The Last Dance

by Martin L Shoemaker

  Adika laughed sharply, just once. “I’m not sure Nick has friends.”

  “But— But you’re his friend.”

  “I try to be, yes. But being Nick’s friend is a serious undertaking, requiring much effort. We are classmates, shipmates, and brothers in the conquest of space; and on good days, we are friends as well, as much as Nick is able. But Captain Aames is not a friend you turn to for comfort in times of trouble; he is a leader you trust to guide you out of that trouble.” Adika rose. “Or at least he was, and will be if you and the admirals will let him do his job. But I have a job to do as well, Inspector, if I may?” He snapped to attention.

  I nodded. “Dismissed, Commander. And thank you.”

  That seemed like a good plan, a way to get the full picture before I made any final decisions; but before I could follow through, I had paperwork to fill out and reports to file. Plus because I now had oversight of the Aldrin, I had to read every ship’s report of any significance, looking for evidence—or signs that evidence was being concealed. Knapp was still making noises about cover-ups, and even though he irritated me, I couldn’t ignore the possibility. Every time he filed a complaint—and that was several times a day—I had to drop everything and investigate it, even though not one had proven valid. So I had Matt and the investigative team pulling every report, highlighting anomalies, and pushing them to me for review so that I could stay on top of events. Since my team was thorough, the list of anomalies piled up.

  I was still buried in paperwork two days later when Matt called my comm. “Inspector, we have another incident.”

  I sighed. “What’s the admiral’s problem now, Matt?”

  “It’s not Admiral Knapp, ma’am, it’s Commander Adika. He sounded rushed, and he had to cut off, but he said he needed you to resolve a dispute on I Ring.”

  “I Ring? That’s not open yet.”

  “It is now, ma’am. Admiral Knapp accelerated the schedule. That’s in my report from yesterday.”

  Yesterday? I was still wading through reports from three days ago, so I hadn’t seen yesterday’s. I hurried out to Matt’s office and spoke to him directly. “All right, if he calls back, tell him I’m on my way. And call if you learn anything more.”

  “Are you sure I shouldn’t go with you, ma’am?” Matt seemed to be constantly watching for threats to me. There was enough tension on the Aldrin to justify his concern.

  But if there had been a hazard, Adika would’ve warned me, I’m sure. “No, Matt, if you leave that desk right now, the reports will bury us. I’ve got this.” I left Matt’s office and headed for the cross tube.

  The eight rings of the Aldrin—ten now, with I and J added—all rotated on the central hub, a zero-G zone where manufacturing and power generation took place. To allow speedier travel between the rings, they were also joined by four cross tubes. These could be sealed at each ring to contain pressure or gas leaks; but when I entered tube 3, I keyed in my override code that opened all the seals in it so I could race to I. In the low gravity, I had an easy run, using the loping stride that I was taught in Basic: push ahead with the rear foot, sail through the air, bend the front leg at the last minute to push ahead again. I had practiced enough to stay low with a steady cadence, slowing only briefly at each ring to call out, “Coming through, clear the tube!”

  So I wasn’t breathing heavily at all when I came to an abrupt halt at the hatch to I Ring. That hatch was sealed, though, and blocked by a gray-uniformed Aldrin spacer first class. I stood in front of him, tried to look commanding despite my short stature, and said, “I need to get into the I Ring.”

  But the spacer ignored my attempt to intimidate him, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Commander Adika ordered me not to let anyone else aboard I.”

  I tried again, letting some anger into my face. “Spacer, I’m Inspector General Park, I go where I choose. And Commander Adika called for me.”

  At that the man blinked. “I’m sorry, ma’am. The uniform . . . the light . . . I thought you were with the Admiralty.” That was probably fair: in the low light, IG’s navy-blue uniforms looked a lot like Admiralty black. “The commander specifically said to keep out Admiralty troops.” The spacer tapped out a sequence on the hatch controls, and the hatch opened as he spoke into his comm: “Commander, Inspector Park is at tube 3.” He paused. “Yes, sir, I’ll tell her.” He looked back to me. “Inspector, he’s waiting for you at tube 4.”

  I entered the ring and was momentarily disoriented. The I Ring was no larger than the rest; but with no bulkheads in place, it looked spacious. The upper deck plates were missing as well, so the only ceiling was nine meters up. With the far bulkhead nearly ten meters away, the space looked like a giant metal cavern, curving off in both directions. It took me a moment to realize that the wall panels and deck plates were bolted against the side bulkheads, waiting for installation. I also noticed long strips and sheets of white tape across the panels, the bulkheads, and the floor.

  Though the sights before me were confusing, the sounds left me no question where to go. Tube 4 was nearly ninety meters away, but I could hear the shouts echoing through the ring. I loped again toward the noise, coming upon a black-uniformed work crew as I went. They were unbolting wall panels and floor plates and setting up the decks. Some set the panels in place, some bolted them down, and some stripped off the white tape and wiped the panels clean. That small stretch of the ring was quickly coming together, already looking more like a place than a shell. I dodged around them as they worked, and I continued toward the next tube.

  When I got to tube 4, I saw the sources of the shouting. I recognized the tall, thin man in Admiralty black: Chief Horace Gale, a British officer working under Admiral Knapp. On the rendezvous shuttle that had brought us to the Aldrin, Gale had used his field medic training to check my shoulder, and during our conversations, he had blatantly tried to prejudice me against Captain Aames. The two men had a history of bad blood. In fact, Gale’s distaste for Aames may have been my first reason to learn more about Aames for myself. Although Gale had his good points, I didn’t trust him. Even though he knew his way around a spacecraft, I thought him a phony: he used perfect BBC English with the admirals but slid into cockney with the spacers. If Gale hated Aames, that was one mark in Aames’s favor.

  Gale shouted now, more cockney than BBC: “Get out of my way, Bosun. We have work to do.”

  The target of Gale’s wrath was a woman in Aldrin gray: taller than Gale, a sturdy build like she could toss him completely around the ring. Her red-blonde hair, cut in a short military style, blended almost invisibly in to her angry red face as she shouted right back: “You’re not doing any work here. Get them off my ring, Gale.”

  Between them stood Commander Adika, massive hands on their shoulders, holding them apart. Around them stood eight spacers in black and six more in gray, all eyeing each other warily.

  Gale glared at the woman, blood in his eyes. “Chief Gale, Bosun Smith!” Smith. I knew that name from my research, though we had never met. She was one of Aames’s most loyal spacers. “And you’re interfering with orders from Admiral Knapp.”

  “Shove your orders!” Smith answered. “Your crew is not qualified for this job. They’re a hazard to this ship. If you won’t stop them, I will.” She twisted out of Adika’s grip, and I thought she might punch Gale. Gale took three steps backward, fear in his face. He expected the punch as well.

  I decided it was time to take charge. “Enough!” I shouted over both of them, hoping I sounded like an authority figure, not a little kitten caught between wildcats.

  Fortunately Commander Adika backed my play. “Attention!” he shouted, and his deep bass echoed from the walls. Gale and Smith both instinctively straightened to attention. “Inspector on deck!” Everyone froze.

  I looked with a silent thanks at Adika, but he stared straight ahead, not catching my eye. “Commander Adika.” Then he looked down at me. I continued in a more even tone, “Since you’re the only one not shouting, tell
me what’s happening here.”

  “Inspector, at 1013 ship’s time, I received a call from Bosun Smith informing me that Chief Gale and his work crew had entered I Ring ahead of our work schedule. She informed me that the work crew were not certified for this work, and so they put the ship at risk.”

  Gale had started to interrupt, rushing to get his point in. “They do—”

  “Chief.” I cut Gale off. He looked sullen, but he shut up. “Continue, Commander.”

  “I called you immediately, Inspector, since interactions between the crews are your jurisdiction. When I arrived with my security detail”—he glanced at the Aldrin crew around him—“the work crew was already deploying, and Chief Gale and Bosun Smith were already arguing. I stationed guards at the tubes to keep the situation from escalating, and I have been trying to keep Gale and Smith apart until you could arrive.”

  I nodded at him, and I turned to Gale. “All right, Chief, is the commander’s account accurate?”

  Gale again spoke in a rush. “She’s completely out of line, send—”

  “Chief!” Again I cut through his chatter. “You will slow down, and you will address me as Inspector or ma’am, or I will have words with Admiral Knapp.”

  Gale looked like he was close to violence, his face trembling at my rebuke. But then he regained control and started over. “Inspector, Bosun Smith is out of line. My crew has installed rings at Farport for years. They’re thoroughly certified at habitat ring power-up and setup.”

  “Not on the Aldrin,” Smith snarled, causing Gale to flinch. I turned my glare on her as she continued, “Sorry, ma’am, but we’re all in danger. The Aldrin is not Farport. Ring setup on a cycler is different. If you get it wrong, the whole ring could blow.”

  “Oh, bollocks.” Gale took a step toward Smith, but stopped when she narrowed her eyes at him. Adika planted a massive hand in Gale’s chest, and Gale slapped at it ineffectually. “They’re just obstructing us. When I’m in charge here—”

  I wheeled on Gale. “Chief, shut up!” I turned back to Smith. “The setup is that different?”

  Smith nodded. “Thousands of pages of variances, ma’am. We’ve learned what works in space and what only works in mission planning. As we speak, they could be doing irreparable damage.”

  That was enough for me. “Chief, get your people out. Now. We’ll sort this out in my office.” Gale started to speak, and I stuck my finger right in his face. “Now, Chief. Commander Adika, if the Admiralty crew are not in the tubes in one minute, your guards are authorized to carry them out.”

  I think I saw a flicker of a grin on Adika’s face. Gale, meanwhile, glared at me but backed down. He spoke into his comm. “Work detail, drop what you’re doing. We’re going back to our station. Chief Gale out.”

  Gale’s crew took his order literally: I heard an echoed whoomf as somewhere antispinward several wall panels fell softly to the floor. And give them credit for speed: it was fewer than thirty seconds before they came around the ring in a steady lope-march.

  The man at the rear of the crew was holding a big, loose ball of the white tape. As he came into view, he called out, “Chief, what do we do with this? It stinks, and the tape won’t let go.”

  Smith turned at the word “tape,” and her eyes popped wide. “Shit!”

  That got Adika’s attention, and he turned as well. That impassive stone face suddenly showed fear. “FIRE!” His shout boomed throughout the ring. “Evacuate! Now! Evac now! FIRE IN THE RING!”

  Gale started to argue, but one of Adika’s guards grabbed him around the waist and really did carry him into tube 4. That was the only clue I needed: I started pushing my way to the tube, but the entry was already crowded.

  Suddenly I heard several loud pops from antispinward, followed by a whooshing sound. Again Adika shouted, “FIRE!” I turned toward the sound, and I saw a yellow glow where the ring curved out of sight. My heart raced and panic flooded my brain as I saw flames rolling into view. Some flowed along the deck plates, swirling as if hovering over the floor. Others chased up the walls, following the lines of white tape and then spilling like hot plasma into the open space, as if the air itself was aflame. I suddenly felt a wave of hot air. A tinge of some strange odor made my head spin.

  I thought I might faint, and Adika picked me up. From his arms, I saw the spacer in the rear stumble. Whatever fumes I was breathing, he was getting a lot more, how much I couldn’t guess. A big tongue of flame reached out from the main fireball, straight for him and that damned ball of white tape. I winced, not wanting to see him engulfed.

  Adika tossed me to a guard, and he ran, faster than I had ever seen in one-quarter G. He reached the spacer, three steps ahead of the approaching flames, grabbed the tape ball, and with one hand ripped it loose from the man as he tossed him spinward with the other. Then he turned to fling the ball away.

  But before Adika could let loose, the flame reached him, and the ball went up like a dry pine tree. Flames washed over him, and he screamed—in pain or defiance, I couldn’t be sure—as he pulled back his arm and threw the burning mess. That didn’t stop the flames, though: his uniform was fireproof, and he had no hair to burn, but the air around him was a fog of burning fumes. I hoped he wasn’t breathing those in, or he would burn from the inside out.

  The guards passed me hand over hand toward the tube. “Stop. Wait. Adika!” But they were too disciplined for that. Soon I was at the entry. I had just enough time to see Adika come running out of the flames like some demon from hell, swathed in hellfire, then tumble and roll to get free of the fumes. He scooped up the fallen spacer and rushed to the tube; but his stride was uneven, and he weaved side to side.

  Adika’s guards were coordinated and skilled, but not gentle. They prodded and pushed us all into the tube, shouting “Make room! Move!” the whole time. From the first popping sounds, it took fewer than twelve seconds for them to bundle everyone in; but in that time the air had turned hot enough to burn my throat, making me choke.

  Last in the tube was Adika himself, his flesh raw with second-degree burns, maybe worse. “MOVE!” He tossed the spacer ahead and spoke into his comm, but it was half-melted, so he moved to the wall panel. He half shouted, half coughed: “Clear. Seal it.” Then he punched a code into the panel, and the hatch slid shut.

  The air immediately started to cool, and I breathed a little easier. “You can put me down,” I said to the guard who held me. He did, but he kept prodding me forward.

  I ignored the guard, squeezing back to Adika as the guards pushed the others out. Adika needed medical care, and I was certified as a corpsman. I could try to treat those burns until medics arrived.

  But though he was staggering, Adika was still pushing me forward, still croaking out warnings: “Move. Out of the tube.”

  “Commander, you need to—”

  But I never finished my sentence. A creaking, straining sound from the hatch made me pause; and before I could ask what it was, the hatch tore free and blew inward with a massive boom that deafened me. The blast of hot air blew me off my feet as it threw the last guards clear of the tube.

  The last thing I saw was Adika, once again clothed in flames, reaching down and lifting me from the deck. I cried out, and I lost consciousness.

  I woke slowly, in darkness. I heard a voice. “Inspector?” Dr. Baldwin? Yes, Dr. Baldwin; but her voice was flat, toneless.

  “Ye . . . yes.”

  “Inspector, stay still.” Her voice came from above and to my right. “You have first- and second-degree burns, including some scalding in your lungs, and you’ve breathed in some nasty fumes. But you’re going to be okay. We have new skin patches in progress and therapy nanos in your lungs and larynx. You can talk if you keep it short.”

  “Eyes . . .” Something covered my eyes.

  “Yes, your corneas were burned, and your retinas too. We’ve already repaired the corneas, and we grew you some new retinas, but your eyes are going to be sensitive for a while. We covered them so you didn�
��t look into the light. Would you like to see?”

  I tried to nod, but I couldn’t feel if my head moved or not. Good drugs. I must have succeeded, because Dr. Baldwin continued, “Let me turn down the lights, and then I’ll remove those pads. Later I’ve got some dark glasses you’ll need to wear for a few days.”

  I heard Dr. Baldwin walk away, then back to my bunk. She put a hand over my eyes. “I’m going to pull the pads away, then lift my hand. If you say no, I’ll cover your eyes again. Are you ready?”

  “Mmmhmmm.”

  “All right.” I felt her reach under her hand, pull some tape from my face, and pull out the pads. “One.” Her hand lifted slightly, and I saw a bit of light, unfocused. “Two.” Her hand rose higher, and I could see light between her fingers. “Three. How’s that?”

  I saw dim lights, colors, and a vague shape. As my eyes focused, the light grew sharper, making me wince; but then the pain dropped to just a dull throb. My eyes adjusted further, and the shape resolved into the face of Dr. Baldwin.

  That face had aged a decade since our conversation. Lines were etched into it. Gone was the sardonic smile, replaced with a grim line that refused to be a frown, but I was sure one was nearby. And her eyes: even in the dimmed light, I could see that they were puffy and red.

  Then I remembered: “Adika?”