“That right?”
“What other explanation could there be for the way he took so much money from people? And so regularly.”
They drifted up through a cross link and into a half module office decorated with patriotic emblems and air force souvenirs. Behind the desk was a large holographic image of Ronald Reagan.
“This is the station commander’s office,” Moriarty said.
Nathan looked round, nodding politely. He glanced at the workstation. Given the briefest access, Box should be able to use the residuals and wear on the keys to get him Moriarty’s access codes. There might be something in the station computer which would be useful. Something to give him another edge. It was unlikely, but there might even be a connection to Hubble. “Tell me Colonel, just how good a poker player are you?” he asked.
Marty had a fever. It wasn’t serious, as far as Lauter could tell, but it was unusual for him. He was never ill. It was part of his reliability somehow, it went with his caution. She checked the time, reset the flight computer a few minutes early, and got him a couple more aspirins from the medical kit.
“Do you feel any better?” she asked. He looked better for the sleep, but he seemed to be sleeping a lot.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“You’re not fine,” she snapped. “And we’re a bloody long way from a medic.”
“It’s just a virus infection.”
“Where’s that supposed to have come from? We’re weeks from contact.”
Marty undid the sleep webbing and floated to the ablutions unit. “It doesn’t work like that,” he said, as he started to sponge himself off. “You know it doesn’t work like that. Viruses don’t have timetables.”
“It has to have come from somewhere,” she insisted.
Marty said, “You could have been carrying it. I could. It might have been in the suit. This isn’t what you’d call a sterile environment, is it?” He smiled gloomily. “We sift shit for a living, Lauter. We’re crap collectors, you and me.”
Lauter watched him wiping over his pale skinny arms and bony legs. What the hell did she see in him? It wasn’t his body, that was for sure. And he was a miserable sod when he wasn’t being an irritating little know-all. Still, he did look a lot better…
“You’re supposed to be Earthside, interviewing recruits,” Nathan said. “Why are you still in the office, David?”
Theroux held up his travel bag so that it was visible on screen. “There’s a small problem come up since you’ve been away.”
“Yes?”
“It’s not something I can talk about over an open circuit.”
Nathan said irritably, “My mind-reading’s a little rusty.”
Theroux looked concerned. “You look like shit,” he said. “Still finding it difficult to sleep without gravity, huh?”
“Don’t understand me, David, just tell me what the fuck it is you want.”
Theroux leaned into his monitor and peered out of the screen. “Is that Ronald Reagan behind you?” he asked. “Christ, isn’t it bad enough they named the thing after that asshole without having pictures of him about the place?”
He’s stalling, Nathan thought, and said, “You’re stalling, David. Stop pissing about and tell me what it is that’s happened.”
“Kenzy’s done the preliminary work on the case, she’s got all the details.”
“What case? What details?”
“She’ll explain it all when she gets there.”
So that was it. Kenzy had got off the leash. “I thought I made it very clear,” he said flatly, “that she does not leave that desk.”
“You also made it clear that I was running things in your absence,” Theroux said with calm assurance.
It was a fair point, but the poor sod was obviously no match for the bloody woman. “I forgot you were smitten,” said Nathan and smiled. “What did she do, waggle her bum at you?”
Theroux grinned. “If she’d done that I’d have taken her Earthside with me, not sent her to you.”
“The woman’s a menace.”
“I think the case could be too. There may be…” He paused for a moment, obviously trying to think of some discreet way to put it, then said, “…a political dimension?”
Nathan thought, a political dimension? How many dimensions are there out here, for God’s sake? He never should have taken this bloody job. It was vanity and ambition – which were the same thing. He should have told them to shove it when he had the chance. Lee would still be alive and he wouldn’t be alone in a giddy paranoid limbo full of floating weirdoes.
“Nathan?”
He said, without smiling, “A political dimension? Kenzy should be ideal casting in this case. Whatever this case is.”
“She’ll be less of an embarrassment there than I would be. Trust me.”
“I did, and look what it’s got me. I seem to have been making a lot of mistakes recently.”
“Listen, Nathan.” Theroux leaned forward and lowered his voice slightly, “I think what we’re seeing here is a definite game plan. Our problem is we don’t know who’s coaching the play.”
Nathan shook his head. “Your problem is, this better be important enough to justify sending that woman here.”
For Devis the novelty still had not really worn off, although he was more self-conscious now. That was why he liked to be left alone in the office sometimes. While no-one was watching he could play the little hand eye co-ordination games which were beyond him on Earth but which one-sixth-G made easy. Here on the Moon he could juggle, up to six small objects at a time; he could bounce a small ball, brought back from Earth for the purpose, off at least three different surfaces and still catch it; and when he was sure he was alone he even did the occasional handstand. He was working on balancing a coffee cup on top of a pen which he was balancing on a spoon held between his teeth, when Jiang Li Ho bounded into the office and caught him at it.
“I see,” said Ho, as Devis dropped the cup and the pen but deftly caught them both before they hit the floor, “that we share a delight in this new environment.” He beamed, and moved to look at the screen on which Devis had been working. “Have you found out anything yet?”
Devis spat out the spoon and said, “I’m sorry sir, I’m afraid Chief Superintendent Theroux just left.”
“I came only to enquire about the case,” Ho said.
Devis crossed to the workstation and switched the screen to standby. “You missed him by a matter of minutes.”
Ho’s smile did not falter. “Do I understand that you have found out nothing so far?”
“I personally,” said Devis, “have found out that the Moon is not made of green cheese, and that Santa Claus does not live on the darkside.” He smiled a thin sour smile. “There’s a lot to be said for seeing for yourself, I’ve always thought.”
“This has been the philosophy of my life too,” said Ho. “Unfortunately, it is not always possible.” He picked up a hard copy file and opened it.
“Some societies make it more possible than others,” Devis said, politely taking the file from him and closing it firmly. If he was aware of the irony he showed no sign of it.
“You overestimate the difference, Colin. Tell me now, what progress is there with our case?”
“Forgive me, Dr. Ho, but this is not our case. It is our case.”
“Why are you so unfriendly?” Ho asked, looking puzzled rather than hurt or annoyed.
“Maybe because you’re not,” Devis said.
“Have you always been so paranoid?”
“Have you always been so nosy?”
“Curiosity is what makes me a scientist.”
“Suspicion is what makes me a policeman.”
Ho stared at him for what felt to Devis like a long time, then he sai
d, “It would appear that we can have nothing to say to each other.” He bowed a small smiling bow, no more than a nod of the head, and left as abruptly as he had arrived.
As Devis watched the inner door closing, it struck him that Ho was not disappointed with the way things had gone, which either meant he had found out what he wanted to know… or else he hadn’t actually wanted to know anything.
It was unlikely and not something Nathan wanted to admit to himself, but he was pleased to see her. That was probably what had made him angry. That and her casual confidence.
“You’re the one who says ‘look for anomalies’,” she was saying now, looking past him at the comings and goings in the ersatz saloon. “Well, you couldn’t have a more glaring one than that, could you?”
“She says he’s missing. You can’t find any evidence that he exists at all,” Nathan prompted expressionlessly and when Kenzy looked back at him he asked, “So what exactly have you checked?”
“He has no social welfare or security ID number. No birth, marriage or death registration. No credit classification. No transportation licences, no passport number or travel ID. No medical, educational or military certification.” She waited, obviously satisfied that she had missed nothing.
“Has she?” Nathan asked.
Kenzy was ready for that question. “Oh yeah. And a Harvey Goodman is listed as her next of kin – but that’s the only place he is listed.”
“What do you think this is all about?”
“I think Odile Goodman could be an agent provocateur.”
“I see,” Nathan said. “Or rather, I don’t see. Have you checked with the people here?”
“Christ, no,” she exclaimed softly. “If someone is trying to stir up trouble, that would play straight into their hands.”
Nathan sighed. “Kenzy, tell me this isn’t the yellow peril and the threat to civilization as we know it,” he said.
But she was not to be deflected by sarcasm. “Ho was there when the call came through. He even predicted it.”
Nathan tried again. “Clever of him. To avoid suspicion like that.”
“It was arrogance. He couldn’t resist playing games with us.”
She was so sure that he almost began to think there might be something to it. “What did the Goodman woman say her brother was?” he asked.
Kenzy said, “A microbiologist. He graduated from Caltech, did post-grad at MIT.” She was obviously pleased with her theory and the evidence she had found to support it.
He nodded, waiting for the mistake. “But not according to their computers presumably,” he said.
“No Goodman H., in fact no Goodmans of any kind listed at either one.”
“For how long?”
She shrugged. “Eight years straight.”
Nathan nodded again. So there it was. He said, “Is that the longest period?”
“How do you mean?”
“Were there usually Goodmans?”
For the first time, she looked uncertain. “It’s a common enough name,” she said.
“Exactly; Caltech and MIT are vast institutions – so what are the odds –”
Kenzy interrupted: “On eight years in a row without a single registration in that name.”
“And happening,” Nathan said, “just when your boy would have been there.”
“Fuck it!” She seemed genuinely annoyed with herself. “The records have been got at.”
Nathan said, “It’s possible, anyway. If someone had to do a fast, dirty job, they might erase all references to the name Goodman and rely on nobody spotting it.”
“Which I didn’t,” Kenzy said. “I’m sorry, that was fucking stupid of me.”
“Yes,” Nathan said, realizing suddenly just how much he was enjoying her discomfiture, and trying to keep the smugness out of his voice, “stupid and careless.”
“Do you find being perfect a problem, sir?”
Clearly he had not succeeded. “I find being patient a problem, Kenzy,” he snapped, and wondered why the hell he was on the defensive all the time. “Where is Goodman supposed to have worked?”
“Is this another trick question?”
“People who use this station do so on what the Yanks are pleased to call a say-and-pay basis,” Nathan said and thought, she must know this already and I’m lecturing, for God’s sake. But he couldn’t find a way to stop, so he ploughed on. “They say what work they plan to do, and then they pay for the right to do it in some appropriate part.”
“They book a room,” Kenzy said.
Unsure whether she was being sarcastic, Nathan said, “Roughly speaking, yes.”
“Yeah well, roughly speaking I don’t know what room he was supposed to have booked. The sister was told that OMZ 13, the one she was trying to reach, never existed. Unlucky number.”
“Presumably you plan to check,” Nathan said.
Kenzy nodded and said, “Presumably.”
“What else?”
“David Theroux is going to visit the Goodman woman while he’s Earthside.”
“Always useful,” Nathan said.
Kenzy smiled. “You can’t tell they’re sweating if you can’t smell they’re sweating, right?”
Nathan noticed that although the mouth was as he remembered, small and vivid in her pale face, her lips seemed fuller somehow. “Too late to be of much use in the investigation,” he said coldly, “and no use at all to you here.”
Kenzy said, “I can tell you’re impressed by the moves I’ve made so far.”
“It’s not a game, Kenzy,” Nathan said.
She nodded and stood up. “Do you want a beer?” she asked.
Nathan watched her heel-and-toe her way expertly towards the bar. She did have a very attractive backside, he thought. And was it his imagination, or was she waggling it more than usual?
“Check,” Marty said as he moved his knight and revealed the attacking bishop.
“What?” Lauter demanded. She stared at the small magnetic board which Marty dragged along on every trip insisting it was the only real way to play chess. “You miserable rat.”
“You never think far enough ahead,” he said gloomily.
She stared into his eyes, clear now with no sign of fever. “You’re lucky we’re together, sweetness. You think so far ahead you’d never actually do anything if it wasn’t for me.”
“Checkmate in two,” he said.
Lauter stretched and yawned. She released herself from the acceleration couch where she had been lying with Marty, and drifted across the flight deck. An empty food carton and the tear-off backing from a spacesuit repair patch were floating in front of the control console. She flicked them away. The cabin had long since degenerated into the scruffy chaos which developed over any long haul. Marty made occasional attempts to tidy up but Lauter hardly noticed the mess any more. She switched on the cargo bay remote camera and stared at the screen.
Marty said, “Don’t you think you’ve wasted enough power watching that thing?”
“Why don’t we take a look inside and see what we’ve got?” Lauter said.
Marty was irritated. “Are you that bored?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Not bored enough to be stupid.”
Lauter kicked off from the bulkhead and dived back towards the couch, lunging at his crotch as she cannoned into him. “Who are you calling stupid, buggerlugs?”
Marty struggled to protect himself. “Suppose whatever’s in there’s explosive?” he gasped.
“Compromise,” offered Lauter. “We’ll stick the video probe into the vision socket and see what we can see.”
“Nothing,” countered Marty. “No light.”
“We’ll use the self-illuminating probe,” she persisted.
/> “There’s no access for it,” he said, “and you know it. And even if there was, it’s too bloody dim. It’s for close-up stuff.”
Lauter pouted. “I want to see what’s in there.”
“Wanting isn’t enough. You still need light.”
“I’m going to get suited up and try it anyway,” she challenged.
Marty said nothing. It was a stupid waste of resources, but at least it wasn’t too dangerous and if it kept her happy, well then, he was happy.
“I am happy to meet you, Pal,” Moriarty said. “It will be my honour to put at your disposal all the pleasures I have to offer.” Not letting go of Kenzy’s hand and still gazing deep into her eyes, he asked, “Have you played with your pretty assistant on our pool table, Commander?”
“She’s not my assistant,” Nathan said.
Kenzy did not flinch either from the grip or the gaze but smiled politely and said, “I’m not very good on pool tables, Colonel.”
Moriarty smirked. “I’m too much of a gentleman to make the obvious comment,” he murmured.
“But not to think it,” Kenzy said.
“A man’s thoughts are his own,” said Moriarty, and held her hand in both of his and pulled it against his chest.
Kenzy said, “Only if he keeps them to himself, sir,” and extricated her hand.
Nathan was conscious that he seemed more uncomfortable with Moriarty’s behaviour than Kenzy did, but he could think of no rational explanation for this. Odder still was the passing annoyance he felt towards her.
“I’m a tactile kind of guy,” Moriarty was saying. “I believe communication is helped by direct physical contact.”
Kenzy glanced towards Nathan. “That’s why you’re keeping quiet is it, sir? You don’t want Colonel Moriarty holding your hand in front of all these people?”
Nathan smiled thinly, “Is that where I’ve been making my mistake? Not tactile enough?”
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