Mrs. Azevedo looked at Nick, seemed to consider what to say, and then went on. Soon she got to the subject of supplying the expedition, and Nick again asked about the three tents. She seemed surprised by the question. “Why is that important?”
“I can’t tell what’s important,” Nick explained. “Details matter. That’s what I tried to tell your husband: details matter, and you can’t guess which ones. So why three tents?”
“Well, we had them to spare, so why not? Paolo and I had a tent for ourselves. The command tent, as it were. Besides, we were entitled to our privacy. Ivan and Gale shared another tent, and Wells slept in the third. We divided supplies among the three tents so that an accident with one wouldn’t affect other supplies. You should approve of precautions like that.”
“Hmmm. Yes, I approve of precautions; but protocol here is entirely different. For a mission that size, two tents would have been proper: one for all of you to share, and one as a backup for that. It might be less comfortable to squeeze five into a tent, but it would’ve given adequate safety margins and less mass to transport.”
“Yes, yes, I’ve read your recommendation. We decided we could handle the mass, and we wanted the comfort. And ultimately it had nothing to do with Paolo’s accident, so can we just drop it?”
Nick didn’t answer. He had made his point, so he let her continue. He also didn’t comment when Mrs. Azevedo discussed their stops for the night; but even I could see that Tracy had been correct: the team had performed only perfunctory equipment inspections. Their uneventful time on Mars to that point had made them sloppy—or sloppier, as Nick would say.
And there was something else: something about the expedition had distressed her, and she had difficulty discussing it. She drew out the discussion with a lot of trivialities, stopping and repeating points. It took her twice as long to describe the trip as it had Tracy, and yet she revealed less. Was she just postponing the discussion yet to come? Maybe; but I saw Nick eyeing her carefully, as if he suspected something more.
And then finally she discussed the climb, and then the fall and the attempted rescue. She started to choke up when she got to the surgery, tears flowing; and Nick showed unexpected kindness by stopping her there. “That’s enough, Margo. I only need to know what led to the incident. I have a clear picture of what came after. Carver, give her your handkerchief.” I did, and she dabbed her eyes.
Nick was being uncharacteristically kind, but I knew it couldn’t last. Sooner or later, he would point out again how this was all Professor Azevedo’s fault. Before he could get the chance, I spoke up. “Captain, if we’re done, Mrs. Azevedo has had a long day. Can I escort her back to her cabin?”
Nick seemed a little distant. “What?” Then he recovered. “Oh, yes, we’re done here. But I’ve summoned Bosun Smith. She can see to Margo. I have more duties for you.”
Just then the office door opened, and Smith, whom I knew to have a compassionate side when she needed it, came in. Nick was right: Mrs. Azevedo might appreciate having a woman’s support after putting up with him. But he would never admit that was his motive.
Bosun Smith stood at attention. Nick looked at her, a question on his face. “Well?”
Smith lifted her sleeve comp and pushed a file to Nick’s desk. “There’s my full report, Captain. A number of items are missing, as indicated, and the necessary maintenance reports haven’t been filed for much of the rest.”
Nick nodded at Smith, then rose. “Margo, again, I’m sorry. If I could’ve prevented this pain for you, I would’ve. We’ll talk again. Ms. Smith, please see Mrs. Azevedo to her cabin.” Smith saluted and then offered an arm. Mrs. Azevedo took it and leaned on Smith’s shoulder as they left the office.
When the door closed, I turned to Nick. My questions were the same as before. “I hate to repeat myself—”
“Then don’t,” Nick interrupted. “Everything is going as I planned.”
“This is a plan?” I couldn’t see how Nick would learn anything about the murder this way.
“Yes. I’m learning what I need to know. Besides, didn’t you hear that undertone? There’s something she’s not saying, something she feels guilty about.”
I hadn’t heard it. I mean, I’d heard something wrong, and noted it; but I hadn’t picked up on guilt. She was a grieving widow, I expected some distress. But Nick had always been better at reading people than I was. He himself might come across as a one-note scold and a control junkie, but he was excellent at ferreting out hidden motivations and secrets.
“What would she have to feel guilty about?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve no idea. For that I need the help of an incurable gossip. And so I guess it’s time to speak with Horace Gale.”
I tracked down Lieutenant Gale in the rec lounge. As had been the norm on this trip, knots of expedition crew occupied the tables, and our off-duty crew hung near, each imagining what it must have been like to be down on Mars. But strangely, when I found Gale in the corner with Riggs, they were discussing soccer, not Mars.
“Yes, sir, Lieutenant.” Riggs’s enthusiasm was all over his face. He was eager to talk about football clubs with a fellow Brit. “Absolutely it’s Manchester’s year. They’ve been rebuilding for five now. It’s their time.”
“Well, Karl, I’m not so sure. Liverpool is looking pretty strong.”
“Liverpool?” Riggs nearly exploded with laughter. “They’ll barely finish the season. They’re old and tired.”
“You’re right, you’re right. Still, they have experience.”
Riggs raised an eyebrow. “In football, sir, isn’t that just another word for ‘old’?”
“All right, they’re old, I’ll admit it.” Gale laughed. “But just remember: in the Corps, it’s not age, it’s seniority.” Riggs joined the laughter on that line, though I thought his sounded a bit forced.
I cleared my throat, and Gale looked up. “Yes, Chief Carver?”
“Lieutenant Gale, the captain would like to see you, sir.”
“Oh, Nick causing trouble again, eh?”
“It’s not my place to comment on what trouble the captain might cause, sir.” I’m not normally that formal with an old shipmate, even if Gale and I didn’t always see eye to eye; but in front of the junior crew, Gale deserved the respect due his rank. “If you’ll come with me, please.”
“I suppose. I knew this was coming eventually. Well, Mr. Riggs, it has been a pleasure. See you at the SP meeting?”
Riggs raised a glass to Gale. “Indeed, sir. Thank you.”
We set off to the captain’s cabin. As soon as we were alone, Gale turned to the subject I knew was coming. Despite our differences, Gale saw me as some kind of a friend. Who knows? Maybe I was as close to a friend as he got. Whenever we met socially, he always turned to this subject. “So, Carver, have you had enough of Aames and this tin can yet?”
I deflected. “The Aldrin is no tin can, Gale. It’s a masterwork of engineering, and it gets better every cycle as we add rings and capacity.”
But Gale wasn’t about to let up so easily. “Yes, yes, but it’s still a glorified transport ship. You’re a fine officer, Anson, you deserve better. If you had the Space Professionals behind you, you might get a better posting.”
The SPs were something of an “astronauts guild,” though they never used that term. They advocated for more influence over mission planning. Ideally that would be something Nick would support. His feuds with the Initiative were legendary in the Corps. But Nick had laughingly rebuffed their efforts to recruit him, saying that they were more political than professional. And that included Gale, who had a lot of influence in the movement. As Nick explained it to me: “It’s the only way a bumbler like Gale can hope to get work. Before long they’ll have work rules that say I can’t dismiss any crewmember any damned time I please; and next thing you know, someone’ll get killed because of those rules. Why would I be part of that?”
Back on Mars, Nick hadn’t been so harsh on Gale, who had suc
ceeded Chief Maxwell as second-in-command. Gale got his full share of Aames’s scorn, but Nick had trusted him as a capable member of the crew. But after Mars, most of us lost favor in the Corps because we had made uncomfortable but true statements about the poor planning and management of the mission. Gale, on the other hand, didn’t. He played the political game, said all the things the admirals wanted him to say, and came out smelling like a rose. Nick never forgave him for that. And he never trusted Gale again.
So when Gale tried to recruit Nick into the Space Professionals, Nick laughed in his face. (Laughing was better than spitting, which had been my bet.) Since Gale had failed with Nick, he kept working on me, hoping I might influence Nick; but I found Nick’s arguments to be irrefutable as usual. There were some good people in the SP, but a lot of them were just looking for more money for less work. I was tempted to answer as bluntly as Nick would; but instead I simply said, “I’m sorry, Gale, but I can’t imagine a better posting than this, or a better commander than Captain Aames.”
And with that, I opened the door to Nick’s office. We entered to the sounds of bossa nova, but this time Nick didn’t make us wait, turning off the e-reader immediately. “Ah, Horace.” Nick exaggerated the name: Horace.
“Hello, Nick. So this is where you say ‘I told you so’?”
Nick waved his hand dismissively. “Waste of my time. We both know it.”
“Yes, but I’m sure you’ve just been waiting for the chance.”
“No, I’ve been avoiding the lot of you as best I can. I may have to transport you, but that doesn’t mean I have to sit here and listen to the mistakes I knew would happen.”
Gale sat in the visitor’s chair while I remained standing. “So, Nick, what’s this about?”
“Well, Horace, we do need some discussion regarding the fate of your ill-planned mission.”
“Yes.” Gale sighed. “Get on with it.”
“That final trip across the desert, it was just the five of you?”
“Yes: me, Paolo, Margo, Ivan, and Tracy.”
“So you had five people, and yet you had three Mars tents. Wasn’t that a little bit of excess weight to carry? You could’ve carried more consumables.”
I was confused. Again with the tents? What did that have to do with the sabotage of Azevedo’s cable? But Gale didn’t seem to find the question unusual. “The Mars protocols—which you wrote—say we should have a backup for every piece of essential equipment. Mars isn’t Earth, where we might survive without a tent.”
“Yes, so two tents would give you a backup. But three? Those tents will hold six.”
“Yes.”
“So why did you have three? You didn’t need them for storage.”
“Well, we did store supplies separately in each tent. ‘No single point of failure,’ that’s in the protocols too. If something happened to one supply cache, we would still have the others.”
“Oh, so you didn’t even reserve them as backups? You deployed all three tents?” Nick already knew that from Tracy and Mrs. Azevedo. I could only assume he was feigning ignorance to keep Gale talking.
“Yes. Paolo and Margo wanted their privacy, you know.” Nick looked up, but Gale shook his head. “No, not for sex, for fighting. They did an awful lot of arguing on the expedition. I’m sure Margo regrets it now.”
I nodded. That might explain the guilt that Nick had detected. But Nick showed no reaction and continued his questioning. “So the lovebirds insisted on their own tent. And the three of you remaining needed two tents because?”
“Well, Tracy insisted we should share a tent. ‘That’s the protocol,’ she said, ‘and I don’t want to write up another variance.’ The girl is almost as mad as you, Nick, always writing up variances and insisting on following protocols to the letter. She acted like she was in charge, not just a videographer. But Ivan said he wanted more space.”
“I see. And you bunked with Ivan.”
“Because Tracy was making such a row about protocols, I finally got fed up with her.”
“But why, Horace? You knew she was right.”
“Of course she was right.”
“Then why—”
“Because I didn’t want to keep fighting about it!” Gale was red-faced. Nick knew Gale’s hot buttons; and Nick can never resist pushing buttons, testing to see where your breaking point is. It looked like he had found Gale’s. “Why make such a big deal about it?”
Nick steepled his fingers and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m finding I have a new respect for Ms. Wells. If she annoyed you this much, she must’ve been doing something right.” Gale scowled, and Nick smirked. “Same old Horace. You’re smart enough to know what the right thing is, but you’re too weak to fight for it.”
“I heard enough of this from you before the expedition, and I am tired of it now.”
“Good! If I provoke you enough, you can show a little backbone. But you never seem to when it matters. That’s why Paolo chose you as Corps liaison, you know.”
“What?”
“You won’t argue with the wrong decision, even if you know it might get somebody killed. You’re too eager to get along. You’re too nice. Space doesn’t give a damn about nice.”
“If you’re going to bring that up again, then I think this conversation is over.”
“No. I’m still captain on this ship, and we’re still outside the gravipause. This conversation is over when I say it’s over. Chief Carver?”
I straightened. “Yes, Captain.”
“If he tries to leave, sit on him.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Horace, you are a weak man. You didn’t used to be, but somewhere you lost your way. I wouldn’t send my worst enemy on an expedition where you made the decisions. You won’t stand up for what’s right, and that may have gotten Paolo killed.” Gale’s face showed dismay, but not shock. Suddenly I was sure he had already reached the same conclusion, and guilt was tearing at him. I knew from our time on Mars that Gale was an opportunist, but he was a capable spacer, and he had a conscience buried deep inside. And then I was also sure: if he felt his mistakes might be responsible for Paolo’s death, and he felt remorse at the possibility, then he couldn’t be the murderer.
Gale seemed to rally, mounting a weak counteroffensive. “I needn’t worry about sending men on an expedition with you, since no one in the Corps will have you.”
“Nope, they won’t. Knapp and the rest of the Initiative want a bunch of yes-men and toadies.”
Gale sat looking at the floor in sullen silence. Nick let the silence hang for several seconds before continuing, “One more thing. What did Paolo and Margo argue about?”
It took Gale a few moments to answer. Finally he looked up at Nick. “I shouldn’t say. It’s a personal matter, and it’s in bad form to mention it now. But I know you, Nick. You’re going to gnaw on this until you get an answer, aren’t you?” Nick just stared at Gale. Gale looked away. “All right, Margo was jealous of Tracy. She said several times that she was sure Paolo and Tracy were sleeping together.” I winced, but I managed to control my reaction beyond that. “I’m not sure when they would’ve had the opportunity. It’s very close quarters on Mars, and very tight schedules, as you know. But she was sure they were grabbing spare moments here and there. Certainly Paolo showed an excessive interest in Tracy.”
“Ah, there we go. A classic motivation for mischief, eh?”
“Mischief? Who said anything about mischief?”
“Oh, I’m looking for motivations. That was one of Azevedo’s biggest mistakes, you know. He didn’t consider the range of interpersonal problems that might arise. And you didn’t help him any.” Gale glared again, and Nick returned to his previous tack. “So you have no reason to suspect foul play?”
“No! And especially not Margo! She couldn’t have. They fought, but . . .”
“So she couldn’t have. And you, no doubt, will proclaim your innocence. You’re narrowing down the list of suspects.”
“Wha
t’s all this about suspects, Nick? What, you think some sort of crime was committed?”
“I am certain that a crime has been committed. Now I’m just trying to determine by whom. All right, Mr. Carver, I’m through with him. You can let him leave.”
Gale stood stiffly and headed for the door. He glanced at me, but he turned away at my impassive response; and then he left.
I looked at Nick. “So I suppose you want me to summon Dr. Ivanovitch next?”
“Oh? No, I have no need to talk with the good doctor.”
“You don’t think he could’ve killed Azevedo? Maybe he sabotaged the cable; and then after Azevedo survived, he did a poor job of treating him?”
“No, I am quite certain that Dr. Ivanovitch is much too smart for this crime.”
I didn’t understand what intelligence had to do with it; but I knew Nick would explain when he was ready, and not until. So I tried another line of questioning. “At last you’ve gotten around to the subject of the crime; but why didn’t you ask Gale about the cable?”
“Trust me, I’m very curious about the cable. But I was waiting to see if he would bring it up.”
“What? Why would he do that?”
“Why, indeed? That’s what I’ve been waiting for: one of them to bring up the cable.”
“Nick, that makes no sense. The last thing the murderer would want to do is draw attention to the cable. That’s evidence.”
“Ummhmmm.” But Nick said no more. He just stared at me as if waiting for me to reach some obvious conclusion. But whatever that conclusion was, it eluded me.
Besides, I had another concern tugging at my mind. “What’s with your obsession with their sleeping arrangements? You don’t seriously believe that Tracy was . . .”
“Whether I believe it or not is inconsequential. And I’m not sure why it matters to you, either, if you’re over her like you say you are. But if it soothes your worries any: no, I don’t believe it. Unless she’s fooling me—and she’s not—she has changed. She’s too professional to risk the expedition over an affair.
The Last Dance Page 28