“You misunderstand me,” Blossom replied, inclining her head in a gesture reminiscent of her grandmother correcting an erring apprentice. “I am relieved that the homing capsule has been sent. Now there is no blame to us.”
Bay was not certain that she had heard correctly. “What under the suns do you mean, Blossom?”
Blossom gave Bay a long look, smiling faintly. “All our eggs are in one basket,” she said with an inscrutable smile and moved the inspection lens to a new position.
When Pol and Phas Radamanth came to relieve them, Bay lingered. She and Pol did not have much time together anymore, and she did not look forward to another dull supper at the communal kitchen.
“You got a copy, I see,” Pol said, indicating the shunning notice.
“Extraordinary that.”
“More than time,” Phas said, glancing up from Blossom’s notations. “Let’s hope he wasn’t as incompetent a launcher as he was a botanist.”
Bay stared in astonishment at the xenobiologist and Phas had the grace to look embarrassed.
“No one approves of Tubberman’s actions, my dear,” Pol assured her.
“Yes, but if they come . . .” Bay’s gesture took in the incubator and the laboratory, and all that the colonists had managed to do with their new world.
“If it’s any consolation,” Phas said, “Joel Lilienkamp has not opened a book on an ETA.”
“Oh!” Then she asked, “And what’s happened to Ted Tubberman?”
“He was escorted back to his stake and told to remain there.”
Pol could look quite fierce, she thought, when he wanted to. “What about Mary? And his young children?” she asked.
Pol shrugged. “She can stay or come. She’s not shunned. Ned Tubberman was looking pretty upset, but he never was very close to his father, and Fulmar Stone thinks he’s a very promising mechanic. He shrugged again and then gave his wife an encouraging smile.
Bay had no sooner turned to go than the ground under them shook. She instinctively lunged toward the incubator, and found Phas and Pol beside her. Even without the magnifier they could see that the amniotic fluid in the sacs was not rippling in response to the earth quake. The shock absorbers had proved adequate.
“That’s all we need!” Pol cried, outraged. He stomped to the comm unit and dialed the met tower, slamming down the handset.
“Engaged! Bay, reassure them.” He gestured toward the first bunch of technicians heading anxiously to the door of the chamber. He dialed again and got through just as Kwan Marceau pushed his way into the room. “Are there going to be more shocks, Jake?” Pol asked. “Why weren’t we warned?”
“It was a small one,” Jake Chernoff replied soothingly. “Patrice de Broglie called it in but I am obliged to warn infirmary first in case surgery is in progress, and then your line was busy.” That explanation placated Pol. “Patrice says there’s a bit of tectonic plate action to he east, and there may be more jolts in the next few weeks. The incubator’s on shocks anyway, isn’t it? You don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Nothing to worry about?” Pol demanded. He jammed the handset back onto its stand.
There was a discreet knock on the door to the admiral’s office, and when Paul answered with a noncommittal “Come in,” Jim Tillek opened it. Emily smiled with relief the master of Monaco Bay was always welcome. Paul leaned back in his swivel chair, ready for a break from the depressing inventory of airworthy sleds and serviceable flame-throwers.
“Hi, there,” Jim said. “Just up to get my skimmer serviced.”
“Since when have you needed assistance in that job?” Paul asked.
“Since all my spare parts at Monaco got reabsorbed by Joel Lilienkamp.” Jim’s drawl was cheerful.
“And pigs fly,” Paul retorted.
“Oh, is that the next project?” Jim asked with a comic grin. He dropped into the nearest seat and laced his fingers together. “By the way, Maximilian and Teresa reported on the dolphin search Patrice requested. There are significant lava flows from the Illyrian volcano. It’s only a small one, so don’t be surprised if our easterlies bring in some black dust. It’s not dead Thread. Just honest-to-Vulcan volcano dust. I wanted you to know before another rumor started.”
“Thanks,” Paul said dryly.
“Logical explanations are always welcome,” Emily added.
“I also dropped in to see our favorite patient.” Jim pushed himself deeper into the chair and met Paul’s eyes squarely. “He’s raring to go and threatens to move into the second story of the met tower and run communications from there. Sabra threatens to divorce him if he does anything before he gets medical clearance. Myself, I told him he doesn’t need to worry, as young Jake Chernoff’s been doing a proper job of it. The boy won’t even hazard a guess about the weather until he’s run the satellite report twice and looked out the window.”
Paul and Emily both smiled at his jocular account.
“Ongola needs to be back at work,” Emily agreed.
“He’s sure he’ll never use his arm again. He’d do better being so busy he doesn’t think such negative thoughts.” Jim cocked his head at Paul.
“According to the doctors,” Emily said with a grateful smile, “Ongola will use that arm – even if he refuses to believe it – but the amount of mobility is still in question.”
“He’ll get it back,” Jim said blandly. “Hey, is there any truth to the rumor that Stev Kimmer was involved with Tubberman?”
Paul pulled a face, and Emily shot him a glance. “I told you that was doing the rounds,” she said.
Jim leaned forward, his expression eager. “Any truth to the one that he skitted out with one of the big pressurized sleds which has been seen near the Great Western Barrier where Kenjo staked his claim? Kimmer’s a lot more dangerous than Ted Tubberman ever was.”
Paul ran his thumb over his artificial fingers and stopped when he saw that Jim Tillek had noticed the nervous habit. “He is indeed. As the comm unit on that stolen sled was in working order when he lifted it, he will also know that he is wanted back here for questioning.
Jim nodded in solemn approval. “Has Ezra made any sense out of the reports of those probes Sallah . . .” He blinked, his eyes suspiciously wet.
“No,” Paul said, clearing his throat. “He’s still trying to translate them. The printout is unclear.”
“Well, now,” Jim said, “I’ve got a few hours to spare while my sled’s serviced. I looked at hundreds of EEC survey team reports before I found a planet I liked the look of. Can I help?”
“A fresh eye might be useful,” Paul said. “Ezra’s been at it non stop.”
“Did I hear correctly,” Jim asked gently, “that the Mariposa plunged directly into the eccentric?”
Paul nodded. “She made no informative comment.” Avril’s cryptic penultimate phrase, “It’s not the . . .” still rang with some message that Paul felt he must unravel. “Look, Jim, do stop in and see if you can help Ezra. We need some good news. Morale is still low after the murders, and having to shun Ted Tubberman and explain how he got his hands on that homing capsule have not improved the administration’s image.”