Enigma by Michael P. Kube-McDowell Page A

lying on the bed next to him.
    Thackery took in all that in the moment before the woman rose up from the chair beside Sebright and rushed toward Thackery, protectively blocking the view with her body.
    “Out,” she demanded.
    “He’s on a tranq machine,” Thackery said, disbelieving.
    “I’m only going to ask one more time. Then I’ll remove you myself,” she said fiercely. “He’s on a tranq machine!” Thackery repeated, this time indignant.
    “That’s none of your damn business.”
    “He’s my supervisor and an officer of this ship,” Thackery said, his voice rising. “I’ve got as much right here as anyone, and more right than you.”
    Glowering at him with piercing black eyes, she reached behind him and closed the door. “Thackery—look,” she said in a more modulated tone. “He told me he was going to do this and he asked me to look after him. I give him nutrient shots and sponge baths and make sure the exerciser doesn’t hurt him. I read his messages and answer the ones that need answering. If he’s needed somewhere, I come in and wake him up.”
    Thackery cast about for a plausible explanation to the inexplicable sight on the bed. “Is he a phobe?” he asked, almost hopefully.
    “No. He just—prefers to absent out sometimes. He—doesn’t tolerate boredom well. It’s not my place to talk about it.” His eyes narrowed by suspicion, Thackery asked, “Why are you doing this?”
    She smiled tolerantly. “It’s not what you’re thinking. I’m his four-gen grandniece. I met him when Munin came in twelve years ago—I was his greeter. Look, I’ve told you more than I needed to. Now will you go, so I can take care of him?”
    “I want to talk to him,” Thackery said stubbornly.
    “Why? To see if I’m telling the truth?”
    “No. About the team. About Survey business.”
    “It can wait.”
    “Damnit, no!” Thackery exploded. “He’s got responsibilities. This isn’t just for me. There are six green surveyors that he ought to be working with. Wake him up.”
    “No.”
    “Why? Will it hurt him?”
    “No. But he doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
    “You’re not in his chain of authority. He’ll have to tell me himself.”
    She crossed her arms and shook her head stubbornly. “He’ll do his job when it’s time to do it.”
    “Part of his job started a week ago.” Thackery paused and looked down at Sebright, then continued in a voice that was quietly threatening. “If he’s getting messages, then there are people who don’t know about this. Like Neale, maybe?”
    “People know.”
    “Some would have to. But not Neale, right? If you don’t wake him up, she’s going to.”
    Her eyes spat angry sparks, but she moved to Sebright’s side all the same. A touch on the tranq box controls, and the metal bands opened to release the vet’s fingers. A few moments later, stirred by an influx of amphetamine molecules in his blood, Sebright opened his eyes.
    “Morning, Yolanda. What’s happening?”
    Scowling, she jerked a thumb in Thackery’s direction.
    “Concom,” Thackery said, taking a step forward.
    The older man pulled himself up to a sitting position. “Thackery, isn’t it? The linguist.”
    “That’s right.”
    “What’s up, Thackery?”
    “I’d like to talk to you about Muschynka.”
    Sebright looked from Thackery to his grandniece, then back again. “Read about it in the Op Recs,” he said gruffly. “I’ve answered those questions too many times already.”
    “But—”
    “Sure, you only asked once. But a thousand other people have asked once, too.” Resting his folded arms on the crossbar and his chin on his arms, he looked up at Thackery. “You know how when you try to tell someone about a dream, you’re really trying to tell them about an experience, but you end up telling a story?”
    Thackery nodded uncertainly.
    “Every time I tell about Muschynka, I lose a little bit more of the experience. Pretty soon all I’ll have left is the story. The