“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Just down the hall,” Tommy said. “It’s all right, Mr. Dekker.”
“Not going to be any more tests.”
“No, sir. Just down to the office.”
Things kept echoing in his head. He said, “Tommy, did they give me something?”
“When they did the tests this watch, yes, sir. Still a little groggy?”
“Dizzy,” he said.
“Yes, sir. We’ll just take it slow, all right? Good chance you’re going to be leaving this afternoon.”
That scared him. He thought, Where to? Where is this place? They’d let him out and he’d be somewhere he didn’t know and Tommy wouldn’t be there. Just strangers.
Tommy opened a door for him and brought him into an office. He didn’t want to stay here. He didn’t want to be alone with any more doctors. Tommy set him down in a chair and he grabbed on to Tommy’s arm. “Stay here,” he said.
Tommy patted his shoulder. “It’s all right.” The doctor was coming in from the other door, same stamp as all the others. Tommy had said the doctor’s name and he didn’t care, he just wanted out of here. But Tommy stayed right there with his hand on his shoulder a moment and when the doctor ordered him, Tommy left him there.
“How are we doing?” the doctor said.
“Screw you,” he said—couldn’t muster any enthusiasm about it. He felt as if he was floating.
“Don’t like this place, do you?”
That question wasn’t even worth answering. He wanted to go back to bed. Wanted to watch vid or something. Or sleep.
“Still having the memory lapses, Mr. Dekker?”
He honestly didn’t know. He shook his head.
“I’m Dr. Visconti. Outpatient Services. Dr. Driscoll says you’re doing much better.”
Maybe he was supposed to say something about that. He didn’t. He just nodded.
Visconti said, “There’s an answer here from Management, on your request for a Court of Inquiry. Do you want me to read it to you? Do you want to read it?”
“I’ll read it,” he said, and Visconti pulled a card from his pocket, slipped it into the slate that was lying on his desk and offered it to him. It said,
Mary Finn, Special Judge
Legal Affairs Technical Division
Re inquiry: Belt Management, Div. 2,
Mining & Recovery
ASTEX
MEMO TO:
Mr. Paul E Dekker
c/o James R. Reynolds Hospital
R2/ASTEX MINING
8/01/23
Dear Mr. Dekker:
We have investigated your claims regarding the fatal accident that occurred on or about March 12th of this year. We enclose the testimony of 1) Recoveries, which has attempted to trace the course of 1-84-Z and to determine the location of the accident; 2) the testimony of Mohammed Fahdi, range officer and Lyle Xavier Manning, senior captain of the shipIndustry, which was the only ship of its class operating near that path; 3) the testimony of Frances E. Rodrigues, Chief of Operations of BCOM/R1, 4) the report of Gianpaulo Belloporto, chief examiner, ASTEX R2 DIV ECSAA. It is the determination of this office that a catastrophic failure of the main intake value caused an explosion of the number two primary tank of 1-84-Z, which hurled the vessel in an unanticipated acceleration toward charted asteroid 2961…
“This is a damn lie. This whole thing is a lie—”
“Mr. Dekker.”
“There wasn’t any catastrophic failure.”
“Mr. Dekker. There wasno ‘driver in your vicinity at the time. The report doesn’t find you culpable. It was a very unfortunate double system failure. The pressure in that tank was building up during your maneuvering while your partner was outside. The valve had failed. The warning should have sounded. There’s no evidence it did. The blowoff apparently didn’t function—that part of the tank is missing and there’s no way to check—”
“What are you, a psych or a mechanic?”
“It’s part of our job, Mr. Dekker, to determine what did happen before we offer advice. The investigators don’t find any evidence of negligence, and they don’t blame you in any wise for the accident.”
He shut up, just stared at the wall. Useless to argue. Absolutely useless.
“It simply wasn’t your fault, you understand? It wasn’t any one person’s fault. There’s going to be a thorough investigation at Rl maintenance—but most serious accidents, they tell me, involve a triple failure, either of human beings or of equipment. As I understand it, the pressure warning didn’t sound. They’re sure of that from the log recorder. The blowoff can’t have functioned properly. It says here they’re investigating the possibility of a primary cause in a cross-wiring of a control module in an attitude control unit—the chance that the safety interlock system actually caused a pressure increase instead of a system shutdown. If it’s any comfort to you, there’s going to be a design review and a mandated inspection on that particular module. Whatever the technicalities—as the experts explain it, it was bound to happen at some point during a period of frequent brief firings—the investigating board thinks when you were moving in to pick up your partner. So it’s absolutely not your fault, Mr. Dekker. There’s no way you could have detected the malfunction: no way you could have anticipated it, nothing you could have done when it did happen. It’s not a question of blame. And you’ve carrieda great deal of personal blame, haven’t you, Mr. Dekker?”
“Anything you say, doctor.”
“It’s called transference. A terrible experience, a long period of disorientation, periods of unconsciousness. Guilt for what you didn’t do. A ‘driver accident is something every miner’s afraid of—something you can’t defend against, a shot arriving out of nowhere, faster than anything can warn you. A loss of personal control. Just like that explosion. That fast. Cory’s gone—”
“Not Cory.”
“Not Cory?”
“What’s the matter? Her being dead puts you on a first name basis with her? Go to hell, doctor!”
“Of course you’d have protected her. You’re still protecting her. But you have to accept you’re not to blame. Something blew up. There may be culpability on someone’s part, but it’s not with you. There was a ‘driver, but it was a sector away. It wasn’t firing. The events you’ve fantasized just didn’t happen. They don’t haveto happen in order for you to be innocent. You have to turn loose of that fantasy. Your partner’s gone. There’s no chance she’s alive now. There’s no hope. There hasn’t been from the first few hours after the accident. You have to give that up. You have to take care of yourself, now, Mr. Dekker.”
“It’s a damned lie,” he said. “You haven’t been here all the while, have you? They used to say there wasn’t a ‘driver at all. Now it’s a different story.”
“It’s a different story, Mr. Dekker, because records are kept by zones and by sectors. You were almost correct, but you were remembering a recent position. The mind will do that to you. There wasn’t a ‘driver in the vicinity. The BMO at Rl and here at R2 have compared records. They know your course now. They didn’t, at the start. Now they’re sure the ‘driver wasn’t anywhere near the accident.”
He couldn’t answer that. His hold on what had happened had become too precarious. He decided to keep his mouth shut, before they argued him out of another piece of his memory.