Fornos smiled thinly. "You recognize the book. Good. Denials are so boring. Perhaps you would care to explain why a clean-up crew found a book belonging to Dr. Havlik in your suspension chamber? Especially since said book may be evidence in a murder investigation?"
Corvan's throat felt dry. He mustered some saliva and swallowed hard. "I found the book in Dr. Havlik's suspension chamber, saw that it was written in some sort of personal code, and didn't have sufficient time to decipher it."
Fornos nodded understandingly. "So, rather than hand the book over to the proper authorities, you kept it, hoping to score one of the journalistic coups for which you are so famous."
Corvan's face felt warm and he could hear the pulse pounding in his head. Everything the administrator said was true. He forced himself to speak. "Yes, that's true."
Now Jopp took over. She made no attempt to hide her disdain.
"Corvan, you and your incredibly overblown ego make me sick. We may never know exactly what happened . . . but try this on for size.
"Somehow, some way, the killer learns that you have the book. Not knowing what it may contain, and fearing that it will give him or her away, the murderer makes arrangements for an early release. He or she plans to find you, do whatever's necessary, and recover the book.
"Meanwhile, in some other part of the ship, Rosemary Parker did much the same thing. I guess we'll never know why she wanted to roam around the ship alone, only that she did, and ran into someone else that shouldn't have been up and around either. And wouldn't have been except for your unbelievable arrogance."
Each one of Jopp's words cut like a knife. What she had said was clearly and undeniably true. Rosemary Parker's death was his fault. If only he had given them the book. They might have found a way to decode it, might have identified the killer, might have locked him or her away. His voice was little more than a croak.
''Did you decode the book?''
Jopp looked at Paxton. "Tell him, J.D."
Paxton looked sympathetic, as if he could imagine what Corvan felt and didn't want to make it any worse.
"Yeah, we ran the code through SIS and came up with a solution."
"Go ahead," Hobarth said smugly. "Tell Corvan what you found."
Paxton shrugged. "Nothing. Nothing important anyway. It seems Dr. Havlik had some rather unusual sexual fantasies and liked to write them down. He used the code to keep them private."
"Get it, Corvan?" Jopp asked coldly. "There was no opportunity for a scoop, to exercise your ego, or rack up some personal profit."
Corvan felt worse than he had felt in his entire life. He nodded miserably. ''Got it."
Fornos cleared his throat. "And that brings us to Mrs. Kio-Corvan."
Corvan looked at his wife, but she hung her head and refused to meet his eyes. Kim? What had she done?
"What?" Fornos said, correctly reading Corvan's expression. "You didn't know? How interesting. Well, it would seem that your wife shares your proclivity for irresponsible action. You noticed the part of the video where some robots block the doorway?"
Corvan did remember. The robots had tried to keep the killer in the conference room. What the—? He nodded.
"That was your wife's doing. Not directly, since she was sealed in her chamber at the time, but indirectly through the A.I. assigned to your department."
Thoughts raced through Corvan's head. The A.I. assigned to his department? No, not the Grass Valley, it didn't have enough chutzpah . . . Wait a minute. Martin could and would so something like that. Martin! That was it! Kim had dumped Martin into the com center's editing setup, and the A.I. was masquerading as the Grass Valley! The reop did his best to look amazed.
"Kim, what's he talking about?"
His wife looked up. Her eyes were cautious, signaling him to watch what he said, yet seemingly sincere. "I gave the Grass Valley some additional programming, that's all. I knew there was a murderer on the loose, knew that my husband and I could be in danger, and did what I could to provide us with some additional protection.''
"That's one way to put it," Paxton said, his eyes twinkling. "It seems that your A.I. circumvented Big Dan, gathered support from some lesser computers, and tried to rescue Parker. That's where the robots entered the picture. MOMS put them there to keep the killer trapped in this room. That's when the command and control computer stepped in, and not understanding the situation, released the killer."
"So where's the problem?" Corvan demanded. "It sounds as if our computer came damned close to nailing the killer."
"The problem," Jopp replied coldly, "is that your computer went around the chain of command. The killer would be in custody right now if Big Dan had been properly informed."
Corvan wasn't so sure, but knew better than to say so, especially if Martin was involved. Kim remained silent as well.
Fornos looked from Corvan to Kim. "Hear me, and hear me well. This is absolutely, positively, your last chance. One more mistake and you'll spend the rest of your life scrubbing out the recycling vats. Do I make myself clear?"
Corvan nodded and Kim did likewise.
"Good. Then get the hell out of here. This ship's in orbit around Mars. Billions of people are waiting to see and hear the story. Let's see if you can give it to them without messing up."
Corvan nodded once more, ripped himself free from the Velcro hook, and waited for Kim to clear the room. He was almost to the hatch when Fornos spoke again.
"And Corvan . . ."
The reop turned. Light winked off the eye cam's lens. "Yes?"
"Let J.D. handle the detective work. That's what we pay him for."
"Yes, sir."
The two of them made their way to the E-deck observation port without any agreement to do so. Soon it would be filled to overflowing with gawking colonists, just up from the long sleep and eager to see their new home.
But Mars was theirs for now, a reddish sphere that threw light against their faces and floated beneath the ship. They hovered side by side. Corvan was the first to speak.
"Beautiful isn't it?"
"Yes," Kim agreed. "It certainly is."
There was silence for a moment, then Corvan spoke again.
"You know what I hated most?" "No. What?"
"The fact that they were right. I screwed up and screwed up good."
Kim put an arm around her husband's waist. "We screwed up and screwed up good."
Corvan smiled and shook his head. "Bull. I took the notebook, I hid it under my pillow, and I brought the killer out of hiding. There was nothing wrong with your idea. You tried to protect us that's all. It wasn't your fault that Big Dan messed things up."
"So what now?"
Corvan looked at Mars, its pock-marked surface, and wondered what waited below. "The truth?"
"Yes," Kim replied softly. "The truth."
Corvan pulled her close. "The truth is that I'd quit if I could. Bag the whole damned thing and call it quits. But there's no place to hide. We have a choice. We can shovel journalistic shit or the real thing. And, since journalistic shit weighs less, it seems like the better choice."
Kim laughed. "That's what I love about my husband. He has such a wonderful way with words."
The next eighteen hours were filled with frantic activity. There were lots of stories to cover and only two people to cover them.
First came the trip itself, a successful journey of more than 80 million miles, most of which had been traveled while asleep. Corvan shot the obligatory footage of Mars through the E-deck observation port, carried out the equally obligatory interviews with Fornos and Jopp, and marvelled at how wonderful they made everything sound.
There was no mention of Rosemary Parker or the one hundred and sixty-three colonists and crew that never woke up from their artificially induced sleep, or the messages from the approximately eight hundred people already on the surface.
It seemed construction was running three months behind schedule, there were shortages of certain kinds of building supplies, and few if any
amenities.
It seemed the lack of recreation and entertainment had been accepted at first. This was a pioneering effort and the construction workers knew that. But month after dreary month had passed, and while Mars Prime had risen slowly from the ground, living conditions had improved very little.
Making the situation worse was the fact that both the E-Society and the WPO had painted glowing pictures of how wonderful life would be, of the comforts that had been designed into Mars Prime and the glorious nature of the work itself.
And, from what little bit Corvan was able to learn, comforts had been designed into the Mars habitat. The only trouble was that the comforts had been assigned an extremely low priority, which meant that years would pass before most of them would be installed. Years during which the workers would simply go without. Or so the administrators hoped.
And there was more, too; unsettling rumors of crime that were at odds with the planetary paradise that people had been told to expect.
None of that was apparent from Corvan's reports, however. The problem had not become totally unmanageable as yet, and with the blind optimism of administrators everywhere, the suits hoped it would somehow go away.
Corvan was allowed to cover Rosemary Parker's murder, however, since the colonists had already heard about it by word of mouth, and Fornos hoped to kill off the more outlandish rumors.
A version of the story, heavily censored to make it seem as innocuous as possible, had even been sent to Earth where it was snatched up and given a lot of play.
SERIAL MURDERS IN SPACE! the headlines screamed, and people immediately wanted more. So by intentionally downplaying the story the suits had created even more demand for it. But rather than see the situation for what it was, the logical outcome of their own misplaced efforts at control, they resorted to even more censorship.
Hobarth was given the responsibility for censoring Corvan's stories, a job that the administrative assistant carried out with considerable relish and a rather heavy hand. For example:
A colonist who admitted to being "tired" after a sixteen-hour shift was deleted from a human interest story.
The discovery that a crate marked "environment suits" actually contained lawn chairs was suddenly classified as "top secret."
Corvan was ordered to ignore the increasing amount of friction between the New-Agers and the fundamentalist Christians.
But there were victories, too. Like the time that Corvan allowed Hobarth to play reporter and cover a story on shipboard romances. Although the story seemed harmless enough, the message that came across when colonists talked about the benefits of a childless relationship was just the opposite from the one that Hobarth was supposed to convey.
It could be a long time before the Mars colony could support children, so everyone who shipped out had submitted themselves reluctantly to various forms of birth control, and their angst was apparent to everyone but Hobarth.
And then there was the interview with Idi Ardama the ship's nutritionist. Ardama's assistant, a woman named Chow, had volunteered to sign her supervisor's comments for the edification of the hearing impaired on Earth. Hobarth had been quick to see the political advantages of this idea and had agreed to do the story.
But unbeknownst to him, and to Corvan and Kim for that matter, was the fact that Chow proceeded to contradict every statement that her boss made.
When Ardama said, "the nutritional value of the food was excellent," Chow said "it was poor."
When Ardama said that "the food tasted wonderful," Chow indicated that "it tasted like bat guano."
And, when Ardama claimed "there was plenty of it," Chow said "there wasn't."
Corvan and Kim didn't learn of this deception until after the story aired on Earth, but enjoyed the furor it made when the truth came out and Hobarth caught hell. It was his story, his decision, and his ass that Jopp chewed on.
Hobarth backed off a bit after that and things improved. Or that's how it seemed anyway, until the Corvans headed dirtside and joined the other citizens of Mars Prime.
Chapter Nine
The shuttle crouched at the center of the Outward Bound's launch bay and waited patiently as the long line of silver-suited humans fed themselves into its maw. They were crew members mostly, or specially trained colonists, heading dirtside where their skills were needed. The Corvans had been ordered to go along and create a properly upbeat news story for consumption on Earth. No small task given the conditions dirtside.
The air inside Corvan's helmet was dry and musty. He turned his head to the right, found the tube, and sucked water into his mouth. It tasted worse than the air.
He looked around. The line moved in fits and starts. Every now and then the people in front of him would pull themselves forward then stop. Four-foot safety lines connected them to the bright yellow cable that ran from the Outward Bound's lock to the shuttle.
Kim floated just ahead of him, the soles of her boots almost touching Corvan's face. The treads were unmarred by wear. The light came in at a slight angle so that each groove cast its own individual shadow. They were interrupted by an oval with the letters "E L" stamped in the middle.
Corvan knew that the letters "EL" stood for "Eron Laboratories,'' the company that manufactured the colonists' pressure suits, or "E-suits" as they were more commonly called.
He also knew that while the mission administrators had cut lots of corners the pressure suits were the single exception. They were literally the best that money could buy. Dead people can't do much work, so each and every colonist had been given a first-class computer-designed E-suit, plus a backup should they need it.
Corvan's felt big and bulky but was actually quite light compared to the monsters that the first astronauts had worn. He had read descriptions of what they were like.
To avoid getting the bends it had been necessary to spend up to four hours breathing oxygen prior to an EVA. After that the astronauts had donned a liquid cooling and ventilation garment, a urine collection device, lower torso pants, plus boots, hip, knee, and ankle joints, followed by the upper torso, umbilical and electrical harness, not to mention a life support backpack, gloves, helmet, and visor. Each suit weighed more than 200 pounds on Earth. Not only that, but the suits had been made out of what amounted to fabric, making them vulnerable to rocks or anything sharp. Not a good choice for the surface of Mars. No, his hard suit was much better, and for that he was thankful.
Corvan activated the robo cam. It had come through the fight completely undamaged and sat perched on his right shoulder. The reop's visor would distort and limit the scope of the shots provided by his eye cam, so the remote-controlled device would be much more important that its Earth-bound predecessor had been.
Corvan activated the robo cam with a mental command, took a look through its lens, and saw the line start to move. He switched back.
Kim looked over her shoulder, waved, and he waved in return. The line moved forward, a good twenty feet this time, then stopped. And so it went until the shuttle grew to the size of a small cargo jet. It was a small, boxy ship with little more than pylons where the wings would normally be. The fuselage had been white once, but countless reentries and wind-driven sand storms had burnished it silver. Corvan chose to find this comforting, as if thus tested, the machine was now invulnerable.
Kim pulled herself into the open hatch and Corvan followed. A row of lights marched the length of the overhead. Slivers of bright metal could be seen where heavy cargo had scored the deck. Graffiti covered the bulkheads and part of the ceiling. All of it had been applied with magic markers rather than paint. Some of the colors were brighter than the rest suggesting they were more recent. One entry caught Corvan's eye. It read:
"Welcome to Mars shitheads. You'll be sorry."
Corvan didn't take the graffiti too seriously since he'd seen similar things everywhere, from YMCA camp to Army OCS. Still, it didn't make him feel any better either.
The seats looked strangely new, as if they had only recently come out of
storage and were rarely used. Kim gestured for him to start a new row. Corvan accepted knowing that it would put both him and his cameras next to a view port.
Then came the struggle to strap themselves in, another long wait while the rest of the passengers did likewise, followed by an almost anticlimactic departure. The shuttle fired its steering jets, and with no gravity to restrain it, lifted with a minimum of effort.
The shuttle cleared the larger vessel's launch bay a few moments later and descended toward the planet below. Mars was red, just the way it was supposed to be, and pock-marked with craters. With no atmosphere to speak of there was nothing to slow a meteorite down, much less burn it up. Corvan had memorized the statistics.
Mars had a diameter half that of Earth's, orbited the sun at a distance that varied between 128 million and 155 million miles, and had an orbital period of 686 days. A single rotation took 24 hours, 37 minutes, and 22 seconds. That at least would feel normal.
But, due to its relatively smaller size, Mars received less than half as much solar energy as Earth, a fact that had caused it to cool more quickly and form a thicker crust. And, because the thicker crust inhibited volcanic activity, many of the gases that were locked into the rock had never been recycled. As a result Mars lost most of its atmosphere, stayed relatively cold, and had no flowing water.
Once on the ground he could expect a climate that ranged from a high of 60 degrees at noon near the equator to a low of 225 degrees below zero. The thought made Corvan shiver. He turned his heater up a notch.
The reop saw something bright off to the right and wondered if it was one of the planet's two moons. Deimos was about two miles across, and as such, was the smallest known satellite in the solar system. Phobos was only slightly larger and had a somewhat distorted shape. Both moons occupied orbits rather close to Mars, so the light could have originated from either one of them.
Everything looked slightly blurry. Corvan rubbed the window with a gloved thumb. It made little difference. The effects of the annual sandstorms had been etched into the plastic.
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