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…”

  “Well, 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. I could tell that Nick knew his 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 smiled. “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. 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. 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 counter offense. “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. Klein and the rest of Mission Control want a bunch of yes men and toadies.”

  Gale sat in silence, 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 … 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?”

  “Oh, no! And especially not Margo! She couldn’t have. Oh, they fought, but…”

  “So she couldn’t have. And you, no doubt, will proclaim your innocence. You’re narrowing down the list of suspects.”

  “What’s all this about suspects, Nick? What, you think some sort of crime was committed?”

  “Oh, 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?”

  “Oh, 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 … 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.

  “But what matters is: does Margo believe it? If so, that might have motivated her anger during the expedition, as Gale said; and perhaps it motivates her guilt now. This is a complex case, and it’s all about motivations at this point. I understand the crime, so now I just need to understand who had a motive.”

  “So what now? More interviews? Whom do I fetch next?”

  Nick shook his head. “No more interviews quite yet. I need to think. Tell Bosun Smith I have some errands for her, and then you can go about your duties.”

  Nick didn’t bother dismissing me. I knew him well enough to know I was dismissed when he turned on the music. It was another classic, “Parece Mentira,” from an old Brazilian saying: “It seems like a lie.”

  * * *

  But instead of going about my duties, my watch was over. Not that that really mattered: on Nick’s ship, you were off duty when Nick said you were off duty, and not until. And that was doubly true for me as his second in command. Still, I had nothing on my schedule; and I had had a long, emotionally draining day already. I needed to unwind like I hadn’t needed in nearly … four years. So I headed back to the Rec Lounge.

  But when I got there, I knew I wouldn’t be able to escape my troubles after all. Tracy was there, and she had a large audience gathered for a preview of the final cut of her big documentary. There was a large mix of expedition members and Aldrin crew. Tracy opened with some production notes and then started the show; but she stopped occasionally for more notes or to invite comments from expedition members. Riggs sat in the front, right next to Gale, and he asked lots of questions and took notes on Gale’s answers.

  But my attention was reserved for Tracy. She had cleaned up for this presentation, switching to a freshly pressed jumpsuit. She had let her hair down so it hung around her shoulders the way I always liked it. Again I smelled lilac water, and I tried to shake it out of my memory; but it wouldn’t go away. Her eyes lit up as she explained details of the expedition and her filming; and she was an engaging speaker, as always. I knew that wasn’t just my heart speaking, as the crowd hung on her every word. But the documentary stood on its own just fine even without her production notes and her enthusiasm.

  It was really good. She covered the highlights of planning and training. She showed just enough of the flight out on the Collins to give the flavor without losing the viewer in the tedium of five months in orbit. She vividly captured the blend of exhilaration and terror of landing in the Ishiro-class shuttles. She showed the camp setup and the scientific experiments, including both the disappointments and the tantalizing hints for the future.

  And she covered Professor Azevedo’s death. Oh, she had no film of the incident itself. The rescue had taken all their efforts, so there was no film. But she had a computer animation of the scene, with stick figures tastefully substituted for the real participants. She showed exactly what went wrong—except, of course, that she didn’t mention the salt contamination. Nick hadn’t revealed that yet; and if Tracy knew … No, I didn’t want to contemplate how she might know.

  I was still wrapped up in these thoughts, not even noticing that the film had ended, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Before I turned, the scent of lilacs swept over me. It was Tracy. Old habits took over before I could even think, and I smiled at her. When she smiled back at me, I almost reached out for her; but at least I held that reaction in check.

  “So what did you think?” she asked as she sat across from me.

  “I…” I searched for the words. Then I decided to just be upfront. “It’s brilliant. Your best work ever.”

  “Thank you, Anson. That means a lot.”

  “Except … In your report to Nick, you were so harsh on Azevedo and his team for their poor planning. You didn’t miss a note, and you didn’t pull a punch. And yet none of that came through here.”

  Tracy hesitated. I could see that I had caught her in a conflict. “Anson, there are two stories of the expedition: the story of what went wrong, and the story of what went right. A lot went wrong, and that’s all in my reports; but even with all the inconclusive experiments, even with the Professor’s death, he accomplished his primary goals. He showed that Mars is a place where people will go, not just an elite group of professional astronauts. And where people go, people will die. People make mistakes. We’re not all perfect robots. We’re … We’re not all Nick Aames. If we let imperfection stop us, we’ll never go anywhere.”

  “Imperfection gets people killed.”

  “Yes, and perfection can’t always save them, either. Have you forgotten the Bradbury?”

  I would never forget the Bradbury, and she knew that. We had lost a lot of good crew in that incident. “But don’t you feel like this is a lie?”

  “No, it’s the other side of the story. When we get to Earth, I know the media will be full of reports of the accident again—my own reports. They’re going to give Gale and that bunch another weapon to use in their argument: ‘Space isn’t safe for ordinary people. Leave it to us professionals.’ They will find reasons to be safe, to avoid risks. We can’t afford that. We need people to take chances. That was the Professor’s goal and Margo’s goal, and it’s still my goal. I thought … it was a goal you understood.”

  I understood; but I understood Nick’s point of view as well. I felt like they were doing it to me again, forcing me to choose all over again between his caution and her dreams.

  I couldn’t choose, so I said nothing; and I saw disappointment in her face. Once more, I hadn’t chosen her. I hadn’t chosen Nick, either, but I hadn’t chosen her.

  But it seemed she wasn’t ready to give up, not again. She pulled her chair around beside mine, uncomfortably close. The lilac water couldn’t be imaginary, as clear as the scent was. She must’ve preserved a vial. I remembered other nights when I smelled it so close, and I squirmed; but Tracy didn’t seem to notice. “We were there for seven months. I’ve got months of footage to work with. This won’t be my only documentary coming out of the expedition. There will be one that tells the mistakes quite thoroughly. But this is the one that I need to tell now. The one that shows: We can do this!” She opened her comp so I could see it. “Here. This is my real last scene. I haven’t included it yet because I want to get Margo’s approval first. But it’s important that you see this, that you understand.”

  She tapped her comp, and a new scene appeared. It was Mrs. Azevedo in a shelter in the camp. Her eyes were red from recent tears, but she had a defiant look on her face. The shelter was darkened with a hint of red, probably from natural Martian daylight outside; but a mild light shone down on her from above, accentuating the shadows in her face. She leaned forward, directly into the camera. “Am I going to give up? No. Never! If I give up, then Paolo is dead. When his dream dies, then I bury him in my heart. Until then … No, there is no then. I won’t give up, not ever. But maybe others will. Maybe I’ll have no choice. But my words, my money, my time, my power … I’ll use them all for Paolo’s dream. People will come here, they’ll keep coming here. And they’ll remember … They’ll remember Paolo, and how his spirit calls them to come here and live here and work here. And some of them … Well, they’ll be brave like Paolo. They’ll know the risks.”

  And then the scene rolled back in time and space, all the way back to Earth, back to the earliest days of training. Professor Azevedo sat in a tent that bore a superficial resemblance to the Mars shelter; but the light was bright and blue-white, and Azevedo sat back in his chair. He wore a stubbly beard of gray with flecks of white, much like the hair that stuck out from his knit cap. I suspected they were on a mountain trip. He looked into the camera, and he smiled that smile that had won over so many skeptics. “Will people die in this program? Of course they’ll die, what kind of question is that? It’s the old Pioneers’ Creed: ‘The cowards never started, and the weak died along the way.’ People die on the frontier, and that’s no reason not to go. The ones who survive will be the strong and the smart and the lucky and the just-too-tough-to-kill.”

  From off screen, Tracy asked, “And which are you?”

  His grin broadened. “There’s only one way to find out. And no matter what, I will find out. Gladly. How about you?” And he laughed. And the screen faded to black, and white letters appeared: Paolo Azevedo, Ph.D., Founder of the Civilian Expedition Program. 1994–2037.

  I stared at the simple words, dumbstruck. Tracy’s video made her argument far more eloquently than her words had. In that moment, I wanted to take her in my arms and tell her I was wrong. I wanted to take her to Mars.

  And so, with his usual uncanny timing, that was the moment Nick’s voice came from my comm. “Chief Carver, we’re almost to the gravipause, and I’m ready to conclude our business. Please bring Mrs. Azevedo, Lieutenant Gale, and Ms. Wells to my office immediately.”

  * * *

  I ushered the expedition members into Nick’s office. By unspoken understanding, the others left the sole guest chair to Mrs. Azevedo. She sat and looked at Nick.

  Nick stood behind his desk. In his hand he held a coil of S3 cable. He looked across the faces and then began to speak. “Well, here we are. One last time together. We’re entering Earth’s orbit, we’ve passed the gravipause, so this ship is now back under the authority of Mission Control. So I guess that wraps up my investigation.”

  “Investigation?” They were all thinking it, but Mrs. Azevedo was the one who asked. “What investigation?”

  “Oh, the investigation into this S3 cable. It has been an internal matter to this point, but now it’s time to present my findings to you all before I report to Mission Control. Midshipman Riggs has found conclusive evidence that this cable has been contaminated with salt ions, destroying its integrity; and then it stretched until it broke.” Mrs. Azevedo turned pale, but Nick gave her no time to interrupt. “Furthermore, there’s no doubt that this contamination was deliberate.”

  This time Mrs. Azevedo did break in. “Deliberate? Paolo…?”

  But she got no further, and Nick continued. “Someone wanted it to break. It’s also clear that the cable is from your trip to Chronius Mons. Ms. Wells’s inventory reports are quite thorough, and they document precisely which gear you took with you.”

  Tracy said, “But Mrs. Azevedo couldn’t—”

  Nick interrupted her, nodding. “You’re right, she couldn’t. Oh, people do surprising things, angry spouses especially. Gale told me how Margo was jealous of you, Tracy, jealous that Paolo had his eye on you.”

  Mrs. Azevedo stood, too fast for the low gravity. “That’s a lie!” In her anger, she ignored her unexpected bounce, but Nick seemed amused. “We were past all of that months ago! Paolo convinced me he had no interest in this … this little girl. We made up, and we were … We were closer than…” She glared at Nick. “But how could I convince a cynic like you? You always believe the worst of people. What would you know about two people in love?”

  That stopped Nick cold; and his face showed something close to sympathy. Then he shook his head. “No, I believe you. A gossip like Horace always exaggerates what he knows. But just because Paolo had no interest doesn’t mean Tracy had no interest.”

  This time it was Tracy who was angry. “That’s ridiculous! I … I would never let personal feelings endanger the team. I admired the Professor, and I was grateful to be on this expedition; but that’s all there was between us!”