by John Olson
A knock sounded at the door. It opened just as Nate got to it.
“Hey, Josh, come on in.” Nate thought his voice sounded ridiculously breezy.
Josh walked in, saw Perez, and took a second look at Nate’s face. His eyes put up their phaser shields. “What’s up, gentlemen?” He didn’t sit down.
Nate pointed to a chair, then plopped into his own.
Josh sat down as if the chair were made of toothpicks.
Nate cleared his throat. How was he going to say this? “Josh, we’ve got a couple of questions about the Hab.”
Josh licked his lips. “Um, sure, fine.” He looked over at Perez, then back to Nate. “What kind of questions?”
Nate pulled a blueprint out of his drawer and spread it on the desk. “This blueprint found its way to a Japanese terrorist organization a couple of years ago in August. Remember that month? We had a lot of stuff going on then. Senator Axton was trimming our budget with a chainsaw. You had a little accident on your motorcycle.” And we axed you from Ares 10, remember?
Josh managed a feeble grin. “Hey, some months you don’t forget, right?” He wiped his palms on his filthy shirt.
“Okay, so I’ll get to the point,” Nate said. “This blueprint was sent electronically to Japan from here. We’ve traced it through an anonymous remailer in Finland.”
“A ... what?” Josh looked genuinely mystified.
“Anonymous remailer. It’s some kind of an e-mail site where you can send messages, and it’ll mail them on to any address you choose, wiping out all the information about who sent it.”
“What’s the point of that?”
Nate sighed. Josh was either a really good actor, or ... what? “You can send things to someone through one of these remailers, and nobody will ever know who sent it. Including the recipients.”
“And you say it came from inside NASA?” Josh said. “How do you know that if it’s anonymous?”
“We had Interpol get a court order and open the records on the remailer in Finland,” Nate said.
Perez just sat there, nodding. He wasn’t going to help at all.
“Josh, the bottom line is this.” Nate pulled out another document. “According to the records, that blueprint was mailed from your computer, using your e-mail address.”
Josh’s jaw sagged. “Mine? That’s ... crazy. I didn’t send any emails to Japan. Why would I want to send some terrorists a blueprint of the Hab?” He looked at Perez. “Dr. Perez, you don’t believe I did that, do you?”
“We’re just trying to get to the bottom of this, Josh,” Perez said. “We thought we’d start by talking to you. Now if there’s anything you’d like to tell us—”
“No kidding, there’s something I want to tell you.” Josh stood up. “I’ve been out there working my tail off on this project for something like eight years. I’ve done the roadwork, the classwork, the grunt work—and you guys canned me, and I’m still doing my job. And you know why? I’ll tell you why. Because I ... love ... NASA.”
“I’ve been dreaming all my life about putting a man on Mars. Or a woman, or whatever. Our men. Our women. United States of America. And if you think I’d do anything—anything—to hurt this project, you are brain-dead flipped-out crazy! I don’t have to put up with this. I’ve got a crew that needs me.” He turned for the door.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Nate said. “Josh, we are not accusing you of anything. But the Fibbies have brought this to our attention and we need to resolve this question. And we wanted to be up front with you about it right from the start.” He held the paper up in the air.
“Okay, fine. Be up front.” Josh grabbed the FBI report and looked at it. “What’s the date on this thing, anyway? Did you even think to check my schedule? I was out of town a lot that month, as I recall.”
He scanned the paper. “Here it is. August 11, 7:00 P.M.” He pulled out his cell phone. “Look at this. I was in an airplane flying to Japan to visit the Japanese Space Agency. Sitting next to Dr. Perez and Dr. Abrams.”
Nate felt a rush of relief. “Thank goodness! I’m glad to hear that, Josh.”
Perez pulled out his own phone and scanned it. “He’s right, Nate. I remember now. On the way back, Roger and I dropped in on Valkerie in Alaska.”
Josh plopped down in his chair, looking exhausted.
Perez put his phone back in his pocket. “Josh, we didn’t think it was you. We didn’t see how it could possibly—”
“You know, we still have a problem,” Josh said.
Nate stared at him for a second before it struck him. “Who broke into your machine and sent that e-mail?”
Josh put his head in his hands. “I hate to say it, but ... it’s most likely one of the crew. They were the ones with the easiest access to my machine.”
“Not Valkerie Jansen, obviously,” said Perez. “She was climbing trees in Alaska about then.”
“And I wish we’d left her there, instead of sending her up to die in space,” Josh said.
Nate’s heart lurched. Josh wasn’t giving up, was he? “It seems likely that whoever sent this blueprint ...”
“ ... was the same person who planted that bomb.” Perez looked grim. “That’s very likely, but not a certainty. However, it is an extra clue, and we’ll take anything we can get.”
Nate pulled out a pad and began taking notes. “Okay, here’s an action item for me. I’m going to check the schedules for Kennedy, Lex, and Bob to see which of them were in town on August 11, two years ago. And Josh, an action item for you: Talk to the crew—individually—and try to pump each one of them for info on who might have known your password, or had the ability to get it.”
Josh looked sober. “I hate doing this kind of thing.”
“So do I,” said Nate. “And ... I’m sorry we had to bring you in to discuss this.”
“I understand,” Josh said. He gave a short laugh. “Better here than on the six-o’clock news, huh?”
“Speaking of which ...” Perez said.
Nate looked up, startled. Now what?
Josh turned wary eyes on them both.
“Jane Seyler,” Perez said, looking intently at Josh.
“Um, what about her?” Josh looked puzzled. “She’s an anchor, isn’t she, for one of the networks?”
“You haven’t talked to Jane Seyler recently?” Perez asked. “In person?”
Josh’s eyes narrowed. “If so, it had to be at one of our press conferences. But I don’t recall seeing her here.”
“No, she’s a New York talking hairdo. We ... had an interesting discussion with her recently,” Nate said. “I did, anyway.”
“Josh, have you ever talked to this woman in person?” Perez asked. “Ever called her?”
“Never called her, no,” Josh said. “And she’s never called me. Never met her in person that I can remember.”
Nate didn’t want to push this any further. “Okay, that’s all we need to know. Go talk to the crew. Let’s see if we can nail this blueprint thing down.”
Josh got up and walked out.
Perez shut the door. “Do you believe him?”
Nate shrugged. Of course not. Josh had to be lying through his teeth. “Yes.”
“Good.” Perez picked up his briefcase and went to the door. “Because if you thought he broke that gag order, I’d throw him in jail faster than you can say ‘Houdini.’”
* * *
Tuesday, April 8, Year Three, 12:30 A.M.
Valkerie
Valkerie plunged through dark corridors, tearing at the elastic pseudopods that held her down. Gravity. The tunnels were thick with it. She tried to push off a wall, but the pseudopods dragged her back down. Beep-beep. Beep-beep ... She fought against the heavy tentacles. Kennedy was coming for her. She had to escape. Beep-beep ... Something tickled at the back of her mind. The sound—it was an alarm. It meant something. Something important ...
Decompression! Valkerie tore through the elastic bands that bound her. She sat up with a staticky rip. Whe
re was she? She wiped her eyes and looked up. A room hung sideways above her head. She grabbed at the fabric that covered her legs and held on. Her stomach surged. The room spun around her like a surging sea.
Beep-beep ... Valkerie squeezed her eyes shut—and listened. The sound was coming from the floor. She opened her eyes slowly and looked down at her watch. Beep-beep ... She pressed down on the two left buttons and the alarm stopped.
“Oh no!” The time jumped off the watch face. She’d slept for over seven hours. Why didn’t they wake her up? She needed to finish the synthesis.
Valkerie heard the faint murmur of voices coming from behind her—no, that should be overhead. Valkerie slipped out of the SRU and reoriented herself. She pushed off for the stairwell, listening intently. Bob and Kennedy were talking upstairs. Probably making plans. Some kind of alliance.
Valkerie pulled herself slowly up the stairwell. Kennedy was talking in a loud voice. She heard her name. She entered the upper deck and pulled herself to the left, keeping the stairwell between her and the voices.
“Copy that, Houston. I’d say she was very unstable. The tape we played you was her. She started screaming as soon as she fell asleep.”
A long pause.
“Something about Kennedy.” The voice was Bob’s. “She’s been showing signs of paranoia the whole trip. Especially where Kennedy is concerned. She doesn’t seem to get along with him at all.”
Valkerie stifled a gasp. They were talking to Josh. Trying to turn him against her. She moved silently along the circular corridor. If only she could hear what Josh was saying.
“Okay, I’ll go get her.” Kennedy’s voice was startlingly close.
Valkerie froze. What would they do if they found her sneaking around? Things were already bad enough. She ducked into a cabin and pressed herself against the wall. Kennedy floated past in the corridor. Had he seen her?
Apparently not. Valkerie had dodged that bullet, but another one was coming. They were going to blow a fuse when they discovered she wasn’t downstairs. What could she do? There was no way she could get downstairs ahead of Kennedy. He was already halfway down—
“Bob! You better get down here!” Kennedy’s shout came rattling up the stairwell.
Valkerie heard a thump on the wall of the stairwell—Bob rushing downstairs with all the grace of a half-drunk bull.
Valkerie ran through her options. She could try to get off a message to Josh, but with the time delay, she’d probably get caught. Maybe she could ... no. She pushed off down the hall toward the toilet. It was her only viable option—her bladder had decided for her.
Valkerie held herself down with the foot stirrups and readied the hose as fast as she could. They were probably searching the ship already.
She was just putting away her funnel tip when the toilet door exploded open. Her shriek wasn’t an act. Neither was the bump in the head she got from jumping up in the five-foot-high compartment.
“What are you doing in here?” Kennedy yelled.
“What do you think I was doing?” Valkerie tried to sound defiant, but her voice came out squeaky.
Kennedy grabbed her roughly by the arm and dragged her from the bathroom compartment. “I’ve got her!” he shouted. “She was in the head.”
Valkerie struggled to free herself, but Kennedy’s grip dug in tighter.
“What were you sneaking around for? Didn’t I tell you to stay in the bag?”
“My shift was supposed to end an hour ago. Why didn’t you wake me up?” Valkerie kicked wildly with her feet, trying to find purchase on the wall behind her. Her right foot connected with Kennedy’s leg.
“Oh no you don’t.” Kennedy grabbed Valkerie’s other shoulder and lifted her with her feet held out away from him.
“Please, you’re hurting me.” Valkerie started to tremble. Kennedy’s eyes were wide and unfocused—the eyes of a maniac.
“What were you doing?” Kennedy drew her toward his face. “Answer me now or—”
“Put—her—down!” Bob’s voice boomed. Valkerie felt herself spinning forward in Kennedy’s grip as he went sailing backward down the corridor.
She twisted free of his grasp and wriggled in the air, trying to make the world hold still. A strong arm circled around her waist and turned her back to upright.
“What did you think you were doing?” Bob’s eyes flashed. Valkerie had never seen him so furious.
“I was just ...” Valkerie swallowed hard. Bob was staring past her. Valkerie turned around. He had been talking to Kennedy.
“I found her hiding in the toilet compartment. I don’t know what she was doing, but she was up to no good.” Kennedy moved toward Valkerie menacingly.
Valkerie shrank back, clinging to Bob for protection. “I was just using the bathroom. You can check my funnel if you don’t believe me.”
Bob wrapped a protective arm around her. “And that’s why you were shaking her?” he demanded.
Kennedy sneered. “Don’t you see what she’s doing? She’s playing you. Look at her.” He spat the words. “Suddenly soft and weak and clinging for protection. Where did that come from? All she wants is to turn you against me.”
“No,” Valkerie pleaded.
“Look at her! It’s all an act. But her true self will come out when we’re both asleep. You can be sure of that.”
Valkerie looked up at Bob. His face mirrored the battle that raged inside. “Bob, please. You’ve got to believe me. I didn’t do anything.”
Bob took his arm back from around her waist and pushed her away. “I can’t take this anymore. We have to make a decision. Right or wrong, we have to make it now.”
“But I’m not done with the synthesis.” Valkerie’s heart sank. It was too early. She still had to talk to Josh ...
“I agree,” Kennedy said. “Let’s call Houston and tell them we’re ready to decide. We can finish the synthesis later.”
Valkerie looked up at Bob. If she refused, it would look as if she were afraid. Like she had something to hide. She nodded her acquiescence.
“Good.” Bob sighed and moved down the corridor to the command center.
Valkerie followed and took her place at the conference table. The three of them hovered around the table for several minutes, staring at each other’s faces. Trying to read each other’s thoughts.
“Okay, how are we going to do this?” Bob finally broke the silence.
“Just like last time, but this time we write down the name of the person we want to stay awake.” Kennedy got a sheet of paper from a stowage bin and tore it into three pieces.
“And Josh and Nate decide if it’s a tie,” Valkerie added.
“Nate decides alone.” Kennedy handed out the strips of paper. “Josh took himself out of it. He called while you were asleep.”
Valkerie went numb. Why was Josh distancing himself from the vote? Didn’t he know how Nate felt about her? Surely he didn’t believe Bob and Kennedy. He knew her—better than any of them.
Valkerie scrawled Bob’s name in big letters and slid her strip of paper face up onto the table. She didn’t care who saw it. Maybe Kennedy would get mad and vote for Bob just to spite her. Bob stared down at his blank slip of paper. His knuckles were white around his pen. What was he thinking?
Valkerie cleared her throat and caught his eye when he looked up. Bob stared back at her fiercely.
“Please,” she mouthed the word. How could she make him understand? She was innocent.
Kennedy slid his strip of paper onto the table and held it face up so that the name was turned toward Bob. Valkerie. If Bob voted for Valkerie, then she’d be the one to stay awake. If he voted for Kennedy, then Nate Harrington would have to break the deadlock. But Valkerie already knew what Nate’s decision would be.
* * *
Tuesday, April 8, Year Three, 12:45 A.M.
Bob
Bob stared at his blank slip of paper. Great, I get to decide. Kennedy or Valkerie.
Until a few minutes ago, he’d been pla
nning to vote for Kennedy. But the way Kennedy had been manhandling Valkerie ... over nothing. That was scary. What if Kennedy went nonlinear while the rest of them were in comas?
Or more down-to-earth, what if one of them had a medical emergency? Valkerie was the one with the M.D. behind her name.
On the other hand, if she had a Kevorkian complex, the M.D. degree wouldn’t be much help to her victims.
Truth was, neither one of them was a good choice. The best person to stay awake is me. Valkerie saw that. But Kennedy didn’t. Did that reflect on Kennedy’s judgment? Or was Valkerie just afraid of Kennedy? Or ...
Bob sighed heavily. This was not going anywhere. “Listen, guys, I know I was pushing to make a quick decision, but now I’m having a hard time.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Could I have just a few minutes alone with each of you? I need to talk.”
Both Kennedy and Valkerie nodded. Not that they had much choice. They had to be agreeable here. Each of them needed his vote.
“Okay, Kennedy, I’ll talk to you first. In my quarters. We’ll leave the door open, so we can keep an eye on Valkerie.”
Bob pushed off from the CommConsole and floated into his room. Kennedy followed.
“Why should I vote for you?” Bob asked in a low voice. “If I do, we deadlock and that means Nate gets to decide.”
“And he’ll decide on me,” Kennedy said. “That’s pretty clear. So I’ll give it to you straight. First, look me in the eye.”
Bob did. Kennedy’s eyes looked bad—the left one bloodshot, the right one squinting, unfocused.
“I swear on a planetful of Bibles I’m not the bomber,” Kennedy said. “You know that, don’t you?”
Bob nodded. He was sure of it.
“Second, I don’t care what Mission Control tells you, when we dock with the ERV, we need an experienced pilot to manage it. Most dockings go okay. But when one goes wrong, it goes really wrong. I’ve got six hundred hours in the docking sim, and Valkerie has maybe twenty. Clear?”