“I see, sir.”
“But nanomachines don’t have brains, Riggs. They only have simple chemical sensors, valence detectors particularly. They look for the proper valences, grab the ions, and affix them to other ions or to a substrate. They’re really just glorified enzymes in a sense. If they can’t find the precise valence signature, and yet they’re still active, some of them will grab the nearest equivalent they can find: something close enough to the right ionic properties.
“Ah, but something close electrically can still be chemically a very different salt. For instance . . .” Nick pulled up Riggs’s report on his desk comp. “The nanos in these micrographs you took were designed to scavenge carbonate items out of Mars’s atmosphere, with its high concentration of carbon dioxide. It’s almost 95 percent CO2, did you know that?”
“Well, I knew something like that, sir.”
“Yes. And in fact, Azevedo chose his site because of the high presence of carbonates, perfect for these nanos. But if they can’t find the carbon ions they’re designed for, many of them will find the next closest valence. For example, a nitrite ion would be electrically identical to a carbonate ion, and a nitrate might be close enough for a nano’s detectors.
“Now there’s something interesting about these micrographs you took. If you look at the chemical analysis attached—as I did when you brought them to me—you will find that the S3 cables have been contaminated with nitrite salts, and also a smaller proportion of nitrate salts, not carbonate salts. That means that when those nanos were active, they found predominantly nitrogen stock, not carbon dioxide. Nitrogen, you know, the stuff that makes up 79 percent of standard air mix.”
Riggs was silent. His normally fair complexion had turned even more pale.
“In fact, since they get much of their stock from the surrounding air, that implies that this contamination happened in a nitrogen atmosphere. Now you won’t find that on Mars, as I said. It’s nearly all CO2. And you wouldn’t even find it in the expedition’s shelters. They used heliox as their breathing gas to lower their payload mass. That, by the way, is why I was so insistent on confirming the details of which Mars tents were used and where and how the gear was stowed. I needed to be certain that I knew where these cables had been and what they might’ve been exposed to; and all three expedition members confirmed for me that the gear was safely stored in the Mars tents every night, in the heliox conditions. There would be trace amounts of nitrogen, surely, but it should be completely dominated by carbon dioxide. There was no chance for contamination there, so there’s only one place this contamination could have happened.”
I couldn’t keep quiet. “On the ship!”
“Yes, on the ship, Chief Carver. And since these cables were very thoroughly inspected and recorded by Ms. Wells—I’m quite astonished at her meticulous records, Carver, you could learn something from her—we can be certain that the cables were not contaminated when they left the Collins. And so the contamination could only have happened aboard the Aldrin—after Professor Azevedo’s all-too-avoidable death.”
Riggs found his voice. “I see, sir.”
“Oh, I’m quite sure you do. And Mr. Carver is starting to see as well, though I think you had a head start on him. I knew right away: I wasn’t investigating a murder, I was investigating a frame-up. Someone is trying to frame someone for Azevedo’s death, and I needed to know who the someone was.
“So I had to ask myself the traditional questions: Who had means? Who had motive? Who had opportunity? At first I thought Ms. Wells had opportunity. She could’ve gotten to the cable at any time; and once we learned it was her cable, the opportunities expanded. But no, even before that, I learned of her chemistry degree. No chemist would make that mistake with the atmospheric ions. They would know it was a waste of time.
“As for Margo, what would she gain by making Azevedo’s death look like murder? Not much. For one thing, the spouse is always the first, most likely suspect in a homicide, especially given their well-known fights. Oh, in theory she might have tried to frame Ms. Wells by swapping the cables; but Margo had too much to lose either way. Her whole media campaign is about Azevedo’s great judgment, his people instincts that helped him to select an elite team of scientist-explorers, the best of the best. If people think he let a murderer on his crew, his entire myth falls apart. Not that I put any stock in that myth, mind you, but her investors do. She wouldn’t do anything to endanger that myth. It would ruin her.
“And Horace?” Nick chuckled. “What would he gain out of it? Cast suspicion on Margo, maybe? Hardly. He needs her. He’s a joke in the Corps. Yes, I know he’s a bigwig to you SPs, but no one in the Initiative trusts his decisions. He needs this Civilian Exploration Program to succeed if he wants to stay employed. Oh, I considered briefly that Horace might have a motive: if Azevedo’s death was murder, then it couldn’t be blamed on Horace’s poor planning. He could’ve been trying to duck responsibility. But Horace just isn’t that clever. Besides, he may be a damned fool, but he’s well versed in the atmospheric chemistry of Mars. He couldn’t make that mistake any more than Ms. Wells could.”
I broke in. “And that’s why you didn’t question Dr. Ivanovitch either. You knew his chemistry knowledge ruled him out as a suspect.”
“Yes.”
“Then why’d you interview Gale at all?”
Nick grinned. “Because it amuses me to rub his nose in his mistakes. And I wanted his perspective on the personalities of the expedition. Horace Gale may be a pompous ass, but he’s also a political climber. He always knows the gossip.
“But that was before I realized I was looking in entirely the wrong direction, because I was only looking at the expedition personnel. If the sabotage happened here, that added dozens of potential suspects from our own crew. Mr. Riggs?”
Riggs was slow to respond. “Captain?”
“Reports are that you seem to be very friendly with Gale.”
“Yes, sir. We worked together in the past. I trained under him on my first post. And besides, he’s the only other Brit on board. It’s nice to talk football with someone.”
“Indeed. My reports are that you’ve spent pretty much all your free time with him.”
“Can you blame me, sir? It’s a chance to talk to a real explorer. Someone different on this ship, you know.”
“Ummhmmm. Perhaps you forget: both Chief Carver and I have already been to Mars, on the second Bradbury expedition, right along with Lieutenant Gale. I do hope we’re ‘real’ enough for you.” Riggs took the rebuke without blinking, and Nick continued, “And you—and you’re not alone in this, so don’t take offense—you’ve voiced concern in the past that the CEP is a mistake, and missions like this should be Corps missions. ‘Leave space to the professionals,’ I believe that’s what the SP activists say.”
“I’m entitled to my opinion, Captain. As you say, I’m not alone. We Space Professionals have a lot of influence in the Corps command.”
“Yes, yes, just what we need: more politics in the space program. Be that as it may, it looks like, despite poor planning and one unfortunate death, this expedition met most of their mission objectives. I would hazard a guess that Mrs. Azevedo’s investors will be pleased overall, and will invest in further CEP expeditions. Once she buries her husband, Margo still has the clout and the drive and the financing to mount another expedition, and another.”
“I wouldn’t know, sir.”
“Oh, trust me, she does. These decisions are being made politically these days, not sensibly. And I’m sure you believe it as well.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“But now if Margo were to be implicated in a murder—or for that matter, if any of the senior staff were, it hardly matters who—it would throw everything into disarray. Suddenly there would be investigations, there would be questions, there would be doubts. Investors would get nervous and pull financing. The Corps would feel pressure from the Space Professional contingent, and would likely push to cancel the CEP. The next
mission would likely be under Corps command, probably under Horace Gale himself; and he would pick his loyal crew.”
Nick still held the coil of S3 cable in his hand, looking down at it, not at Riggs. “I have a report from your supervisor that you may be leaving us.”
“Sir?”
“He says you’ve applied for a transfer.”
“Well, yes, sir, just considering it.”
“Yes, and a chance to ingratiate yourself with them as well, especially with Horace Gale. Looking at the letters of recommendation you’ve requested—”
“Sir!”
“Pshht. You think any communication goes out from this ship without me knowing about it? Please. What kind of a captain would I be if I didn’t keep up with details on my vessel? So it looks like in fact you’re hoping for reassignment to the Mars expedition on their next trip.”
“Well . . .”
“And lo and behold, with the news from this expedition, there are sure to be some vacancies on that crew. Azevedo dead, and now Ms. Wells tied up in legal battles, the whole CEP in jeopardy. There should be a complete shakeup. It’s likely the Space Professionals will get their way. Gale will end up in charge, and there could be an opening for the right man.”
“Well, I guess.”
“Oh, most certainly. Horace would want to take his chosen crew with him, men he knew and trusted. And you hope to be one of them.”
“Captain . . .”
“Oh, don’t deny it. As I was told, three-quarters of my crew applied for that last expedition, you included. But there will be some difficulty with your transfer, I’m afraid.” Nick touched the comm control on his desk. “Bosun, come in, please.”
The office door opened, and Bosun Smith came in. She carried another coil of S3 cable.
“Well?” Nick looked from Smith to the cable.
Smith nodded. “It was in his cabin, sir, just like you said it would be. I found it coiled up in his pillowcase, crammed in between the bunk and the wall. You’d never notice it without a search. Well, you might, Captain, but not the average person.” She handed the cable to Nick. “The RFID tag confirms that it’s Professor Azevedo’s cable.”
Nick stood slowly, came around his desk, and stood nose to nose with Riggs. He didn’t yell. That’s when I know Nick is really angry, not just domineering. He gets very calm. He looked at Riggs and said, “Get off my ship.”
Riggs swallowed. “Sir?”
“You lied to me, Mr. Riggs.”
“Captain, I—”
“Don’t bother denying or explaining. We may be inside the gravipause; but when it comes to my crew, I am still judge, jury, and lord high executioner. And I do not want to hear more lies. I’m a realist. I know people lie for all sorts of stupid reasons. It’s part of their nature. But not to me, and not on my ship. That gets people killed, and I won’t tolerate that. Bosun, escort Mr. Riggs to his cabin. Watch him pack his kit. If he tries to go anywhere else or talk to anyone else, slam him into the nearest bulkhead. Twice. Once he’s packed, escort him to the docking bay and confine him there until the ferry arrives.”
“Yes, Captain.” Smith didn’t grin, but her eyes did. She was half again as large as Riggs, and she knew how to fight dirty. I think she wanted Riggs to make trouble. But he didn’t: he just left, and Smith followed.
My head spun. It was like it had been tossed into microgravity, and all the facts I thought I had learned that day had been tumbled into space and rearranged themselves. I had been wrong. About all of it. And about Tracy. But Nick—I looked at him. “But if you knew this already, why didn’t you say so? Why did you let Tracy twist in the wind? Why did you let her suffer? She left here practically in tears!”
Nick sat in his chair, leaned back, knotted his fingers before him, and looked at me for several seconds. “Carver, you may have gotten over what she put you through, but I still had a bit of a grudge to work out. She almost cost me the best junior officer I’ve ever had. She appears to have grown up since then, but she had still earned a little suffering for that. And I knew you would never give her what she deserved, so I had to do it.”
“You planned that?”
“It was a simple calculation. I had nothing to gain. It’s not like exonerating her is going to endear me to her. It’s far too late for that. But I had nothing to lose as well. It’s not like she could hate me any more than she already did. So I might as well play the villain.”
“So you were cruel to her just because you had nothing to lose?”
“You missed the final line in my calculation: I would gain nothing by exonerating her; but if you get on that shuttle and present the evidence that clears her name, you’re her hero. You’ll come in and save her from my vile accusation.”
I blinked. Nick playing matchmaker? But . . . “No. I can’t play games like that with her. I won’t lie to her.”
“Oh, don’t be a complete ass, Carver. Tell her a lie, tell her the truth for all I care, but don’t you dare let her leave you behind the way she did last time. That woman is going to space, with or without you. So get going before you miss that shuttle. I don’t need you moping around for another six months. Go work out whatever it is you two have to work out.”
“Thank you, sir.” I leaped for the door.
“Oh, one last thing.” Nick halted me on the threshold. “The Aldrin leaves Earth for Mars in two months, with or without you. If I’m wrong, and she’s not going back to space . . . If I’m going to need a new chief officer, please try to give me enough time to find a replacement who can measure up to your standards.”
“Yes, Nick. Permission to go ashore, Captain?” But Nick ignored me, turning his e-reader on instead. Once again I heard “Brigas Nunca Mais.” Without waiting for an answer, I was already in the outer office and heading for the passageway.
I would be back aboard the Aldrin. I was certain of that. And I was just as sure that next time I wouldn’t be alone. That would give Nick something to complain about, so everyone would be happy.
9. GRAND GESTURES
FROM THE MEMOIRS OF PARK YERIM
9 JUNE 2083
As we walked along the track, I shook my head in disbelief.
“What’s the matter, Inspector?” Carver asked.
“I can’t see it,” I said. “So this man, who you think of as your friend—”
“He is,” Carver insisted. “My best friend in the Three Worlds, save only my wife.”
“That’s just it. He tormented Ms. Wells, the woman you loved, out of some petty sense of revenge. That’s a friend? And then said he did it to make you look good, and you believed him?”
Carver slowed his pace, and he shrugged. “Yeah, when you put it that way, he sounds pretty awful. But it all worked out. Tracy and I came back to the Aldrin, and we got reacquainted on the trip back to Mars. When we parted that time, we knew it wouldn’t be forever. She filmed another documentary and helped plan new Mars settlements; and the next time the Aldrin came around, we were married. There were a couple of long years in there, but we were never really separated. Only by distance. I would say Nick’s plan worked out fine.”
“Huh.” I didn’t want my skepticism to show through, but I couldn’t help myself. “It seems far-fetched to call it a plan. I would say it’s just one more example that Captain Aames is a manipulative bastard.”
At that, Carver stopped walking, and he laughed. I turned back to him as he said, “You’re not the first to call him that. I could make a list.” Then he caught his breath. “But I don’t think you understand; it wasn’t manipulation, it was . . .” He paused. “In Nick’s eyes, it was a grand romantic gesture.”
At that it was my turn to laugh. “Romantic? Aames? Of all the words used to describe him, that’s one I’ve never heard.”
Carver nodded. “I’m sure. But in his own way, yes, Nick is a great romantic. And he’s especially fond of grand gestures. He can be awkward with them, but he makes the effort if you know what to look for. It’s the day-to-day stuff w
here he slips up.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just have trouble believing the most hated man in space is some closet romantic.”
Carver sighed. “All right, maybe I can make my point with another story. Well, it’s really a story of a story, one I told Tracy at our wedding. She had her doubts, just like you, and she wouldn’t let up until I told her a story to explain what was really going on with Nick.”
10. BRIGAS NUNCA MAIS
OFF-THE-RECORD ACCOUNT OF CHIEF ANSON CARVER
COVERING EVENTS OF 24 NOVEMBER 2078 AND ALSO 21 JUNE 2050 TO 30 OCTOBER 2052
I hadn’t intended to spend our entire wedding reception talking about Captain Nick Aames. Really, I hadn’t. But Nick has a way of working his way into events even when he’s not trying to, especially events on the Aldrin, his ship. I’d be damned before I’d let him ruin our wedding night! So when Tracy asked a bunch of questions about Nick, I figured it was better to get them out of the way immediately, not later when we were alone.
It all started with the reception line. We stood just outside the chapel, a small one by Earth measure, but a pretty large space by the Aldrin’s, large enough for our sixty guests. The rest of the ship had watched by video. The ceilings were no higher than standard deck height, but the simulated wood grain and some creative use of lighting and pillars implied depth up there. Overall, the chapel felt spacious compared to the rest of the ship. It was decorated all in lilacs. Oh, not real ones, we didn’t have the budget for that; but little purple silk blossoms were tastefully arranged on pillars and pews.
By contrast, the passageway outside was just another ship’s passageway: narrow and functional and gray, though Bosun Smith had continued the lilac decorations out there. Tracy looked stunning in her dress, a white ensemble that practically floated in the quarter G of the Aldrin’s main habitat ring. Her veil was clipped back behind her dark, elegantly styled hair, and her deep-brown eyes were aglow. The corners of her eyes were lifted by a smile, and I couldn’t stop staring at her. If I could see only one thing for the rest of my life, I would want it to be Tracy’s smile. And if I could smell only one thing, let it be the lilac water she wore.
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