Author's Note: Another quick thank you to my fabulous reviewer, Leona2106, and also to Jemmz for another lovely review. I really do appreciate the support. More thanks to everyone who's following along. Again, it's great to know that people are enjoying this tale.
On we go with another chapter, in which - finally - the unknown conspirator is revealed...
Chapter Seventeen
Revelation
"Come on, Max." Mike looks across at her, "I kind of need you to be in the room about now."
Yseult looks up, sharply, and realises that one of the tuyeres on her side of the blast furnace has blocked again, "Sorry Mike. I'm really not with it."
"He's only been gone three hours." Mike snorts, "You've really got it bad, haven't you?"
"'Fraid so." She smiles at him, "I'll try and stay with it."
"Don't wanna lose this bloom." He reminds her, "D'you want to hit Boylan's tonight? Better than brooding at home."
"I already have a date, thanks. Elisabeth Shannon's taking me there for something to eat."
He looks at her with disappointment, "Aww - you're no fun anymore." He drawls.
"How about tomorrow?" She asks, "I don't think I'll be very good company, but I think a few drinks wouldn't go amiss. See who you can round up."
Now that the iron looks about to form properly, Yseult puts thoughts of Malcolm aside and concentrates instead on her work. Given the size of the furnace, the hope that they can actually run this bloom out into primitive pigs is becoming more of a reality. Mike has already dug out the channels into which they hope to send the stuff. Geoff'll be very pleased if they can do that; he is becoming ever more keen to try and design the envisaged power loom.
"D'you think we're being a bit too ambitious?" she asks, as she watches the tuyeres on her side.
"In what way?"
"I know that I keep talking about creating a small-scale cloth industry, but I'm wondering if we're pushing it a bit too hard, too soon. We haven't had the chance to experiment with the spinning jenny yet. That's one of the things I want to talk to Elisabeth about tonight - to see if we can create a fibre fine enough to weave gauze for medical use."
"Perhaps - but if we can prove that we can cast iron, at least, then that means we're ready to build the loom of Geoff's dreams."
She laughs, "You lot have such lofty ambitions."
As the day passes, however, it's clear to everyone that Yseult is missing Malcolm intensely. The fact that, when she's finished for the day, he won't be at home is playing on her mind a great deal. By mid afternoon, Pete is not surprised to find her sat in her 'office' lost in thought, her plex abandoned on the table.
"Lord above, woman." He says, with blatantly false ire, "What'll you be like in three days when he gets back? Are you going to jump him the moment he gets out of his rover?"
"I just want him to get back." She admits, very quietly, "I keep thinking about what happened to Niall. It was just like this - a few days out in the forests; no anticipated risks, not far away…and I lost him."
"It won't happen again, Max." He says, sitting on the table beside her plex, "He'd scare off any Nyko that tried with just a mouthful of objections - that man can gripe for England."
"He really isn't that bad, Pete."
"I know - he can't be that bad if you like him. But then, you've always liked people who don't deserve it." He grins at her, "Take Mike. God, he is such a poser with all those muscles - and he's not even available. It's like he does it on purpose to get me horny."
"Do you have to?" Yseult objects, jokingly, "Come on, you've always said that Mike's not your type."
"Fair point. I'd rather be the only Gay in the village. Mike's in love alright - though I think it's probably with his biceps."
Yseult sighs, "God, Pete - what would I do without you? You're my best friend, I think."
"As long as that's all I am, sweetheart." He blows her a kiss, "If you're up for a night out tomorrow, let me know. Everyone knows I'm a queen, so it's not like people'll think you're into a new pair of boxers while he's gone."
"Everyone's being so nice to me." She says, "It's making me nervous."
"The price of being nice, I think, Max. You're very good at making friends - and keeping 'em." He looks at his watch, "Oops, sorry - need to dash. I have a hot date with a man to talk about apple yields."
"Did he really call it that?" Elisabeth's eyes widen in astonishment, "a 'hot date'? With Tom Boylan?"
"I'd love to see the look on Tom's face if he really did think that Pete fancies him." Yseult laughs "It was just his way of describing their latest Project Scrumpy meeting. He's always been a bit like that - it's why I like him so much. He's a lot of fun, even if he does get a bit close to the wind sometimes."
"Is it a particularly British thing to be so up front about his sexuality?" Elisabeth muses, "I've never seen anyone else quite so open about it."
"I don't know; but he had to be quite careful before he came here - so many equality laws were repealed in the late 2130s. He would've been arrested if people knew - I think that's why he's letting it rip so much. His rather riotous sense of humour and his incisive opinions are a fundamental core of his personality. The fact that he's gay is nothing to do with that - but we don't take issue with it, so he's able to be much more open about his preferences while he's at it. I've always known that he wasn't interested in women - but I think that's why we're so honest with each other. He trusted me to keep it quiet when we were obliged to; you wouldn't believe how many people informed on their gay acquaintances when the law changed. I don't know if it was as bad in the US - but it got really awful in England. I'm just relieved he's a forester and woodsman - I was able to recruit him for my team and get him out of that. Besides, it's nice to have a male best friend that people don't think you're shagging."
"Your team seem very close knit."
"We are - I've known most of them either personally or by reputation for years. Mike and I have been mates since we all got together prior to the departure of the pilgrimage. We're both metalworkers, and we clicked. Mind you, I think I've been lucky - none of them have turned out to be horrible."
"And you've never dated any of them?"
Yseult shakes her head, "No; I had one disastrous rebound relationship about two years ago that died very quickly once we both realised I was still recovering from Niall's loss. It was very awkward - he accused me of using him. That put me off for a long, long time. Not that I particularly saw anyone in my team like that. Pete's gay, of course. Geoff and Graham are both married, and I've never been attracted to Mike - he's just too muscle-bound for me. Besides, we're almost like brother and sister - I'd feel like I was committing incest."
Elisabeth laughs, "That's rather decisive."
They pause as Skye sets their dinners before them, "I hope the food is as good as your gossip appears to be. Enjoy your meals." She smiles, and departs.
"She's looking very settled, isn't she?" Yseult comments, "Would I be wrong in thinking that she and Josh are on the verge of a relationship?"
"I'd say that you'd be completely not wrong. I think we're on tenterhooks waiting for him to get up the nerve to ask her out before she gets fed up with waiting and does the honours for him."
"Like us." She pauses, then goes for it, "Please don't think I'm being forward, Elisabeth - I hope you don't mind me asking. What was it about Malcolm that attracted you?"
Elisabeth gathers her knife and fork, "It was a long time ago, Max - looking back, I'm not really all that sure anymore. I think we were both two idiotically brainy people who ended up in a relationship without really knowing how. Oh, he was certainly good looking - he still is - but it was a very immature thing that largely disguised our incompatibility. We grew out of it in about a year - and I finally put it out of its misery by leaving to study in London. By the time I moved to Chicago, we'd completely lost touch, and I didn't really notice. Then I met Jim - and that was that, really."
"I see." Yseult chews thoughtfully.
"What is it about him that attracted you, then?" Elisabeth asks, smiling, "Come on - fair's fair."
Yseult reddens, "Well, I'd be lying if it wasn't his looks. I suppose I first noticed him after we met in the staff meeting; but it wasn't until we had our meeting in the labs that I really discovered that I fancied him. I just assumed it was some godawful crush; I mean, you can't claim to love someone on the basis of looks alone, can you? But the more time I spent with him, the more time I wanted to spend with him. It just seemed to grow from that."
"I always remember him being ridiculously pompous." Elisabeth admits, "But he was capable of being astonishingly kind, and he was always an absolute gentleman with me - and with the Christ Church Scouts and Domestic Staff - you could always tell the really privileged ones - they treated the staff like their personal servants. Mind you, it was hard to see through this very thick veneer of a recent Harrovian that he seemed to have back then. You know he went to Harrow?"
"Yes - he told me."
"That's all gone, these days; but, my God he can still be a completely pompous fool when he wants to be."
"I know - but I've never seen him be genuinely horrible to anyone. He's just not very good at dealing with people unless it's in a professional context." Yseult chooses her words carefully - Malcolm has never told anyone but her the more startling details of his past, "I think we've just found a way to get round that. I wasn't kidding when I told you that I thought we had something even closer than I had with Niall. I still think that - regardless of any nonsense about soulmates."
"Well, I know he loves you - if nothing else, most of us have pictures of our loved ones on our desks. He never used to - but now he has one of you." She frowns, "He never really spoke about his family to me. Isn't that odd? I suppose it just goes to show that we weren't really that compatible."
"Perhaps - though I'm not one for telling people my life story either. There's a lot that Malcolm still doesn't really know about me - though I've told him the things that matter most. I think we've been too distracted by events to really spend time swapping our family histories. I imagine we'll probably end up doing that sort of thing once Jim's found this saboteur, and Malcolm's home again."
"And I bet you can't wait." Elisabeth smiles and the pair of them clink their glasses together.
It's been a long, long drive; Outpost Eight is not called 'remote' without good reason. Malcolm is relieved to finally pull up at the cage entrance, and follows his colleague inside. It's taken them the best part of nine hours to get here on horrible, regularly blocked tracks.
"The power's okay." Robert says, making his way into the main laboratory, "Thank God for that."
"It was worth getting those cables buried deeper to keep the Ovosaurs off them." Malcolm agrees, "I thought I'd never get it through to Commander Taylor that we needed to do it."
"Yeah - and we nearly all ended up with an amnesia virus because no one could warn us he was bringing it with him." Rob grins.
"Don't remind me." While he can't remember all of it, Malcolm does have some vague hints of memories about the incident, and he's quite certain that he has a picture in his head of losing his nerve over something. He just can't recall what it was.
"What time is it?"
"About nineteen hundred. Not really worth starting anything today; I'll review the samples in the morning." Malcolm hefts his backpack, "I'll find a bunk to stash this on, and we can bring the rations in. I knew there was something I didn't enjoy about coming to the outposts."
"The alternative's poisonous mushrooms. Be my guest if you're that desperate to give yourself irreversible liver damage."
"I think I'll pass on that."
Outpost Eight, in addition to being rather remote, is also considerably more labyrinthine than Malcolm remembers. He rarely gets the opportunity to go OTG, so he has never learned his way around any of the off-site stations. Besides, it's impossible to have them all on the same pattern, as they've been constructed underground, and each site has its own challenges in setting out the passageways.
By the time he's found his way back to the lab from the sleeping quarters, Rob has been out and fetched in the rations, "Sorry. I got lost." He admits; embarrassed.
"Everyone does. I'm probably the only person who's learned my way around here. Most come and go - but it was just me and my mushrooms for most of last year, so I've had time to do my getting lost."
"Great - then maybe you can tell me how I get back out of here again?"
"No need. I've brought everything in."
"I was lost for that long, then?"
"Yep. You were." Rob is grinning even more widely.
"Come on." Malcolm sighs, "Let's see if there's anything edible in amongst this lot."
The selection of rations is not entirely unpalatable, and their conversation is cheerful and wide ranging.
"So, how long have you and Max been an item then?"
"About six months now." Malcolm admits, "Hard to believe, that. It's flown."
"A sign of true love." Rob simpers, theatrically.
"That's embarrassing. Talk to me about your mushrooms."
Still grinning delightedly at his boss's bashfulness, Rob fishes out his plex, "Right. The species I've come across are showing traits common with a number of modern descendants which could be useful to Doctor Shannon. I've also been growing a number of moulds and yeasts alongside fruiting bodies, so there's a lot to get through. I'm afraid we'll be very busy tomorrow."
"Busy sounds good. Transmit your results through to the main lab computers and I'll get to work on them in the morning. That was a hell of a drive and I'm knackered."
"You hit the sack, then. There are a few things I need to do, but I don't think I'll be much longer."
Abandoning his colleague to whatever he has to finish, Malcolm makes his way back to the sleeping quarters with only one wrong turning this time. Sitting down on the bunk, he retrieves his plex and calls up a picture of Yseult. God, he misses her - and they've only been apart one day. He really does 'have it bad', as people keep telling him.
"G'night Max." He mumbles, drowsily, and sets the plex aside to get ready for bed.
Jim looks over his notes from his interviews as the morning sun slants into the Command Centre. He has completed his interviews with the supposedly disgruntled scientists - and has done little more than increase their disgruntlement. None of them have seen anything, or have any suggestions as to who might be responsible for the accidents-that-aren't-actually-accidents. He's no further forward than he was after the building first came down.
"Dammit."
Taylor looks up from his plex, "No progress?"
Jim shakes his head, "At this rate, Malcolm'll be back, and he'll still have some fruit loop after his hide. This is getting stupid - I can't find any sensible motive for these things, and they've covered their tracks like a pro. My detective stock is pretty low right about now."
"At least he's out of the compound." Taylor says, "Whoever's trying to kill him will think that he's at Outpost Five. If they want to try anything there, then they'll be going to the wrong place."
His plex pings with a message, "Put it to one side, Shannon. We've lost that surveillance camera in sector 2 again."
"I'll go check it out."
By late afternoon, Jim is back at his 'desk' in Boylan's and drinks a badly needed coffee. He's had to break up a fight in one of the workshops - over a screwdriver, for pete's sake - while fending off a frantic enquiry over a supposedly stolen plex that turned out to have been left under a bed. What is it with people today? Did someone put something in their lunches?
His comm unit beeps, and he groans, what now?
"Shannon, I need you to investigate an alarm in one of the residential areas. A fume sensor's activated. I'm sending the details to your plex. Meet Dunham at the address and check it out."
"Will do." He looks at his half drunk coffee, too hot to swallow quickly, and sighs.
As promised, Dunham is waiting for him, "It's this one, Sir."
"Whose house is this?"
"Robert Stanley's."
"And you haven't gone in?"
"Waiting for you, Sir."
Jim manages not to roll his eyes, "Okay. I'll punch us in." He keys in the override, and they open the door.
The sound of the alarm is immediate, as is a rather vile stink that immediately makes Jim's eyes water: "Out!" he says, at once, shoving Dunham out of the door, "Fetch some masks. We can't go in there with it like that."
Masks procured, they try again, though the primary goal is to open windows and doors to flush out the fumes.
"There's the source, Sir." Dunham points to a kitchen counter, where some fallen fruits have knocked over a bottle that has spilled its contents across the surface.
"Any idea what it is?" Jim bends a little closer, "The label's not very helpful - who's H.C.L.?"
"It's 'what', Sir, not who." Dunham is beside him, "If I remember from school, HCL is the chemical formula for hydrochloric acid."
Jim goes very still, a horrible cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, "Get a cleanup crew in here, stat. I need to search this house."
Bemused, Dunham does as bid, heading back outside to summon the requisite staff. Alone in the house, Jim sits down and tries to reconcile what he has seen with what he knows. It can't be possible - it can't be. Malcolm and Robert are friends - he still remembers Malcolm's fierce defence of the man when they questioned him about the possibility of being the Sixer spy. Why would he want to harm a friend, for God's sake? No - someone's leading him by the nose; it's been planted. Rob wouldn't be this careless - leaving a bottle of dangerously corrosive liquid on his kitchen counter. Someone's trying to divert attention away from themselves.
Nonetheless, that awful nagging sense of worry won't leave him be. Despite all his rationalisations, there's no way he's going anywhere until he's searched this damn house.
Reaching for his comm unit, he puts his head out of the door so he can remove his mask, and puts in a call, "Taylor, I need you to come down here. I think I might've found something."
By the time he's allowed back in, Taylor has arrived, "What's this about acid?"
"I'll tell you once I've had a look around the house. It might've been planted." His voice does not betray the degree of hope he has that it's been put there for him to find. The alternative is too horrible to think about.
The search is comprehensive - thanks to Jim's long experience as a narcotics cop - but still it takes nearly an hour before he has only one room left to check; and he starts the search of the bedroom.
"What are you looking for?"
"Nothing, I hope." Jim burrows into a wardrobe, and then his hand hits something hard. Fumbling with it, he retrieves his discovery: a festively decorative biscuit tin. It feels light, and yet, why hide it so comprehensively if there's nothing of worth in it?
Opening it, he frowns.
"What?" Taylor asks, still at the door.
"Newspaper clippings." While most people received their news in 2149 by plex, not everyone could afford such gadgets, so a few cities still had one or two daily papers. The samples in the tin are a bit yellowed, probably thanks to the poor quality of the paper that was being used by then, but they all seem to cover the same topic, "They're all about some scientist who committed suicide in 2145. A woman called Allison Jones?"
"Allison Jones? You're sure about that?" Taylor asks, his expression a little concerned.
"That's what it says. Something about her being expelled from a pilgrimage because she made a false accusation against one of the selection panel. There are quotes here from Stanley - it looks like he was her brother. Jones was her married name. Doesn't say who she accused though - apparently it was kept quiet at the time to preserve everyone's anonymity. They weren't allowed to mention it in the papers after she died, either."
"I know who it was." Taylor says, a little dully, "Most information about pilgrimages is kept confidential because of the lottery system, which is why the news didn't get out when she made the accusation; but it had to go on their staff record. I didn't realise she was Stanley's sister..." his voice trails off.
"I don't like the look on your face, Taylor."
"Come with me. This isn't something that can be allowed to get around the colony; we'll discuss it in the Command Centre."
Taylor's expression is grim as he seats himself at his desk, "What I'm about to tell you is strictly confidential, Shannon. No one knows, and it's not to be mentioned again outside these walls. It's not fair on the individual involved."
"Cut the anonymity crap, Taylor. It's Malcolm, isn't it?"
Taylor nods, then begins, "About ten months before the Fifth departed, he was recruited as Chief Science Officer - and he was part of a panel interviewing team members for the colony. We'd spent the first couple of years getting started before we could have them through. Everyone in the science teams was interviewed by that panel. He was on it - but he wasn't chairing it; that was the Dean of Northeastern.
"One of the applicants was Allison Jones. She was a recent graduate, so she wasn't really what we were looking for at that point. We needed experienced staff, not people just out of college. From what I understand, her grades were exceptional, so Malcolm was keen to have her come along, though he agreed that she should get some experience first and he suggested she come through on the sixth. The rest of the panel agreed - and they turned her down, but put her name on a list for future pilgrimages."
"She took it badly, I take it?"
"It turned out that she had a stronger motivation than some. She was married and had a kid - very young - but the kid had a lung disorder. She applied for the fifth partly to work, but partly to get her child into a clean atmosphere. I think she'd pinned a lot of hopes on getting onto the fifth - but it was never really clear if she knew she was on a list to come through once she had more experience."
"And she tried to persuade Malcolm to talk the panel round?"
"He was the only person on the panel that wasn't over fifty." Taylor admits, "Though the impression I get is that the other members were pretty uptight, and she might've gone for him because he wasn't."
"Whatever her reasons, she didn't get the answer she wanted?"
Taylor shakes his head, "Unfortunately she tried to proposition him. God knows what she was thinking - but I imagine she wasn't."
Jim nods, "I can relate to that - I don't know what I'd've done if we'd had to make that choice over Zoe. I take it he turned her down?"
"He did - unfortunately, she went to the panel and claimed that he'd tried to offer her a place on the pilgrimage in exchange for sex."
"She what? Malcolm?" Jim is aghast: the Malcolm he knows is - or at least was - as uptight as any cliché Englishman he's ever come across.
"Exactly my thought. Trouble was, Malcolm being only thirty five at the time, it looked feasible and it caused one hell of a crap-storm. People wouldn't believe his denials, and he was suspended from his post before he'd even taken it up; hell, they nearly dropped him from the pilgrimage - and any future pilgrimages at all. He had to get a lawyer to represent him at a formal hearing to get his job back - and it was only because she'd chosen to corner him in a room with surveillance cameras that it all fell apart on her. The lawyer had a deaf clerk who lipread what he was saying - the camera wasn't on her face - and they accepted it as evidence."
"So she had to admit she'd made it up?"
"She did. She'd told them that the conversation in that room was where he'd done it - and he was able to prove that the conversation they had was completely different. He was exonerated, but he still had to fight to get the suspension lifted. He nearly didn't get here. He had to tell me about it when we arrived because of the note on his record; but we agreed it wouldn't be talked about again. He was really rattled by it when it happened, but even so, he submitted a request to the panel that she still be considered for the sixth - because she was so talented, believe it or not."
"Seriously?" Jim is surprised, "Mind you, Max said he's not vindictive."
"He isn't. He can be a complete ass at times, but he doesn't hold grudges. Besides, he was probably thinking about her child as much as her."
"But she killed herself?" Jim prompts.
"The Dean of Northeastern overruled his request. They cut her from any future pilgrimages."
"That's harsh."
"Maybe so. But what does this have to do with Malcolm now?" Taylor asks.
"The spillage in his house - the one that caused the fumes? It was hydrochloric acid."
"And?"
"I got Elisabeth to do some tests on the building that collapsed - we found that some sort of acid must've caused the corrosion, but it didn't occur naturally, or through faulty paint. Someone actually applied the acid to the joists - and they took one hell of a risk doing it."
"And you think it was Robert Stanley?"
"When I saw the bottle, I didn't know what to think - that's why I searched the house: I thought it'd been planted. And then I found the tin."
"But he's friends with Malcolm, isn't he?"
"So we thought." Jim pauses, and looks bemused, "But why take so long? He came through on the sixth - it's been, what, seven years? Why wait until now?"
"Because of the Sixers." Taylor sighs, "Everyone on that pilgrimage was under suspicion. It's only in the last year or so that it's really gone away. Maybe he didn't feel safe to try it because we were watching them." he frowns, crossly, "Damn, why didn't the records say they were related?"
"Rob knows chemicals; he has access to the labs - he knows Malcolm's routine. Perhaps that's why he created these accidents - to get Malcolm to go OTG?" Jim's expression becomes more urgent, "It would explain why the accidents missed him by chance."
"Except the scorpion."
"Maybe that went wrong."
Taylor is already tapping on his workstation, "I'll get him back here; make up a reason. Something's gone kablooey in the labs or something and we can't repair it without him." He opens a channel, "This is Commander Taylor calling Outpost Eight. Come in."
No answer.
"Outpost Eight. Come in, please. Malcolm - are you there? Please respond."
Nothing.
"This is Commander Taylor calling Outpost Eight. Please respond."
Still nothing.
They do not say a word to each other. His eyes grim, Taylor snatches down the sword he was given by Yseult, then reaches for his holster and jacket. Jim is already on his way downstairs to the armoury. In less than ten minutes, the pair are armed to the teeth, and their rover departs from the gates.
