Sentenced to Prism

  Farewells followed close upon greetings and they set off in search of Evan's abandoned MHW, only by then the travelers' numbers had been increased by the addition of a dozen extra warriors. Thus protected, Evan found time to delight in the wondrous sights and sensations that had seemed so threatening on his way out.

  Martine was continually pointing out some small sili­cate miracle Evan would otherwise have overlooked. At times he didn't understand what she was talking about even after long and detailed explanations. This bothered her more than it did him because she was afraid it reflected some loss of humanity within her. After several days she was moved to confess her innermost concern: that the physicians who had saved her life had been forced to modify some portions of her mind in order to keep her alive, and that they'd avoided telling her what they'd done to spare her further trauma.

  He reassured her, without reassuring himself, that her heightened perceptions of the world around her were solely the result of modifications made to her eyes and ears, and that she was as human in her interpretation of her surroundings as he was. That prompted laughter from both of them and she never mentioned her fear again. But he knew it was still with her, would likely be with her always.

  Azure fulfilled all his promises by leading them straight to the MHW, whose hollow interior had become home to half a dozen interesting local lifeforms, and thence to within sight of the research station's central observation tower. With one exception, everything looked as it had when Evan had left it in search of Humula and Martine. The exception, however, was a very large one.

  Sitting at one end of the crude landing field was a gleaming, delta‑winged shuttlecraft.

  "I'll be dammed," Evan said excitedly. "They must have grown so worried about not hearing from me that they changed the plan and diverted a rescue ship!" He took a step forward, only to be restrained by a crystalline arm.

  "Maybe." Martine was staring hard at the ship. "Don't forget, Humula's people have probably been waiting to hear from him, too."

  Evan hesitated. "Surely they wouldn't risk a landing here until they'd received an all clear from their agent?"

  "That would be the sensible approach, but people who authorize cold‑blooded murders for the sake of money don't always act sensibly."

  "We have to find out. We have to go in." He gazed anxiously, longingly, at where the shuttle squatted like a huge insect on the cleared strip next to the station. What­ever its origin, it represented the civilization he'd never thought he'd see again. Its lure was near irresistible.

  "If it's from the company and they don't find me there," he told her anxiously, "they may give up and leave. Permanently."

  Marline stood there vacillating, torn between common sense and uncommon emotions. "That's possible. I agree we have to check it out, but we have to exercise caution as well."

  "Okay. You stay here and I'll go on in alone." He tapped the side of his head and grinned. "Thanks to the work of our friends I'll be able to tell you how we stand the instant I know."

  "If these are our friends and not Humula's. No, I'm not staying behind even if that would be the right thing to do. Those are my friends lying dead in there. If that is a company ship, then they can help with the burying. If it's not‑if it's not, I want to be in a position to deal with whoever it is in person. We'll both go."

  "We understand," said library solemnly. "You have explained this all to us before, and we understand. We will wait here and prepare to do whatever it becomes necessary to do."

  "I'm sure we'll just be a couple of minutes. Then you can come in." There was still no sign of life from the shuttle.

  "Yes, Evan's probably right. I've spent so many days worrying that I've forgotten what's it like to live without being suspicious of everything that moves."

  Together they started walking toward the station, crunching through the delicate bubble grass, trying to watch both the camp and the shuttle at the same time.

  They were halfway to the station when Evan's face broke out in a big smile. He pointed toward the bow of the shuttle. "That settles it. You can relax now."

  Sure enough, there on the bow was the company logo, big and bright and sassy. Martine echoed his smile, but less certainly.

  "I'm still surprised that they'd come looking for you before receiving a single report and without knowing what to expect. You must be a pretty important member of the corporate structure."

  "Yes, I am," he replied blithely. "Obviously someone got nervous enough to take the risk and authorize the inperson check on my status. One of the original company scenarios postulated a station‑wide communications fail­ure. Probably they decided that was what's happened here, and that it subsequently also affected my ability to communicate. That's completely wrong, of course, but it would explain this unsolicited visit."

  He wanted to let out a joyful shout when the first survival‑suited figure appeared among the buildings. The woman was making a detailed inspection of the camp's nonfunctioning defensive perimeter, not attempting to fix it so much as trying to figure out what had caused it to fail. She was on her hands and knees, inspecting a relay pylon, and failed to notice their approach.

  "Hi," Evan said. She didn't react, and it occurred to him that her external audio was probably turned off. The suit she was wearing was not nearly as massive or elab­orately equipped as his abandoned MHW. Her tools were contained in an external belt.

  She looked up then and her eyes widened at the sight of the two figures. Evan could sympathize with her reac­tion.

  He waved. "Hello again!"

  An audible click followed by a soft hum as she switched on her outside audio. "Who the hell are you?" She looked from Evan to his companion. "And what the hell is that?"

  "I'm Evan Orgell. Senior company research, non­specific. The troubleshooter who was shipped here to find out what happened? You know."

  "Oh‑yeah, right. I forgot." She waved toward his transparent torso. "It's just that I wasn't expecting to run into you out here. Not to mention looking like that."

  "Or like this," Martine added quietly.

  The woman came close, eyed Evan's companion up and down. "What is she? Some kind of local hybrid?"

  "Something like that," Evan told her hastily. "This is Martine Ophemert, the only surviving member of the orig­inal station staff. She knows what happened here, and why."

  "We need to talk to whoever's in charge."

  "Sure, sure. Tell me, what did happen here?"

  "A bit more than your usual cut‑and‑dried industrial espionage. Some rival concern managed to slip an agent onto the station staff. He waited until the time was right, then killed everyone except me. That's what happened here."

  The woman nodded thoughtfully. She was taking it well, Evan thought. "Yes, you could see it was something like that. We've been cleaning up the bodies. Hang on. I'll call in and tell them you're here."

  Silence while she attended to in‑suit communications. Eventually she looked up, chose to direct her attentions to Evan. He had the feeling that Martine's half‑human, half‑silicate stare made the other woman nervous.

  that was understandable.

  "What happened to the spy?"

  "He started to come after me," Martine said, not caring whether the woman was looking at her or not, "but Prism took care of him. On this world the cocky don't live very long."

  "We've seen what some of the local lifeforms are capa­ble of," the woman replied uneasily. "We weren't expect­ing anything like what we found."

  "No one was," Evan said easily. "There wasn't any reason to suppose that standard operational procedures would prove insufficient to protect the station and its staff. I still think the staff here could have coped if this Humula hadn't intervened."

  "You're probably right about that. Oh, my name's Winona. Winona Strand. Follow me. I've just been talking to Frazier and he said to bring you in straight away. Our temporary HQ's in the old administration building, what's left of it." She shook her head. "We're still clearing out
native lifeforms. They're tough as hell. Trying to re­establish the perimeter, too, but we're having trouble bringing power back on line."

  Evan chuckled. "Something's probably eaten half the wiring, not to mention the solar receptors."

  "Eaten. Yeah." The woman kept glancing back at Martine, hurriedly turning away whenever her stare was noticed. Martine did not comment on the attention.

  "The local silicate and organosilicate species have an insatiable appetite for rare‑earth compounds. They have developed novel methods of extracting such elements from more complex compounds."

  "I see," Winona murmured. "I'm sure the two of you have learned quite a lot since you've been stuck here. Our people are going to want to debrief you extensively. Your reports arc going to be extremely valuable."

  "Invaluable," Evan corrected her. "Who is this Frazier? I don't recognize the name."

  "Not surprising. Strictly offworld operations. Hardly ever gets to Samstead, much less company central."

  Now that they were in among the buildings they began to encounter other members of the shuttle crew. The expected expressions of astonishment and disbelief greeted them as they strode by. Evan was able to chat privately with Martine by means of the Associative transmitters.

  "How does it feel to be back in camp?"

  Martine's eyes were scanning the grounds, the struc­tures she had helped raise. Half of them were overgrown with Prismatic flora.

  "Different and yet the same. It's been a long time. Nothing looks quite the way it did the last time I was here."

  "Thank the physicians who altered your vision for that. It doesn't look the same anymore to me either, and I was here just recently."

  She let out a resigned sigh. "I thought I'd feel more at home. I don't. I suppose I can thank my doctors for that, too. It isn't fair. You're supposed to feel alienated when you're away from your home, not when you come back to it. Perhaps it has nothing to do with my perception of the way things are. Maybe it's just all the undergrowth that's taken over." Blue light danced in her shoulder. "Maybe I'll feel differently once we're inside."

  The administration building did look better. The rescue team had cleaned out the native intruders. Supplies were stacked against one wall and crated equipment lay nearby, but nothing to indicate that the newcomers planned to settle in for a long stay. That made sense. This was a search‑and‑rescue team, not a replacement crew. Rebuild­ing would have to await the arrival of a much larger and better equipped follow‑up expedition.

  One of the admin consoles had been cleared com­pletely. One man was seated behind the curving desk while a man and woman stood staring at a nearby computer screen, arguing over adjustments. Safely inside, they wore standard duty suits instead of cumbersome survival out­fits. Tools dangled from pockets and belt straps.

  Winona led them forward, removed her suit and hood. Evan was beginning to get used to the stares. Their guide removed her suit hood, addressed the man behind the desk.

  "Evan Orgell and Martine Ophemert, Mr. Frazier. She's original station staff; he was sent in subsequently to update station status."

  "Right." Frazier inspected them each in turn, ended with his eyes faxed on Martine. "What about this Humula person, then?"

  She repeated her story. He listened quietly, attentively, until she'd finished.

  "I'm not going to ask how you were fixed. Time for that later. Suffice to say you're the most extraordinary ­looking creature I've ever set eyes upon."

  "I am conscious of my uniqueness," Martine replied dryly. "I'm sure you'll find the details of my sea change even more fascinating."

  "No doubt." He shifted his gaze to Evan. "So you're the one who was sent here to find out what was going on. We thought you'd been killed along with everyone else."

  "Not hardly."

  The tall woman standing nearby spoke up. Her tone was demanding and harsh, unlike Frazier's. "What hap­pened to your suits?"

  "Martine's was smashed by a falling tree. Mine was ­well, you've seen what the local lifeforms can do to alloys."

  Frazier nodded. "We've hardly had a moment's peace since we set down here. I've had to mount a round‑the ­clock guard on everything: buildings, supplies, even the shuttle. There's some kind of subterranean slug that keeps trying to eat the landing struts." He shook his head. "What a world!"

  "You're just not familiar with it," Martine told him.

  "Hellish," the tall woman snapped, "but rife with potential."

  "More than you can imagine," Evan assured her.

  "Yes, I'm sure the company analysts will be slavering over your store of information for months, trying to decide which development to authorize first."

  Frazier glanced up at Martine. "I'm sure you'll be able to point them in the most profitable direction."

  She was staring hard at him. "I might. If you can explain one thing to me first."

  Smiling, Frazier leaned forward. "Anything at all, Ms. Ophemert."

  "When you were talking to Evan a minute ago you said, `We thought you'd been killed along with everyone else.' The way in which you said it implies that you thought everyone had been killed before you landed. Why would you think everyone here was dead? The station might have suffered nothing more than a failure of its commu­nications equipment."

  Frazier shrugged. "The natural assumption, after such a long period of not hearing from you."

  "Really? I'd think it more natural to assume a problem with communications before I'd assume there was no one left to communicate."

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Evan was looking from Martine to Frazier, his thoughts churning. That smile‑was it a bit forced?

  "Who was your contact at Prism Project?" Martine asked him sharply. "Who authorized your trip here?"

  "Houlton. Gabriel Houlton."

  "Who told you about my visit?" Evan asked softly. "Who told you to come looking for me before you heard from me?"

  Frazier glanced up at him. "Summer."

  Evan shook his head slowly. "Not good enough, Frazier. Summer's a minor functionary, and a public one. Anybody could know his mama. He's way down the ladder." When Frazier held his silence, Evan continued. "Fact is, hardly anybody knew about my visit. It was kept as quiet as possible. Only a few at the top knew I was coming here."

  "She asked about Humula." Martine jerked a thumb in Winona's direction. "You asked about Humula. Not a word for the station commander, senior researchers‑just your friendly assassin and mine, Aram Humula. A bit performer in our little play here‑‑unless he was one of your own, and vice versa."

  "I don't know what you're talking about, Ophemert."

  "I'm afraid that you do. Come on, Evan. We need to talk." She turned to leave.

  Winona stood between them and the two men who now guarded the exit. All three of them held needlers. "Sorry." She didn't sound sorry, Evan thought. He whirled on Frazier.

  "Your shuttle displays the company logo."

  "Naturally. No point in taking chances. As your half ­human friend unfortunately noted, we assumed you'd all be dead when we got here, but when we didn't hear from Humula, we got nervous. We were confident of what to expect, but we couldn't be positive. If something had gone wrong, we didn't want to alarm any company survivors. Simple enough to acquire company‑issue suits and mount the logo on our shuttle and ship. The latter is the Sudaria, by the way. She's awaiting our return a few planetary diameters out."

  "I know the name." Evan's tone was grim. The concern which owned the Sudaria and its sister vessels was not renowned for its charity and kindness. He was disgusted at the situation. Mostly he was disgusted with himself, for having been taken in so completely by such a simple subterfuge. He'd been too excited by the prospect of res­cue to think carefully.

  "I thought you would, Orgell." He turned his attention back to Martine. "I know he's Evan Orgell. You say you're Martine Ophemert. I know who that was. I'm not con­vinced you're her. You look more like a local lifeform than a research scientist. For all I know you'
re a clever copy who's managed to dupe Orgell. You might be an original alien construction instead of a repaired human being. Frankly, you make me very nervous and I'm think­ing of having you shot on the spot."

  "I'm glad I make you nervous," Martine said danger­ously, not helping the case for her survival one iota.

  "She's Ophemert," Evan said hastily. "I can vouch for it."

  "I'm going to assume that she is. Not because you vouch for it, Orgell, but because of what it means if she is human and has been repaired like this locally. Shame about Aram," he murmured to the tall woman. "He was a good man."

  "He was a liar and a murderer," Martine said evenly.

  "That sounds human enough." Frazier steepled his fin­gers, staring at her. "That's good. The information you've doubtless acquired during your extended sojourn out in that crystalline hades will be invaluable. It'll save us a great deal of legwork."

  "If you think you can take over this station and claim by force‑" Evan began.

  Frazier cut him off with a laugh. "By force? Why should we have to use force, Orgeil? Your company is famous for its conservatism. First they lose contact with their staff here, then they don't hear from the `specialist' they sent in to find out what's wrong. I don't think they'll chance a third check. No, if your Board follows true to form, they'll simply vote not to throw good money after bad. They'll roll up this project and forget about it for a year or two, at least. By that time we'll be well established here."

  "I wouldn't help you find your way to the toilet," Martine assured him.

  The tall woman was smoking something that smelled like old roses. It tickled Evan's nostrils. "You'll cooperate‑what's left of you. We have our own specialists, you know. Easier to pry information out of a person than a planet. I think enough of you is still human to respond to the right probes." She turned to look right through Evan. "I know that enough of your friend is."

  "There isn't anything you or anyone else can do that would possibly induce me to tell you the least little thing about Prism," Martine said.

  "Well, maybe you're right and I'm wrong. In that case I'm sure there's much to be learned from taking you apart."