The Seeds of Time (26 page)

She heard him saying, somewhere next to her, “I’m with you, Clio, whatever you need to do, I’m with you.”

She recognized that for a nice sentiment. But right then she was wondering about getting it on, it had been a long while, and he was ready, no doubt about that. She stretched out against him, then realized that moving was not a good idea, tended to make the room wobble like it was losing a tire at fifty miles an hour. He held her tighter, and it seemed to quiet things down while she fell into an undulating sleep.

She cranked the volume control up, listening to them argue. The crews’ voices were hard to distinguish over the headset, and sent spikes of pain through her forehead.

Clio was on flight duty, patched into crew station, where Russo was holding her powwow. Meng was spinning her theories, fending off questions by asking other questions. “So you think the photohormones are conventional?” Zee was doing his best to shoot holes, but the others were damn quiet.

Meng’s theory wasn’t much, so far. Some, or all, of the plants manufactured hormones that caused the plants to release unicell particles of some sort that inoculated certain metals—maybe
all
metal, and plastic as well. The action might be similar to how pathogens react with host plants. The first intrusions were into small computer parts and lightweight plastic hoses that could be easily penetrated by the enzymes that the particles released. Meng had examined the defective portable oxygen packs and found microscopic evidence of invasive plant-cell growth in the plastic hoses. She thought the vehicle of transmission of the particles was the ship’s air-circulation system.

Clio took off her headphones, rested her forehead in her hand. The VDT screens pulsed in her eyes, driving in the nail a little deeper. They were buying it. They were all
tired, all scared shitless. Gods, they could throw it all away. She put the phones on again.

“You son of a bitch,” Meng was saying. “You just can’t stand to be told anything by a woman, can you. Just can’t stand not to have all the answers yourself. Hysterical woman is your last resort. Mr. Science shows his true colors.”

“That’s a tad harsh,” Zee said.

“You’ll keep your temper, Meng, or you’re off this deck,” Shaw said.

Zee said, “I do feel that Specialist Meng’s tests should be replicated by others. Test her hypothesis. Way of science, that’s all.”

“Meanwhile, we slowly turn to confetti.” Meng’s voice.

“Commander, what’s your scope on this?” That from Russo.

Shaw answered, “I’m tempted to believe Meng. We’re having simultaneous systems failures, and generally in the computer systems where the metal circuits could be the most vulnerable. I say let Meng have a look at some of the circuit boards.”

“Do that. Lieutenant vander Zee, you will assist Specialist Meng. Meanwhile I’ll talk to Vanda about this. Meng, you will prepare for possible evacuation of the Niang cargo on science deck.”

“Little late for that, isn’t it, Captain?” Meng asked.

“You still follow orders on this ship, Meng?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Two things I don’t like. Hysteria and a smartass. So I won’t be seeing either one around here, will I?”

“No sir.”

“You can dismiss the crew, Commander. I’m going to the bridge.”

“They’ve eaten the microscopes,” Meng announced. “Fuckers have eaten my equipment.” Meng was half in, half out of the crew-station hatchway. On her way to whine to the captain, no doubt.

Clio cringed, hearing her voice. Kept a calm façade, said: “That’s a bit melodramatic, isn’t it? Did you try using the On button?”

Meng’s parting shot was lost as she scrambled out of the hatch, heading for flight deck. Clio swung back to the console, where she completed the cabin pressurization check. Pressure was at 12.9 psi, lower than it should be, but OK for now, best they could do. She had taken readings on all decks, part of the her assigned rounds this shift, since two of the main onboard computers went down. She had been awake twenty-six hours.

Damn poor timing to lose the computers. Everybody with the jitters, and now the life-support computers, controlling air and water, give up, putting everybody on double duty, pushing tempers over the edge. They could get by without the crew-deck main computers, but it meant everything done manual, done once, then done again, keep checking oxygen, nitrogen, carbon-dioxide levels, pressure, electrical. And on the rounds, you just hoped like hell the rest of the hardware, the valves and switches, the bolts, and, good God, the hull itself were uncontaminated. Three computers were operating, those on flight deck, those farthest, Meng pointed out, from the science deck. These three controlled navigation, communications, and Dive. Meanwhile,
Russo was sending messages every hour to Vanda, and no answer.

Clio moved down the access ladder to the lower deck. Rolled up her sleeves, opened her shirt button at the neck; damn warm here, amid the guts of the ship. She didn’t quite need to duck low as she walked, but felt like it with pipes twined across the upper bulkhead, centimeters from her head. Bright colors marked the canisters for oxygen, nitrogen, and water; grey for mere equipment lockers. The hum of the ship was close here; hydraulics sighed. Crew didn’t like lower deck. Didn’t like the reminder, thank you, of the mere machinery holding their little pocket of life against the cold deep of space. Liked the upper decks with their normalcy, lulling you to forget you were seventy million kilometers away from the nearest post office. She found the access panels and checked on the liquid-oxygen tanks and the heat exchangers that warmed the gas on its way through the system’s regulator. Pressure inside the tanks was 847 psi, within tolerances. She closed the panel, stood up, suddenly dizzy. Crouched down, head low.
Get a grip, girl
. Her skin was clammy, her face hot. Damn lower deck, too dark, too close. Funny noises. She moved on to the nitrogen tanks, finished her checks, turned around, nearly bumped into Shaw.

Could’ve said something, announced his presence. Not his style.

“You got call to be on lower deck, Lieutenant?” He was standing too close, looming large, larger than brass usually did.

Clio backed up a step. “Yessir, duty roster has me checking cabin pressure, atmosphere tanks.” Always nice to know the answers when Shaw asked the questions, to be able to tell the truth. Nothing to hide, so he could damn well stand aside.

“We’ve got too much work to be slacking off, Lieutenant, you copy?”

“Yessir. Not slacking off, sir.”

His eyes flicked down to the oxygen access panels.

“What’s your reading on oxygen pressure?”

“Eight hundred forties. Within range, sir.”

He nodded slowly, looking about, not really hearing her. Jerked his eyes back to her. “You heard the captain call you to crew deck a while back?”

“Nosir. I didn’t hear anything, sir.”
Jesus, so that’s it. And he waits long enough to tell me, stringing it out, wondering what I was up to in storage, what was so important I let the captain sit waiting
.

“Intercom work down here, Lieutenant?”

“Don’t know, sir. Guess not, sir.”

He nodded again, squinting at her, trying to see past her yessirs, nosirs.

“Captain want to see me, sir?”

“Did. Never mind now.” He turned, walked toward the hatchway ladder. Turned again. At a distance, his voice came floating to her, tinny and severed from his body. “Captain announced we’re dumping the Niang haul. Danger to the ship. Thought you’d want to know.”

Then his boots were echoing up the ladder.

She listened to him climb, her insides jumping around like they wanted out.
What he said, can’t do that. Nosir, we can’t do that
. She was climbing the ladder after him, but when she climbed through the hatchway to science deck, he was gone. Zee stood there.

“Clio, Captain says …”

“Yeah, I heard. I’m going to see Russo.” She met his eyes, saw he was as jumpy as she was. He looked behind him toward quarantine, said, “I’ll hold Meng off as long as I can. I’m supposed to help her.” He wiped his hands on his jumpsuit.

“Do anything you have to. Slow her down.” Clio was up the ladder to galley and on up to the bridge.

Shaw was talking to Russo on the flight deck. He turned to look at her. Russo glanced up, eyebrow raised.

“Permission to talk with the captain, sir.”

“What’s on your mind, Lieutenant?”

“The plants, Captain. Can I ask why? Because I thought we were waiting for further tests before deciding to
dump.” Clio knew better than to show emotion. Kept her face calm.

Shaw took a breath to say something; captain raised her hand slightly, cutting him off. “You can ask. I’ll tell you what I told the rest. We’ve just lost two main onboards. Communications went down an hour ago. We’re running the ship on manual with half a crew, cut off from Vanda. I’m trying to save navigations, not to mention five people and a three-hundred-billion-dollar ship, what’s left of it.” She turned back to the console, punched up a new screen, eyes flickering down the columns of numbers. “Anything more, Lieutenant?”

Clio sucked in a breath, pushed out the words: “Yessir.”

This time Russo swung full around. Dark pools under her eyes, her face a wall.

“Ship is deteriorating, we know that, but we don’t know why. We got no proof it’s our haul, sir. We can’t just kill them, if we’re wrong, we kill off maybe the best haul Recon’s ever done, we kill off this mission, once and for good.” She took another breath,
control that pitch, girl, don’t go too far
.

“I know how you feel, Lieutenant. We’re all disappointed. But science deck is nearly shut down and I can’t wait for tests on Vanda. I’ve got lives under my command. I’ve lost half of them. I’m bringing the rest home, by God. I’ve made my decision.”

“Yessir. Can I ask what Vanda says, sir?”

Shaw looked at Russo, itching to break in, but hesitating.

“We’ve lost all contact. And last thing we got from the rescue ship was they were turning around. They don’t have the quarantine facilities. We’re on our own until we reach station.” Russo closed her eyes a moment. She opened them, looked at Clio with a faint shade of life, of recognition. “A Dive pilot doesn’t last forever, I know that Lieutenant. We all wish this mission could have been the big one. I wish I could do more. I’m left with my duty. That doesn’t mean I like it. But I will do it.” She nodded at Shaw.

“You are dismissed, Lieutenant,” he said.

“Yessir.” Her feet stuck to the deck. Finally she turned, got her body walking in the right direction.
Don’t want to think about what comes next, just do it, girl. Nothing left to lose
. At the hatchway, turned. “Commander, sir, there’s just one thing.…”

“You have been dismissed, Finn.”

“Yessir, but there’s something on lower deck. Probably minor, but I’ve been thinking about the oxygen valves. I’d like you to take a look at them, if you would, sir.”

Shaw paused a moment, nodded. Followed her out.

Her hands left sweat on the ladder. Leaving tracks. Her brain yammering at her, couldn’t shut it down. Wishing she could talk to Zee, wishing it didn’t come to this, wishing she had stayed on Niang; Eden couldn’t be as bad as this, even Teeg’s Eden.

They were on lower deck, Shaw staring at her. She knelt down, drew back the deck panel. And then he was kneeling down, head lowered, reaching down to turn the valve, and she had her hand on the long wrench, the one they used if the valves were irky, and he was saying, I don’t see anything, and she was swinging back her hand and brought the wrench down on his head. A thudding noise, and he fell forward, clattering against the open panels. She knelt by him, rifled him for ship’s keys, hands shaking bad. Found them in his breast pocket. Took them, stood up, and considered how to tie him up. Could use his belt, but maybe time was more important now. They were going to dump the haul, maybe getting ready to dump it now. She raced up the ladder. Emerged onto science deck, nobody in sight, headed up to crew deck.

Down the corridor past crew cabins to the lockers next to launch bay. Her shoes on the deck echoing off the bulkheads. Looking around her, spooked, but who could be here? Shaw was down; Russo on flight deck; Zee and Meng on science deck. The jitters for sure. Just attacked ship’s officer, that’s good for five years, if he’s not dead. But tack that on to the rest, she was dog meat anyway. Still, it
made her crazy, a little crazy, to hit the commander, take him down.

No time for angst, girl, you gotta finish what you started
. She had most of the ordnance cleared out by now, guns, rifles, ammo clips. Ducked in to her cabin, grabbed an empty duffel, stuffed the weapons in, all but two small pistols, stuffed those in her belt, hoisted the sack over her shoulder, jammed down the corridor toward science deck.

She managed to wrestle the duffel bag down to science, threw it on the deck, against the bulkhead. Place was empty, that meant Zee and Meng were in quarantine section. She hurried to the intercom, jabbed it, wondering what she was going to say.

Meng answered.