Powers that Be

Chapter 10

How did she die?" Scan asked.

"We can't be sure yet. The autopsy report 'wasn't in when I left SpaceBase," Torkel said. "Probably delayed effects of exposure. Acted like respiratory failure, apparently. The medic suspected she may have frostbitten her lungs while she was out there and nobody realized it until she had already been transferred via shuttle to headquarters. The old man isn't doing so hot either, although the girl, Brit, doesn't seem to be suffering any ill effects. They're to be transferred to Andromeda medical facility for further observation."

"Don't," Scan said. "Send them back here. Keep them at SpaceBase if you have to, but they will soon sicken and die if you send them offplanet. They're adapted to this planet and these conditions. They'll die elsewhere. Bring them back."

"I'm not sure I can do that," Torkel said, just a hint of belligerence creeping into his voice. He didn't say it, but Yana could feel the resentment building in him: here he was trying to be such a great guy and let the locals in on what was happening, and they tried to tell him how to do his job.

"Why not?" Diego demanded angrily. "Are you having too much fun questioning them?"

Torkel heaved an exasperated sigh. "Son, I'm trying to be patient with you because I understand how upset you must be about your father. Your dad's partner is on the way down to look after you and should be arriving on one of the first troop shuttles. But I've had about enough crap out of you. You've been raised by Intergal. Surely you know that we don't use rough stuff on our own people…"

He appealed to Yana, but she said nothing. The terrorists from Bremer had been interrogated. They had, at one time, been Intergal's own people.

Sinead said diplomatically, "It's just that we're a very close-knit community here, Captain Fiske. People will worry about Sigdhu and Brit even more now with what's happened to Lavelle. I'm not saying it was the company's fault, but you know, we're used to a different kind of atmosphere here than what you have on the stations and ships. Our air is fresh, even if it's cold, not endlessly reprocessed."

"Glad you enjoy it," Torkel said with an ironic lift of his eyebrow. "The company provided all of the amenities of this planet."

"We need our own back here on the surface, man," Scan said, and Yana realized that he was at a disadvantage not knowing who Torkel was. "My family has been accommodating the species of this planet to its peculiarities for four generations now and between you and me, the company hasn't provided a lot of what's here. There are major adaptation problems for our people…"

"And you are, sir?" Torkel asked politely, but with an edge in his voice to match the one in Sean's. They stood across the room from each other, each with his feet spread and his arms poised, like a pair of gunfighters squaring off. •

The cat, which had been lounging on the middle of the table washing its underside, suddenly leapt up, sprang to the door, and meowed urgently to go out. Yana crossed between the men to open the door, and when she turned back, they had relaxed so that they were merely glaring at each other, but no longer posturing. She stepped quickly between them, gesturing to each to come closer.

"Captain Torkel Fiske, descendant of the terraforming Fiskes, this is Sean Shongili, descendant of the genetic-engineering Shongilis," she said quickly, as if officiating at a hailing party for newly recruited officers. "You guys want to go to opposite corners and come out flashing credentials?"

They didn't seem to hear her for a moment; then Torkel suddenly grinned fondly at her and reached out to squeeze her shoulder.

"Trust you to try to defuse a situation, Yana. God, I've missed you. Shongili, I am actually extremely pleased to meet you. Excuse me if I came on a little strong, but we were all shocked by that poor woman's death when she had been so instrumental in saving young Diego here and his father."

"I think I can help, Torkel," Yana intervened again. "Let me see that autopsy report when it comes in. And please, I think there's been enough evidence gathered so far to show that Petaybee is not exactly what the company ordered, and Sean may be right about the adaptive failures."

Torkel shook his head. "That doesn't make much sense, Yana, when half the existing Intergal force was recruited from Petaybeans originally."

Yana shrugged and held out a cup of coffee, wishing she had acquired more cups from the BX. He took the cup in one hand, and then took her hand in his other.

"The recruits are young, Captain," Sean said. "Their growing isn't over, nor full maturation reached when they leave Petaybee to join Intergal."

"That's as may be, Shongili. Yana, we'll talk about this later. I can see now that everybody's too upset to listen to reason."

"I can take you and Diego back, sir," Bunny volunteered. Yana noticed that her young friend had very wisely kept her mouth shut throughout the conversation, retaining an enviably neutral-at least as far as Torkel was concerned-stance.

"Thanks, young lady, but 1 brought my own," Torkel said. He turned to Diego as if to say something, but Diego's black scowl made him think better of it.

They were pulling on winter gear when there was a knock at the door. Yana opened it, and there was the cat, sitting squarely in the middle of the doorstep, and Clodagh, in only a light jacket, stocking cap, and knitted scarf, right behind.

"I'm glad I caught you, Captain, Diego," she said, with a slightly softer look at the boy. "Adak just got a message in and brought it to the latchkay looking for you. Dr. Margolies is at SpaceBase now."

Torkel nodded his thanks and started to turn to Diego, but Clodagh stopped him.

"Captain, I was thinking maybe, you know, if your doctors think Dr. Metaxos won't get any better, maybe he and Diego could come here to live with us? Dr. Margolies, too, if the company wanted to station him here. Maybe he could do the work you need better if he lived with us?"

Yana wondered what Clodagh was thinking of. She knew the villagers had responded well to Diego at the latchkay, but in many close-knit communities, Dr. Metaxos would have been held indirectly responsible for Lavelle's death. Maybe these people were just unusually generous, but she couldn't imagine they would welcome a known company agent on the premises. On the other hand, theoretically Scan was a company man, too.

Torkel looked as flummoxed as she was by Clodagh's offer and said with his customary charm, "That's very kind of you people, and I'll certainly suggest it to Dr. Margolies and to Colonel Giancarlo. It might indeed be convenient to have Dr. Margolies based here in Kilcoole, at least for the time being, and good for young Diego to be around people his own age again. At least until the company comes up with some permanent solution for his problem."

Clodagh shrugged. "It's no problem to us, Captain. You might not realize it, but what happened to Dr. Metaxos has happened to quite a lot of people on Petaybee. This planet can be kinda hard on certain folks."

"Thank you for your concern, ma'am."

Yana had her coat on before he stepped a foot out the door. Hooking her arm in his, she said, "Tell you what, Torkel. How 'bout if Bunny takes Diego back to base and I keep you company on the way out and ride back with her?"

"I'd like nothing better," he said.

With somewhat forced heartiness Scan said, "Well, back to the latchkay for the rest of us. Bunka, make sure you girls are back in time for the night chants. Major Maddock will want to hear those."

For someone who had appeared so ardent earlier, Torkel Fiske was strangely silent during much of their two-hour snocle ride to SpaceBase. The river trail was wide and flat, streaks of clear ice showing black where the snow had drifted away, the moons gleaming white, mirroring the planet's surface. As the snocle cleared the trees and approached SpaceBase, white, blue, and red lights in the sky shot skyward or fell like multicolored snowflakes toward the landing pads.

"Looks like Kilcoole's not the only place there's a party going on," Yana said jokingly to Torkel.

"Hmm," he said, and in the closeness of the warmed air in the snocle, she could smell the musky cologne he wore. The man who has everything, she thought as she admired his classically handsome profile. She ought to be more moved, she told herself. She really ought.

"Yana? I thought you were medically retired here. Yet there doesn't really seem to be anything wrong with you that 1 can detect. Has it occurred to you that you needn't cut your career so short? I could arrange for light duty for a while, until you get back in the swing of things."

"What kind of light duty did you have in mind, Torkel? To tell you the truth, it's not bad here."

He snorted. "You could have fooled me. But actually, I thought maybe as long as you were here and you have the rank and the 'in' with the people, you could relieve Giancarlo. He's really blown it by letting that woman die while she was offplanet. It's that kind of stupidity that triggered the Bremport massacre."

"You've been reading my mail on that one," she said. "That guy has zero finesse."

"Exactly. Now, I don't have to tell you that at times you need a pretty heavy whip hand if you're going to accomplish a mission that people may not understand the rationale behind, or that may cause some temporary inconvenience. People hate change. But I think someone who already gets along with them…"

"I see," she said. And she did. Someone who already got along with them was in a better position to betray their trust and kindness. Still, she might be able to help ease any transitions, which would not be a concern of Giancarlo's.

"And we could work together again. I need a strong superior officer to keep me on the right track, you know," he said, reaching over and squeezing her knee.

"Hoo boy, you were serious about that whip-hand business, weren't you?"

He was negotiator enough to know when to drop the subject and give her time to think about it, which she did as they slid into SpaceBase, the lights from the landing and departing shuttles spreading multicolored pools across the snow for the miles surrounding the base.

While a holiday air had prevailed at Kilcoole, it was definitely business even-more-than-usual at SpaceBase, where parka-clad soldiers scurried from the landing pads to a row of prefab warehouses that had not been there on Yana's previous visit. In fact, other troops were still assembling three more of the structures, while heavy machinery moved crates into the existing buildings.

"What's all this?" Yana asked. "Looks like an invasion."

"Watch your mouth," Torkel said, "if you want to be a positive influence for change. This is the expeditionary force I told you about. We're using SpaceBase as a supply depot for this continent. My father will be coming down later to supervise the more technical aspects of the operation but basically, from here, we'll launch probes and set up base camps close to the points we've identified from space as having the greatest potential for the resources we're seeking."

"Is this going on planetwide?"

"Not at the moment. Look, love, I can't say any more unless you choose to renew your active-duty status and your security clearance, okay? So think about it. And, by the way, come in for a physical so I can shove your status-change papers through in a hurry. You look pretty good for someone with banjaxed lungs and a medical discharge."

"It's all this clean air and country living," she said breezily.

"Great," he said, with a touch of grimness. "But don't be surprised if there are more traffic jams than usual around quaint and charming Kilcoole in the near future."

He plowed into an infirmary parking place willy-nilly and was out of the snocle and around to open the door for her before she could undo her seat belt. Bunny's snocle was already there, and she and Diego looked to be engrossed in urgent dialogue inside the vehicle.

"Can I meet Margolies without a security clearance?" Yana asked sweetly. "Just so 1 can reassure the populace as to Diego's family situation?"

"Of course," Torkel said. "I imagine he'll be in visiting Metaxos."

Bunny and Diego emerged, looking expectantly in their direction.

"We might as well form a welcoming committee," Torkel said with an overly hearty grin at the kids. "Come on."

Diego spotted Steve Margolies the moment they walked into the infirmary. He sprinted the length of the hall to embrace the older man, heedless of the presence of the medics, Torkel, Bunny, Yana, and even that of his father, lying on a hospital bed open-eyed and propped into an upright position with pillows. The room had only three other patients, and the ward on the opposite end of the corridor showed an unbroken line of empty beds.

Margolies, balding, bearded, and not quite portly, looked as glad to see Diego as the boy did him. "I came as quickly as I could, Diego," he said.

"I knew you would, Steve. I knew it."

Torkel stuck out his hand. "Torkel Fiske, Dr. Margolies. I had you sent for as soon as I learned of you from young Diego and this lady. This is Major Yanaba Maddock, currently retired and, uh-"

"Hi, I'm Bunny," Bunny said, also soliciting a handshake. "I hope you and Diego and his dad can come and live with us in the village."

"That's very kind of you," Margolies said, startled but amiable. "But right now I think Francisco needs the care he can get here."

"Have you found quarters yet?" Torkel asked.

"No. I came straight here after inprocessing."

"Well, then, look, Colonel Giancarlo and I are going to have to have a more extensive conversation with you later but I think right now the thing for me to do is to go make sure you are lodged at least in the same building with Diego. Yana, Bunny, I think we should leave this family alone, don't you?"

The infirmary corridors were teeming with new personnel and new equipment, and the building itself had been enlarged with newly attached modules at either end. Technicians were feeding data to computers, and medical personnel were stocking shelves and unpacking boxes. Yana wondered briefly why, with a half-empty infirmary, they were adding to it. She didn't like the look of that, actually. They must be expecting a great many more troops-and casualties.

They said their farewells, Torkel taking leave with just a hint of a lingering look in his eye for her as he strode off to do whatever it was he was going to do. Which Yana had a pretty good idea was not confined to simply seeing that the Margolies-Metaxos boys were comfy.

She and Bunny climbed in the snocle just as he turned around and waved, and Yana waved back until he was out of sight.

Then, as Bunny started the engine, Yana said, "Develop a mechanical problem, Bunny. I'm going to go back in there for a bit. If anyone challenges you, or stops to help you, drive off and come right back on base after a few minutes. I shouldn't be long."

Bunny gave her a hard, measuring look, then shrugged. "Okay, but whatever you're up to, be careful."

Yana flipped her an abbreviated salute and headed into the clinic.

For the first time since her release, Yana felt fortunate to have spent so long in a large medical facility. She walked back in as if she knew exactly where she was going. Purposefully, she pushed back thoughts of what would happen if she was discovered and her presence in the facility officially queried: Torkel might not even be able, much less wish to, bail her out, and she could easily lose her pension with Integral and face time in a detention center. But right now was the best time for her to obtain a copy of Lavelle's autopsy-before anyone thought to doctor it up for official reasons.

She entered the Staff Only lounge, which was as empty as it was bound to be with so much activity going on outside, pulled off her new blouse, and hung it on a hook beneath a patient gown. Pulling on a scrub top and a paper cap, and paper shoes in place of her cold-weather boots, she hung a surgical mask around her chin and, taking a deep breath-without a hint of a cough, she noted distantly-to ease the tension in her guts, padded briskly back down the hall.

At Andromeda, as at most company infirmaries, convalescing patients did routine, nondemanding chores to save the professional staff work. Even officers did it, and were glad of it, for it helped stave off the boredom of being separated from their own work and their own lives. During her own convalescence, Yana had spent considerable time helping in medical records, requesting and transmitting data from central files. She could at least see if the autopsy had been performed on Lavelle yet-and if it had become a classified file or not.

She walked straight into the vacant ward opposite the one containing Diego's father, careful to keep her back to the boy and his guardian, and sat out of sight, around the corner, at the nursing-station computer. She typed in the access code she remembered from her days in the hospital-no longer than six weeks ago, which seemed incredible, considering how well she felt and how far she had come. She breathed a sigh of relief as the code worked. In a closed system, where for the most part only company troops and employees had access to the facility, the need for security was not as tight as it would have been on a world containing a variety of corporate or military entities. On shipboard, space station, or wholly owned planetary subsidiary, Inter-gal was the only game in town.

Then the machine purred along for a moment and she punched in AUTOPSY REPORT, and suddenly the screen filled with data. She hit PRINT, scanning while the document printed.

The lungs had been congested, so Lavelle had indeed had pneumonia, but that was not listed as cause of death. Her immune system had suddenly and fatally collapsed, unable to cope with half a dozen systemic viral infections. The autopsy noted that this alone was surprising, since tissue samples-muscle, blood, skin, and bone marrow-all indicated that she had been in the physical shape of a woman half her chronological age. Also, a small inexplicable node had attached to the medulla oblongata. That was strange enough, but the autopsy report also cited the presence of an unusually large and highly developed lump of "brown fat" weighing an astonishing 502 grams: its blood vessels had ruptured. A footnote by the examining physician explained that while two hundred grams of brown fat were normally present in human babies at birth-to ensure NSHP, nonshivering heat production- the substance atrophied when babies grew big enough to adjust their own temperatures to cold. It was odd enough to find the brown fat active, and far odder to find it so enlarged. There was also a thin subcutaneous layer of a dense fatty tissue. A minor mutation to protect inhabitants against the cold? Then she remembered seeing a similar fatty layer, thin but present, in the animals she had skinned after the trapping expedition.

Reading on, she was vastly relieved to see that there was no sign of any external injuries or evidence of drugs in the system that might have indicated that Lavelle had been tortured or abused in any way during interrogation. Stuffing the printout in her pants pocket, she shut off the computer, rose, wiped her eyes like any machine-weary tech, and made herself shuffle back down the corridor to the lounge to change again into her latchkay blouse before rejoining Bunny in the snocle.