“But what matters is: does Margo believe it? If so, that might have motivated her anger during the expedition, as Gale said; and perhaps it motivates her guilt now. This is a complex case, and it’s all about motivations at this point. I understand the crime, so now I just need to understand who had a motive.”
“So what now? More interviews? Whom do I fetch next?”
Nick shook his head. “No more interviews quite yet. I need to think. Tell Bosun Smith I have some errands for her, and then you can go about your duties.”
Nick didn’t bother dismissing me. I knew him well enough to know I was dismissed when he turned on the e-reader, and music started playing. It was another classic, “Parece Mentira,” from an old Brazilian saying: “It seems like a lie.”
But instead of going about my duties, my watch was over. Not that that really mattered: on Nick’s ship, you were off duty when Nick said you were off duty, and not until. And that was doubly true for me as his second-in-command. Still, I had nothing on my schedule; and I had had a long, emotionally draining day already. I needed to unwind like I hadn’t needed in nearly four years. So I headed back to the rec lounge.
But when I got there, I knew I wouldn’t be able to escape my troubles after all. Tracy was there, and she had a large audience gathered for a preview of the final cut of her big documentary. There was a large mix of expedition members and Aldrin crew. Tracy opened with some production notes and then started the show, but she stopped occasionally for more notes or to invite comments from expedition members. Riggs sat in the front, right next to Gale, and he asked lots of questions and took notes on Gale’s answers. Gale seemed relaxed and at ease, as if his feud with Nick had never happened. He had always been able to put up a good front.
But my attention was reserved for Tracy. She had cleaned up for this presentation, switching to a freshly pressed jumpsuit. She had let her hair down so it hung around her shoulders the way I always liked it. Again I smelled lilac water, and I tried to shake it out of my memory; but it wouldn’t go away. Her eyes lit up as she explained details of the expedition and her filming; and she was an engaging speaker, as always. I knew that wasn’t just my heart speaking, as the crowd hung on her every word. But the documentary stood on its own just fine even without her production notes and her enthusiasm.
It was really good. She covered the highlights of planning and training. She showed just enough of the flight out on the Collins to give the flavor without losing the viewer in the tedium of five months in orbit. She vividly captured the blend of exhilaration and terror of landing in the Ishiro-class shuttles. She showed the camp setup and the scientific experiments, including both the disappointments and the tantalizing hints for the future.
And she covered Professor Azevedo’s death. Oh, she had no film of the incident itself. The rescue had taken all their efforts. But she had a computer animation of the scene, with stick figures tastefully substituted for the real participants. She showed exactly what went wrong—except, of course, she didn’t mention the salt contamination. Nick hadn’t revealed that yet, and if Tracy knew . . . No, I didn’t want to contemplate how she might know.
I was still wrapped up in these thoughts, not even noticing that the film had ended, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Before I turned, the scent of lilacs swept over me. It was Tracy. Old habits took over before I could even think, and I smiled at her. When she smiled back at me, I almost reached out for her; but at least I held that reaction in check.
“So what did you think?” she asked as she sat across from me.
“I . . .” I searched for the words. Then I decided to just be up-front. “It’s brilliant. Your best work ever.”
“Thank you, Anson. That means a lot.”
“Except in your report to Nick, you were so harsh on Azevedo and his team for their poor planning. You didn’t miss a note, and you didn’t pull a punch. And yet none of that came through here.”
Tracy hesitated. I could see that I had caught her in a conflict. “Anson, there are two stories of the expedition: the story of what went wrong, and the story of what went right. A lot went wrong, and that’s all in my reports; but even with all the inconclusive experiments, even with the professor’s death, he accomplished his primary goals. He showed that Mars is a place where people will go, not just an elite group of professional astronauts. And where people go, people will die. People make mistakes. We’re not all perfect robots. We’re not all Nick Aames. If we let imperfection stop us, we’ll never go anywhere.”
“Imperfection gets people killed.”
“Yes, and perfection can’t always save them either. Have you forgotten the Bradbury?”
I would never forget the Bradbury, and she knew that. We had lost a lot of good crew in that incident. “But don’t you feel like this is a lie?”
“No, it’s the other side of the story. When we get to Earth, I know the media will be full of reports of the accident again—my own reports. They’re going to give Gale and that bunch another weapon to use in their argument: ‘Space isn’t safe for ordinary people. Leave it to us professionals.’ They will find reasons to be safe, to avoid risks. We can’t afford that. We need people to take chances. That was the professor’s goal and Margo’s goal, and it’s still my goal. I thought it was a goal you understood.”
I understood, but I understood Nick’s point of view as well. I felt like they were doing it to me again, forcing me to choose all over again between his caution and her dreams.
I couldn’t choose, so I said nothing; and I saw disappointment in her face. Once more, I hadn’t chosen her. I hadn’t chosen Nick, either, but I hadn’t chosen her.
But it seemed she wasn’t ready to give up, not again. She pulled her chair around beside mine, uncomfortably close. The lilac water couldn’t be imaginary, as clear as the scent was. She must’ve preserved a vial. I remembered other nights when I smelled it so close, and I squirmed; but Tracy didn’t seem to notice. “We were there for seven months. I’ve got months of footage to work with. This won’t be my only documentary coming out of the expedition. There will be one that tells the mistakes quite thoroughly. But this is the one that I need to tell now. The one that shows: We can do this!” She opened her comp so I could see it. “Here. This is my real last scene. I haven’t included it yet because I want to get Margo’s approval first. But it’s important that you see this, that you understand.”
She tapped her comp, and a new scene appeared. It was Mrs. Azevedo in a shelter in the camp. Her eyes were red from recent tears, but she had a defiant look on her face. The shelter was darkened with a hint of red, probably from natural Martian daylight outside; but a mild light shone down on her from above, accentuating the shadows in her face. She leaned forward, directly into the camera. “Am I going to give up? No. Never! If I give up, then Paolo is dead. When his dream dies, then I bury him in my heart. Until then . . . No, there is no then. I won’t give up, not ever. But maybe others will. Maybe I’ll have no choice. But my words, my money, my time, my power, I’ll use them all for Paolo’s dream. People will come here, they’ll keep coming here. And they’ll remember Paolo, and how his spirit calls them to come here and live here and work here. And some of them . . . Well, they’ll be brave like Paolo. They’ll know the risks.”
And then the scene rolled back in time and space, all the way back to Earth, back to the earliest days of training. Professor Azevedo sat in a tent that bore a superficial resemblance to the Mars shelter; but the light was bright and blue white, and Azevedo sat back in his chair. He wore a stubbly beard of gray with flecks of white, much like the hair that stuck out from his knit cap. I suspected they were on a mountain trip. He looked into the camera, and he smiled that smile that had won over so many skeptics. “Will people die in this program? Of course they’ll die, what kind of question is that? It’s the old pioneers’ creed: ‘The cowards never started, and the weak died along the way.’ People die on the frontier, and that’s no reason not to go. The ones who survive will be
the strong and the smart and the lucky and the just-too-tough-to-kill.”
From off screen, Tracy asked, “And which are you?”
His grin broadened. “There’s only one way to find out. And no matter what, I will find out. Gladly. How about you?” And he laughed. And the screen faded to black, and white letters appeared: “Paolo Azevedo, PhD, Founder of the Civilian Expedition Program. 2021–2074.”
I stared at the simple words, dumbstruck. Tracy’s video made her argument far more eloquently than her words had. In that moment, I wanted to take her in my arms and tell her I was wrong. I wanted to take her to Mars.
And so, with his usual uncanny timing, that was the moment Nick’s voice came from my comm. “Chief Carver, we’re almost to the gravipause, and I’m ready to conclude our business. Please bring Mrs. Azevedo, Lieutenant Gale, and Ms. Wells to my office immediately.”
I ushered the expedition members into Nick’s office. By unspoken understanding, the others left the sole guest chair to Mrs. Azevedo. She sat and looked at Nick.
Nick stood behind his desk. In his hand he held a coil of S3 cable. He looked across the faces and then began to speak. “Well, here we are. One last time together. We’re entering Earth’s orbit, we’ve passed the gravipause, so this ship is now back under the authority of the System Initiative. So I guess that wraps up my investigation.”
“Investigation?” They were all thinking it, but Mrs. Azevedo was the one who asked, “What investigation?”
“Oh, the investigation into this S3 cable. It has been an internal matter to this point, but now it’s time to present my findings to you all before I report to the Initiative. Ensign Riggs has found conclusive evidence that this cable has been contaminated with salt ions, destroying its integrity; and then it stretched until it broke.” Mrs. Azevedo turned pale, but Nick gave her no time to interrupt. “Furthermore, there’s no doubt that this contamination was deliberate.”
This time Mrs. Azevedo did break in. “Deliberate? Paolo . . . ?”
But she got no further, and Nick continued, “Someone wanted it to break. It’s also clear that the cable is from your trip to Chronius Mons. Ms. Wells’s inventory reports are quite thorough, and they document precisely which gear you took with you.”
Tracy said, “But Mrs. Azevedo couldn’t—”
Nick interrupted her, nodding. “You’re right, she couldn’t. Oh, people do surprising things, angry spouses especially. Gale told me how Margo was jealous of you, Tracy, jealous that Paolo had his eye on you.”
Mrs. Azevedo stood, too fast for the low gravity. “That’s a lie!” In her anger, she ignored her unexpected bounce, but Nick seemed amused. “We were past all of that months ago. Paolo convinced me he had no interest in this little girl. We made up, and we were closer than . . .” She glared at Nick. “But how could I convince a cynic like you? You always believe the worst of people. What would you know about two people in love?”
That stopped Nick cold, and his face showed something close to sympathy. Then he shook his head. “No, I believe you. A gossip like Horace always exaggerates what he knows. But just because Paolo had no interest doesn’t mean Tracy had no interest.”
This time it was Tracy who was angry. “That’s ridiculous! I would never let personal feelings endanger the team. I admired the professor, and I was grateful to be on this expedition; but that’s all there was between us.”
“Is it? Did you know, Ms. Wells, that when you broke up with Carver, he wondered if perhaps you had your sights set on Professor Azevedo?”
“What?” Tracy practically shouted; and at the same time I said, “Nick, that’s out of line!”
“Oh, he was quite sure of that for a while. He said a lot of bitter things when he was drunk.”
“Anson! You didn’t believe that?”
“Tracy, I was hurt. I . . . No, I didn’t believe it, I just didn’t know what to believe. I wanted some explanation.”
“And maybe . . .” Nick broke back in. “Maybe he was correct. Motivations, that’s what we’re after here. Was it perhaps the woman scorned? And that brings us back to this cable.” Nick held up the cable for us all to see. “I had Bosun Smith bring me this cable from the lab because there was one piece of information missing from our earlier report: the RFID tag woven into the cable end. And guess what? It’s not one that Professor Azevedo packed in his gear.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ms. Wells, the RFID tag is clear, and your meticulous inventory is equally clear: this cable came from your personal supplies. You had it stowed in your tent each night before the climb. Oh, and Bosun Smith also searched the rest of the expedition’s supplies very carefully; and the professor’s cable is nowhere to be found. She checked the tag on every cable. Someone swapped this sabotaged cable for his.”
Someone swapped . . . And Tracy had packed this cable. And . . .
No. I couldn’t believe that. Tracy had surprised me before. She had disappointed me. She had broken my heart. But this? No. I knew that was impossible. I loved her, it couldn’t be possible.
But Nick was drawing the conclusions I refused to draw. “So the cable Paolo packed, the cable that would’ve been in his tent every night where Margo had access to it? That cable’s missing. And the cable you packed, Ms. Wells? That cable’s sabotaged.”
Tracy grew livid. “What are you implying?”
“I’m presenting facts, not implications. Now that we’re in Earth orbit, it’s up to the Initiative to make decisions from these facts. My duty is to report what I know, not to speculate.”
“So what will you report?”
“The facts exactly as I know them. I will report that this cable is not Professor Azevedo’s, it is yours. I will report that it was under your control the entire time it was on Mars. Professor Azevedo’s cable is missing, and no one in the expedition crew admits to knowing where it is. I will report that this cable has been contaminated with salt-affixing nanomachines. And I’ll report all the rest of our findings, and they can draw whatever conclusions they may.”
“And I will get a good lawyer to ensure that your accusations never make it into my record.”
“I’m not making accusations. The conclusions should be obvious to anyone with half a brain, so I expect the review board to miss them entirely.”
“And what are you going to do, Captain?” Tracy asked.
“Nothing, and you know it. Now that we’ve passed the gravipause, my powers are strictly curtailed. I can’t hold you. I have no authority here over anyone but my crew.”
“Well, that’s good news, because I’m innocent. As soon as the funeral’s done, I’ll clear my name.”
I knew that determined look on Tracy’s face. Every bit of self-control was at work, holding back her anger, and maybe her tears. I wanted to comfort her, but I had to stand my post. She looked at me, and I almost broke; but then she left for the docking bay.
No one else spoke. Mrs. Azevedo stood. She stared at Nick, her expression unreadable. Then Gale offered her an arm, and they left.
I hadn’t been dismissed, and I had no orders, so I had nothing to do but stand there and stew over all that I had just heard. Stand and stew and stare at Nick.
Nick ignored me for almost a minute and a half; but finally he spoke. “Don’t stand there glowering at me. Can’t you make yourself useful?”
“Glowering? Really?”
“It’s the perfect word to describe your expression, and I get to use it so seldom. But get over it already. Ms. Wells will be fine. In fact, I’ve entered a commendation into her record.” I must have looked puzzled, so Nick explained, “The silly little girl who broke your heart is gone. That woman who just left here is the only one on that whole team who understands how to properly plan a mission. I can’t guess what changed her, but I can’t deny the change. Azevedo was an ass. He chose his expedition members for their willingness to fawn over him and for how popular they would be with the press. Plus a bunch of other entirely personal reasons: c
amaraderie, influence, favors, you name it, anything but competence. But with her, despite himself, he got lucky. The only one whom he chose who was worth a damn was Ms. Wells, and even I wouldn’t’ve guessed that. She surprised me.”
“What?”
“Look at her reports, Carver. Look at what she’s done. Look at everything. Despite my doubts, that woman has shown that the discipline we need in space can be found far outside the Corps. The people who want to go to space, the ones who really should be there, are going to do it right. I couldn’t have predicted it four years ago; but if I had to staff a mission and my choices were ‘professionals’ like Gale or an amateur like Ms. Wells, I would choose her without hesitation.”
“But I thought— I thought you blamed Tracy. You practically accused her of murder.”
Nick sighed, his “you are beyond an idiot” sigh. “There was no murder here, Carver.”
“No murder?”
Nick tapped his desk, and the comm chime sounded. “Mr. Riggs, you can come in now.” The door to the office opened, and Riggs entered, looking nervous as usual when crewmen are summoned before Nick. I ushered him in, and he stood at attention before Nick’s desk.
Nick wasted no time on pleasantries. He sat and looked up at Riggs, who stood neatly at attention. “Ensign Karl Riggs. What do you know about salts in chemistry?”
“Not much, Captain, I’ll admit. I know I like salt on my chips!” It was a weak joke, and weaker in Riggs’s delivery. Nick had the man nervous, which wasn’t unusual.
“Ah, that’s right, you said you’re weak in chemistry. Unlike Ms. Wells, say. Quite a surprise, that chemistry degree of hers. It gave me a whole new perspective on that discovery of yours.
“Mr. Riggs, a salt is a compound wherein a positive and a negative ion exactly counter each other, yielding a neutral end product. They can be quite useful both biologically and in other reactions, and it’s very hard for us to get by without them. That’s why we’ve manufactured nano lines that can scavenge or even assemble the necessary ions from available stock.”
The Last Dance Page 29
