“Stay back there!” Hali called. “We’ve some sick boys and we don’t want them near any expectant mothers. Wait for me over in the Natali Section. I’ll join you in . . .”

“Forget it!” That was Murdoch speaking with a new forcefulness. He gave every indication of someone who had come to an important decision. “We’ll meet with Ferry in Medical. Immediately.”

Hali protested: “With Ferry? He doesn’t . . .”

“Oakes left him in charge shipside. That should be good enough for you.” He turned on his heel and strode from the area.

Chapter 54

Chapter 54

Myths are not fiction, but history seen with a poet’s eyes and recounted in a poet’s terms.

—Shipquotes

FERRY SAT at his command couch sipping a pale liquid which reeked of mint. He had been reviewing biostats on a shielded viewscreen when Hali and Waela entered and he did not lower the shields.

The command cubby, which had been tacked onto the Processing complex after Oakes’ departure, was brightly illuminated by corner remotes which filled the room with yellow light. There was a sharp smell of caustic cleaner in the air.

Hali noted two things immediately: Ferry was not yet overcome by the drink and he appeared fearful. Then she saw that the command center had been tidied recently. Anywhere Ferry worked was soon a scattered mess—a notorious situation shipside where instincts of neatness equated with survival. But things had been made neat here. Unusual.

She saw Murdoch then and realized that Ferry feared what Murdoch might report to Oakes. Murdoch stood at one side of the command center, arms folded, impassive.

Ferry closed down his screen with a conscious flourish, swiveled to face the newcomers.

“Thank you for coming along so quickly.”

Ferry’s voice was reedy with controlled emotions. He stroked the bridge of his nose once, an unconscious imitation of Oakes.

Waela noted that his fingers were trembling.

What does he fear? she wondered.

The man’s furtiveness spoke of terrified concealments.

Is it something to do with my baby?

The characteristic blip of her own fears lifted and fell. And there was Kerro’s voice: “Trust Hali and Ship, Waela. Trust them.”

Waela tried to swallow in a dry throat. Could no one else hear him? She shot a furtive glance around the room. When she heard the voice, she felt sure of it. The instant it was gone, she doubted. Her real-time perceptions were demanding full attention, though. Physical senses honed to high sensitivity by the necessities of survival on Pandora—these she trusted. And Ferry demanded her attention. The man was a menace, operating on several levels of deception. She had heard the stories about Ferry, a competent-enough medical man with a few eccentricities, but not to be trusted alone with a young woman.

Her eyes told her something else.

A humbler, Waela told herself, who sits in the command seat. Interesting. Why did Oakes choose a humbler?