He dared a quick look out the air lock door. Grant was down, motionless, to his left. He could smell burned flesh. Malley dodged back inside . . .
... feeling smaller, all of a sudden—being smaller as his mind played its ultimate trick, trying to make him see another air lock than this, look out to see a different burned body. Only this time, Aaron didn’t block him, wasn’t closing the door, wasn’t sobbing at him: “You can’t help! She’s dead already! I have to save you! I promised!”
... Malley shuddered free of the past, then crouched down as low as he could before looking out again.
A snap-whip as the hidden FD took a shot at him, a brief flash of light marking his location. Malley leaped, firing both weapons as he ran forward, shouting at the top of his lungs.
Give him a barroom brawl any day, he thought a second later, looking down at the lifeless form. At least, then, you finished up buying one another beer.
“Malley . . .”
The stationer hurried to the voice. “Thought you were cooked, Grant,” he said roughly, going down on one knee by the commander.
The Earther’s eyes were open and he’d rolled to his side. “A little toasted,” he quipped, then coughed painfully. His upper left arm and shoulder were blackened and leaking blood. Another streak of burning arched across his upper chest. “Damn suit’s ruined,” he said with astonishing clarity.
Malley picked him up carefully. He’d seen burns before—they weren’t things to fool with. “I’m getting you to the meds—” he began, only to have Grant shake his head vigorously.
“No time—get us into the pod. Hurry!”
The stationer stared at the man in his arms. “Why?”
Grant’s dark eyes were watering with pain, but they still conveyed utter determination. “Because Gail needs what’s in that box. Hear me? Or more people are going to die. There’s no time—it’s up to us.”
“Wonderful,” Malley muttered to himself, but started moving again. Even from the planet, Gail Smith was capable of getting him into trouble.
“Did you remove Specialist Pimm?”
Malley dropped into the seat next to Grant. “Yes, although I don’t see why I couldn’t leave him under the box. He wasn’t moving anytime soon.”
“The more—the more people are on the pod, the harder it’s going to be for Aaron to protect any of us.”
The stationer made a noncommittal noise, more immediately concerned with Grant’s ability to pilot the pod. The man should, by rights, be unconscious or dead already. “You’re bleeding on the deck,” he observed callously. All over the deck, since Grant had, with Malley’s help, insisted on locating and disabling all of the FDs’ own spies within the pod. “How long can you keep that up?”
“The pod has emergency medical supplies,” Grant answered, as if he could read Malley’s doubts. He patted the broad arm of the pilot’s seat. “Boost, stims, painkillers. I’ll be fine as long as it takes. What about you? Planning to go nuts on me?”
Malley managed to get the straps over his shoulders, but they wouldn’t stretch across his broader-than-Earther-issue chest. He shoved them aside with a resigned sigh. “Sounds fair. I’ll worry about your running us into the dirt and you can worry about my running around screaming if you don’t.”
“Fine. In the meantime, be useful and operate the comm,” the Earther said. Given the breathless gasping he was presently using as a voice, Malley thought that the most rational idea he’d heard in some time. “Notify the Seeker we’re ready to drop. You closed the air lock?”
“Sealed up tight.” It had been oddly reassuring to be the one locking the nightmares out. Perhaps he should have tried that before.
“Let’s go, then.”
Malley keyed the comm and sent out a message bound to stir up more trouble, then sat back and studied Grant. He soon realized, as they lurched free of the science sphere with a clang of grapples against the pod’s hull, that he had as much chance of taking over the pod if the gravely wounded man passed out, as he had of walking around space without a suit. Grant’s uninjured arm and hand moved ceaselessly between a dozen controls and he didn’t appear to have anything automated.
Sense of a sort—automated meant someone else could take over and bring the pod back to the Payette and numerous nasty consequences. The stationer got up and hunted for more medical supplies to keep his pilot conscious.
A bizarrely familiar voice suddenly boomed through the tiny cabin. “Hey you—! You in the shuttle.”
Grant waved his hand to summon Malley, who dropped back into his seat and keyed to reply. “It’s not a shuttle, moron, it’s an FD drop pod,” he explained considerately. “Which shows how much you know about starships.”
“Malley—my God—it’s Malley!”
Malley shrugged apologetically at Grant, before saying to the comm: “Of course it’s me, Syd,” he growled. “You’d better be taking good care of Amy and her family. Damn fool stunt—I thought you’d all been killed.”
“Enough have been. We’re on the Wombat, snugged under the belly of your Earther friends—safe, until your ‘FD drop pod’ almost rammed us just now. What’s going on, Malley? What’s this about Aaron being the Survivor from the stories? Can he really save us from the Quill? Do we land? What should we do?” This last with a definite note of panic. Typical Denery, Malley thought. Always did leap into things without any idea how to get out again.
Still, the relief he felt knowing at least some of their friends had survived the carnage of the past day was reward enough. “Hang on,” he said, then muted the pickup on the comm. “Well, Grant? Any suggestions for this lot?”
Grant was crouched over the controls, favoring his damaged side. The face he turned to Malley was deathly pale but alert. “If they’ve got the fuel and guts for it, we could use some interference. We have to get to the surface . . . once they figure out why, the Payette will try to shoot us down. The patrol ships aren’t—aren’t—they aren’t ...”
“Grant?” Malley reached out with his long arm, taking Grant gently by his uninjured shoulder. “What about the patrol?”
“The patrol.” The Earther took a carefully shallow breath. “The patrol ships aren’t a factor. They answer to Titan—to Titan and those interests who want these worlds for humans—under any circumstances. They won’t interfere—”
With what? Malley looked at the stasis box, strapped in its corner of the pod. “Those are fragments,” he guessed. “The Quill fragments from the other planets.”
Grant’s lips pulled back from his teeth. It wasn’t a smile. “No time to discuss—We’re on approach, Malley. ’Scope shows the Payette’s moving—notice they haven’t called us?”
“You want me to ask my friends to get between this pod and your warship?” Malley shook his head. “Taking our chance is one thing, Earther, but these aren’t combat pilots. These are families in rundown, inadequate ships.”
Grant coughed, then spat out furiously: “Don’t you get it, Malley? Most of them, maybe all, are going to die unless they can land and soon! And more are coming—too many for us to help, in ships unequipped to remain in orbit, out of fuel to return. It will be a riot—you understand the concept—but out here. They’ll have to run for the only safety in reach—they’ll head for this world the way the Outsiders headed for your station—but this time each and every one will be killed by the Quill Effect, unless we help Gail prevent it.”
It was like entering an air lock, Malley realized, a similarly inevitable moment of transition, with death one of the likeliest things waiting on the other side.
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 fo
r 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.
Chapter 98
A SHORT night to be so rich in time.
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!
Or a massacre was taking place.
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 collaps
ing 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—”
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