by Lee Killough
Sipping her wine, she found that once she put the glass down, the liquid clung to the sides and remained inside.
In her concentration she lost track of the conversations at other tables, but did hear Mama ask if the station had more androids.
“A few,” Doubrava answered. “Most early prototypes got recycled to build improved models, but we kept some for menial work up in Recycle and the kitchens.”
They stopped talking. Not to concentrate on their food, Janna decided. Preoccupied expressions suggested they had returned to eavesdropping.
Maybe listening to that new male voice catching her own attention. “. . . understand the company’s problem with Lanour. Corporations want profit and dividends for investors, and the station is a black hole. The cost of this endless construction, which has got to be the old man’s idea, must eat up much of the profit from selling the research products.”
“So you’d approve?” a female said. Maybe the whip-thin one in blazing red at a table on the far end of the rings. “You better hope the ‘old man’ keeps control. If he loses, it’ll be the Borkentek station all over again. Not only the end of construction but a review of the current projects and cancellation those that look long and expensive for an uncertain result, and those that’ll have only a niche market. You think our research would survive?”
Another female said, “Not that I want to worry anyone, but a business channel feed I caught a couple of hours ago said no one’s heard from Lanour since Monday Earthside. What if someone’s making sure he isn’t at the meeting?”
“I wouldn’t put it past those bastards,” the first female said.
The male snorted. “Abduction? Ridiculous. He’s just hiding from the media.” But his voice reflected less confidence than his words.
Mama murmured, “The pulse of the station sounds worried about the future.”
Doubrava shrugged. “Of course . . . but it’ll be fine.”
“There’s that confidence again.” Mama eyed him thoughtfully. “What do you, Fontana, and Nakashima know that no one else does?”
“How sly Lanour is, is all.”
There had to be more, but Janna saw no reason to call him on it. The future of the station did not concern Mama and her.
The conversation at the other table switched to gossip about some mutual co-workers and Janna tuned out the trio to catch other conversations. Sexual banter between one couple. At another table a female — apparently treating another to dinner in honor of her recent arrival at the station — enthused about a new peach hybrid in the station’s orchard.
How could an orchard fit in the station, Janna wondered, spearing a piece of apple in her shish kebab. Catching the term espalier answered her question. Ah. They kept the trees short and trained to grow against walls. Clever.
Then whispered remarks from the gossiping group reminded Janna of the adage warning eavesdroppers what they might hear about themselves. The fem in red said, “Doubrava doesn’t look like he’s enjoying dinner. He’s barely spoken to his guests.”
“I wouldn’t either,” the male said. “Haven’t you heard? They’re corporate spies.”
Mama nudged her foot with his. Janna shrugged. Give it a few more hours for the corrected chop about their identity to spread through the station.
Doubrava showed no reaction. Janna doubted he heard. Unfocused eyes told her he listened instead to his headset.
“There’s action somewhere in the station?” she said.
He blinked, attention coming back to them. “Nothing the officers on duty can’t handle. Are we about done?”
Dessert choices had included cherry tarts. They came as four bite-sized pastries like ravioli. Janna finished the last one, emptied her wine glass, and closed the domes over the dishes. They followed Doubrava to the exit, pausing there for Rhea to scan his scib before leaving.
Out on the threshold platform, Doubrava said, “How about a walk in the park to settle the meal?”
Mama shook his head. “I want to review the recording of the construction crew’s exodus again and see if we can spot our ghost.”
Doubrava eyed him. “Much as I want to finish that business, are you sure it isn’t a better idea to wait until—” Breaking off, he sighed. “More immediate business calls.”
“Aren’t you off duty?” Janna said.
He grimaced. “I’m also a supervisor and Talltrees, the official night supervisor, is busy elsewhere. So I’m up. Come along if you like.”
“Where?” Mama called.
“Down in one of the labs.”
From the platform, Doubrava dived across the shaft and caught a loop on the cable there.
Janna looked down the shaft. A rainbow swarm of people clustered around a platform in an orange ring four levels below.
Mama grinned. “I think it would be educational to observe Security in action.” He dived across the shaft, too.
Hell, why not, Janna thought . . . and followed. Holding her breath until she gripped a loop.
Nearing the platform, Doubrava launched from the cable over the crowd and caught the portal frame. Several voices rose in complaint about being dragged from their labs.
Doubrava held the portal frame with one hand and raised his voice above theirs. “A problem has been detected in Dr. Lemieux’s lab! For your own safety we’ve evacuated the module until that can be investigated and resolved.”
Nearing the level, Janna eyed the crowd, considered the chances of being jostled off the platform, and followed Mama’s example . . . stepping back onto the shaft walkway after releasing the cable loop.
Doubrava continued, “I assume Officers Paretsky and Trent took your names, so we can notify you when it’s safe to return. Until then, since there’s nothing here for any of you to do — especially the construction crew I see — we need this area clear in case it’s necessary to bring in emergency equipment. Now . . . if you please!”
Though several of the crowd muttered, they dispersed . . . catching the cable, diving across to the opposite cable or to the handrails. Rusty red hair on one male caught Janna’s eye, but seeing only the hair and back of a yellow body suit with black sleeves made it impossible to tell whether he was Clell Titus.
Doubrava walked his hands down the frame until he stood by a freckled officer in front of the portal and spoke in a low voice.
Whatever he said stiffened the officer. Janna caught part of the defensive response as she left the walkway for the arm of the platform around the cables. “. . . told me to wait for backup.”
Doubrava snorted. “Guess whose back would go up if she arrived and found that human clot. Any other gogglers come along, send them sailing.” He waved his wrist past the scanner beside the portal and peered into the retinal scanner’s lens. “Let’s see what Paretsky’s dealing with.”
Approaching the portal, however, Janna’s guide cuff beeped, followed by Athena’s voice coming from both the cuff and portal. “Warning. This is a restricted area. You are not authorized to enter.”
Doubrava frowned. “Damn. I forgot.” He beckoned them forward.
Mama’s cuff joined Janna’s, the beep turning into a solid, piercing tone. The three copies of Athena’s voice went stern. “Warning!”
Doubrava waved his wrist past the scanner again. “Override. Security authorized.”
Cuffs and Athena went silent.
He smiled. “Now let’s see what Paretsky’s dealing with.”
They had another horizontally divided module, Janna saw . . . the portals — two on each side of the central hall and a rabbit hole at the end — indicating four labs on this upper side of it. She spotted another emergency capsule on the bulkhead beside the entry portal.
Beside the far interior portal on their right stood a female officer so pale the veins under her skin turned her blue.
She sighed in relief, seeing Doubrava. Then frowned. “You don’t have the sleeper?”
Janna exchanged glances with Mama. Sleeper?
Doubrava said, �
�I heard your request for it. Why?”
“Lemieux’s gone over the brainbow. Athena alerted us he’d started acting erratic. His assistant, a Dr. Fidela Bahalla, called us, too, because he threw her out—”
“And locked the door with a privacy code. You mentioned that when requesting the sleeper. Was Bahalla injured?”
“I don’t think so, but I sent her up to the hospital to be checked out.”
“Then why do we need the sleeper?”
“When I reached Lemieux on his headset and asked to come in and talk to him, he threw stuff at the door. I heard glass breaking.”
“Shit.” Doubrava hinged down the visor section of his headset. “Com, we need a vacuum. Athena, show me inside the lab!” His voice lowered, reciting some authorization giving him emergency access to lab surveillance, Janna assumed. Moments later he blew his breath out. “Christ. It’s a shard swarm. Do we have any idea why he blew?”
“Bahalla said he’s been working twenty-four the past week, living on Bryteye and Vim instead of sleeping, and getting increasingly irritable. Probably paranoid.”
“On that combo, oh yeah.”
“That’s after he got notified he’s being put on medical leave.”
“Fuck! Athena, show me the last medical report of Herve Lemieux.” Behind the visor, Doubrava’s eyes shifted, scanning the document playing in front of him. “Okay, done with that, Athena. Now reconnect me to the lab surveillance.” He touched his headset, murmured, and shortly spoke in a soothing voice. “Dr. Lemieux, this is Ian Doubrava from Security. I need to talk—”
“Go away!” The shout came through the door. “EPAS1 is my project! I’m not giving it to Bahalla!”
“What’s EPAS1?” Doubrava muttered from the side of his mouth before resuming his soothing tone. “Doctor, you’re not losing the project. You can continue work on it when you come back. But for your health you need—”
“No! I’m not leaving! I’ve put in all the gravity time I’m supposed to at the gym and park. Medical leave is a plot against me!” More glass shattered.
Doubrava winced. “Paretsky, get Med down here, too. I see free blood, and cuts on him.”
“I’m this close to completing the virus! If I go, that bitch Bahalla will finish it and take credit!”
Definitely paranoid.
Mama said, “EPAS1 is the gene controlling hemoglobin.”
They all turned to him.
He looked up from his open slate. “The datanet has a copy of a paper Lemieux wrote about it. He’s working with a variant found in Tibetans, which lowers their amount of hemoglobin and allows them to live on forty percent less oxygen. The virus he’s talking about is intended to introduce the variant into inoculated individuals and replace the regular EPAS1 in their DNA.”
Paretsky whistled. “So they’ll need forty percent less oxygen? That could be useful out here.”
Doubrava snapped, “You know what would be useful right now! The vacuum and sleeper!”
“They’re here.”
Geyer came skating through the entry portal . . . from a workout, it appeared, a jacket thrown over shorts and a sweat-darkened tank top. She carried what looked like a rifle with a boxy stock and short barrel belled like a blunderbuss, and like Doubrava, wore her visor hinged down.
She frowned over it at Janna and Mama. “What are you two doing here?”
“Keeping them out of trouble, Chief,” Doubrava said.
“And giving us the chance to observe your department in action,” Janna said.
The violet eyes narrowed, raking her. “Observe from a distance.” Geyer pointed at the exit portal.
They flattened against the other side of the hall to allow passage of two officers in protective helmets and shrouds floating a coffin-sized tank between them, a funnel-ended hose strapped on top. The officer in front, face tattooed like a cheetah’s with black around her eyes and down the sides of her nose, also carried a tall, transparent shield.
“What’s Lemieux’s status other than injured and bleeding?” Geyer said.
Doubrava grimaced. “Cranked on Bryteye and Vim and cranked about being put on medical leave.”
“Beyond reasoning with, then. Good call on the sleeper, Paretsky. Van Fleet.” She handed the sleeper to the tattooed officer. “Sierra, ready with the vacuum.”
Van Fleet grinned behind her face shield and moved to the portal with the body shield in front of her and the sleeper braced under her free arm. The male officer with her came around the vacuum and unstrapped the hose. Everyone else shifted well to the side of the portal.
Geyer nodded. “All right. Athena, open the lab.”
Despite the privacy code, the door slid aside.
No need for a master code reader here.
Mama murmured, “I want to take Athena home with us.”
Van Fleet pushed the shield into the opening, the muzzle of the sleeper around its side, where she swung the weapon in an arc.
Janna saw and heard nothing but Doubrava said, “He’s down.”
Van Fleet passed him the sleeper and took the vacuum hose from Sierra. The vacuum whined to life. Van Fleet advanced the shield far enough into the lab to sweep the air around it with the hose. Rattling passed toward the tank. After reaching around the shield for several more passes with the hose, she stepped inside, turning sideways to let the tank maneuver past her. The portal closed behind the two officers.
“Nice professional job,” Janna said.
With a thin smile suggesting an unvoiced: And we’re not even ‘real’ leos, Geyer hinged her visor back up. “Carry on, Captain.”
She left, passing two females in hospital scrubs who entered, pulled the capsule down from the bulkhead, and unlatched its cover.
“Can we go in after the patient?” one asked.
Doubrava shook his head. “Not until the air’s cleaned. But he’s safe enough . . . below the floating glass, and from what I can see of his wounds, they aren’t life-threatening.”
“Will he stay out long enough to clean the air?” Mama asked.
“I hope,” Doubrava said. “Unconsciousness varied from a few minutes to almost an hour in test subjects. Longer times for those tired or in an emotional state, shorter for subjects rested or calm. External stimuli can affect the time, too. So with Lemieux sleep-deprived but cranked, who knows.”
Janna eyed the sleeper. “We could use something like that when there’s no clear shot with a Thor.”
“Except for a couple of bugs yet to be worked out.”
“Which are?”
“For one, lack of focus. Ace for crowd control but not picking off an individual. Everyone five feet either side of your target also goes down. The other problem is the after-effect of its sound waves or whatever — up to two weeks of narcolepsy. Very inconvenient for the test subjects.” He grinned. “Though in this case, the random naps will let Lemieux catch up on the sleep he’s missed.” He paused. “They’ll be a while in there, so if you don’t want to wait . . .”
“You’ll understand?” Mama said. “We do have that recording to go over again.”
And more of Fontana’s communications to watch.
Out on the platform, they caught the cable lift. Riding up on a loop below Mama, Janna saw herself with amazement and amusement. Here barely twelve hours and she was using the cable like a veteran. Nakashima had not exaggerated about people adapting quickly.
Then, suddenly, passing a blue ring, she found herself torn from the cable, into the shaft.
Chapter Eight
“Is it true?” yelled a male with arms around her. “Tell me!”
Twisting to see back over her shoulder identified him as Clell Titus, and the male in yellow and black she saw outside the lab module.
Now she appreciated her earlier fall into the shaft. It prevented panic, letting her analyze the situation and note their trajectory carried them toward a handrail.
Before she had the chance to catch it, however, momentum and Titus’s mass behind h
er slammed them into the wall with force driving the air out of her, followed by ricocheting back across the shaft.
Gasping for breath, she twisted enough to drive her elbow into his gut. His breath exploded out and his arms loosened. Hauling herself around, she grabbed his suit with both hands for leverage and drove her head up under his chin. Then followed the satisfying crack of meeting teeth with a knee up between his legs. He curled, squealing . . . all vehemence gone.
Titus bore the brunt as they hit the other side of the shaft. With less force this time. On the wall Janna spotted an elevator rail and reached over Titus to grab it. But they had not lost enough momentum for her hold to halt them. Her fingers began slipping.
Then a hand gripped the turtleneck of her sweater and another Titus’s collar. Mama pulled them onto the platform, grinning. “I’m beginning to think you’re doing these zero-gee dives deliberately.”
Janna bared her teeth. “Ho, ho.” She pulled her feet under her where the moccasins gripped the platform and stood, glaring down at the moaning huddle of Titus. “Let’s haul his ass up to Security.”
“How about questioning him somewhere less formal?”
She considered. “The cafeteria, or a quiet bar?”
“I’m thinking our quarters . . . even quieter and more private.”
Not bad, although . . . “It’s, what, six levels up and he’s going to be conspicuous baggage on the cable.”
“Maybe not as much in the elevator.”
Ten minutes later they had a pale Titus on a sofa with the table spun open to hold him there. Mama brought him something amber from their courtesy liquor supply, following instructions in the cabinet on how to fill a glass like they used in the restaurant. Then he leaned against one end of the facing sofa while Janna stood at the other end.
Janna let Titus suck down a swallow before speaking. “Okay . . . now tell us what that ambush was about. Tell you what? Is what true?”
Titus took another swallow. “It wasn’t an ambush. I saw you at the lab module and waited until you left because I have to know! Was Paul’s suit sabotaged?”