Chapter Sixteen

Expedition

Jim regards the man sitting opposite him in the Command Centre with barely contained frustration. The list of names that Malcolm has given him is not overly long, and is more based on his recollection of the awkwardness of the interview than a genuine sense of animosity from the individual concerned. Despite the acceptance that someone has been creating 'accidents' that seem to be solely aimed at him, Malcolm cannot find it in himself to believe that anyone in his team would genuinely want him dead.

So far, however, Jim has managed only to further antagonise people who seem to have astonishingly fragile egos that are already grazed to a thread. They see accusations where there are enquiries, demand that he furnish them with some form of unspecified 'proof' even though he is asking for evidence from them, and get highly excited over something that is, if he is truly honest with himself, merely the act of ticking names off a list. He can't believe any of this lot of self-absorbed brains-on-legs would have sufficient width of vision to look beyond the edges of their plexes, much less view a suitably bigger picture to plan and execute a carefully managed 'accident'.

"Look," he tries again, "I'm not outright accusing you of anything. We just want to cover all the bases - besides, it may be that you could've seen something that might be useful to the investigation." His tone is a great deal more placating than his attitude. Besides, these people seem so monumentally keen to divert any suggestion of responsibility away from themselves that, so far, not one of them - not one - has asked him if he knows how Malcolm's doing. Perhaps, after all, he had good grounds to believe that no one would have cared had he confessed that he had been tortured. Once again, Jim feels a little guilty; they aren't really all that different from him, then. All he had wanted to do when Malcolm was lurking alongside them in the forest that night was tell him to go away and give them some privacy.

"I'm well aware of that," the man is still very irked, "but, as far as I'm concerned, the…incidents…that you refer to seem to be nothing more than a sequence of either accidents or carelessness. I don't work in the main research laboratory, so I would have no reason to handle the glassware. I'm fully aware of what happened - we all received the lecture about using acetone. In fact, I'd like to register here and now that I found the implication that I could've made a mistake of so fundamental a nature highly offensive."

Jim can't stop himself from glaring back, "Perhaps so, but as Malcolm is still recovering at home from a traumatic poisoning that came very close to killing him, I'm sure you won't mind if I decide that I didn't hear that last statement." His voice has gone surprisingly low - with a nerve-wrackingly menacing air to it that takes the wind right out of the plaintiff's sails. The man nearly died, for Pete's sake! And all this jerk cares about is making a complaint about something entirely trivial?

This time, he can't keep his mild disgust from his expression, and the rather nervous biologist makes a hasty apology and departs.

"Bad?" Taylor asks, as he comes in from a meeting with Guzman.

"You have no idea." Jim growls, "Would you believe that the only question I haven't heard from any of them so far is 'how's Malcolm?'"

"You're kidding." Taylor is aghast. While he finds Malcolm as annoying as the next man, he cannot believe that none of the people who are, supposedly, part of his team seem to care about his health, "Was that the last one?"

"I wish. I've got two more people to sit through. If I have anyone else whining that they found Malcolm's lecture about acetone offensive, then I swear they're going out that window."

"It does beg the question as to whether or not that was an accident." Taylor muses, "Given that they all regard it as lab safety 101."

"Either that or they're overdoing the offence to hide that they were the ass who did it."

"The lady doth protest too much?" Taylor quotes.

"Pardon?"

"Never mind."


Rather than drag Malcolm up to the infirmary, Elisabeth has dropped by to carry out a few last tests. She is surprised to find that Yseult is not present.

"She's got work, Elisabeth. I can't keep her here indefinitely." He reminds her, though she can see that he is not happy to be on his own.

"How is she?"

"Conscientious as anything - I'm beginning to wonder if I'm smothering her, to be honest. She's been here every moment that she can. I'm just hoping that I'm not making her think that she needs to be."

"Not a chance." Elisabeth smiles, "She never left your side while you were unconscious - well, almost never: we persuaded her it might be a good idea to visit the loo now and again. The nurses gave up trying to kick her out before the end of the second day. That's why she was asleep when you came round." She holds out her hand, "Arm."

He extends his arm so that she can take a small blood sample, and then check his blood pressure, "It's weird," He continues, "I'd never even heard of her before Commander Taylor introduced us at the staff meeting; and she didn't even really register that much with me there - it was when we had our meeting before the commemoration ceremony. It was accidental, I think. I was staring at the spot where Steve died - and she spoke my name. Then I turned to her and…" his voice tails off.

"…And it was like there wasn't another person in the entire universe?" Elisabeth finishes.

He nods, "So much for the rational, scientific type."

"That's how it goes, sometimes."

"Is this how it is between you and Jim?" he asks, suddenly, "That sense that you're complete?"

She thinks it over for a while as she taps at her plex to record the readings from her instruments, "In some ways, yes - though I think it really settled once the kids came along." She looks at him, "It's not something we had."

He sighs, and shakes his head, "We didn't. Did we? But then, I wasn't just a pompous idiot - I was an immature, pompous idiot." He pauses, "God, I'm starting to sound like a romance novel."

"I suppose it had to happen sooner or later." She turns and looks at him, "Max is a good woman, and she loves you deeply. Look after her, okay? She struggled a lot when she thought she might lose you."

"I struggled a lot when I thought I might lose her." Malcolm admits, "There's nothing worse than thinking you're dying - and not remembering if you've told someone that you love them. I had - but I couldn't remember."

"I trust you've amended that oversight?"

"Extensively."

"No details, please. I may be a trauma surgeon, but my strong stomach has its limits."

"I'll bear that in mind."

Elisabeth's plex beeps, and she checks the results, "All clear. I think you're pretty much ready to go back to work. I'll keep you signed off until Monday, though. Take a few more days to rest up."


Pete is busy with a hatchet, "It's looking good, Max - I'm not sure that we're quite ready, but this stool's got some good growth. I can cut some withies for Judith if you want; it won't affect the larger coppices for the charcoal."

"Sounds good to me, Pete; she's always short of withies. You'll be her new best friend."

"As long as that's all I am, darling."

"Idiot." She smiles at him.

"Shouldn't that be dummkopf?" He turns to her, "You're considerably more chipper this morning, Max. I take it he's better?"

"Much. Elisabeth's dropping by this morning to run some final tests - but he's getting a bit stir crazy, I think. He's very keen to get back to work."

"I'm sorry that it happened, mind. Malcolm might be a prat, but he's your prat. It wasn't nice seeing you floored like that."

"Thanks, I think."

He smiles, cheerfully, "I'll let you know when we're ready to go with this. I think you've still got a bit left for one more burn from when we did the initial chop-downs?"

"Definitely. Geoff is pretty keen to see how things go with parts for the power loom he wants to build - but I'm going to need iron for that. I'm meeting him this afternoon to see his plans."

"Sounds like fun."


Robert - with a silent 't' - is waiting for Jim when he approaches the remains of the fallen building, "Raj is going to get pretty pissed if you don't finish with this soon, Mr Shannon. He's keen to get it broken up at the foundry so they can salvage it."

"Fair enough - but I need a bit more time with it. There are some things I need to be sure about."

"Anything I can help with?"

"Not that I can think of - but if I need you, I'll holler."

Robert nods, and heads away, leaving Jim with the wreckage. The fallen roof is still at the point to which it was hefted when it was jacked up, and has been helpfully rested upon cinder blocks. As he is able to get underneath the edge of the roof, Jim takes a great deal more time to examine the joists than he did the first time.

"My God…" the degree of corrosion is astonishing - as though whatever ate at the joists did so with almost insatiable greed. And yet, it seems so neat - as though whatever did the corroding wasn't so much splattered, as applied. He has no idea what was used - but whatever it was, the damage is extensive, and he can see why the roof gave way.

But what was used? He isn't a chemist - he has no idea what chemicals do to things; and the one thing he really doesn't want to do this time is bother Malcolm. Not after what happened last time; besides, it's looking even more as though someone meant for the building to come down, and he's convinced he's spooked Malcolm quite enough as it is.

"Why me?" Elisabeth looks at him, bemused, over the dishes that they are packing into the dishwasher, "I'm hardly qualified to undertake chemical testing, after all. I'm a medical doctor."

"Yeah - but, you can use the equipment, can't you? Besides, I don't want to bother Malcolm with this - and I don't trust anyone else."

"You do realise that clinical pharmacology is only tangentially connected to chemistry? I can certainly use diagnostic equipment - but you'd need a better qualified chemist than me to interpret the results."

"The more I look into this," Jim admits, "the more I think that someone's trying to harm Malcolm. I wish I knew why - but I don't. If I'm to have any chance of finding this psycho, then I need to know what was used to rust that aluminum. If I know what it was, then we might be able to find who has it."

She sighs, "Alright. I'll try - but don't have too many expectations. This is outside my field of experience."

"I'll be eternally grateful." He wraps his arms around her, and pops a kiss on her nose.

"I think I can accept that as payment." She smiles, leaning closer to him.

"Daddy!" Zoe's voice calls through from her bedroom, "There's a funny beetle in my room!"

Jim rolls his eyes, theatrically, and sighs, "So close." Then he turns, "Coming, honey!"


"Is Dunham still out there?" Malcolm asks as he helps Yseult gather together the remains of their dinner for disposal.

"No, I think it's someone else. He can't stay at your side all the time."

"Just most of the time." He sounds deeply disgruntled, "I know - it's for my benefit, and all that. But I'd like to have at least some sense of privacy back. I can't go anywhere without a soldier trailing after me."

"I know." Yseult admits, "But I'd rather have that than have anything else happen to you. You scared the life out of me when you were in the infirmary."

He rests his hands on her shoulders, "I can imagine; well, I can't imagine because I was unconscious at the time, but I get your drift." He sighs, then, and looks a little despondent.

"What?"

"I think the worst thing about it was when Elisabeth gave me the sedative. I tried to beg her not to - but I just made this ghastly noise at her. I got it into my head that, if she did, I wouldn't wake up again: I really did think that she was putting me down as though I were a sick dog."

She snuggles close to him, and his arms move from her shoulders to encircle her, "I still can't work out who would want to do that to me." He says, eventually, "I can't think of anyone I've angered that much."

"Jim'll find them." Yseult says, firmly, "I made him promise me."

"He promised you?"

"I was nearly blubbing at the time." She admits, "I sort of trapped him into it."

Malcolm sighs again, frustrated, "I wish whoever it is out there would bugger off."

"Why's that?"

"Why'd you think?"

"Maybe I should offer him earplugs?" Yseult's expression is mischievous, "That would really warn him what you want to do. He'd run a mile. That would guarantee us some privacy."

"Don't tempt me." He grumbles, then looks at her much more intently, "Actually, no. Do tempt me."

She smiles, her arms coming up to encircle his neck, "I can't not follow Doctor's orders."

"The old ones are the best."

"Shut up and kiss me, Doctor."


Elisabeth looks at the readings on her plex, and frowns, "Whoever did this took a huge risk, Jim."

"In what way?" He is leaning over her shoulder, reading results that mean nothing to him.

"The corrosion on this metal is aluminium chloride - which could only have formed through the use of hydrochloric acid. It's an incredibly volatile reaction, and it would've created a huge amount of hydrogen gas. Someone took great care with this: you can't just splash it on. Whoever did it must've known that the reaction would be violent, and there'd be a risk of an explosion - particularly as the hydrogen mixed with the oxygen in the air."

"So we're looking at someone who knows their way around chemicals?"

"I'd say so - but it doesn't narrow things down as much as you'd think, I'm afraid. It's not just a chemist who would know that - hydrochloric acid has a lot of uses around the colony in various manufacturing processes, so it's not stored in one place, and everyone in the construction teams and a lot of the manufacturing crews would know the risks - it would be in their safety manuals. It's certainly in ours: we have a critical emergency protocol in case of a major spillage."

Jim groans, inwardly. While he has solid evidence that someone compromised the building, he is no closer to identifying a culprit. Whoever did it, though, must've really hated Malcolm if it was as risky as Elisabeth is suggesting. That said, whoever did it might well have been responsible for washing out the flasks with acetone. Sooner or later, someone would've used a suitable chemical in one.

He frowns; it's all still too much dependent on chance - while Malcolm's use of the fallen building would've been common knowledge, who would've known he was going to prepare an etching solution? And, if he can smell acetone, as Max suggested, then surely he would've noticed long before anything went wrong? It doesn't make sense. It's almost as though whoever did it wanted the two accidents to fail.

Until, of course, they set that scorpion loose.

Perhaps that's the reason why. Two incidents that were meant to look like accidents, and then setting the scorpion loose so people would think that was an accident as well…

But it still doesn't answer the fundamental question: Who the hell is trying to kill Malcolm?


Taylor looks up at his irked visitor, "I'm not releasing the security detail until this person is found, Malcolm - and that's an end to it."

The news does not go down well, "Commander - I appreciate why you're doing it; I really do. It's just driving me mad having a soldier trailing around after me all over the place. I have absolutely no privacy whatsoever, and everyone just stares at me like I've committed some hideous crime."

In the week that he has been back at work, there have been no further incidents, which Taylor has largely put down to the presence of a black-armour clad soldier standing nearby. That it's driving Malcolm crazy is immaterial; someone has made three attempts to end his life, and Taylor is damned if he's going to let that continue. Besides, having a soldier nearby gives him a sense of additional security. Mira hasn't been back since she imparted that brief piece of intel about the Phoenix soldiers - nor has her promised early warning system been triggered - but if those soldiers want Malcolm, and he can't see how it is that they won't - to have him closely guarded seems a very sensible move.

"Look." Malcolm has stuffed his hands in his pockets again, "I appreciate that there are risks involved - but they seem only to be a problem within the compound. If I went to one of the outposts, but we give out that I've gone to a different one, might that help? Rob's got some longer-term projects out at Outpost Eight that he says are coming to fruition. It's a long way out, I know - but it's off to the East, so the Sixers won't know where it is. If we give out that I'm going to somewhere else, say, Outpost Five; whoever's doing this won't know where I am. Rob needs a chemist to analyse his results - so it's not like I'll be trailing after him for no apparent reason. There's a valid purpose to the trip out."

Taylor eyes Malcolm with concern. He can see that his Science Officer is under strain - having to deal with the implications of some unknown threat is never easy, and certainly not with a soldier wandering around in his wake. He's been friends with Rob Stanley almost since the Botanist came through with the Sixth - and Taylor hasn't forgotten Malcolm's furious defence of the man when they'd first attempted to track down their spy.

"What about Max?" he asks, almost reflexively. Everyone's noticed how close they've grown since he was injured.

"We've talked it through. She doesn't really want me to go - I know that: but even with her to go home to, if I have to deal with this for much longer, then I think I'm going to end up hitting someone. Probably your inoffensive guard. If the person doing this can't find me, then they can't harm me, can they?"

"I'll think about it, Malcolm," Taylor says, "No promises. Work up an itinerary and work plan - and I'll consider it like I would any other. If there's a worthwhile scientific reason for you to be out there, then we'll think about whether it trumps security considerations."

"Thank you, Commander." His expression a rather odd combination of relief and worry, Malcolm departs, nodding a greeting at Jim, who is entering.

"What was that about?"

"Malcolm wants to go OTG."

"Seriously? Is he nuts?"

"No - but he thinks he might go nuts if he has to stay here with a soldier on his tail for much longer."

"Who's he planning to go out with? He's not going on his own is he?"

"God, no. I'd never agree to that - even if he wasn't under threat. His pal, Robert Stanley. He's got some work out at Outpost Eight that he wants Malcolm to help with."

"Why Malcolm?"

"He wants Malcolm to run some tests on whatever he's producing out there. I think Rob's probably the only friend Malcolm's really got; everyone else is just an acquaintance. Maybe he's trying to be helpful - either that or he wants the best scientist to go over his results."

"They'd better be good, then."


Their dinner has largely been eaten in silence; Yseult is worried, and Malcolm feels guilty that she is worried. There is no reproach in her expression, just concern. In some ways, he can appreciate that; he would be the same if their positions were reversed. Worse, probably.

"I won't go if you don't want me to." He says, quietly, as she starts to gather the plates together.

Yseult shakes her head, "That wouldn't be fair, Malcolm. I know you need to get away from the constant presence of a soldier, and I'm not blind - I can see that you're stressed. I just wish you weren't going because I don't want to be apart from you. That's all it is."

"It's hardly a non-valid reason. I'd love it if you could come with me."

"Except there's no reason for me to do so. Commander Taylor can't afford freeloaders on OTG jollies."

"Leave those - come and sit down." He guides her to the couch, and sets his arms about her as she leans against him, "Believe me, if I didn't have you, then I would've cracked up days ago. Even with a soldier watching me, I'm still on tenterhooks the entire time. The first two incidents didn't really have any impact on me - it's still only speculation that I was the intended victim; but the scorpion…" he pauses, and swallows, audibly, "…that did impact on me. It might be dead, but I keep thinking that, whoever set it loose has gone out and found another one - and they're just waiting for an opportunity to release it somewhere I can't get away from. I just need a few days away from that. If I could take you with me, believe me, I would."

"Is that why you cried out last night?" she asks, quietly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realise I'd woken you." At least she hasn't noticed how frequently he's had that nightmare since he got home. Despite what people think, she doesn't remain with him every night.

"I'm the one who's sorry, Malcolm," Yseult snuggles closer to his chest, "my only real motive is that I don't want you to go OTG. That's how I lost Niall - and I thought I had nothing left after that. I was wrong - you proved that I was wrong - but I'm scared that history is going to repeat itself. This time, I really do think I'd have nothing left. I need to grow out of that - or I'll want to keep you inside the gates for the rest of your life; which rather gets in the way of your job."

Rather than reply, he kisses her, and they cuddle in silence for a while, grateful for each other's company. Malcolm has no wish to leave her behind - but, if he doesn't get out of the compound, if only for a few days - then he's liable to have some hideous explosion of temper, and there's no saying who might be on the receiving end of it. Since his discharge from the infirmary, much of his time has been occupied by the single thought Someone wants me dead. Not knowing who that is, why they're doing it, or whether they're going to try again is eating away at him to such a degree that he is struggling to retain his concentration at work. The presence of a soldier is not helping in the slightest. If he didn't have Yseult to come back to, then he is quite convinced that he would have already had the anticipated explosion, and would probably be back in the infirmary under sedation while Elisabeth tries to find some meds to calm him down again.

"At least you've got your guardian angel." Yseult murmurs, after a while.

"My what?" He shifts slightly to look at her, "Rob?"

"He's managed to save you twice - without even trying." She tells him, "If nothing else, he'll look after you in my absence."

"I'm not kissing him." Malcolm says, firmly, "He's not that good a friend."

"He'd better not be. Now, what were you saying about kissing?"


Taylor signs off the work plan with a rather reluctant swipe, "I'll go on the record as saying that I'm not exactly over the moon that you're doing this, Malcolm; but I get why you're doing it. We'll do what we can to track this person down while you're gone."

"I'd appreciate that, Commander. Believe me, you'll be glad I'm away - I need to get out of the compound. I think it'll do me the world of good."

The plan seems to offer some promise in terms of results. Rob has been undertaking some experiments with various fungi in the cool darkness of the underground labs out at Outpost Eight. The species concerned are, in the main, quite toxic; but, as is often the case with venoms, some of the compounds show medicinal applications that they can't ignore. While Rob is a highly capable botanist, he needs a chemist to analyse the extracts - and a combination of the appropriate apparatus, and the best chemist in the colony should hopefully provide some worthwhile results if Rob's initial workups are to be believed. At least, that's what Malcolm has said - Taylor has no inkling what the results mean.

Being one of the few staff who have access to a rover, Malcolm's ability to get them there is also a good reason for sending him. Even now, Taylor can see he is much brighter - though there is one shadow in that sun: he is having to leave Yseult behind.

Needless to say, she is standing alongside the rover, waiting for him as he leaves the Command Centre. The chances of anyone in the colony not knowing that they're an item is blasted out of the proverbial water by their embrace, and the kiss that follows it. Standing on his balcony, Taylor watches, and allows himself a brief moment of regret: Malcolm's shyness has not cost him the woman he loves. Taylor wishes that he had been equally fortunate.

"Be careful, okay?"

"I promise." He mumbles into her hair, "Go and build a new furnace, or something. I'll be back before you know it - and perhaps Jim Shannon will have found the nutter who's trying to do me in."

"God, I hope so."

He briefly tightens his grip about her shoulders, "I love you, Max. I'll see you in a few days. Right? And I'll be a new man. I promise."

"Not too new, thank you very much. I'm not after a new formula: I like you just the way you are."

They share a brief smile at one another before he clambers into the vehicle, "Ready, Rob?"

"When you are, Malcolm. I've got a hell of a lot to talk to you about when we get there."

"Excellent. Sounds like it'll be a useful trip, then."

"Sure will."

Her eyes damp, but refusing to allow herself the embarrassment of a meltdown in public, Yseult steps back as Malcolm starts up the engine, and guides his rover out through the gate.