the pomp, circumstance, and outright pandemonium of opening the finished worlds to immigration. They can keep all that.
Unfortunately, I can’t keep my Quill. The ERC is insisting anyone working on the new projects run through a genetic screen—to be sure we don’t bring unsanctioned material. As if that would pick up a Quill. But it was my recommendation, after all. I don’t trust the modern terraformers. They seem to think everything’s by the book now, that there’s no risk. I bet half of them would bring the family pet. Life’s always a risk, I tell them. Living things can’t be predicted. But they don’t listen. We probably did our job too well, made it look too easy.
I can’t bring myself to destroy my Quill, not after what it’s done for me, the comfort of wearing it through those difficult times. I’ve left it at the base of the tree I planted for your father. Unfortunately, it will be gone to dust long before you come here. It can’t survive for long away from me, and we never found a way to make them reproduce—and believe me, spacers have been trying. One day, someone will track down their homeworld and learn what we need to know.
Someone else. I’ve new worlds to build. I hope you’ll be proud of me, Jeremy. Perhaps, one day, I’ll have the courage to call and introduce myself. But if I don’t, you’ll read this and know I care.
Be well, grandson.
“What’s that, young Aaron?”
Pardell folded the sheet and tucked it carefully in a pocket. “You know Malley, Rosalind,” he replied evasively. “He’s forever coming up with new schemes.” He took another drink, aware his face had likely showed a confusion of emotions, but determined to keep Susan Witts’ letters to himself.
There weren’t many that referred so clearly to the planet they orbited—his rationale for rereading them. Not that he could resist , Pardell admitted, knowing himself fascinated by the drama in the simple words, the appalling consequences of his grandmother’s decisions—someone who meant so well.
“He seems in his element,” Rosalind agreed. She’d left their table to talk briefly with some of the Seeker’s crew. Like Malley, she had her way of fitting in. “So, young Aaron. Where were we? Ah. Camouflage.”
Pardell took another bite of his supper, an animal protein he usually enjoyed, but tonight found completely tasteless. “Yes, Rosalind. Camouflage.”
“This is what all the experiments in the lab and Dr. Smith’s work have proved,
young Aaron?” Rosalind questioned, sipping on the tea she enjoyed and Captain Tobo personally ensured was always supplied to their table. Her lips quirked. “Is that not how an animal hides from attention? I hardly see the Quill going unnoticed.”
“But that’s the point, Rosalind,” Pardell explained. “They can’t be found on any of the terraformed worlds. This morning’s probes sent to the planet surface didn’t find any trace of foreign organisms either.”
“Is not everything on this world of yours foreign to it, young Aaron?”
He was surprised into a laugh and conceded: “I suppose it is. The probes only detected the founding mixture of Terran plants and their partner microorganisms, as described in Witts’ notes. Not species-by-species the same mix as used on the other projects . . . a simpler group, less likely to need intervention. This world—”
“Your world,” she reminded him gently.
It hardly seemed credible, Pardell thought again, once more caught by the vision of orbiting the world where his grandfather had been born—where he’d been born. Of stepping on it. “We share the name, Rosalind,” he said, fishing on his plate for another of the green vegetables called peas. “Grant says, as sole citizen I could vote myself president if I wanted—or appoint myself king. Which would last about as long as it takes TerraCor and the rest who financed Witts’ exploration and research to get out here and laugh.”
“And how will they get here, young Aaron?” Rosalind had dropped her voice. An unnecessary precaution, he thought, given there was no one else close by. Their usual table was in a corner, where they had quick access to two doorways from the science sphere dining lounge—’sider habit. Of course, from what Pardell and Malley had learned of the Earther habit to have surveillance in every public place, whispers likely wouldn’t help anyway. He hadn’t bothered sharing that paranoia with Rosalind.
She had enough, it seemed, of her own. “What do you mean, how?” the ’sider asked, willing to believe Rosalind might also have her own sources of information on the Seeker. She spent all of her free time in engineering and, if the Seeker’s crew contained individuals anything like other spacers of Pardell’s acquaintance, there would be plenty of gossip to while away the translight hours. “They’ll be sending more ships from Titan University to support this one—supplies, more equipment,” he told her. “Aisha was talking about it. If this is the right place to work on the Quill problem, they might even detach the science sphere and leave it in orbit.”
In the Company of Others Page 39