“All right,” said Gorlov, “so we know how she died. I’m still waiting for someone to tell me why.”
Par Lindeland had done his best to grow a Freud-like beard, but his follicles just weren’t up to the task. Instead, a blond wispiness ran along the angle of his jaw. Still, he stroked it in good psychiatrist fashion before he replied. “Obviously,” he said at last, “Dr. Chandler committed suicide.”
“Yes, yes,” said Gorlov, irritated with the Swede. “But how could that be permitted to happen?” He looked up at my camera pair mounted on the far wall. “JASON, you should have prevented this.”
I was prepared for such a statement, of course, but feigned surprise. “I beg your pardon, sir?”
“It’s your job to make sure everyone is safe at all times. How could you let this happen?”
“I was deceived,” I said.
“Deceived? How?”
“Diana told me she wanted to look inside one of the landers to get, as she put it, a feel for its cockpit dimensions. I offered to provide her with blueprints, but she said it wasn’t the same thing. She said she was thinking of designing some astrophysical test equipment to be used once we arrived in orbit around Eta Cephei IV. That equipment was to be mounted in a lander cockpit.”
“But the ship was powered up,” Gorlov snapped.
“Of course. I had to turn on the interior lighting so she could see.”
“And then what happened?”
“I wasn’t really paying attention—you’ll recall, sir, that I was engaged in one of our late-night debates and that required my full concentration. I didn’t realize what was happening until she had actually fired the main engines.”
The mayor’s voice was louder than normal. “But the hangar space door is under your control. I’ve checked with Bev Hooks: she tells me even the manual door system runs back through you, so you could have countermanded Dr. Chandler’s instructions.”
“True,” I said. “But I had to make a split-second decision. If I hadn’t opened the door—”
“You initiated the opening of the door? Not her?”
“Yes, it was me. Please let me continue. If I hadn’t opened the door, and at double speed on emergency override, her lander would have plowed right into it. She might, indeed, have broken through the door, if she hit one of the seams between the metal plates. But at the very least she would have warped the door beyond my ability to slide it open in future, effectively putting an end to the scheduled planetary survey.” The room was silent, except for the susurrations of human respiration and mechanical air-conditioning. I let it remain silent until I saw from his telemetry that Gorlov was about to speak again. Just before he opened his mouth, I jumped in. “I believe I acted correctly.”
Gorlov’s mouth did open for an instant, but then he closed it and looked at his feet. At last he nodded. “Of course. Of course you did, JASON.” His voice grew calmer, if no less voluminous. “I’m sorry if I implied otherwise.”
“Apology accepted.”
Gorlov turned away from my camera pair to look at the others in the room. “Par, how could this happen? Was she under any kind of psychiatric treatment?”
Lindeland stroked his quasi-beard again. “Certainly not from me, and certainly nothing formal from anyone else. I’ve talked to the others on board who have psychological training and to Barry Delmonico—did you know he’s a Catholic priest?—to see if she had turned to anyone else for counseling. The answer seems to be no.”
“Then why did she kill herself?” The mayor swung his chair around. “Pamela, you were her friend. Any ideas?” Pamela Thorogood looked up, her face taut. She had had the sclera and iris of each eye dyed black, so that her pupils were lost against the pitch background. It was impossible to tell at whom she was looking as she replied. “Of course I have an idea,” she said. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? She killed herself because of him.” She fairly spat the word as she pointed a long finger at Aaron.
“That’s not fair!” protested Kirsten.
Light played across the black orbs of Pamela’s eyes as they shifted. The slight bulging around the lens cast different highlights across the darkness, the only indication that she was now looking at Kirsten. “Of course you’d say that,” sneered Pamela. “You’re the other woman.”
“What are you talking about?” demanded Gorlov.
“Diana and him,” said Pamela, again indicating Aaron by the point of a finger.
“What about them? Rossman, I called you here because the accident took place in your jurisdiction—”
I-Shin Chang placed his upper right hand at the side of his mouth, cupping his words. He spoke softly, but in his usual crisp tones. “Diana and Aaron used to be married.”
“Oh!” said Gorlov. “Oh. I see. Um, Rossman—I didn’t know. I mean, with ten thousand people on board, well, it’s hard to keep track. I’m sorry.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “You may leave if you want to.”
Aaron’s tone was as restrained as his telemetry. “I’ll stay.”
Gorlov swung to face my cameras again. “JASON, why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“You asked me if Diana was married or had relatives on board. The answer to both those questions was no. You then asked me to whom Diana was closest. The answer to that was Pamela Thorogood.”
“They can only tell you what you ask them to,” said Chang with a self-indulgent little chuckle.
Gorlov ignored him. “So this—this accident—had something to do with your marriage, Rossman?”
“I don’t know. I guess so. We’d been married for two years. We split up. She—she took it harder than I’d thought she had, I guess.”
Gorlov looked up at Par Lindeland. “And that’s it?”
Par nodded slightly. “It does seem so.”
Gorlov returned the nod, then looked at Aaron. “Rossman, you realize the entire Starcology is abuzz with word of the accident. The shipboard media will want to do a story on it.”
“It’s nobody’s business,” said Aaron quietly.
The mayor gave a sad smile. “People have a right to know what happened.”
“No,” Aaron said. “No, they don’t. Diana was killed in an accident. Tell them that. But don’t stain her memory by telling people it was a suicide.”
“And,” said Pamela, her voice icy, “don’t let the world know what a rat you were.”
Aaron, I knew, had always thought of Pamela, and her husband Barney, as their friends—both his and Diana’s. It was now quite clear whose friend Pamela had been in reality. He stared directly into her solid black eyes. “Pam, believe me, I didn’t want to hurt Di.”
“She had been so good to you.”
Kirsten stood up. “Come on, Aaron. Let’s go.”
Aaron’s hands moved from out of his pockets as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, but that was the only sign that Pam’s words were upsetting him. “No I want to hear Pam out.”
“There’s no point in it,” said Kirsten. “Come on.” She reached out to take his arm, but something in his manner must have made her think better of it. Her arm fell back to her side.
Aaron continued to fix Pamela with a steady gaze, his own eyes, an agate mix of blue and green and brown, hard and unblinking, on hers. “You think I mistreated her.”
Pam sounded defiant, but she had the advantage of not having to hold his gaze. “Yes.”
“I didn’t want to hurt her. We had a marriage contract. It expired. Nothing more.”
“You didn’t exactly wait till the contract was up before you took up with her.” She made a gesture with her head in Kirsten’s direction, but there was no play of light across her ebony eyeballs to indicate that she had actually deigned to look the other woman in the face.
Aaron was silent for six seconds. “True,” he said at last. “But she didn’t know about that. It was only in the final months of the contract that Kirsten and I became involved. Diana was unaware of it.”