Six drinks, even later:
“Are you green everywhere?” Lowen asked.
“Excuse me?” Wilson said.
“I am asking purely on scientific grounds,” Lowen said.
“Thanks,” Wilson said, dryly. “That makes it so much better.”
“I mean, unless you prefer unscientific reasons for me asking,” Lowen said.
“Why, Dr. Lowen…” Wilson feigned shock. “I am not that kind of boy.”
“Once again, I am skeptical,” Lowen said.
“Tell you what,” Wilson said. “Ask me that question sometime when you haven’t just consumed a substantial portion of a bottle of fine single-malt Scotch whisky in a single sitting. If you’re moved to do so, you might get a different answer from me.”
“Fine,” Lowen said sourly, and then looked over at Wilson somewhat as an owl would. “You’re not drunk,” she said.
“No,” Wilson said.
“You drank as much as me, and I’m drunk as a skunk,” she said. “Even accounting for body mass, you should be plastered, too.”
“Benefit of the new body,” Wilson said. “A much higher alcohol tolerance. It’s more complicated than that, but it’s late and you’re drunk, so maybe we’ll save it for tomorrow. Speaking of which, it’s time to get you into your crawl space, if you want to be at the negotiations tomorrow without a hangover.” He stood up and offered his hand to Lowen.
She took it, wobbling only slightly. “Whoa,” she said. “Someone did something to the artificial gravity.”
“Yes,” Wilson said. “That’s it exactly. Come on.” He navigated her through the corridors and up the decks to the berths Captain Coloma had assigned to the observers.
“Almost there,” Wilson said to Lowen.
“About time,” Lowen said. “I think you took the scenic route. The scenic route that spins a bit.”
“Maybe I’ll bring you some water,” Wilson said. “And some crackers.”
“This is an excellent idea,” Lowen said, and then jumped a little at the noise of the door of one of the berths flying open and slamming against the bulkhead.
Wilson looked toward the noise and saw Thierry Bourkou, looking frantic. “Is everything all right, Mr. Bourkou?” he asked.
Bourkou turned to Wilson, saw Lowen on his arm and rushed toward them. “Dani, Dani, come quick,” he said. “It’s Cong.”
“What’s Cong?” Lowen asked, less tired and slurred than moments before. Wilson could see the panic on her colleague’s face, and his alarmed tone was pushing the drunkenness down. “What is it?”
“He’s not breathing,” Bourkou said. “He’s blue and he’s not breathing.” He grabbed Lowen’s hand and pulled her down the corridor toward his berth. “He’s not breathing and I think he might be dead.”
“He was fine when he lay down,” Bourkou said. “He and I have both been feeling tired, so we both took naps at the same time. Then he started snoring, so I turned on the white noise machine. Then I fell asleep. When I woke up I told him I was going to get him some tea and asked him if he wanted any. He didn’t respond, so I went to shake him. That’s when I saw his lips were blue.”
All of the observers were in the Clarke’s medical bay, along with Wilson, Abumwe, Captain Coloma and Doctor Inge Stone, the Clarke’s chief medical officer. Liu was also there, on a stretcher.
“Did he say anything other than that he was tired?” Stone asked Bourkou. “Did he complain about any other pains or ailments?”
Bourkou shook his head. “I’ve known Cong for ten years,” he said. “He’s always been healthy. The worst that’s ever happened to him is that he broke his foot when a motorcycle ran over it while he was crossing a street.”
“What happened to him?” Franz Meyer asked. After Liu, he was the ranking diplomat among the observers.
“It’s hard to say,” Stone said. “It almost looks like carbon monoxide poisoning, but that doesn’t make sense. Mr. Bourkou here was unaffected, which he wouldn’t have been if it was carbon monoxide, and in any event there is nothing near those berths which generates or outputs that.”
“What about the white noise generator?” Lowen asked. She was alert now, through a combination of caffeine, ibuprofen and nerves. “Is that something that could have done this?”
“Of course not,” Meyer said, almost scornfully. “It has no moving parts other than the speakers. It doesn’t output anything but white noise.”
“What about allergies or sensitivities?” Stone asked.
Meyer shook his head this time. “He was lactose-intolerant, but that wouldn’t have done this. And other than that he was not allergic to anything. It’s as Thierry said. He’s a healthy man. Was a healthy man.”
“Aren’t we overlooking something here?” asked Luiza Carvalho. Everyone looked to her; it was the first time she had spoken since the group gathered in the medical bay.
“Overlooking what?” asked Coloma.
“The possibility this isn’t a natural death,” Carvalho said. “Cong was a healthy man, with no previous health issues.”
“With all due respect, Ms. Carvalho, that’s probably further than we need to go for an explanation,” Stone said. “It’s rather more likely Mr. Liu fell prey to a previously undiagnosed condition. It’s not uncommon, especially for people who have been superficially healthy. Their lack of obvious health issues means they don’t get in to see a doctor as often as others would. That lets not so obvious issues sneak up on them.”
“I understand that the simplest explanation is usually the correct one,” Carvalho said. “Of course. But I also know that in my home country of Brazil, assassination by poisoning has made a comeback. Last year a senator from Mato Grosso was killed by arsenic.”
“A political assassination?” Abumwe asked.
“No,” Carvalho admitted. “He was poisoned by his wife for sleeping with one of his legislative aides.”
“To be indelicate, may we assume such a situation is not happening here?” Abumwe asked.
Meyer looked around at his colleagues. “It’s safe to say that none of us were sleeping with Cong,” he said, to Abumwe. “It’s also safe to say that none of us had any professional reason to want him dead, either. With the exception of Thierry, none of us knew him prior to this mission. The mission selection criteria were as much political as anything else. We all represent different political interests at home, so there was no direct competition or professional jealousy.”
“Do all of your factions get along?” Wilson asked.
“For the most part,” Meyer said, and then pointed at Lowen. “Doctor Lowen here represents America’s interests here, and the United States, for better or worse, still maintains a somewhat contentious primary position in global politics, especially post-Perry. The other political interests sought to minimize its influence on this mission, which is why Liu Cong was selected to head the mission, over U.S. objections, and why the U.S. representative-apologies here, Dani-is the most junior on the mission. But none of that rose to the level of skullduggery.”
“And I was with Lieutenant Wilson here for several hours, in any event,” Lowen said. This raised eyebrows, both Meyer’s and Abumwe’s. “Cong asked me to get to know our Colonial Union liaison better so we could get a better understanding of the lay of the land. So I did.” She turned to Wilson. “No offense,” she said.
“None taken,” Wilson said, amused.
“So it seems like poisoning or assassination is off the table,” Stone said.
“Unless it was someone on the Colonial Union side,” Carvalho said.
Abumwe, Wilson and Coloma exchanged glances.
This did not go unnoticed. “Okay, what was that?” asked Lowen.
“You mean the sudden, significant glances,” Wilson said, before Abumwe or Coloma could say anything.
“Yes, that would be what I’m talking about,” said Lowen.
“We’ve had some recent incidents of sabotage,” Abumwe said, shooting an irritated glance at Wilson.
“On this ship?” Meyer asked.
“Not originating on this ship, no,” Coloma said. “But affecting the ship.”
“And you think this could be another one of these?” Meyer said.