She answered after a few seconds, audio-only, as seemed to be her custom.
“I’m busy,” she said.
Also her custom.
Clanging, tools whirring all peppered the background of her comm signal. The focus today was on hydroponics, he knew. Not the growth of crops, which was still a dubious prospect given the state of the seeds, but the “less sexy,” as Sloane put it, side of that department—the bacteria vats. These were crucial to normal station operations, not only for their ability to convert waste into fertilizer, but also to produce drinking water as a byproduct. Both were sorely needed.
“Fully appreciated, Security Director,” he said. “I have a personal favor to ask, actually.”
“No shit?”
“I imagine,” he replied dryly, “that you have plenty of that around you now.”
Tann walked as he spoke, heading for the primary junction corridor that linked this part of the Nexus with the warehousing district. Kesh and her work crew had been focused almost entirely on this area for two days now, trying to clear a path.
For that matter, he kept a wary eye out for any workforce he might unwittingly cross paths with.
Sloane’s snort seemed to him to be a sign of laughter. She had so many, he often confused them. “Not yet, wise guy. That’s what the work is for.”
“Fair. As to the purpose of this call, I wonder if you might talk with Addison.”
A beat. “About?”
“This may require a bit of discretion.”
Even through the tinny speaker of the omni-tool, he could hear her laugh. “Please tell me you want me to slip her a note in class.”
Tann considered this. Did not find sense in the offer. “There are no classes,” he replied, frowning at his wrist as though he may find the answer there. Without Sloane’s face to guide him, he couldn’t be sure which conversational gambit to take. “But if you suppose a note would be helpful?”
“Oh, for—Never mind,” she said, more clearly exasperated. “It’s a joke. What am I talking to her about?”
Ah. Sloane’s jokes were as mercurial as her cooperative spirit. He shrugged. “I have some concerns about her declining mood. I am no doctor or psychologist, but I believe she is suffering from depression.”
This did not go over with the ah-ha moment he’d hoped. “Yeah, no kidding,” she replied. “As it turns out, even an idiot like me can see that, Tann.”
See? Mercurial. He sighed. “I didn’t mean that you are an idiot, Sloane.”
“Yeah? What did you mean?”
“I thought perhaps you, as a human female, might be at a stronger advantage for…” He paused. Considered the words. “For bonding? The kind between like, rather than commitment,” he added, in case she misunderstood. Species interplay was only his forte in that he understood the politics.
Relationships within other species were utterly beyond his realm of understanding.
When she didn’t answer right away, Tann hurriedly added, “Unless that is your predilection, in which case you have my full support to—”
Sloane laughed, then. Sharp, but not hard. “Relax,” she said on the end of it. “I know what you meant. Sorry, I’m running on two hours sleep here. You want me—as a human female—to talk to her, try to get her out of her funk, is that it?”
Relief. “Precisely.” After a second he added, “This type of thing is not one of my strengths.” A little truth to salve the sting.
“You and me both,” Sloane said. “I’m no counselor. Still, you’re right. And it’s pretty damn thoughtful of you.”
Relief eased to a surprising note of… what was that? Pleasure? At her rare praise? Tann opened his mouth to thank her, but she didn’t pause to let him.
“I guess—Yeah, sure, I can try.”
Unexpectedly easy. And most assuredly surprising. “Thank you, Sloane.”
“When things have settled here,” she added quickly, with emphasis that said she expected a fight on it.
He did not deliver. “Of course.”
“Anything else?”
Tann did have something else in mind, but decided that despite this little bit of team building, it would be better left unspoken.
“No. Please, by all means, return to your—”
“Out,” Sloane said, cutting the link.
Classic Sloane Kelly, to the last. But perhaps, just perhaps, this was who she was with everybody. That, at least, left him something to consider as he proceeded on his way.
Had this bit of effort been the right thing to do? Only time would tell, of course, but if his estimations were correct, not only might Foster Addison rise from her foul mood, but the impetus to do so would come from Sloane, rather than him. He wasn’t sure how that might alter Addison’s impression of—and allegiance to—Sloane, but it might serve to make Sloane a bit more sympathetic toward him.
A tiny push toward cohesion. If they could all just trust him, Tann felt sure the mission would be back on track in time to assist the Pathfinders and, ultimately, colonize Andromeda. “To paint their masterpiece,” as Jien had so wonderfully put it.
Now for the next item on my agenda.
He steeled himself, for this was likely to go in a much different direction. No omni-tool this time. A personal visit would be better. An opportunity to make clear that Acting Director Jarun Tann was no longer acting.
He went in search of Nakmor Kesh.
CHAPTER TEN
The Nexus, he thought, could still be classified as a wreck. That would not change for some time. Still, as Jarun Tann strode through the labyrinth of halls and chambers, he could not help but feel a sense of hope. The progress made in just one week was remarkable, even with the extra damage provided by the Scourge.
Or perhaps, he reflected, because of. Little could be as motivating as immediate danger.
Just two days before, in order to walk from his co-opted Research Lab to Operations, Tann would have had to descend two levels, cross the Fabrication workshop, climb an unintended ramp made of a collapsed portion of ceiling, duck under a foul-smelling bundle of ruptured pipes, then finally climb back up the two levels he’d descended by using a ladder bolted to the wall of an unpowered lift tube.
While he still had to do most of that, the ruptured pipes were no longer leaking. Someone had welded a salvaged sheet of metal across the lot of them.
In so many cases, the little things made for a greater sense of optimism.
Although revenue had been his placement, Tann had not fallen so far into numbers that he did not maintain a healthy regimen of exercise, when applicable. This route appeased that need—and never so completely felt than when he hauled his own body weight up to the floor outside the unpowered lift tube.
Efficiently fit, perhaps, but a soldier he was not.
He lay back on the gritty floor, waited for his breathing to settle. This took longer than it should have, even on exhausted days. His lungs absolutely burned, and did he detect a bit of a wheeze? No doubt from all the toxins he’d been sucking in since the calamity.
Ventilation, as of yesterday, had yet to cross the 50% effectiveness threshold, despite all the progress by that team.
Once he felt he could breathe again without hitching, he rolled over and clambered to his feet. He saw nobody the rest of the journey. Operations was empty. The bodies of their unfortunate leadership had all been removed, placed in the improvised morgue until a proper memorial could be arranged. Someone had even cleaned up the blood, the rubble, and righted the overturned furniture. Other than its temporary wall, and the fact that nearly every screen was still dark, the room looked relatively normal.