Odd Girl Out (17 page)

“I believe her,” Bayta said. “It all fits what happened back there, as well as what the Modhri told us at Yandro.”

I rubbed my fingers thoughtfully across the tabletop. The story wasn’t inconsistent with what had happened back there, anyway. Though not being inconsistent didn’t necessarily mean true. “It certainly puts an interesting new spin on what happened in New York,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it,” I said. “The walkers wouldn’t have destroyed Lorelei’s polyp colony that way. For all they knew, they might have been able to pull the location of the Melding’s new Fortress of Solitude out of it.”

Bayta’s eye widened in horror. “You mean she did that to
herself
?”

“It’s the only way it makes sense,” I said, grimacing. It
was
a pretty gruesome mental image, I had to admit. “She felt herself succumbing to the snoozers and did the only thing she could think of to keep her colony from falling into their hands. At that point the Modhri had to do the same thing to his dead walker in order to confuse the issue.”

“Horrible,” Bayta murmured.

“Definitely,” I said. “Ironically, the whole thing still qualifies as obfuscation, which is what I thought about it from the beginning. I just had it backwards as to which direction the smokescreen was going.”

Bayta shook her head. “I still don’t understand how the Modhri could suddenly change his basic character just because his polyp colonies were put into these people when they were young.”

“Can’t help you on that one,” I said. “But there actually
is
precedent of a sort. A century or so ago the southern part of the Western Alliance had an invasion of killer bees that had been accidentally brought over from Africa. One of the techniques they used to blunt the species’ nastiness was to get it to interbreed with a couple of calmer bee species.”

“But that’s a physical, genetic change,” Bayta pointed out. “This is different.”

“Only in that the effects are mostly mental,” I reminded her. “The polyps
are
physically present, after all.” I shrugged. “And don’t forget we haven’t actually proved this Melding is any more friendly than the original Modhri.”

“Of course it is,” Bayta said. “You saw how taken those people were with Rebekah. She has to be something very special for so many people to be willing to put their lives on the line for her.”

“Unless it’s just a whole mess of thought viruses,” I countered.

“No,” she said firmly. “Thought viruses use friendship as a conduit, but don’t actually create that friendship in the first place.”

For a brief moment I considered reminding her about the whole Penny Auslander incident. Fortunately, even my fatigue-numbed mind realized in time that that would just be begging for trouble. “Maybe,” I said instead. “You know anything about this Sibbrava system Rebekah mentioned?”

“Not really,” Bayta said, pulling out her reader and keying it on. “It’s the third system you get to in Cimman space along the Kalalee Branch. It’s about six and a half days from Jurskala Station, maybe ten from New Tigris Station.” She peered at the reader. “Looks like the planet is mostly subsistence farming, mining, and manufacturing, with a small export trade in rare metals and exotic woods.”

“Your basic end-of-the-line sort of place,” I said. “Perfect spot for the Melding to take a long vacation from the rest of the universe.”

“As long as no one wonders about them on their way in,” Bayta warned. “The problem with small worlds is that strangers are easy to spot.”

“True,” I agreed, frowning as a sudden thought struck me. “What does the place have in the way of icy waters?”

Bayta fiddled with the reader’s keys. “Not much,” she reported. “Both polar regions are covered by land—glaciers and frozen tundra, mostly. There are a few lakes that are cold enough, but they look pretty small and shallow.”

I nodded. With proper safeguards, Modhran coral could live nearly anywhere, but it needed lots of very cold water in order to grow. “Good,” I said. “That implies the Melding’s not trying to increase their coral outpost, only maintain it.”

“They wouldn’t want it growing anyway,” Bayta pointed out. “Especially if they’re afraid it might revert to true Modhran status without their presence nearby. They couldn’t risk it growing large enough to outnumber them.” She frowned. “If that makes sense.”

“It does,” I assured her. “Where did her boxes end up, by the way?”

“They’re in the stateroom behind hers,” Bayta said. “She wanted them with her, but there really wasn’t enough room for her and them.”

“Wants to be as close to them as possible,” I said, nodding. “Sure.”

Bayta stirred in her seat. “Are we going to take her to Sibbrava?”

I eyed her closely. “You really do trust her, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” she said, meeting my gaze without flinching. “I know trust is hard for you, especially with something like this. But I
do
trust her.”

“Okay by me,” I said. This was definitely not the time for an argument, or even a long discussion. Not with our minds and emotions clouded by lack of sleep.

But that didn’t mean the subject was closed. Not by a long shot. It might be that the Melding’s new telepathic frequency was close enough to Bayta’s that she could genuinely sense Rebekah’s sincerity. It was also possible that during their long hours together Rebekah had managed to plant a thought virus or two in my partner’s brain.

“So that’s it?” Bayta asked, frowning at my easy capitulation on the subject.

“For now,” I said. “We both need some sleep before we can tackle anything requiring higher brain function.” I dug into my pocket and pulled out the
kwi
. “Here,” I said, handing it to her. “Keep it under your pillow tonight.”

She fingered the weapon uncertainly. “She’s not going to attack us, you know.”

“Glad to hear it,” I said. “Keep it under your pillow anyway.”

Bayta hesitated, then slipped the
kwi
into her pocket. “All right,” she said. “If it makes you feel better.”

“It does,” I said, standing up. “And lock your door behind you. I’ll see you in about ten hours.”

“Maybe even twelve,” she said tiredly. “Good night, Frank.” With a final weary smile at me, she left the dayroom.

I waited until I heard the double click of her door closing and locking. Then, hauling myself to my feet, I headed back to the cockpit.

The autopilot still had us on the minimum-time course to the transfer station that I’d requested. I checked for nearby ships—there weren’t any—and then key-locked the autopilot so that it couldn’t be changed by anyone except me. Then I did the same to the engine and environmental settings.

Bayta might trust Rebekah. I didn’t.

And with that chore complete, I was finally able to retire to my stateroom. I locked the door behind me, took off my shoes, and flopped onto the bed without even bothering to get undressed.

But before I fell asleep, I did remember to slip my Beretta out of its holster and tuck it under my pillow.

I’d told Bayta I’d see her in ten hours. In fact, I was awake in just under eight. Unable to sleep any more, I got up, showered, and headed out to face the universe.

My first job was to check all the course and systems settings I’d locked in before heading to bed. Everything was just as I’d left it, with no indication that anyone had even tried to fiddle with the controls. I got myself some breakfast, listening for signs of life from the rest of the ship as I ate. Apparently, the two women were still asleep. I finished eating, had a second cup of coffee, and did some hard thinking.

And when I was finished with both the coffee and the thinking, I put the cup away and headed aft.

I found the boxes in the stateroom behind Rebekah’s compartment, just as Bayta had said, stacked neatly against the forward wall. If Rebekah couldn’t have them in the same room with her, arranging them as close to her as possible was apparently her second choice. The boxes were still locked, but I wasn’t expecting that to be a serious problem. Getting out my multi-tool, I knelt down in front of one of them and got to work.

I was nearly there when through my knees I felt the subtle vibration of the door sliding open behind me. “Morning, Rebekah,” I said, not turning around. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very well, Mr. Compton, thank you,” she said. “May I ask what you’re doing?”

“Just curious,” I told her. “I wanted to see what this new improved Modhran coral looked like.”

“I see,” she said calmly. “Would you like me to get you the key?”

“That’s okay—I’ve got it,” I assured her. With a final twist of my wrist, and accompanied by a screech of tortured metal, the lock popped open. Setting the multitool aside, I lifted the lid.

It was Modhran coral, all right, soaking in about a two-thirds depth of gently sloshing water. To me, it looked the same as all the rest of the Modhran coral I’d encountered over the years.

“Were you expecting it to look different?” Rebekah asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, finally swiveling around to face her. She had on a knee-length nightshirt, and her eyes still looked half asleep. The coral had probably woken her up when I started knocking on his door. “I guess I was,” I amended. “Stupid of me, I suppose.”

“Not stupid,” she said. “When the heart changes, we somehow expect the face to change, too.”

“Very insightful,” I said. “Especially for a ten-year-old from a backwater world.”

That earned me a wry smile. “You don’t think we have any culture on New Tigris?” she asked innocently.

“I’m sure you’re just dripping with the stuff,” I assured her. “And you’re right. We
do
expect to see outward signs of inward changes.”

“With people, I think that’s actually required.” She gestured. “But you have to remember, this is just a lump of coral.”

“So it is,” I agreed, looking over my shoulder at it. Time for a little experiment. Half turning back toward the box, I reached a hand toward it.

“Don’t touch it,” Rebekah said sharply.

I paused with my hand still hovering over the box. “Why not?” I asked. “I thought this was a kinder breed of Modhran coral.”

“No, this is a breed of Modhran coral under Melding control,” she corrected me tartly. “I told you I don’t know what would happen if it left that control. I
really
don’t know what would happen if you took a polyp colony out of it on your own.”

“You’re probably right,” I conceded, withdrawing my hand and swiveling again to face her. Not that I’d actually intended to touch the damn stuff in the first place, of course. “I get the feeling it’s kind of like a trained attack dog that only responds to its handler’s voice.”

“Maybe,” she said. “I don’t know anything about attack dogs.”

“You’re not missing much,” I said. “So where exactly is it you and your friends are planning to go?”

“I already told you,” she said. “Sibbrava.”

“A small, underpopulated planet where visitors are noted and endlessly discussed by the locals?” I shook my head. “I don’t think so. You wouldn’t get to the sunward side of the transfer station before the whole system would be buzzing with news and rumors about you.”

“Nevertheless, that
is
where we’re going,” Rebekah said.

“Even if it ends up being suicide?” I asked bluntly.

Her throat tightened. “I trust my leaders, Mr. Compton,” she said quietly. “I don’t believe they would take us on a path that they thought would lead to our destruction.”

“Trust is fine,” I said. “But it should never replace thinking for yourself. Even the best leaders have blind spots, and it’s up to their followers to compensate.”

“I suppose,” she said, staring at me with an uncomfortable intensity. “Does that apply to you, too?”

“You mean do I question authority?” I asked.

“No, do you need someone to compensate for your weaknesses?”

“I have Bayta for that, thanks,” I said. “But I appreciate the offer.”

For a moment we just gazed at each other. Then, reaching behind me again, I closed the lid over the coral. “You still look pretty tired,” I told her as I stood up. “You probably should go back to bed after you get some breakfast.”

“Actually, I may just skip breakfast and wait for lunch,” she said, yawning widely. “How much farther to the Tube?”

“About four and a half days,” I said. “After you and Bayta have caught up on your sleep we’ll sit down and discuss how we’re going to get your coral through Customs at the transfer station.” I lifted an eyebrow. “Of course, given the way you can charm the socks off people, we may not really
need
a plan.”

“It never hurts to have several options available.”

“Words to live by,” I said ruefully. “Go on, scoot.”

“Okay. Good night.” She smiled. “Again.”

She turned and left the room. I looked down at the boxes, wondering whether or not it would be worth checking out any of the others. But I couldn’t think of a good reason to do so, and my eyelids were starting to remind me that I hadn’t exactly caught up on my sleep, either.

And it was still a long way to the transfer station and the Tube. “‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,’” I quoted under my breath, and headed back to bed.

The next four and a half days passed slowly. The first twenty-four hours saw us caught up on our sleep and caloric intake, and later in the afternoon Bayta and I spent some time working out contingency plans for getting Rebekah’s coral past the transfer station’s Customs counter.

For me, at least, that felt more like a training exercise than a real-world problem. Rebekah’s innocent smile, along with her new improved Melding thought viruses, would almost certainly breeze us straight through Customs without a ripple.

Certainly there wouldn’t be any word from New Tigris itself to put anyone on their guard. I’d made a point of flying over what was left of the communications laser on our way off the planet, and McMicking had definitely done a good job of slagging the thing. It would be weeks before it would be up and running again.

Nor would we face the raised eyebrows that would naturally occur when two torchyachts came through such a backwater station in rapid succession. McMicking was almost certainly running himself a more leisurely course that would allow us to get to and through the transfer station first, exactly to avoid that sort of problem. It was the kind of courtesy I would expect from the man.

Of course, that meant he would be the one facing those raised eyebrows when he came through Customs a day or two behind us. How he planned to deal with them and get his precious cargo through I didn’t know.

But that was his problem, not ours.
Our
problems would start once we got to the Quadrail itself.

Bayta and I talked about that, too. But once again, there was little to actually discuss. It would take around eleven days to get from New Tigris to Sibbrava, during which time the Modhri would either catch on to what we were doing or else would miss us completely. If we managed to stay under the radar, we would get to Sibbrava without trouble and send Rebekah on her merry way.

If we didn’t, there would be trouble. Problem was, at this point there was no way of telling how much trouble the Modhri was willing to make and, more importantly, how much of it he would be able to throw together in the limited time available.

Given those uncertainties, there wasn’t much point in making any detailed plans. As a result, the torchyacht trip quickly took on the feel of an actual vacation, with our primary occupations being food, sleep, and dit rec dramas and comedies.

Rebekah turned out to be even more culturally deficient in the latter area than Bayta. As soon as we realized that, and to my mild surprise, Bayta immediately appointed herself the girl’s guide and mentor. She worked up a program to bring Rebekah up to speed on Human cinematic tradition, then set about implementing it.

Rebekah took to the program like a duck to quack, greeting each new dit rec with wide-eyed excitement. She took to Bayta the same way, and for hours the two of them would sit side by side in the dayroom, chuckling at the punch lines and making quiet comments to each other as they watched.

In retrospect, I shouldn’t have been surprised by the obvious bonding that was going on. For Rebekah, Bayta was someone to fill the empty hole in her life that had been left by Lorelei’s death. For Bayta, I suspected, Rebekah was the little sister she’d never had at all.

It reached such a level, in fact, that I started feeling like a side dish neither of them had ordered. Often during one of their marathon sessions, I would slip out of the dayroom to check on the autopilot or drive systems or even to take a nap, and return with the sense that neither of them had even noticed my absence.

The whole thing gave me a strange and decidedly unpleasant feeling. Being ignored was nothing new to me, and over the past few years I’d been ignored by acknowledged experts in the field. But this was different. Bayta was a colleague, and ever since we’d embarked on this quiet war together I’d been the biggest thing in her life.

Except for the Spiders and Chahwyn, maybe. But they Mostly sat on the sidelines. I was the one Bayta had lived with and fought beside and risked her life for. Not the Spiders. Certainly not Rebekah.

Five days after leaving New Tigris we reached the transfer station. The vacation was over, and the danger was about to begin again.

I was almost glad.