Bios by Robert Charles Wilson Read Free Book Online

Tehran orphan crêche. From which Theo had saved her. Without Theo . . . well, without Theo, she would be lost.
    Free
, some traitorous part of her whispered.
    The thought was disturbing.
    Tam Hayes, tall and somber in his Yambuku fatigues, read a brief but dignified eulogy. Then a young biochemist named Ambrosic, the last Reformed Mormon at Yambuku now that Mac was gone, offered a formal prayer for the dead.
    On some hidden cue, the attending tractibles doused the bier with hydrocarbon compounds and ignited it with a jet of flame. An external microphone relayed the sound with horrible fidelity, the whoosh of ignition and the slow crackle of the burning wood.
    The heat lofted Macabie Feya’s ashes high into the Isian sunlight. Wind carried away the smoke. His phosphates would fertilize the soil, Zoe thought. Season by season, atom by atom, the bios would have the whole of him.
    Zoe had been sent to Isis specifically for the deep-immersion project, but until the day she would step out of the station, she was a Yambuku hand and had to find a niche for herself. She was neither a microbiologist nor an engineer, but there was plenty of ordinary scutwork to do—filter changes, cargo inventory, scheduling—and she made herself available for all these duties. And day by day, as the shock of Mac Feya’s death eased, she felt herself becoming . . . what? If not a member of the Yambuku family, at least a welcome accessory.
    Today, a week since the funeral, Zoe had invested eight hours on cargo inventory, which meant lots of physical labor even with the freight tractibles helping. She took a quiet dinner in the refectory and retired to her cabin. More than anything, she wanted a hot shower and an early bed . . . but she had only just dialed the water temperature when Elam Mather knocked at the door.
    Elam was dressed in after-duty clothes—loose buff shorts and blouse—and her smile seemed genuinely friendly. “I’ve got tomorrow’s duty roster. Thought you might want a quick look. Or just to talk. Are you busy?”
    Zoe invited her in. Zoe’s cabin was small, a bedroll and a desk and one wall with a screen function. Once a month or so, compressed edits of Terrestrial entertainment were fed down the particle-pair link from Earth. Tonight most of the station hands were screening the new
Novosibersk Brevities
in the common room. Zoe had linked her screen to an outside camera and the only show she wanted to see was the sleepy crescent of Isis’s moon as it fled across the southern stars.
    Elam entered the room as she entered all rooms, brusquely, arms at her sides, tall even by Kuiper standards. “I’m not much for light entertainment,” she said. “Guess you’re not either.”
    Zoe wasn’t sure how to react. Elam didn’t flaunt her rank, but she was one of Yambuku’s key people, second only to Tam Hayes himself. Back home, it all would have been clear. Junior managers had deferred to her and she had deferred to her seniors—and everyone deferred to Family. Simple.
    Elam dropped the roster sheets on Zoe’s desk. “It’s a desert around here when the entertainment package comes in.”
    â€œThey say this one has good dancing.”
    â€œUh-huh. Sounds like you’re about as enthusiastic as I am. I’m just an old Kuiper fossil, I guess. Where I come from, dancing is something you do, not something you watch.”
    Zoe couldn’t think of an answer. She didn’t dance.
    Elam glanced at the active wall screen. Zoe had maxed the resolution, creating the illusion that her cabin had lost one wall and was open to the Isian night. Yambuku’s perimeter lights picked outthe nearest trees, starkly bright against the velvet-dark forest. “No offense, Zoe, but you’re like a ghost sometimes. You’re here, but all your attention is out there.”
    â€œIt’s what I’m trained for.”
    Elam frowned and looked