“What’s wrong?” He looked worried about more than just Catherine now.
“Were you in the garage at all last night?” Ava asked.
“Last night?” Tom shook his head. “No. I haven’t been out there since . . . well, whenever my last EVA was.”
He was lying. He had to be lying, but damned if Catherine could read any sign of it on his face.
“All right.” Ava nodded. “What did you do last night, then?”
“Nothing unusual . . .” Tom looked to Catherine and she thought she saw a trace of fear in his eyes. “What’s going on? Why do you think I was in the garage?”
Catherine glanced at Ava through the glass and she gave a faint nod, so Catherine drew a breath. “Tom, there’s security footage of you. We both saw it. You went into the garage and did something to the rover. The one Claire and I were in.”
“No, there’s some sort of mistake!” His hands gripped the edges of the table, his knuckles going white. “I didn’t do that. Cath, I know we’ve had a rough time, but I would never hurt you; you have to know that.”
She would have thought so once, but after seeing that video she wasn’t sure anymore. Rather than answering, Catherine called the footage up on her tablet and turned it to the glass for Tom to see.
Tom watched and started shaking his head as soon as he saw himself head for the rover. “No. I didn’t do that. It’s a fake.” He looked between them like a trapped animal. “Richie. He’s got access to all the security systems, and he’s been pissed at me for ages. He could have changed the footage, edited it somehow.”
He couldn’t expect them to believe that. Catherine sat back and looked at him, folding her arms.
“I swear it wasn’t me!”
Ava tensed, and Catherine worried that there was no one else in the room with her for backup if Tom got violent. “Tom,” Ava said quietly, “I promise you, I’ll look into that possibility, but in the meantime, I have to restrict you to your quarters. You understand that, don’t you?”
“I do, but . . .” Tom didn’t look violent. He looked lost. If Catherine weren’t literally looking at the video footage, she would have believed him.
“All right. We’re going to do that now, okay? And if you didn’t do it, we’ll figure out who did.” Ava spoke to him as if she were talking him down off a ledge. “You’ve got to trust me, Tom. All I want is to make sure we’re all safe. You want that, too, right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, of course I do.”
Ava took Tom by the arm and he didn’t resist. As she led him out, Catherine slumped against her seat. Two crew members out of commission. How the hell were the other four going to keep everything going? And if Tom really was a danger to them, what could they do, so far from home and on their own?
13
“FOR NEARLY SIX years, we mourned the loss of Sagittarius and her crew.” Paul Lindholm’s voice came through Cal’s car radio as he drove in. He was giving a report to Congress, which the local news reported in loving detail, but it sounded more like he was giving a sermon. “But then early this year, we received the radio transmission that rewrote NASA history when Colonel Catherine Wells returned to our solar system, alive and well.
“Thanks to her bravery and determination, we have a much clearer understanding of the tragedy that befell the Sagittarius I mission, and knowing what happened on TRAPPIST-1f, we can move forward, wiser and more prepared for the next mission.”
Cal snorted. Catherine hadn’t given them a clearer understanding of anything. How could she have? All they had was the information on board Sagittarius, and so far that had yielded little.
“And we will move forward! If NASA excels at anything, it is moving forward, and moving our great nation forward.”
Cal snapped off the radio. NASA was doubling down on its mythology-building. Once Cal had thought it was just PR, but it wasn’t. It was a belief that was religious in its fervor, with astronauts as NASA’s demigods and goddesses. From the very start, the moment Catherine had reappeared, Lindholm had written a specific narrative for the Sagittarius I mission, and he was not going to let anything stray from that narrative.
Anything else was heresy.
Cal might literally be the only person on the entire planet who gave a damn about the truth of what happened out there. No, that wasn’t entirely true: Catherine no doubt cared passionately about the truth of what happened. He just hoped it wasn’t because she wanted to make sure no one else found out.
As he walked to his office, he couldn’t forget the anger on Catherine’s face when he’d confronted her. He was used to people getting pissed at him for his work, but this felt different. She’d looked and acted defensive, yes, but there was something else. Something about it reminded him of the Catherine he saw at her daughter’s party. She’d looked real. As though he were seeing her without her mask, seeing the Catherine he might have been friends with, anger and all.
What if she was telling the truth, and the things she was holding back were only her private fears while she was alone out there? Maybe those secrets were hers to keep, but he had to be sure. She might think his investigation was personal. It wasn’t, not really.
John Duffy caught up with him in the hallway. “Hey, Cal. Listen, we’re only a week out now, and the kids are getting nervous. There’s still no confirmation of what happened to Catherine’s crew?” Duffy asked.
Cal dreaded the question every time it was asked. Every time, he wanted to have a better answer, and every time, he didn’t. “The data analysis isn’t complete yet. It may not be finished before launch day. So far, we’ve found some anomalies with the oxygenator, and it looks as if one of the rovers was wrecked, but that’s all we know for now.”
“Okay; that’s not the most reassuring answer, you know that, right?” Duffy, as always, spoke for his team. “That still makes it sound like there are some mechanical issues that could happen again.” Cal had always tried to resist an “us vs. them” attitude between administration and the astronauts, but conversations like this served as a reminder that—no matter how close he felt to them—he was administration and they were not.
Cal stopped walking and looked Duffy in the eye. “Right now, the engineers are saying that the likelihood of the oxygenator, or any other system in the Habitat, having the same problems at the same time again is practically nonexistent. I believe them, but I also know they’re working to make sure that none of the problems that the Sagittarius I Habitat might have experienced happen on your watch. We’re not going to send you up there with bad equipment, I swear, John.”
Duffy sighed. “I know. I know you won’t. Sorry, Cal. Like I said, the kids are getting nervous. We all hoped we’d find out so much more when Catherine came back.”
“We did, too, but it looks like we’re stuck with what we’ve got. If she’d come back a year sooner, maybe we’d have had time for more analysis, but . . .”
“Yeah. All right, I’ll let them know.”
Cal thumped him on the bicep. “If I find out anything else, I’ll tell you as soon as I can.”
As Duffy walked away, Cal felt the weight of half-truths and partial information hanging over him. He wished he could tell the crew that he was doing everything in his power to try to find out what was wrong, that he was sure something was wrong, but if they were nervous now, that would only make matters worse.
They had nine years of data to go through from Sagittarius, and the analysis was slow going. It would be years before they had a full picture, so Catherine’s landing a year earlier might not have made a difference. Then again, who knew what they’d know about this mission a year from now? Cal knew better than to ask Aaron about a postponement again. If Aaron thought missing the launch window could be NASA’s death knell, nothing other than absolute proof of an imminent threat would make him take the chance. No, the public—and, more important, the Appropriations Committee—needed to see NASA produce an on-time, glowing success with Sagittarius II.
He tried to shake off
the gloom, and by the time he unlocked his office door, he’d almost succeeded. As he’d hoped, some new information was waiting for him in his email. Cal had specifically requested the data from the day of the Event, Mission Day 1137, and two weeks in either direction. Most of the initial analysis had focused, rightfully, on the Habitat, trying to figure out how and why and even if it failed. He settled in behind his desk, propping his feet up as he scrolled through the data on his tablet. He started on Day 1136. Sagittarius was in standby mode—unsurprising, since no one expected to use it. He moved ahead slowly, and also as expected, Sagittarius reactivated on Day 1137. Where else would Catherine have taken shelter?
All the data looked normal: energy usage, life-support readings, temperature readings. While it still didn’t tell Cal what had happened to the Habitat, it did suggest that Catherine was the sole survivor and that she retreated to the ship. It was . . . vaguely disappointing. Cal hadn’t really expected to find a smoking gun, but he’d thought there would be—
Wait a minute.
There. On Day 1139, two days after the Event. Cal traced the data with his finger and did some quick math in his head. The first two days after the Event, Days 1138 and 1139, oxygen usage held steady at about 575 liters per day, pretty much what he’d expect for one human occupant. Then suddenly, three days after the Event, Day 1140, usage spiked to over 1,200 liters. Carbon dioxide output had a comparative spike. Temperature readings shifted unexpectedly.
Then five days after the Event, on Day 1142, life-support readings all dropped back to their initial levels. What had happened for those two days?
“Two people,” Cal said out loud.
It was right there in front of him. For two days after the Event, there had been two people on board Sagittarius.
Cal was in Aaron’s office before he had time to give it a second thought.
“Hey.” Aaron was all smiles. Unlike everyone else, Aaron always seemed exhilarated as a launch got closer. While Cal was juggling a dozen deadlines to keep on top of everything, Aaron always appeared to have the whole thing tied up with a ribbon.
“Aaron, I need to talk to you.”
“Oh hell. You’re gonna fuck up my good day, aren’t you?”
Cal put his tablet on Aaron’s desk.
“Aaron, someone besides Catherine survived the Event.”
“What? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Look. Right here.” He leaned in, pointing at a graph. “For two days after the Event, the life-support readings are all wrong for just one person to have been on board Sagittarius. Oxygen consumption, CO2 output . . . it’s all wrong.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean there was a second person.”
“Come on, the numbers line up too well. What else could it have been?”
Aaron shook his head. “There could have been a leak, it could have been a glitch . . .”
“Aaron, if it was a glitch, systems would’ve found it already.”
Aaron looked at the information for a few long, quiet minutes that felt like hours. Cal’s heart pounded in his chest with the hope that maybe, maybe he was getting through to Aaron.
“Cal, sit down.”
That didn’t sound good. Cal pulled over a chair and sat down. Aaron looked at the report once more then closed the folder. “What are you saying? That someone survived and Catherine—what, killed them?”
Cal tried not to squirm in his seat. “No, not exactly, but—”
“Suppose someone besides Catherine did survive the Event. Is it so inconceivable that after two or three days trapped or exposed to TRAPPIST-1f’s elements, probably wounded, that crew member might have died as a result?”
“Well, no . . .”
“And do you really want the families to wonder if it was their loved one who lingered near death for three days, possibly in terrible pain?”
Cal knew where these questions were leading, and Aaron’s words made sense, but . . . his gut. His instinct. It didn’t jibe.
“I know you’re anxious, Cal. I get it. This is your first big mission, and you want everything to be perfect. You don’t want to be the guy who missed something. Even beyond that, I know you’re close with your crew. That’s one of the things that makes you so good at what you do. But even if you’re right, until we have more information, this isn’t something that should get out. Especially when it really might have been a glitch.”
“But . . . the data . . . plus now with Catherine acting just . . . wrong . . .” Cal needed to make Aaron see. “There’s something bigger here, more than we know, and I’m certain Wells is the key.”
“I’ve been quiet for a while now about this,” Aaron said. “But I can see server logs as well as you can, Cal. You’ve been snooping through Catherine Wells’s files. Even after I told you to let it go.”
“But—”
“Shut up and listen to me. Aside from that, I know you’ve been talking to Dr. Royer about this, when I specifically told you not to say anything.”
Cal opened his mouth to say something then thought better of it, feeling like a kid in the principal’s office.
“All that is bad enough, but I heard from security that you came in here after her one night. Were you following her?”
“The real question is, what was she doing here so late on a Saturday night, Aaron!”
“I’m gonna take that as a yes, that you were watching her and following her. Do you have any idea how far over the line that is? Do you know how much trouble this could cause us if she found out?” Aaron shoved the tablet back across the desk toward Cal. “I ignored it for as long as I could, because you’re damn good at what you do, and I couldn’t afford to replace you so close to the launch date. But I want you to listen to me right now. I don’t know what issues you have with Wells, but they stop here.”
“Aaron—”
“Listen to me. Say you’re right. Say that your worst-case scenario is true, what does that mean?”
Cal hadn’t wanted to give voice to a worst-case scenario, but Aaron had put him on the spot. “Well . . . worst case . . . Catherine was behind what happened up there, and she’s lying to cover it up.”
“Right. Say that’s true. What does it change for Sagittarius II? It’s not like she’s going to be up there with them, so she’s not a direct danger to the mission.” Aaron had him pinned with that stern, fatherly look that was a little too reminiscent of his real dad. “Your crew is going to be fine. Even if you’re right, she’s staying here.”
What Aaron was saying made sense. Cal knew it did. But everything in him was screaming that logic didn’t apply here, that there was something they were all missing.
“Sagittarius II is a go, Cal. I need you to focus all your time and energy on that, not chasing down ghosts. You have to leave Wells alone. If there are any other incidents, if I see you so much as breathe in her direction when you shouldn’t, you’re out, genius or not.”
Cal took back the tablet with a quiet nod.
Aaron’s tone shifted to something more conciliatory when Cal didn’t argue. “I know you’re worried. But I promise you, it’s going to be all right.”
Cautiously, Cal said, “Yes, sir.” Aaron was one of the smartest people he knew. He had the same data Cal did and reached different conclusions. But he knew Aaron had a strong bias toward making the mission happen. That was skewing his perspective. It had to be. He was seeing what he wanted to see in the data, and drawing his conclusions from that. Cal was being more objective, more invested in the truth than in a specific outcome.
Really? Are you sure about that? No biases of your own?
Self-doubt, even a whisper of it, was a new thing for him, and he didn’t like it.
“Now, if we’re done here, I need to get some things together,” Aaron said. Cal recognized a dismissal when he heard one and stood up.
Aaron looked up, peering at Cal over the rim of his glasses. “And, Cal, I mean it. No more. There’s too much riding on this mission.”
/> “I hear you, Aaron.” Anxiety sat like a rock in his belly. Even though Aaron made some good points, Cal couldn’t shake his worry. But if he wanted to keep his career, he had to let it go. Or at least do his best to try.
14
CHICAGO WAS OPPRESSIVELY muggy when Julie drove Catherine, Aimee, and David to Nora’s hospice facility. “It’s not a bad place,” Julie was saying. “It’s about as homelike as you could expect, and they have a lot of experience with Alzheimer’s patients.”
From the passenger seat, Catherine gave Julie a careful smile. “I know you made the best decision. Thank you. For everything you’ve done to take care of her.” She left I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help unspoken. Most of her life since coming home seemed to involve that phrase.
“I’m just glad you could make it. I know you’ve got a launch coming up soon.” Julie smiled faintly. “And I know this is going to be hard for you. Mom made a lot of noise about not wanting anyone to see her this way. Me included. She said I should just find her a home and leave her there.”
“I can imagine how well that went over,” Catherine said with a dry laugh. Stubbornness was a family trait, and all three of them had it in spades.
“Well, I won that one.”
David and Aimee stayed silent in the back seat. They’d seen Nora at Christmas, and had a better idea of what awaited them than Catherine did.
As they pulled off the expressway, Catherine asked, “Is she lucid at all?”
“Hard to say. Some days yes, most days no. There’s never any way to tell.” Julie maneuvered through the surface streets. “We’re early enough in the day that the chances are better, but . . . I don’t know. Last time I was there, she didn’t know me the whole time. So . . . just be ready for that, okay?”
Catherine nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. No, she has to know me. I need for her to know me.
“The staff has tried to keep reminding her that you’re coming, and when I told her you were back, she seemed to get it, but I just don’t know.”
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