Dr. Baldwin turned and looked behind her. “He’s . . . right across the aisle.” She turned back to me. “His burns were much more severe, deep tissue. His lungs are— We’re printing new ones. We’ve got him on oxy-nanos and detoxers to take the strain off what lung tissue remains. And the toxins are all through his liver, but we’ll . . . we’ll clean that out, get some stem cells in there to replace the damaged tissue. He . . .” She fell silent.
I tried to speak again. “Sorry.”
Her eyes flared. “Don’t you be sorry!” I thought she was angry, but there was something else. Hope? Determination? No, pride. “He was doing his duty. That’s all he ever wanted. Don’t you . . .” She trailed off again.
My throat felt a little better, so I tried a longer speech. “Okay. Not sorry. Thank you. And him. Good man.”
Dr. Baldwin nodded, and then turned away. I could hear soft sobs, and I lowered my eyes. If she didn’t want me to see her cry, I would respect that. Finally she turned back. “The best, and don’t you forget it.” Then she forced a smile. “He’ll pull through. I’m not done with him yet. Or with you. Are you more awake now?”
“Yes.”
“All right, I’m going to raise your head a bit.” Dr. Baldwin touched a panel on the bed, and the head end rose up. “I want those nanos to get deeper into your lungs. Is that okay?”
I wasn’t sure what she was asking, but nothing felt wrong. I nodded again, and this time I actually felt the fabric of the pillow as my cheek scraped across it.
“And here are your glasses.” She put dark glasses on me, and suddenly it was easier to see. I hadn’t realized my eyes were straining; but now they relaxed, and the throbbing started to fade. I looked around. Already Dr. Baldwin’s forced smile had faded. She was back to her impassive face, almost a mirror of Adika’s when he was on duty. “Now I have other patients to see on other decks.”
“Doctor.” I stopped her. “Were there deaths?”
Dr. Baldwin nodded. “But don’t worry, you can catch up on reports when your eyes get better. In the meantime, the bed and your glasses are both voice controlled, except for medical overrides. If you call out, the comm will summon me or Dr. Santana or one of the medics. There’s a lot going on in your body right now, and some of it will feel pretty strange, so don’t be afraid to call.” She turned and left for her office; but from across the infirmary, she called back, “Do you feel up to a short visit? Matt Harrold is tearing himself up with worry.” I nodded, and she spoke into her comp. “Nurse Lloyd, tell Ensign Harrold he can have five minutes.”
Dr. Baldwin left just as Head Nurse Carl Lloyd came in, leading Matt. “Here you go, Ensign. Five minutes.” Then he walked to check on patients in the next ward of the infirmary, giving us as much privacy as he could in the open compartment.
Matt looked down at me and tried to smile. “How are you feeling, Inspector?”
I gave him my best smile. “Like someone tried to blow up a spaceship with me in it. But the Aldrin has good doctors. They’re taking care of me.”
Matt nodded. “The best doctors. I pulled their records.” He looked down. “It was the only thing I could do: make sure you were getting the best care. Inspector, this team has top ratings in emergency medicine and recuperative therapy. It’s just like everyone else on this ship: some of the highest ratings in the Corps. It’s almost suspicious, like the records are faked.”
I shook my head. “I don’t doubt they have the skills to fake the records, but they would have to infiltrate databases on three worlds to do it. You were thorough in pulling and analyzing records, Matt. Did you see any inconsistencies, any signs that the records had been tampered with?” Matt shook his head as well. “They’re really that good, I think,” I continued. “Aames selects the best who’ll put up with him, and he makes them better.”
Matt nodded again. “I’m glad he did. You need the best doctors so we can get you back to work. Admiral Knapp has been burying me in demands for status reports. I’ll be glad I can tell him you’re awake. And so relieved for you too.”
I was touched by Matt’s loyalty. I really hadn’t earned it. I hadn’t had time. He was just naturally loyal to his duty and his command, and I was the beneficiary of that. But I decided I would try to deserve that loyalty in the future.
Matt sat on the edge of my bed, and we talked for a couple minutes more, reviewing some of our IG business before Lloyd came over and tapped Matt on the shoulder. Matt didn’t argue, just nodded and stood, saluting me. I saluted back, still a novel experience for me. “Dismissed, Ensign. And thank you.” Then Matt and Lloyd left.
Now what? I was tired, an all-over weariness, but not sleepy. I tried to reach around for the bed controls, but I found I couldn’t move. Even trying gave me throbbing aches all up and down my arms. Looking closer, I could see that my arms and torso were in a plastic cocoon. It must be growing the skin patches that Dr. Baldwin had mentioned. A little experimentation told me that my legs were free. I must not have been burned there.
So I was immobile. Then I remembered what Dr. Baldwin had said: my glasses had voice control, so I could read or watch a vid if I wanted to. But my eyes didn’t feel up to that much work yet. So I lay there and wondered what to do next.
“Pretty boring, huh, Inspector?” A voice came from my left. I turned my head to see who was there, but I couldn’t move enough to see past the corner of the mattress.
Still, the voice was familiar. “Bosun Smith?”
Smith answered, her voice slurred, “Call me Smitty. If we’re gonna be roommates . . . not so formal . . .”
I hesitated. Already on this case, I had let too much informality in. It could color my judgment, and I couldn’t afford that. But here, in this half-dark room, trapped in a shell with nanos knitting new skin and crawling through my lungs, with my rescuer across the room on his deathbed, I needed a friend. Or something like one. “My name’s Yerim.”
“One hell of an introduction, Yerim. Next time throw a party. We don’t burn out rings at a party. Usually . . .”
I laughed. It hurt a bit, but it also felt good. “You’re in good spirits, Smitty. Must be better off than me.”
At that Smith laughed in turn; but it was a raspy, painful laugh that turned to several seconds of coughing. Finally she spoke. “Burns . . . most of my body. Face too. Is why talking funny. Skin mask on face. Ribs cracked where hatch hit me. Thought I was dead yesterday. But I’m feeling much better now. If this is a contest to see who’s getting out of bed first, we’re neck and neck.” Then the humor drained out of her voice. “And way ahead of Chuks.”
She fell silent, and I looked for a way to change the subject. Slowly what happened was coming back to me. “Smitty, what happened in I Ring?”
Smith snorted. “Exactly what I said. Gale’s crew doesn’t know the Aldrin.” I waited for her to continue. “Farport is at LaGrange 2. Practically stationary. Habitat rings are slid in, gentle thrust. Dock and done. Then the crew comes in, sets up, cleans out the packing waste, ready to go.”
“But the Aldrin?”
“We dock with the rings in flight. Our orbit is fixed. Rings have to be boosted to matching vector. Docking is harder, more impact. Everywhere more stress. So our interior panels are bolted down tighter. And the fixtures and fasteners and accessories are taped down with stronger tape. Boost tape, it’ll stand up to anything short of launch from Earth.”
“But?”
“But it’s nothing at all like packing tape at Farport. Adhesive is practically a weld. Strong stuff. But when the bonds are broken, residue is toxic. Flammable as hell too.” Smith laughed again, triggering more coughing. “Heh. Flammable as hell. Joking even when I don’t try. Anyway, smallest spark will set it off. Procedure on Aldrin is: set up all the panels, evacuate air from the ring, then the crew comes in again. In suits. And cleans up the tape. Takes a lot longer, but the only way.”
“And so Gale . . .” I shook my head in disgust.
“I knew Gale’s crew were
setting up. Didn’t know they were stupid enough to pull tape. If I’d known, I’d probably be up on charges right now. Cracking the skull of an officer. Again.”
I smiled a bit. “Those charges would’ve landed on my desk, Bosun, and they might’ve gotten lost there. I was tempted to crack Gale’s skull myself, before this incident.”
Another coughing laugh from Smith. “Oh, the famous Gale charms didn’t work on you? Good company, then. He’s a worm, but he knows how to play the game.”
I shook my head, though she couldn’t see it. “If this is a game, he just made a bad move.”
“Damn straight. I Ring may be beyond repair. Air expanded, pressure blew the hatches. Probably not the vacuum seals, those are strong, but we’ll have to check every single one in ultrasonic detail. Two months lost, minimum, and we’re already behind. And then . . .”
I knew what she meant. “And then Adika. And casualties.”
I heard her swallow. “Yeah. Chuks. Damn, wish Gale were here. I’m all clamped down here, but maybe I could spit in his eye or something.”
I giggled, just once. “My legs are free. I could kick him.”
That brought a spasm of coughing laughter. Finally Smith regained control and said, “You’re all right, Yerim, for an officer.” Then she coughed one more time. “But I’m a little tired. Think I’ll sleep now, okay?”
“Okay . . . roomie.”
After one more coughing stretch, Smith fell silent. Soon I heard a slight snore from my left. The steady in-and-out rhythm made me aware of just how tired I was too.
I was thinking I should try to dim the room lights; but before I could figure out how, I was asleep as well.
I woke again, this time to the sound of hushed voices.
The lights were still dimmed, but someone had pulled my glasses off as I slept. So I went through the entire experience again: too-bright lights, eyes adjusting, throbbing pain. But the pain wasn’t as bad this time, and my eyes focused more quickly.
I saw two figures past the foot of my bed, their backs to me. One was clearly Dr. Baldwin, her heavy frame sagging and her graying hair disheveled. Next to her stood a man, slightly shorter than her, his hair appearing a dark shade of red in the low light. He wore a crisp, clean uniform in the gray of the Aldrin’s crew; and on his shoulders were the gold bars of a captain.
Nick Aames had finally left his cabin, but it was no time for my interview. This was a private moment I was never meant to see, and I just wanted to be somewhere else. I didn’t want to intrude. But my curiosity was stronger than my embarrassment, and I strained to hear their words.
Listening closely, I heard Dr. Baldwin. “Nick, he . . . he . . .”
The captain pulled Dr. Baldwin in tighter, and she turned to him and started sobbing into his chest as he rubbed her back. “Hush. Hush, Connie. He’s been hurt worse than this before. One time on Luna . . .” He looked down at her face, and suddenly he cut off his story. “You don’t need to hear that story again. But don’t worry. Chuks is strong as a rhino, and he’s got the most stubborn doctor in the solar system. You two will pull through this together, and he’ll have a few more scars for his collection.”
“But I don’t know—”
“I do. The patient will recover. But his doctor needs her rest.” And Captain Aames put his arm at her back and guided her across the infirmary to her office.
I lay there in the silent dim light. The tingling I felt wasn’t new skin, but some deeper chill. Soul deep. Adika had said, “But Captain Aames is not a friend you turn to for comfort in times of trouble.” And yet here Aames was, when Dr. Baldwin needed just that. And I wondered: Did any of his friends, did anyone really know this man?
I was still wondering, staring at the office door, when suddenly the door reopened. Before I could pretend to be asleep, Captain Aames came through, and he looked right into my eyes. As the door slid shut behind him, he held my gaze. His beard and mustache were neatly trimmed, his face looked freshly scrubbed, and his eyes were alert, though slightly moist.
Aames turned away and looked down at Commander Adika for a few minutes, his eyes swinging from the bed to the readouts and back. He looked back at me and raised an eyebrow—in question or in accusation, I couldn’t tell. Then he looked past me as if I wasn’t there, and he strode past me to Smith’s bed.
Aames might ignore me, but I couldn’t miss this chance to study the man whose fate was in my hands. I turned my head to follow him. I still couldn’t see Smith’s bunk, but I saw Aames lean over, turn on a small light, and shake the bunk. “Bosun,” he said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was louder than anything else in the infirmary, and firm. In that room, it was a shout. “Bosun, officer on deck.” Then he straightened and looked down at the bunk.
I heard a faint scrape to my left, maybe Smith shifting on the bunk. Then she spoke. “Captain. Apologize. No salute. Hands tied down.”
Aames’s tone was dismissive. “Then stop trying, you idiot, you’ll rip something loose. And that stupid face mask, no wonder you can barely talk. Dr. Baldwin says it should have done its work now. Would you like it off?”
“Yes, Captain.”
Aames leaned over the bunk again; and when he rose, he had a plastic shell in his hands, rounded and roughly fifteen centimeters across. In the light from the small lamp, I saw a moist sheen on the inside of the shell. “There, Bosun, do you think you can respond properly to a superior officer now?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” Her voice was still rough, but not slurred.
“That’s better, Smith. Now Dr. Baldwin tells me you might be fit for duty in three to four days. Has she told you that yet?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, that is unacceptable!” Aames slapped the bed monitor with a fist. “You’re stronger than that, Bosun. I trust you will be at your duty station in two days. Is that understood?”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
Aames’s tone softened. “That’s good, Smith. We need you.” Again he looked over toward Adika. “Now more than ever.”
“It’s all right, Captain,” Smith answered. “We’ve survived worse than this.”
Aames turned back to her bunk. “We sure as hell have, Bosun. We’ll get through this. Unless Horace Gale blows us all up first.” He looked at the door, but then turned back. “Is there anything you need, Smith?”
Smith paused. “My throat’s pretty dry. A bulb of water, please, Captain?”
Aames swiped through her chart on her bunk controls. “Dr. Baldwin has you cleared for liquids, so I see no reason why not.” He navigated smoothly through the darkened infirmary and over to the wall. I heard water pouring, and then he returned to Smith’s bunk and held out a drinking bulb with a straw. “I would tell you to take this, but I guess you need your hands free for that. Here.”
Aames leaned over and held out the straw, and I heard a sound of sipping, followed by a contented sigh from Smith. Aames remained there as she sipped some more, until finally I heard the whistling sounds of a dry straw.
Aames stood and set the bulb by Smith’s bunk. “How’s that, Smith?”
Smith sounded almost herself when she answered, “Sweet as Martian Springs, Captain.”
“Yes, sweet as Martian Springs.” And then Aames surprised me: he stood straight and snapped a salute to Smith, as if returning her own. Then he spun on his heels and strode out without another word.
As soon as the door slid shut behind Aames, Smith spoke to me. “We know the answer now, Yerim. I win. I’ll be out of this bunk the day after tomorrow. Captain’s orders.”
“You can’t mean that,” I protested. “If the doctor says you’re not ready, he can’t order you back to duty.”
“Relax.” I could almost hear her smile. “He read my chart. He knew what he was saying.”
“But he said three or four days.”
“No, he said it might be three or four days. I’ll bet the doctor also said it might be two. He wanted to push me, without any actual risk. He’s always pushing
.”
“But how do you know?”
“I know,” she said, and then went silent. That was the end of the subject.
My mind raced. This man was such a conflict: at once demanding and supportive, first irritating and then considerate. And manipulative, and she knew it! And yet she calmly agreed, as if . . .
And then it came to me. Smith had served under Aames as long as anyone in the Corps. She of all people knew how difficult and demanding he could be, yet she kept reenlisting for his crew. It made no sense to me, but then suddenly it made perfect sense.
I breathed in, then slowly out. I wanted to approach this carefully. Finally I spoke. “We’re off the record here, Bosun, so you don’t have to answer. But I have to ask: Do you love Captain Aames?”
“Well, if we’re off the record, Inspector . . .” Smith sounded hurt, as if I had insulted her. But then she laughed. With a drink in her and no face mask, she didn’t cough, and her laugh sounded hearty and healthy. “Sorry, Yerim, I couldn’t keep that up. I’m not insulted, it was just an act. You’re pretty funny. And that, well, it’s just the funniest thing I’ve heard in a week. I’ve heard of ships where the crew loves their captain, but that ain’t the Aldrin. Captain Aames ain’t the lovable type. We respect him and trust him. On a good day. On a bad day, we hate him, and we try to stay out of his way. But we still trust him.”
I shook my head. “I’m not talking about the crew, I’m talking about you, personally. Let me be blunt: Smitty, are you romantically attracted to Captain Aames?”
“Me? In love with Nick Aames?” Her laugh was louder and longer this time, echoing across the infirmary walls. “Not a chance. He ain’t my type.”
I turned toward her voice. “Are you sure? He’s a powerful, driven man. Lots of women find that attractive.”
Smith paused before she answered, “I’m sure he’s not my type, ma’am, because you are.” I hesitated, not sure how to respond. My face grew warm in the darkness, and I was glad she couldn’t see my embarrassment. But she laughed again as if she had seen. “Don’t worry, Inspector, you’re also about twenty years too young for me, and you’re on the wrong side of the captain’s case. I’m not gonna make a pass at you.” But then her voice softened a bit. “Although maybe, when this is all over . . .”
The Last Dance Page 12