Ship Who Searched (24 page)

As a final incongruity, he had adopted a clipped British accent to go along with his voice.

“Precisely, sir,” she replied. “AH One-Oh-Three-Three at your service, so to speak.”

“Wow,” Aldon responded, clearly awestruck. “We get to ride in a brainship? They’ve actually put us on a brainship? Wow, PTAs don’t even get rides from brainships! I’ve never even seen a brainship before—Uh, hi, what’s your real name?” He turned slowly, trying to figure out which way to face.

“Hypatia, Tia for short,” she replied, tickled by the young beings’ responses. “Don’t worry about where to look, just assume I’m the whole ship. I am, you know. I even have eyes in your quarters—” she chuckled at Aldon’s flush of embarrassment “—but don’t worry, I won’t use them. Your complete privacy is important to us.”

“I can show you the cabins, and you can pick the ones you want,” Alex offered. “They’re all the same; I’m just reserving the one nearest the main cabin for Doctor Hollister-Aspen.”

“Stellar!” Aldon enthused. “Wow, this is better than the liner coming in! I had to share a cabin with Fred and two other guys.”

“Quite correct,” Fred seconded. “I enjoyed Aldon’s company, but the other two were—dare I say—spoiled young reprobates? High Family affectations without the style, the connections, or the Family. Deadly bores, I assure you, and a spot of privacy will be welcome. Shall we, then?”

The two grad students were unpacking their carry-on baggage when the two post-docs arrived, this time singly. Treel arrived first, accepted the greetings with the calm, intense demeanor of a Zen Master, and took the first cabin she was offered.

Les Dimand-Taylor was another case altogether. It was obvious to Tia the moment he came aboard—
without
the automatic salute he made to her column—that he was ex-military. He confirmed her assumption as soon as Alex offered him a cabin.

“Anything will do, old man,” he said, with a kind of nervous cheer. “Better than barracks, that’s for sure. Unless—lady Tia, you don’t have anything that makes an unexpected noise in the middle of the night, do you? I’m afraid—” he laughed a little shakily “—I’m afraid I’m just a little twitchy about noises when I’m asleep. What they euphemistically call ‘unfortunate experiences.’ I’ll keep my door locked so I don’t disturb anyone but—”

“Give him the cabin next to Treel, Alex,” she said firmly. “Doctor Dimand-Taylor—”

“Les, my dear,” he replied, with a thin smile. “Les to you and your colleagues, always. Pulled me out of a tight spot, one of you BB teams did. Besides, when people hear my title they tend to start telling me about their backs and innards. Hate to have to tell them that I’d only care about their backs if the too, too solid flesh had been melted off the bones for the past thousand years or so.”

“Les, then,” she said. “I assume you know Treel?”

“Very well. A kind and considerate lady. If you have her assigned as my neighbor, she’s so quiet I never know she’s there.” He seemed relieved that Tia didn’t press him for details on the “tight spot”
he’d
been in.

“That cabin and hers are buried in the sound-proofing around the holds,” Tia told him. “You shouldn’t hear anything—and I can generate white-noise for you at night, if you’d like.”

He relaxed visibly. “That would be charming of you, thanks awfully. My superior, Doc Aspen, told the others about my little eccentricities, so they know not to startle me. So we should be fine.”

He went about his unpacking, and Alex returned to the main cabin.

“Commando,” Tia said succinctly.

“That in his records?” Alex asked. “I’m surprised they left that there. Not saying where, though, are they?”

“If you know where to look and what to look at, the fact that he was a commando
is
in his records,” she told her brawn. “But where—that’s not in the Institute file. It’s probably logged somewhere. Remember not to walk quietly, my dear.”

“Since I’d rather not get karate-chopped across the throat, that sounds like a good idea.” He thought for a moment and went off to his cabin, returning with what looked like a bracelet with a bell on it. “These things went into fashion a couple of months ago, and I bought one, but I didn’t like it.” He bent over to fasten it around his boot. “There. Now he’ll hear me coming, in case I forget to stamp.” The bell was not a loud one, but it was definitely producing an audible sound.

“Good idea—ah, here’s the Man himself—Alex, he’s going to need some help.”

Alex hurried down to the lift area and gave Doctor Aspen a hand with his luggage. There wasn’t much of it, but Doctor Aspen was not capable of carrying much for long. Tia wondered what could have possessed the Institute to permit this man to go out into the field again.

She found out, once he was aboard. His staff immediately clustered around him, fired with enthusiasm, as soon as he was settled in his cabin. He asked permission of Tia and Alex to move the convocation into the main cabin and use one of her screens.

“Certainly,” Tia answered, when Alex deferred to her. She was quite charmed by Doctor Aspen, who called her “my lady,” and accorded to her all the attention and politeness he gave his students and underlings.

As they moved into main room, Doctor Aspen turned toward her column. “I am told that you have some interest and education in archeology, my lady Tia,” he said, as he settled into a seat near one of the side screens. “And you, too, Alex. Please, since you’ll be on-site with us, feel free to participate. And if you know something we should, or notice something we miss, feel free to contribute.”

Alex was obviously surprised; Tia wasn’t. She had gleaned some of this from the records. Aspen’s students stayed with him, went to enormous lengths to go on-site with him, went on to careers of their own full of warm praise for their mentor. Aspen was evidently that rarest of birds: the exceptional, inspirational teacher who was also a solid researcher and scientist.

Within moments, Aspen had drawn them all into his charmed circle, calling up the first team’s records, drawing his students—and even Alex—into making observations. Tia kept a sharp eye out for the missing member of the party, however, for she had the feeling that Haakon-Fritz had deliberately timed his entrance to coincide with the gathering of Aspen’s students. Tia figured that he wanted an excuse to feel slighted. She wasn’t going to give it to him.

She could—and did—hook herself into the spaceport surveillance system, and she spotted Haakon-Fritz coming long before he was in range of her own sensors. Plenty of time to interrupt the animated discussion with a subtle, “Gentlebeings, Doctor Haakon-Fritz is crossing the tarmac.”

Treel and Les exchanged a wordless look, but said nothing. Aspen simply smiled, and rose from his chair, as Tia froze the recording they had been watching. Alex hurried down the stairs to intercept Haakon-Fritz at the lift.

So instead of being greeted by the backs of those deep in discussion, the man found himself greeted by the Courier Service brawn, met at the top of the lift by the rest of his party, and given an especially hearty greeting by his superior.

His expression did not change so much as a hair, but Tia had the distinct feeling that he was disgruntled. “Welcome aboard, Doctor Haakon-Fritz,” Tia said, as he shook hands briefly with the other members of his party. “We have a choice of five cabins for you, if you’d care—”

“If you have more than one cabin available,” Haakon-Fritz interrupted rudely, speaking not to Tia, who he ignored, but to Alex, “I would like to see them all before I make a choice.”

Tia knew Alex well enough by now to know that he was angry, but he covered it beautifully. “Certainly, Professor,” he said, giving Haakon-Fritz the lesser of his titles. “If you’ll follow me—”

He led the way back into the cabin section, leaving Haakon-Fritz to carry his own bags.

Treel made a little growl that sounded like disgust; Fred rolled his eyes, which was the closest he could come to a facial expression. “My word,” Fred said, his voice ripe with surprise. “
That
was certainly rude!”

“He ees a Practical Darweeneest,” Treel replied, with a curl to her lip. “Your pardon, seer,” she said to Aspen. “I know that you feel he ees a good scienteest, but I am glad he ees not the one in scharge.”

Fred was still baffled. “Practical Darwinist?” he said. “Does someone want to explain to a baffled young veggie just what that might be and
why
he was so rude to lady Tia?”

Les took up the gauntlet with a sigh. “A Practical Darwinist is one who believes that Darwin’s Law applies to
everything.
If someone is in an accident, they shouldn’t be helped, if an earthquake levels a city, no aid should be sent, if a plague breaks out, only the currently healthy should be inoculated; the victims should be isolated and live or die as the case may be.”

Fred’s uneasy glance toward her column made Tia decide to spare Les the embarrassment of stating the obvious. “And as you have doubtless surmised, the fanatical Practical Darwinists find the existence of shellpersons to be
horribly
offensive. They won’t even acknowledge that we exist, given the option.”

Professor Aspen shook his head sadly. “A brilliant scientist, but tragically flawed by fanaticism,” he said, as he took his seat again. “Which is why he has gotten as far as he will ever go. He had a chance—was given a solo Exploration dig—and refused to consider any evidence that did not support his own peculiar party-line. Now he is left to be the chief clerk of digs like ours.” He looked soberly into the faces of his four students. “Let this be a lesson to you, gentlebeings. Never let fanatic devotion blind you to truth.”

“Or, in other words,” Tia put in blithely, “the problem with a fanatic is that their brains turn to tofu and they accept nothing as truth except what conforms to their ideas. What makes them dangerous is not that
they’ll
die to prove their truth, but that they’ll let
you
die—or take you with them—to prove it.”

“Well put, my lady.” Doctor Aspen turned his attention back to the screen. “Now since I know from past experience that Haakon-Fritz will spend the time until takeoff sulking in his cabin—shall we continue with our discussion?”

The Exploration team had left the site in good shape; equipment stowed, domes inflated but sealed, open trenches covered to protect them. The Evaluation team erected two new living domes and a second laboratory dome in short order, and settled down to their work.

Everything seemed to be under control; now that the team was on-site, even the sulky Haakon-Fritz fell to and took on his share of the duties. There would seem to have been no need for AH One-Oh-Three-Three to remain on-planet when they could have been making the rounds of “their” established digs.

But that was not what regulations called for, and both Tia and Alex knew why, even if the members of the team didn’t. Regulations for a CS ship attached to Institute duty hid a carefully concealed second agenda, when the ship placed a new Exploration or Evaluation team.

Archeological teams were put together with great care; not only because of the limited number of personnel, but because of their isolation. They were going to be in danger from any number of things—all of the hazards that Tia had listed to Alex on their first mission. There was no point in exposing them to danger from within.

So the prospective members of a given team were probed, tested, and Psyched to a fare-thee-well, both for individual stability and for interactive stability with the rest of the team. Still, mistakes could be made, and had been in the past. Sometimes those mistakes had led to a murder, or at least, an attempted murder.

When a psychological problem surfaced, it was usually right at the beginning of the stint, after the initial settling in period was over, and once a routine had been established and the stresses of the dig started to take their toll. About that time, if something was going to go wrong, it did. The team had several weeks in cramped quarters in transit to establish interpersonal relations; ideal conditions for cabin fever. Ideal conditions for stress to surface, and that stress could lead to severe interpersonal problems.

So regulations were that the courier, whether BB or fully-manned, was to manufacture some excuse to stay for several days, with the ship personnel staying inside and out of sight, but with the site being fully monitored from inside the ship. The things they were to look for were obvious personality conflicts, new behavioral quirks, or old ones going from “quirk” to “psychosis.” Making sure there was nothing that might give rise to a midnight axe murder. It would not have been the first time that someone snapped under stress.

Alex was most worried about Les, muttering things about post-trauma syndrome and the fragility of combat veterans. Tia had her own picks for trouble,
if
trouble came—either Fred or Aldon, for neither one of them had ever been on-site in a small dig before, and until he went to the Institute, Aldon had never even been off-planet. Despite his unpleasantness to
her
, Haakon-Fritz was brilliant and capable, and he had been on several digs before without any trouble surfacing. And now that they were all on-site, while he was distant, he was also completely cooperative, and his behavior in no way differed from his behavior on previous digs. There was no indication that he was likely to take his fanatic beliefs into his professional life. Fred and Aldon had only been part of a crew of hundreds with an Excavation team—where there were more people to interact with, fewer chances for personality stress, and no real trials to face but the day to day boredom of repetitive work.

For the first couple of days, everything seemed to be just fine, not only as far as the personnel were concerned, but as far as the conditions. Both Tia and Alex breathed a sigh of relief.

Too soon by half.

For that night, the winter rains began.

Tia had been sifting through some of the records she’d copied at the base, looking for another potential investment prospect like Largo Draconis. It was late; very late—the site was quiet and dark, and Alex had called it a night. He was in his cabin, just about at the dreaming stage, and Tia was considering shutting down for her mandated three hours of DeepSleep—when the storm struck.