“And hello to you.” Abruptly, he realized he’d walked right in front of the door and blocked her path. “Come in, come in.” He swept an arm toward the innards of Hydroponics and followed the security director inside.
She greeted Foster Addison, then sat on one of the benches, looking on the verge of collapse. With the two women occupying the only two benches, Tann moved to stand nearby. He had nothing to lean on, so he clasped his hands behind his back and waited.
Addison said nothing, forcing Sloane to break the silence.
“What’s the goddamn emergency?” she demanded. “There’s nothing on fire here. No dead bodies. So… what?”
“No fires,” Tann agreed. “No bodies, true. Notice anything else missing, Director Kelly?”
“I don’t have the energy for puzzles, Acting Director Tann. Spit it out.”
The impact of the revelation, he reasoned, would serve enough to take the spite from her use of title. “Very well.” He pointed at the closest bay. “No crops,” he explained, enunciating each syllable.
Sloane merely sat there, looking exhausted. Maybe he was being too obtuse?
Then, with a shrug, she said, “Okay. So? We just got here. Plants take time to grow.”
“There should be buds,” Addison volunteered. Ruining his grand reveal, of course. These humans. No respect for finesse. “Several weeks before our arrival the first seeds should have been placed by automated systems, so that a crop would already be started as the crew was revived.”
Tann walked to one of the auto-gardeners, removing a bag he’d placed there thirty minutes earlier. He took it to Sloane and laid it at her feet. Inside were the remains of a few hundred small plants, shriveled and burned.
“Radiated,” he said. “Every last one.”
The security director studied the plants. She spread her hands. “So we start another batch. Right? When necessary. We have supplies. I’m not a botanist but—”
“Exactly,” Tann cut in, seizing the opportunity. “Not a botanist. Nor am I, nor is Director Addison. And a botanist, a whole team of them, is what we need.”
“Tann,” Sloane said, frowning, “we talked about this. You even argued against the concept. With everything going on, the last thing we need is more people running around. We’ve barely got things working as it is. More strain on the systems is a bad idea.”
“More data,” he said flatly, “means decisions must be revisited. In this case, I disagree with your assessment.” He raised his hands in defense, staving off her no doubt profanity-laced retort. “Please, let me explain.”
Perhaps it was the please that did it. Sloane deflated a bit. She glanced at Foster Addison, perhaps looking for support. The other woman simply waited in silence.
“Fine,” she sighed. “What’s the reasoning?”
Tann tipped his head. “Our situation is still critical,” he said, “but the immediate threat is over.”
“You can’t know that,” she said hastily. So much for that. “Hell, we don’t even know what this threat is, and implying that you do is dangerous.”
“All I mean,” Tann said in slow emphasis, “is that the fires have been put out. The hull breaches are sealed. I agree there could still be aftershocks, or new attacks, whatever we want to call them, but there may not be, either. Can we at least agree on that?”
Addison gave a single nod.
Sloane shrugged.
“There. Progress. Given that assumption, I think it’s time that we turn our attention to the mission.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Sloane stared at his face, which Tann hoped projected calm confidence. “Holy shit, you’re not. You’re actually serious. Save this shit for Garson, there’s no need to be—”
Tann lifted his hands once again. “Please, Director, let me finish. I hope, as we all do, that our guiding visionary will be found alive and well, very soon. I remind you that I did not ask for this.”
Sloane shook her head. She did not believe his sincerity or motivation, that was plain, but lacked some way to combat it. Or perhaps she couldn’t decide on which vulgarity to use next. He pushed on before she could.
“We need to adjust our immediate goals. Change our focus. From survival to recovery. I believe our ultimate goal, to support the mission of the Pathfinders, is still possible. Indeed, not just possible, but critical. We can’t have them arrive here only to find the Nexus…” he swept a hand across the devastated hydroponics bay, “like this.”
“And you have a plan to accomplish this?”
He did, but he fully intended to fold it in under the guise of inclusion. “We all do, consciously or otherwise. Let us discuss the options, and decide.”
“Decide,” Sloane said with a sardonic laugh. “So that’s why you wanted Kesh away.”
“It’s not as simple as that,” he replied.
“Don’t be so offended,” she snorted. “It’s exactly like that.”
“Okay, yes,” he replied, exasperated by the woman’s distrust. And observations. “It is like that, but not for the reasons you no doubt are thinking.”
Now Sloane really did laugh, loud and energetically. “We’re in Andromeda now, Tann. Don’t you remember Garson’s words? Check all that old bullshit at the door.”
“I don’t recall her saying anything quite so vulgar.”
“I’m paraphrasing. It’s what she meant, though. None of our old scores, our stupid and unjustified prejudices, apply here.”
“As I said, this is not the reason for my concern. I simply feel that the protocol—”
Sloane waved her hands in overdone acquiescence. “Right, right. The protocol that so neatly made you boss.” She blew out a sigh that undercut any humor with sheer frustration. “Let’s finish here. I’ve got a station teetering on the brink, and you’ve got a proposal in mind. I can see it all over your aerodynamic face.”
Tann cocked his head. “Hydrodynamic. We are not a species suited to—”
“Whatever.”
He wondered if he would ever get on Sloane Kelly’s good side. So far, it didn’t seem possible. In the end, of course, it didn’t matter. He had the power to make decisions. As long as he had a sympathetic ear with Foster Addison, such decisions could be ratified. Not unanimously, perhaps, but still a majority, and that was all they truly required.
“Very well. I suggest we wake a more significant part of the population,” he explained. “Experts in all the various systems. Life support is already taken care of.” No accusation here. “Hydroponics, power, medical, communications, sanitation, sensors, astronavigation, and a dozen other areas, however, are offline or at best critical, and will remain so unless we wake the people necessary to begin correcting the problems.”
The problematic human was already shaking her head. “No can do,” Sloane said. “Not enough air. Or food. Or water. You said you wanted to shift from survival to recovery, but your recovery team will make survival impossible.”
It was an echo of the argument he’d fed her. He was savvy enough to recognize it—and also how to navigate it. That’s where Addison would come in.
And on cue, she did. “Supplies can be augmented.”
“How so?” Sloane asked.
“From nearby planets.” She raised her eyebrows. “Which is what my people were cultivated for. I overheard your discussion with your officer,” she added. “What was it, twenty-some-odd hours ago?”
“Twenty-six,” Tann replied, but decided to round it when Sloane shot him an incredulous look. “And some minutes.”
Thirty-seven minutes, to be precise. Not that he figured they’d appreciate a salarian’s photographic memory.