by Ben Bova
Para wasn’t finished, though. “I can tell you something else about Captain Tsavo.”
“Something else?”
“Earlier, before this homosexuality ploy came up,” Para said, “when you asked Captain Tsavo if he were going to investigate Councilman Kell’s death.”
“Yes?”
“The captain’s eyeblink rate, his pulse, his skin temperature all rose significantly upward.”
Tray stared at the android. “What does that mean?”
“It means that your request for an investigation seriously upset the captain. It means that his homosexuality ploy was most likely based on a desire to destroy you.”
“Destroy me?”
“As he most likely destroyed Councilman Kell.”
HOMEWARD BOUND
Tray slept poorly that night. Tossing in the darkened cabin, he kept seeing Para’s expressionless face accusing Captain Tsavo and Harold Balsam of somehow murdering Jordan Kell.
He couldn’t believe it. Balsam and Kell might have been political rivals, but murder? An outrageous idea. Yet Para was hardly one to go off on emotional tangents. The android had measured Tsavo’s biomarkers and concluded that the captain had indeed caused Kell’s death. At Balsam’s instigation, most likely.
How? he asked himself. He must have had help. Sheshardi? If the Abo was part of the plot he’s already paid for it.
But big, bluff, backslapping Harold Balsam—a murderer? Remotely arranging Jordan Kell’s death? Why?
The answer came immediately. Because Kell was opposed to Balsam’s dream of creating an interstellar empire, with Earth, and Balsam himself, at its head.
Lying in his bunk, staring up into the darkness, Tray wondered what he should do. What he could do. You can’t just point an accusing finger at the president of the Interplanetary Council, he knew. You’ll wind up back in the isolation ward: paranoia, induced by the Saviour tragedy. That’s what they’ll say.
Or worse, Tray realized. Grief for his homosexual lover. Balsam will play that card, certainly.
An hour before Jove’s Messenger lit up for its daytime hours, Tray pushed himself out of bed and groped through the darkness to the bathroom shower.
His long, pleasantly warm soaking didn’t solve his problems.
* * *
Once Tray came out of the bathroom and started dressing, Para stirred from its nighttime stance next to the cabin’s hatch.
“You’re up early,” the android said.
“I’m going to the cafeteria for some breakfast. Want to come along?”
“We won’t be able to speak freely there.”
Tray felt his brows hike up. “You don’t think this cabin is wired?”
“I’ve scanned it. I didn’t find any surveillance devices.”
At that instant the bedside phone announced, “Lady De Mayne calling.”
Tray immediately called out, “Answer!”
Loris’s face appeared on the phone’s miniature screen. “I hope I’m not calling too early,” she began.
“No, not at all,” Tray replied. “We’re up and ready to go.”
“Go? Go where?”
Remembering Mance Bricknell’s call from the evening before, Tray said, “Wherever you’d like.”
Loris’s face took on a serious appearance. “Tray, we have to talk.”
“Yes,” he said. “We do.”
“The cafeteria?” she suggested.
“Fine. See you there in ten minutes.”
“Good.” And the phone screen went blank.
Tray looked up at Para. “I think you should stay here, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” said the android.
“And no eavesdropping. What Loris and I have to talk about is strictly private.”
“Of course,” Para agreed. Tray got the feeling that if the android could smile, it would have.
* * *
Loris was already seated at the far end of one of the cafeteria’s three long tables, away from the quartet of crewmen at the other end. Tray filled a cup with coffee at the dispenser and went to sit beside her.
Keeping her voice low, she immediately asked, “Do you think Tsavo’s hiding something about Kell’s death?”
“I’m not sure,” Tray whispered back. “But Balsam must have had something to do with it.”
Loris’s eyes went wide. “Murder?”
“It’s too much of a coincidence,” Tray muttered. “Balsam invites Kell on this trip. The Athena module breaks down. Kell’s suit fails.” He shook his head and repeated, “That’s too much to be a coincidence.”
Her brows knitting, Loris stared at Tray for a long, silent moment. Then, “Do you really think so?”
“Yes, I do,” he replied without hesitation.
“Then what are you going to do about it?”
Tray answered, “I’m going to ask Tsavo to let me see the maintenance records for Kell’s suit.”
“How about Athena’s maintenance records?” she suggested.
Tray nodded. “I’m not an engineer, though. They could hide the Taj Mahal in those records and I might not see it.”
“Your android would.”
“Para!” Tray agreed. “Yes, he could help us.”
“Good.”
Tray could feel his heart thumping beneath his ribs. He stared at Loris, wondering, hoping …
“What is it, Tray?” she asked.
Tray’s jaws were clenched so tightly that they ached. He gazed into Loris’s sparkling blue eyes.
“Tray, are you all right?”
“I’ve got to ask you something. Something personal.”
“About Mance,” she realized.
“Yes. He wants to marry you.”
“He also wants to win the Nobel Prize,” Loris said, her expression hard, rigid.
“Do you really care about him?”
A trace of a smile flickered across her lips. “Mance can be fun. A little demanding … a little too proprietary, perhaps, but fun. Sometimes.”
“He wants to marry you,” Tray repeated.
“He wants to marry into the De Mayne fortune,” Loris said, flatly. “I’m one of the family assets, of course.”
“What do you want?” Tray asked.
“I don’t want to marry Mance. Not now, at least. Maybe in a few years…”
Tray heard himself say, “Loris, I think I’m falling in love with you.”
Her smile returned: bigger, brighter. “I know, Tray. I think that’s lovely.”
“I thought my life was over until I met you.”
“I thought my life was beginning when I met you,” she said.
INVESTIGATION
Sitting on his cot, with his stockinged feet on its blanket, Tray asked Para, “What have you found from the maintenance records?”
Para shook its head in a very human gesture. “I’m afraid that the maintenance records of Councilman Kell’s suit and the entire Athena module are sealed and not available for inspection.”
“Sealed?”
“Not available for inspection,” the android repeated. “By Captain Tsavo’s order.”
“You asked?”
“I checked the ship’s inventory. The maintenance records for the entire Athena module—including Councilman Kell’s emergency suit—are sealed.”
Tray felt his brows knitting. “They’re hiding something. Tsavo and Balsam.”
“Whatever they’re hiding, you won’t be able to look for it.”
Tray mentally ran through his options. And found he had none. If Balsam didn’t want the maintenance records examined, they would not be available to Tray. End of story.
“What can we do?” he asked Para.
The android made an almost human shrug. “Jove’s Messenger is President Balsam’s personal property. He is perfectly within his legal rights to keep its maintenance records private.”
“But we’re talking about murder!”
“Suspected murder,” Para corrected gently. “We haven
’t a shred of evidence to support a claim of criminal wrongdoing.”
Tray realized that Para had already accessed the pertinent legal procedures.
“Then what can we do?”
“Apparently we can do nothing,” the android replied. “Unless you want to make a public accusation. That might force President Balsam to open the maintenance records.”
Tray shook his head. “By that time he could have rewritten the records and made them look lily-white.”
Para hesitated a moment, then said, “White being the color of innocence.”
“Yeah,” said Tray, disgusted, frustrated. “Innocence.”
* * *
Unable to think of anything else, Tray called Loris. Just the sight of her lovely face in the phone’s viewscreen made him feel better.
“We’ve got to talk,” he said to her, without preamble.
Immediately, she suggested, “The cafeteria?”
“No,” Tray replied. “Someplace where we can’t be overheard.”
Loris looked puzzled for a moment. Then she suggested, “One of the observation blisters.”
Tray bobbed his head, “Good thinking.” To himself he added, I’ll bring Para and he can sweep the blister for snooping devices.
* * *
With Para at his side, Tray went out into the passageway and rapped gently on Loris’s door. She opened it immediately and the three of them started along the passageway, heading for one of the observation blisters that studded the spacecraft’s outer shell.
Tray couldn’t help noticing the outfit she wore: a simple one-piece jumpsuit of pale blue. But on her athletic figure it looked inviting.
Wordlessly, like a trio of conspirators, they made their way along the narrow passageway. Tray couldn’t help glancing back to see if Mance Bricknell was following them. No sign of him.
In silence, they skipped the first blister they came across and went to the next. Tray tapped on the entrance keypad and its hatch slid open. He stepped inside, and his breath caught in his throat.
The universe hung all around him, stars and glowing nebulae spread across the infinite black of space. Tray felt his pulse accelerating. Turning, he extended his hand to help Loris step over the hatch’s coaming. Even in the dim lighting he could see her eyes widen, her face reflect the starry splendor that surrounded them.
“My god,” she gasped, in a whisper.
“It’s awesome, isn’t it,” Tray whispered back to her.
They were in a smallish round compartment covered by a transparent shell. It felt noticeably cooler than the passageway outside. Automatically, Tray tried to make out the familiar constellations, but they were imbedded in a thousand times more stars than he had ever seen from Earth.
“It’s … it’s overpowering,” he whispered.
Loris quoted, “Oh Lord, I love the beauty of Thy house, and the place where Thy glory dwelleth.”
Para broke their spell. “This compartment is free of cameras and listening devices. You may speak openly here.”
But Loris was still gaping. “There’s Jupiter,” she said, pointing at its striped flattened orb. It seemed to be shrinking, dwindling, as they watched.
Tray pointed at the four points of light hugging near the huge planet. “And its Galilean satellites.”
“It’s magnificent,” she said.
Para repeated, “I can’t detect any surveillance devices. You may speak freely here.”
Tray glanced at the android, then said to himself, Better get down to business.
“I’m sure that Tsavo won’t allow me to inspect the maintenance records for Jordan’s suit, or for the Athena module.”
Reluctantly, Loris turned from the panorama beyond the blister’s shell and looked squarely at Tray. “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t want to let them cover up a murder,” Tray said flatly. “Two murders, including Sheshardi.”
“We might have been killed, as well,” Loris added.
Tray nodded, but admitted, “I don’t know what to do, which way to turn.”
“I do,” she said.
“You do?”
“As soon as we reach Earth I’m going to ask my father to ask for an investigation.”
“Your father?”
“He’s a member of the Interplanetary Council.”
“He is?”
“A member of the French delegation. He has the right to call for an investigation. If the Council agrees, not even Balsam can refuse to let us see the maintenance records.”
Tray felt a momentary surge of excitement. But said, “Balsam will have had the time to alter the maintenance records by then. I’ll bet he’s got his people going through the records right now, erasing anything that looks the slightest bit suspicious.”
“Forensic analysis might be able to detect changes in the records,” Para said.
“Might,” said Tray.
“That’s a pretty thin reed,” Loris said.
“But it looks like the only one we have.”
Raising a forefinger, Para interjected, “May I point out an observation?”
“Observation?” Tray replied.
“Any attempt you make to examine the maintenance records will surely rouse President Balsam’s suspicion.”
“I suppose so,” said Loris.
In its flat, emotionless tone the android said, “If we are correct in our suspicions, your insistence on examining the maintenance records will reveal to President Balsam—”
“And Captain Tsavo,” Tray interjected.
“And Captain Tsavo,” Para conceded, with a tiny dip of its chin, “that you suspect them of foul play.”
Almost smiling at the android’s melodramatic choice of words, Tray conceded, “I suppose it would.”
“And that,” Para went on, “might move them to try to get rid of you both. If they’ve already committed two murders, they will not blanch at two more.”
A THIN REED
“They wouldn’t dare,” Loris said flatly. “Murder the daughter of an Interplanetary councilman? They wouldn’t dare!”
Para shook its head ever so slightly. “If your suspicions are correct, they have already murdered a former president of the Interplanetary Council.”
“But why?” Tray asked. “Why did they murder Kell? Assuming that they did.”
“Power,” answered Para without hesitation. “Do you have any idea of the immense power and wealth that President Balsam could obtain if his plans for an interstellar empire are realized?”
“Like Nero of the old Roman Empire,” Loris replied. “Multiplied by a thousandfold.”
“A millionfold,” Tray corrected.
“Multiplied by billions,” said Para.
Suddenly looking downcast, Loris said, “And there’s only the two of us to oppose them.”
“Three,” said Tray, jabbing a thumb in Para’s direction.
Calmly, without a hint of emotion, the android said, “You must understand that you are placing yourselves in lethal danger.”
“What’s our alternative?” Tray asked. “Sit here quietly and let Balsam get away with murder?”
The observation blister fell totally silent. Tray saw the stars of the galaxy staring at him, cold, silent, yet somehow demanding.
Loris finally broke the stillness. “Let me talk with my father when we get back to Earth.”
“By then Tsavo will have had enough time to make the maintenance records look totally clean,” Tray objected.
“Yes, perhaps so,” said Loris, “but I don’t see any other option to us.”
Just then the hatch from the passageway slid open and Mance Bricknell stepped into the observation blister.
“Here you are!” Bricknell said brightly, as he walked up to them. “I’ve been looking all over the ship for you.”
Without a shred of enthusiasm Tray said, “Hello Mance.”
“Searching for us?” Loris said, straightfaced. “What on earth for?”
Reaching an arm towa
rd her, Bricknell replied, “I got lonesome for my girl.”
“I’m not your girl, Mance,” Loris replied, stepping away from him. “I’m not anyone’s girl.”
“Not yet,” said Bricknell, grinning.
* * *
The four of them left the observation blister and headed back toward their quarters.
“It’s almost time for lunch,” Bricknell said pleasantly. “Shall we go directly to the cafeteria? Be the first in line?”
Tray studied Mance’s face. Not a trace of suspicion, nor of displeasure that “his girl” had gone off without him.
How did he find us? Tray asked himself. This ship’s pretty big. If he started searching for Loris from his own quarters he’d have had to come directly to the blister to find us so quickly.
While Mance chattered on, Tray inwardly debated, Does he have some way of tracking us? Or maybe just Loris. Is he being proprietary about her, or is he working with Balsam and Tsavo to keep tabs on us?
That possibility worried him. It meant that the ship’s captain knew that Tray was suspicious of him and the Council president. And maybe it meant that somehow they were using Para to track his movements.
With an abrupt shake of his head, Tray dismissed the idea. You’re getting paranoid, he told himself.
Yes, maybe, he admitted to himself. But even paranoids have enemies.
* * *
Following Mance’s suggestion, they went directly to the cafeteria. They were the first ones there; it was unoccupied except for the robots standing behind the counters. Once they had filled their trays and sat themselves at the end of one of the empty cafeteria tables, Mance asked, with a smile that showed his teeth, “So what were the two of you doing in that observation blister?”
Sitting beside him, Loris answered, “Observing.”
“Really?” Bricknell replied. “Have you taken on a sudden interest in astronomy, Loris?”
Tray broke in, “How did you find us? You must have gone directly from your quarters to the blister.”
His smiling turning sly, Bricknell said, “I followed Loris’s scent. She leaves a lovely trail wherever she goes.”
