Free In the Company of Others by Julie E. Czerneda Page A

“There’s no proof this Aaron Pardell was actually born here,” Forester continued. “What’s on file is an application for stationer birth registration from an Aaron Raner—on behalf of a child he claimed to have found abandoned. It doesn’t say if the application was granted, but I doubt it was. There aren’t any other records for the name.”
    Gail glanced down at her notepad, tapping a key once, twice, until a very short list of names came up. There. “Who is this Raner?” she inquired, keeping her voice matter-of-fact with an effort.
    â€œRaner was a stationer.”
    â€œWas?” Commander Grant prompted when Forester didn’t volunteer anything more.
    â€œWas,” repeated Forester firmly, as if that were that. Gail wondered if she’d be forced to have one of Grant’s experts tap into the station’s record system. They’d refrained until now, hoping for cooperation. This , she decided, didn’t sound as though much more would be forthcoming.
    Meanwhile . . . Gail opened her eyes exactly the amount to show her innocent attention. “If we believe the application was for a real baby, Administrator, then Aaron Pardell was born shortly after the stations imposed absolute birth control on their populations. Surely there aren’t many individuals his age—”
    Forester leaped to his feet, his cheeks suffused with red. “Get your history straight, Dr. Smith,” he grated. “The stations didn’t impose birth control. Earth ordered the sterilization of permanent station residents and controls on immigrant fertility as a condition for food shipments. It was obey or starve—but we had children when this all started. And plenty were orphans.”
    Gail lifted two fingers to hold Grant and his people, waiting until they’d definitely eased back before saying softly, and quite sincerely, to the outraged stationer: “I’m deeply sorry, Administrator. I meant no offense, nor to bring back difficult times and terrible choices. But, despite your lack of records, I’m convinced a man named Aaron Pardell is here, on Thromberg. So, if his age can’t help narrow our search, what can? You know your people. Will he come forward of his own accord?”
    â€œNo. I’m sure he won’t.” Forester remained standing, a posture aimed, not at the anxious troops, but at her—as if defending one of his own. So , Gail told herself. He wasn’t completely motivated by self-interest. Such an individual would have been more—straightforward—to work with, if less than trustworthy in a pinch.
    â€œWhy?” she asked, truly curious.
    â€œYou’re Earthers,” Forester said, his tone making it clear her question surprised him. “If the welfare of all of us hasn’t mattered to you before now—why should the welfare of one?”
    â€œHad you considered that the welfare of this one might have an impact on everyone else on the station?” she suggested carefully, wary of what she might be revealing to Tobo and Grant, let alone Forester and the vids she knew full well Reinsez regularly tried to plant in her office.
    She’d misjudged Forester’s intelligence as well, or maybe life under Thromberg’s harsh conditions had honed his instincts. “You’re after the Survivor,” the stationer breathed as if thoroughly impressed, then burst into laughter with an almost hysterical edge to it, his thin shoulders shaking. “Gods, if that doesn’t beat all. You and this fancy Earther ship, these troops in their me-only uniforms—falling for that tired nonsense.”
    Gail was spared having to answer by Tobo’s quick: “You aren’t making sense yourself, Administrator. What are you talking about?”
    â€œThis place breeds a lot of stories, Captain,” Forester gasped, almost wheezing as he attempted to regain something of his dignity.