And Nick watched as the hopper status screen showed solutions coming in: Hopper 6, hopper 3, 4, 2, 5 . . . but not 1. Nick switched to hopper 1’s channel. “Hopper 1, MP1. Where’s your solution, Rosie?”
It took several seconds for Rosalia to respond. “MP1, hopper 1. I can’t work a solution. Recommend you proceed without me.”
“Nonsense. Burn the tanks dry. You’ve got enough fuel to catch me.”
“Nick . . . No, I don’t.”
“What?”
“Nick, I didn’t refuel on my last docking. I had plenty in my tanks, more than enough for our pickup schedule. I just forgot.”
“You forgot!”
“Remember, you called, just to talk. And then the caterer called, a problem with the dinner menu. By the time I worked that out, there was no time for refueling. I was still within safety margins, on the low side, but within. So I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Nick fumed. “Fine. I’ll wait for you. I’ll find another intercept solution.”
“Nick, you can’t. I’ve worked the numbers, by comp and by hand. Orbital mechanics waits for no man, Nick. Or woman. If you don’t keep boosting, you’ll never catch them; and you’ll run out of fuel trying.”
Nick paused and ran some numbers of his own. “Okay, I’ll jettison some oxygen tanks. That will lighten my load, make me faster, and then you can pick up the tanks and have enough air for a rescue.”
“Nick, you can’t. With sixteen more people on MP1, and with their own O2 leaking away, you’re going to need every kilo of air you have. It does no good to rescue them if you all suffocate from CO2 buildup. Now go!”
“Rosie, I can’t leave you out here.”
“One of me, sixteen of them. No choice, the numbers don’t add up. Now go get them, Lieutenant Commander Aames.”
Nick worked at his computer furiously, looking for a solution, his frown deepening as every second pulled him farther and farther from the hopper and his bride. Finally he smashed his fists against the keys several times. When he looked back at the comm screen, Rosalia was shaking her head, tears in her eyes. She whispered, “Go get them, Nick.”
Lost for an idea, Nick just stared at the screen. Finally, his voice choking, he said, “Brigas nunca mais, Rosalia.”
Rosalia answered, “Nunca mais, Nick.” And she cut off the comm screen.
“So then she died?” I saw tears welling up in Tracy’s eyes. “On their wedding day? Oh, poor Nick.”
As Tracy had asked, I’d continued telling Nick and Rosalia’s story right through our first dance as husband and wife. She had gotten caught up. Like I said, Nick has a way of ending up in the middle of everything, even when he’s not there. Now in the middle of the officers’ dance, with all my superiors and peers circling around us like a sea of white, Tracy had insisted on more.
I shook my head. “Died? No. Nick made some quick mass calculations, came up with one more wild idea, and made Leeds see it was the only option. Leeds detached the Prime Module from the docking axis. Freed of the mass of Farport, those giant engines made Prime into one hellaciously fast rescue craft. It wasn’t efficient, but by burning fuel like they were giving it away, they found a solution where MP1 could hold up for Rosalia, reach the DeMarco before they ran out of oxygen, and make rendezvous with MP2 when it launched from Prime with enough spare fuel to bring both platforms back. Then Leeds brought Prime around and back to Farport, tanks nearly empty. The docking was rough—it shook the whole port; but mostly thanks to Nick’s determination, everybody lived.”
“But then—”
“And then the wedding had to wait. It took two weeks of double shifts for all crew to stabilize the port and correct all the orbits. And then another five weeks for Nick and an investigative team to prepare that marvelous after-action report. And by the time that was done, the wedding was off.”
“But why?”
“Because in that incredibly detailed report, alongside the tally of millions of dollars lost due to overtime and structural repairs and expended fuel, alongside the point-by-point enumeration of the direct causes of the incident and the parties to blame, Nick included a thorough list of secondary causes; and at the top of that list was Rosalia’s failure to perform basic maintenance due to distraction by personal issues. Second on that list was his own personal call that was a direct cause of her distraction. They both got summoned before the review board to answer charges.”
Tracy paused and glared at Nick as he gracelessly suffered through the officers’ dance with Admiral Morais. “That bastard!”
I shook my head. “I like to think of him as a calculating bastard. He calculated that he could lose her by following the rules, or he could risk really losing her someday by letting up on the rules. He couldn’t face that again. His way, she would live. She would hate him, but she would live.”
Tracy frowned, trying to see things through Nick’s eyes. “But then what happened to her?”
“At first, there were some who used the incident to dredge up the old prejudices about Brazilian astronauts. I hear Nick got into a few fights trying to quash those rumors; but they stung Rosalia, and she took them personally. She was hurt. But after the review board confirmed every one of Nick’s conclusions—and after Nick himself suffered a demotion as a result—Rosalia eventually, grudgingly, saw that it wasn’t personal. She was still angry at Nick, but she moved on, and she grew from the incident. And she realized that her career wasn’t completely washed up. She could still make Brazil proud of its native astronauts. So she took her lumps, and then threw herself into her work with a nearly Nick-like zeal; soon she got her rank back, and she rose up through the Corps, proving herself to be the fine, dedicated officer Captain Leeds always told her she was. One of the finest officers in the Corps.”
“But did she ever forgive him?”
The music stopped, the officers started to clear the floor for more guests, and I shrugged. “No one’s really sure. Some people say yes, some no, but the two of them . . . Well, at least in public, they act like none of that past ever happened. Like they’re practically strangers.” Then I heard the opening guitar notes of a familiar Brazilian love song. Smitty up to her old tricks, no doubt. I turned Tracy around. “But you’ll have to judge for yourself.”
Admiral Morais stopped, her back to Nick; and with one quick move, she let her hair down in a distinctly nonregulation fashion. There was some gray in it, but it was mostly still the dark hair of a young lieutenant, and it still flowed in the low gravity. As the music picked up, she pranced lightly away from Nick, but one hand trailed behind her, beckoning. Nick leaped after her, clasped her hand at the last moment, and drew her gently back into his arms and a twirling, laughing embrace.
The other dancers, seeing two true artistes at work, yielded the floor to watch them move; and for three and a half minutes, Nick and Rosalia whirled around the floor as if all the years had never passed. She fled, and he pursued. He ignored, and she enticed. They circled each other like two fighters, looking for weakness; then they embraced and twirled, stronger together than when they stood apart. And they clung to each other, swaying and leaping in the low gravity as if they were one.
Just like on Farport, they reached the climax of the music when Rosalia ran and leaped at Nick; and he sidestepped, turned, caught her at waist and thigh, and propelled her higher, so high that the deck of the Aldrin spun beneath her, carrying her downspin. Her hair streamed behind her like a triumphant banner. And Nick continued his step into a leap of his own, a downward leap ending with him sliding across the deck on his knees. His face shone with a light I had never seen there before as he slid to a halt almost in front of Tracy and me, exactly where he had to be to catch Rosalia when she needed him to catch her; and he folded her in a loving, protective embrace. The guests rose to their feet in thunderous applause.
But from our place right next to Nick and Rosalia, Tracy and I saw what the other guests couldn’t. Nick bent in to kiss Rosalia; but the admiral turned her face away, s
haking her head. No. I saw the light fade from Nick’s face.
Without missing a beat, as if nothing was wrong, Nick rose with her still in his arms, and he set Admiral Morais back on her feet. Then he snapped a salute; and without waiting for a response, Nick Aames stalked back to his dark, empty office.
11. UNDER PRESSURE
FROM THE MEMOIRS OF PARK YERIM
9 JUNE 2083
As Carver finished his story, I heard running footsteps behind us. I turned just as a dark figure in blue running shorts and a matching blue shirt leaped into the air. I recognized Dr. Wells-Carver just as she wrapped her slender arms around Carver’s neck, leaned her head around, and kissed his cheek.
Carver stopped walking and turned his head back, and their lips met for another kiss, awkward but sincere. The kiss lasted long enough to make me wonder if I should leave. When they finally broke for air, Carver asked, “How do you always know when I’m telling that story? I don’t tell it to many people; but every time I do, you show up before the end.”
Dr. Wells-Carver let go, dropped to the deck, and bounced in front of him. “That’s my secret, Anson.” She stretched up for one more quick kiss. “If you figure it out, I might miss that ending. I wouldn’t want to do that.” Then she turned to me. “Good evening, Inspector Park. It’s good to see you again.”
She reached out her hand, and I shook it. “Good evening, Dr. Wells-Carver. I hope I’m not keeping Chief Carver from something.”
Carver looked at his wife, then at me, and then back at Wells. “Wait. You two know each other?”
I looked at Dr. Wells-Carver. She had a warm smile, every bit as welcoming as Carver described it. They were both very good at putting people at ease. “Everyone has seen Pioneers’ Creed,” I said. “And the dean of Aldrin University—one of the most prestigious schools in the solar system—is pretty famous.”
“Thank you,” she answered, and then turned back to Carver. “A better question, Anson, is why you’re telling that story. No offense, Inspector, but I can’t imagine Nick wants it spread around. Or Admiral Morais either.”
“I kind of forced him into it,” I explained. “It’s . . .”
Carver filled in for me. “It’s something you’re not comfortable talking about, because it might raise questions about your objectivity in your investigation.” My eyes widened. He was practically reading my mind. I nodded. “But you think it’s important that you understand the people of this ship, not just the facts of the case. You think the facts are only part of the picture.”
I nodded again. “How did you know?”
“It’s not that hard to figure out,” he said. “After years of dealing with Nick, I recognize all sorts of investigative techniques. He’s not good at personal matters like you are, so you’ve got an edge on him there.”
I was still surprised. “You figured that out just from my questions?”
Dr. Wells-Carver cut in. “Don’t let him fool you, Inspector. He’s good, but he’s sneaky too.” She pinched Carver’s ribs, and he jumped. “People talk on this ship. Word gets around. We know you’ve been talking to Nick’s friends. Oh,” she added when she saw my face, “Anson didn’t set up this meeting on purpose. He always jogs this track on Thursday evenings.”
I considered that. Both of them could be lying to me, setting me up to try to build sympathy for Aames; but I just didn’t believe it. They were both so genuine. That was the only word I could think of.
So I accepted them at their word, and I changed back to a different subject. “There’s something I still don’t understand. I met Admiral Morais on the rendezvous shuttle. She was a little withdrawn, but she was polite enough. She didn’t seem so cruel as she was in that story.”
Dr. Wells-Carver shook her head. “I know, it sounds like she hurt Nick intentionally, leading him on and then turning him away. I thought it was cruel myself at the time, and I couldn’t understand it. Anson had spoken so highly of her, and I had liked her instantly. It made no sense, until I learned the missing piece of the puzzle.” Wells took a deep breath, and then she continued, “At the time of our wedding, Admiral Morais was recently engaged to Marcus Costello, MD, of Maxwell City.”
“Oh.”
“Uh-huh. And more than that: Nick knew it. We learned that later.”
“Oh.” I repeated. In my mind I saw that dance again, only in a whole new light.
“See?” Carver said. “The grand gesture. Somehow, in Nick’s mind, that one dance was supposed to make everything right again, make the admiral forget her commitment to Dr. Costello. It’s like his entire understanding of relationships comes from old movies.”
“Nothing wrong with old movies,” Wells said, wrapping her arm around Carver’s waist.
“Nothing at all,” Carver said. “But sometimes the movie is Casablanca, and Rick walks away alone.”
“No, not alone.” Wells stroked his arm. “He has Louis, and a beautiful friendship.”
“I hope that’s enough,” Carver answered. “Nick’s grand gesture did nothing but reopen old wounds.”
“I don’t agree, Anson.”
I looked at Wells. “No?”
“His gesture may not have had ‘magic’ that night,” she explained, “but I think it affected the admiral. Three months later, she called off her engagement. I doubt the timing was a coincidence.”
“I see,” I said. And I did see, or at least I was starting to. I knew from the rendezvous shuttle that Admiral Knapp distrusted Morais. Now maybe I understood why. My puzzle was still missing a lot of pieces, but I could start to see what those pieces might look like.
It was time to find some more of those pieces. I said my good-byes and headed back to my cabin to get some rest. I had a lot of work ahead of me.
But my hopes for rest weren’t going to work out that night. I’d had Matt and my team taking depositions from enlisted crew and junior officers so I could get a good overall picture for when I deposed the senior officers. Those depositions all arrived on my comp that night, and I made the mistake of looking them over before going to bed. Even Matt’s summary ran to a dozen pages, and I was still reading it when a call came in from Admiral Knapp.
I pulled open the call, and Knapp wasted no time on pleasantries. “Park, I’ve been reading your depositions, and this is all a load of horseshit.”
I frowned. I tapped a “Forward” icon on my comm, and then I answered, “Admiral, since my findings have not been released yet, I don’t see how you could’ve read anything. But I intend to find out.” Great. Someone on my team was leaking information to Knapp.
Knapp’s voice grew louder. “Don’t change the subject, Park. Why are you wasting our time with all these enlisted pissants and junior idiots? Where are the bridge crew depositions? Where’s Aames’s?”
I paused, calming my temper before I responded. “Admiral, I will get to those. I want to get the broad picture from the crew first.”
“Bullshit.” Knapp pointed a finger at the comm. “Park, I’ve heard what you’ve been up to. You’re getting mighty cozy with the Aldrin’s crew. That’s hardly objective. And this relationship you have with Bosun Smith is over the line. I’ve let Admiral Reed know that you’re fucking up this entire investigation.”
This time I let my temper loose. “Admiral, I have no relationship with Bosun Smith, and I resent your implication.”
“That’s not what my source—”
“Your ‘source’ is damned unreliable if they’re feeding you gossip and calling it facts. And as of now, your source is done.”
“You can’t talk to me like that!”
“I just did. Admiral, I will work according to the method and order I find most effective. I thought we had settled that already. But since you’re so eager for depositions of senior officers, I’ll schedule a deposition so you can tell me who your source is in the IG Office. Tomorrow at noon.”
“I will not!”
“Yes, Admiral, you will. If you have someone on my team trying to infl
uence this case, that is hardly objective. I need to know who it is, because now every single deposition they’ve performed has to be redone by someone I can trust.”
“Reed’s going to hear about this, Park.”
“He already has, Admiral. I’m forwarding this entire conversation to him as we speak. If you think I’m upset about your little mole, I can only imagine how he’ll react. He takes the independence of this office very seriously. But if I’m wrong, if he decides I’m out of line, he can remove me from duty. Until then . . . See you at noon, Admiral.”
I pushed the call closed. Then I sat silently in my cabin and trembled, waiting for the call from Reed that would remove me from duty. I didn’t know if I would be angry at that or relieved to transfer my burden to someone else, but I dreaded that call either way.
But it never came. After over two hours of waiting, fiddling with depositions but unable to concentrate, I finally received a brief text response from Reed: Do it. Looking forward to Knapp’s deposition. AND AAMES’S. Reed.
Then I felt relief. Pressure or no, I wanted to do my job my way. Do it right. And for the moment I still had Reed’s support. But not forever.
I tried to relax. I turned off my comp and went to bed.
But if I thought I was going to get any sleep, I was in for disappointment. It was just about two hours later when my comm buzzed again. I reached to my bed stand and looked at the screen. A blinking icon said, Incoming call from A. Holmes. What did Mayor Holmes want now?
So I pulled the call open, but the face I saw was the wrong Holmes. Anton Holmes, one of the hundred richest people in the solar system, was thinner and grayer than his son, but had the same eyes, fiercely determined, and the same set of the jaw. He had the same steel in his bearing. He waited impatiently to see me appear on his screen, and he scrawled on his comp while he waited. It would be almost a minute before he realized I was there. I remembered Dr. Baldwin discussing how valuable his time was, and I wondered how much that minute would cost him.
The Last Dance Page 33
