Anthony wore a forced smile as he said, “It looks like my lesson notes won’t be needed today, so instead let’s get right to it. Are there any questions?”
The captain never looked up from his desk as he asked from the shadows, “Mr. Holmes, what is the activation frequency of a salt-ion scavenger nano?”
Without missing a beat, Anthony answered, “There are many variants, Captain. The prime variant on this Mars mission has a primary activation spike in the ultraviolet C range at 210 nanometers, and a secondary spike at half power in the visible spectrum at 560 nanometers. We also have a variant with three spikes at 240, 500, and 614 nanometers. We have designs for other variants, but none in production. I can look those up if you’d like.”
The captain looked at Lieutenant Copeland, and she nodded. Then he answered, “Unnecessary. How many generations of sintering nanos can you get out of a typical batch before they start to degrade?”
Again Anthony’s response was immediate. “It’s a trick question, sir. Sintering nanos are almost always destroyed in use, sacrificing their own component atoms to fabricate some new part or tool. So looked at that way, the answer is one. And sintering nanos are not self-replicating, so the answer is also one from that perspective. But if you look at the seed nanos that construct the sintering nanos, those are typically good for at least fifteen generations. In a pinch, you can push them to twenty, but the reliability of the sintering drops to the high-risk range above fifteen.” Copeland nodded, and Anthony added, “And the orbital period of Phobos is seven hours, thirty-nine minutes, thirteen-point-eight-four seconds. Dr. Meadors rounded to the nearest second. During the course of the Aldrin’s rendezvous with Mars, that error will add up to almost forty-seven seconds. If you had had a discrepancy like that on the second Bradbury expedition, you and the other survivors would be dead right now.”
This time the captain did look up, straight at Anthony. His eyes gleamed in the reflected light. “You think you’re pretty smart, huh, kid?”
“Try me.” Anthony smiled. “Captain.”
“Okay, kid, tell me about your waste reclamation nanos.”
“What about them, sir?”
“Everything. From concept to production to testing. Convince me that we should risk this Mars mission on some billionaire’s son’s harebrained scheme.”
And Anthony set out to do just that. He started explaining the history of reclamation nanos, the nanochemistry behind them, and the current state of the art. He was just summarizing the articles that inspired his new approach when Chuks interrupted him. “Mr. Holmes, you are stranded on Mars in the Elysium quadrant during a meteorological survey. It is early spring in that region. Your shuttle is incapacitated, and your water stock has been contaminated. Where is your best place to scavenge water, and why?”
That brought Anthony to a halt. He was deep in the middle of nanotechnology, and suddenly he was fielding a question on Martian survival. I was sure he was stalling when he asked, “How long do I expect to wait before rescue, Major?”
But Chuks smiled, and I knew Anthony had done well. “Two days, Mr. Holmes. Possibly less, depending on weather conditions.”
Anthony didn’t smile, but I saw confidence in his eyes. “For two days, Major, I wouldn’t even try to scavenge subsurface water, though there’s probably some in the area. For such a short trip, I would scavenge from the shuttle’s cooling system. It would be easier to scavenge from the meteorology station, but we might need that station functioning at optimum in order to do local weather forecasts and bring my rescue shuttle in. If my landing shuttle was damaged so as to lose all cooling water, then I would scavenge just the minimum fluid from the station. I wouldn’t even try to set up subsurface reclamation in only two days. I brought enough water with me for that period.”
Chuks nodded. “Very good, Mr. Holmes.” And he looked at me with a strange sadness on his face. “Please continue enlightening us about nanos.”
And that was how it went. Anthony presented an informal paper on his reclamation nanos, answering questions, particularly from Lieutenant Copeland; and every so often, someone would pepper him with questions on other subjects. Chuks tested him on Martian survival. Chief Carver probed him on software requirements and verification. The captain questioned him on chemistry, astronomy, mathematics, and geology. And I questioned him on just about anything we had studied.
After an hour of this, Anthony was sweating, but still going strong. I ducked out and found him some water, and he just kept going.
After three hours, Anthony had thoroughly covered the planning, design, generation, and testing of his waste recycling nanos; he had also answered practical questions from across the range of Mars mission disciplines. He looked tired enough that I was ready to open my medical bag, but he was smiling as he asked, “Any more questions?”
The captain looked around the semicircle, and we all shook our heads. He shook his as well. “No, Mr. Holmes. Lights.” The room lights came on. Aames stood, walked to the podium, and looked at the rest of us. “Ladies, gentlemen, I have one question for you: Has Mr. Anthony Holmes mastered the material presented in his seminar courses?”
As one, we answered, “Yes, Captain.”
“Very well.” He turned to Anthony. “Mr. Holmes, congratulations.” He took Anthony’s hand and shook it. “While it has no force outside this ship—and not here, while we’re between the gravipauses—in the judgment of this review board, you have earned a doctorate of areology with a specialization in nanotechnology. We would be honored to attest as much should you wish to apply to any graduate or postgraduate program back on Earth. And who knows, maybe someday we’ll have an Aldrin University, and you’ll be our first doctorate recipient, retroactively.” They shook hands again. “You’ve exceeded my highest expectations, Mr. Holmes. That doesn’t happen often.”
They stood at the podium like that until finally Captain Aames pulled his hand away. “So do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Anthony nodded. “Yes, sir, Captain.” He turned to me. “Dr. Baldwin, I’d like to set up an appointment to get my therapy nanos as soon as possible.”
The captain raised an eyebrow, and then he turned around and returned to his seat. “I suppose I’m going to start losing our races now.”
Anthony blinked. “Sir?”
“Think, man, you’re half my age. And in better shape than me, at least now. The only reason I’ve been winning is you have a handicap: you don’t have half a million little machines constantly rebuilding bone and muscle damage. Your musculoskeletal damage has been slowed by exercise, whereas mine has been reversed by the nanos. Without that edge, I wouldn’t stand a chance against you. I would’ve been eating your dust for at least the last month. With all your studies of nanotechnology, you hadn’t figured that out?”
“No, Captain. I just figured you were that good.” Anthony hesitated, but finally he blurted out, “You cheated, Captain?”
“No one is that good, Mr. Holmes. It’s not cheating to know your subject, do your homework, and use your resources. It’s smart; and if you’re half as smart as you think you are, you’ll learn to do it as second nature. When you have an edge out here, you take it. Your mission and your survival may depend upon it.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“When you take the nanos, it will be a relief. I can stop trying so hard, because I know I’ll lose in the end. Aside from Major Adika, you may be the healthiest person on this ship.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
Aames turned to me. “Doctor, you should be able to accommodate Mr. Holmes immediately, shouldn’t you?”
I picked up my bag and stood. “Yes, Captain. Right away.” I started for the door.
But Anthony just stood at the podium, staring at Captain Aames, a big grin on his face. The captain stared back and asked, “Is there anything else, Mr. Holmes?”
Anthony nodded. “You called me man, sir.”
The captain’s eyes widened. “I did?”
<
br /> “Yes, Captain. ‘Think, man, you’re half my age.’ You didn’t call me kid, you called me man.”
Captain Aames genuinely smiled, the first sign I had that he knew how. “So I did. Was I wrong?”
“No, Captain.” Anthony saluted, turned, and left for the infirmary.
After I gave Anthony his injections, I traced down Chuks in his cabin. He let me in, and I threw my arms around him without saying a word. He kissed me, and we stood like that for a while. I just wanted things to be right between us, whatever that would take.
But when I pulled away, I saw sadness in his eyes. “Chuks, what’s the matter? He did it! Are you that sorry to be wrong?”
He shook his head. “It is nothing, Constance. Life changes, that is all, and change always brings good and bad.”
“What could be bad here? We should be proud.”
“I am proud. Do not worry, I am just being foolish. Tomorrow will bring what it brings. Tonight we are together. We should celebrate.”
And we did, and it was very good, and eventually his fantastic smile returned. But I couldn’t forget his sad expression, and I couldn’t stop worrying what might have caused it.
Three weeks later, the review board and Anthony met in the classroom again. We were joined by Savoy, Meadors, Krause, Martinez, and a number of other senior mission personnel; the rest of the mission watched on the comms. Captain Aames directed a revised briefing on the mission plan, with each department head going through a grilling much like Anthony had. It wasn’t Aames’s mission, and he wouldn’t be going down to Mars; but as the commander of the second Bradbury expedition, he was the local expert on Mars, and he had plenary powers between the gravipauses. If he wanted to be briefed, he would get briefed.
At last all the departments had reported to the captain’s satisfaction, and he reclaimed the podium. He looked around the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, this looks like a very professional mission plan, and you’ve got answers to every question we can imagine. Now for the bad news: when you get down there, Mars is going to raise questions you can’t imagine. Nothing in our evolution or experience can prepare us for Mars. Until you’re there, you won’t understand that. But if any team is ready for Mars, you are.”
At this rare bit of praise from Captain Aames, Chief Carver and I and other ship’s officers rose and applauded. This team had earned that.
When the applause faded and we all sat down again, the captain continued, “But you’re not ready. Remember that, keep your wits about you, and you’ll survive until the Collins arrives to pick you up. Never forget: Mars is going to surprise you. Now, are there any last questions?” Anthony raised a hand. “Yes, Mr. Holmes?”
“Captain, I’ve been thinking.”
“It’s about damn time,” the captain said. Everyone laughed, including Anthony.
He continued, “Captain, I don’t think I want to do a down-and-back on the drop shuttle. I respectfully request to be reassigned as permanent staff for the mission.”
The captain looked around at the mission heads, and they all nodded slowly. “Are you sure? There’s no turning back on this one. It will be fourteen months before the Collins arrives.”
Anthony smiled. “I’d like to put this new degree to good use. Fourteen months is a good start on that.”
Aames turned to me. “Doctor, is he in physical condition for the mission?”
I rose to attention. “He is, Captain.”
The captain turned to Adika. “This would mean your team has to stay through as well. Are you all right with that?”
And suddenly I understood why Chuks had been so sad: he had known this was coming. He knew Anthony, and he knew how much Mars meant to him; and he knew that once Anthony qualified for the mission, he would insist on going.
I had looked forward to the long voyage home and a lot more time with Chuks. Selfishly I hoped he would say no, and we could still be together in the coming months. But then I got angry with myself. Anthony had earned this, he deserved this, and it was the natural outcome of all our efforts. So despite my anger, I was proud when Chuks stood as well and answered, “Captain, my team would enjoy the chance to spend more time on Mars, but the mission plan does not allow enough spare rations for that many. I believe there’s enough buffer to safely cover myself and Mr. Holmes.”
I would miss Chuks, but his plan made sense. I looked at him, and I smiled: I understand. I’m proud of you. He smiled back, and it was a perfect blend of his sad look and his big smile.
The captain stared at Chuks. “Major, that would do a lot to lower the risks in this mission.” He turned his stare on Anthony. “Mr. Holmes.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“You would have to understand one thing: if you do this, you’re not Anthony Holmes, the boss’s son. You’re bottom of the totem pole. You will do what you’re told when you’re told by whoever tells you. These people have been training for this mission for three years, some of them for longer. Their whole lives, even. You’ve had four months of cramming. That’s not the same. You’re not an expert, you’re a nobody who might become an expert if you come out of this alive. The way to do that is to follow orders. Can you do that?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Captain. I’d like to come out of this alive.”
Captain Aames looked at his comm. “All right, under those terms, I think you’ll make a hell of a Mars explorer. I support you in this decision.”
Anthony shook his head. “You support me? So am I authorized to go or not?”
The captain shook his head. “I can’t authorize it, Mr. Holmes. As of three minutes ago, we passed the Martian gravipause. I’m not in charge anymore. You’re the boss’s son. If you want to go, who am I to tell you no?”
3. MODUS OPERANDI
FROM THE MEMOIRS OF PARK YERIM
28 MAY 2083
Dr. Baldwin took a long drink, then concluded her story. “Of course, if Captain Aames had really wanted to stop Anthony, he would’ve found a way. When the safe completion of a mission is concerned, Nick Aames always finds a way. He let Anthony go to Mars because Anthony was ready.”
I resisted the urge to grab my comm and make notes. I had promised Dr. Baldwin this was off the record, but I found myself regretting my promise. All my investigations for the past week had yielded facts, but not reasons. Not motivations. I looked up at the black door with its forbidding sign: “Keep out.” That had been the unstated message everywhere I went on the Aldrin. Now, for the first time, I had a glimpse into the minds of the crew, and of their captain. The door was ajar, and I wanted to stick my foot in and pry it open. Or at least keep it from closing.
“So Captain Aames helped Anthony, and that’s why you like him?”
“Like him?” Dr. Baldwin laughed. “I can’t stand him. Nick Aames is not a likable man.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t like him; I trust him, as much as any commander out there, to get us through a mission alive and successfully. I also respect him as a commander. I’m grateful to him for my job, and for letting me run my department my way—after we clashed a few more times over who was in charge of the infirmary. And Chuks, for whatever reason, likes him; so for the sake of peace in my marriage, I put up with him on social occasions. But I’ll never like him. He has so many layers of crust, it would take a surgical laser to get through them; and I don’t believe what’s inside is worth the effort.”
“You’ve confused me, Doctor. I thought the point of your story was that Captain Aames challenged Anthony Holmes to get him ready for Mars. That seems pretty admirable.”
“Then you weren’t listening, Inspector. Nick Aames didn’t give a damn whether Anthony succeeded or failed; he just wanted to test Anthony, to know if Anthony was ready. He would’ve been just as satisfied if Anthony had washed out. Either way, Aames would’ve had his answer.”
“The way you told the story, he was happy with the answer.”
“Happy? Let’s say pleased. Captain Aames is pleasantly surp
rised when someone exceeds his expectations, and he expected Anthony to fail. But just because you passed his test won’t stop Aames from testing you just as hard the next day. The test is never really over, he just thinks up new questions.”
I frowned at the thought. “That sounds awfully stressful. Surely after all these years you could find a better job.”
“A better job? Probably. But Chuks likes it here. And Chief Carver makes things a lot more bearable around the captain. If it weren’t for him, I might have quit half a dozen times over the years. Plus there’s this: I know that every single spacer on the Aldrin has met the exacting standards of Nick Aames. I can’t think of a safer post in the Corps.”
Dr. Baldwin packed up her bag to leave; but just as she reached the door, I spoke. “One more thing, Doctor.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t suppose I could borrow a surgical laser?”
Dr. Baldwin laughed and left, while I pondered what I had learned. Captain Aames was a conundrum, but now I had a small glimpse inside: Aames was demanding as hell and had a talent for pissing people off and driving them away; but Dr. Baldwin took that as a challenge, and she rose to it.
And when I turned the desk back on, it looked like she wasn’t alone. One of the amicus briefs in my pile was coded: “From the Office of the Mayor, Maxwell City, Mars. Subject: Urge You to Dismiss All Charges Against Captain Aames.” I pulled open the brief, and a video window opened in Aames’s desk, brightening the room. The face that appeared was that of a man in his late thirties, with a lean and muscular look. He had close-cropped blond hair and bright-blue eyes that stared out of the screen. A caption beneath him read: “Mayor Anthony Holmes, Maxwell City.” I tapped the “Play” button, and Holmes started speaking.
The Last Dance Page 7
