Elizabeth Bear - Worldwired

The two teardrops flowed into and through each other like ripples crossing in a wave tank, passing without hesitation and reforming cleanly, moving apart without a pause.

“Bloody weird,” Leslie said, startling himself with the sound of his own voice. He met Forster's eyes and took in that single arched eyebrow, the pursed lips, the expectancy.

“Dr. — I mean, Leslie? Sorry.” A self-deprecating twist of the Canadian's head, which Leslie brushed aside.

“I said, that's bloody weird.”

“The great Australian adjective,” Jeremy muttered from Leslie's left, and Leslie gave him a self-consciously wry look. “Sorry. Carry on. What's bloody weird, Les?”

Leslie waved one hand. “There was no visible acknowledgment when they passed. And they moved through each other. That's… strange. Humans make eye contact, even passing a stranger on the street — or if they're uncomfortable, avoid it consciously. Cats sniff noses or hiss. Even flatworms and ants acknowledge each other. It makes me seriously question the social organization of these critters, if they have one. Well, there could be something electromagnetic—”

“Probes showed no such communication,” Charlie interrupted.

“They must communicate somehow,” Elspeth Dunsany said. “They obviously manage teamwork, assist each other.”

Leslie shook his head. “What if Charlie's right and they're not animals? What if they are machines, after all?”

“What if they are machines, Dr. Tjakamarra?” Richard's voice, disembodied and resonant.

Leslie spread his hands wide and allowed himself a nod. “Touché. But do you see my point, Dr. Feynman?”

“Yes.” A thoughtful pause, and Leslie noticed that Jen Casey looked amused by it. “How does this affect your theories about the language — or lack thereof — of the Benefactors?”

“I'll have to reconsider,” he said, trying to sound as if the admission didn't pain him. “I had suspected that our difficulties might be due to the aliens using a strictly visual system of communication, but this evidence tends to suggest that if there is such a thing, it takes place on a level that's invisible to humans. African elephants used to do something similar. Their vocalizations were mostly subsonic, as far as humans were concerned. It took bloody ages to unravel it.”

Elspeth smiled. It was meant to be commiserating, but Leslie thought it looked tired. “Well, we've been at it nine months. I don't suppose a ‘reconsider' is going to hurt us. We've trod our respective turf rather extensively; I can't deny you and Jeremy the same chance. Did you have anything else to add, Leslie?”

He shook his head. “My prepared speech just went by the wayside, I'm afraid. Why don't we move along?”

Elspeth fixed Forster with a look. “More, Charlie?”

“I could natter on for hours,” he answered, “but nobody would listen. I yield the floor.”

“Good.” Elspeth knocked on the table lightly, informally, with the hard surface of her knuckles. She turned toward Casey. “Jen? Let's hear about your crackpot EVA idea.”

“With an introduction like that,” Casey answered, standing, “I don't see how I can pass up the chance.”

Patricia Valens didn't understand why Jenny and Elspeth thought it was important for her to come to these staff meetings. But they did, and so she braved Captain Wainwright's unvoiced disapproval to do it.

Although she wasn't all that sure it was disapproval. Despite Patty's youth, the captain had never treated her as anything other than a valued crew member, one of the precious individuals reengineered to be capable of guiding the Montreal at hyperlight. But it was something —discomfort, perhaps?

“It's simple,” Jenny said as she took Dr. Forster's place at the head of the conference table. “We've tried waiting by the phone for nine months, and unless things change, we're going to be stuck without a date for prom. Time to see what a little forwardness gets us.”

Maybe the captain just doesn't like kids. Patty bit her lip to keep her careful smile from turning into a pout. She glanced down and picked up her light pen, centering her hip unit on the table in front of her and tapping it on. At least if she kept careful notes she'd look interested, and she might be able to go over them later and understand more of what the scientists, the captain, Mr. Castaign, and Jenny were planning. It was always frustrating to feel so at a loss in conversations, as if she was in over her head and wasn't really supposed to be a part of the gathering. And she really thought that Elspeth expected her to listen rather than ask too many questions, even if she could have come up with any intelligent ones.

Leah would have known what to say. Leah would have made a joke or an interesting comment, and put everyone at ease.

“—that's why we're going to go out there and get them to take notice of us, one way or another,” Jenny finished, and Patty's head came up.

“Outside?” she said, proud enough that it didn't come out a squeak that she almost forgot she was talking. “EVA?”

“Yes,” the captain said, stepping forward, trim in her navy uniform. “And before you ask, Cadet, the answer is no.”

“Ma'am—”

“No. I have two pilots. I can't risk both of you at once.”

“Ma'am.” Jenny's voice, and Patty looked up, startled. “I'll stand aside for Patty.”

“Casey.”

“But that brings me to another point I wanted to discuss with you.”

“Yes?”

“We have a resource we're wasting, ma'am. Shamefully.”

Patty looked up, startled, and got a good look at the glance the captain shot Jenny, the one that glittered with not-in-front-of-the-kids. Not in front of me, she means .

“An excellent point, Master Warrant,” the captain said. “We'll discuss it later. When we go over the duty roster.”

“Thank you—”

But the captain's impatient wave cut Casey into silence. “Is there any other business on the table? No?” The captain smiled, making a point of catching Patty's eyes especially. “In that case,” Wainwright said, “I commend you to the canapés.”

Patty had never understood the big deal about canapés. Especially the Montreal 's, which were made with soy cheese. In any case, she would have been unlikely to eat them even if her stomach hadn't been knotted with anticipation. Instead, she leaned against the wall, her shoulders pressed against it, twisting glossy dark strands of hair around her fingers and nibbling at the back of her thumb. She had a wallflower's knack for vanishing into the shadows, even in a well-lit briefing room. And as the grown-ups moved around, none of them approached her.

She tugged the clip off her braid and ducked her head, letting her hair fall across her face. Leah wouldn't be hiding in the corner, even in a room full of people three times her age with enough titles to deck a Christmas tree. Leah would be standing at her dad's elbow, laughing, charming doctors and starship captains alike.

It was wrong that Patty had lived and Leah had died, the luck of the draw and the sheer chance of which of them had been on the Calgary when she went down. It should have been Patty. Leah had family and friends. She had Jenny and Mr. Castaign and Dr. Dunsany and Genie.

All Patty had was the miserable realization that she was bitterly grateful Leah had died and she had lived. Leah, and Carver, and Bryan, and all the rest of the kids in the pilot program. She was glad she had been lucky, though it tore her throat with pettiness to admit it. Glad, glad, glad. And never mind the guilt that went with it.

“I beg your pardon, miss—” A scratchy, accented voice. Patty pushed her hair aside and found herself looking into the faded blue eyes of the British scientist. “Is this the castaways' corner?”