“Well, I’m not a psychiatrist, and Moonboy wouldn’t be my psychiatric patient anyhow. I really shouldn’t have had access to the file. But I saw a thread to it and just asked, and it opened. You could have done the same thing.”

“I’m surprised they accepted him for Mars.”

“Hmm. A married pair of xenologists probably looked like a good package deal, and Mars itself isn’t too bad for a claustrophobe. The base is big, and you can go outside. Unlike here.”

“There are other factors for his moodiness,” I said. “You’re sitting on one of them, I must point out.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. But I should talk to him.” She picked up the notebook and tapped through a few pages. “Meryl’s okay with it. I talked it over with her. She hasn’t been a saint.”

“That’s not too relevant.”

“I know, I know.”

“Are you still . . .”

“No, not really. We haven’t closed any doors, but . . . yeah, I should talk to him.”

“Would it do any good for me to talk to him? Give my okay?”

“No. He knows you’re not bothered by it. Besides, you’re an authority figure to him.”

That was comforting. “Authority figures might be a problem, if one had tried to murder you at age eleven.”

“Didn’t just try. Though he doesn’t remember dying. He passed out, puking, and was revived. He still doesn’t know he died.” She shuddered. “What a bastard.”

“He does remember the incident up to that point?”

She tapped some more and shook her head. “Guy doesn’t say whether he learned that from Moonboy himself or from hospital records.” She put it down and leaned back, hands behind her head. “I ought to see whether I can get him to talk about his childhood.”

“As his doctor?”

She gave me a look. “I’m always his doctor. Yours, too. But no; I don’t want him to see me as a shrink.”

“What as?”

She looked back at the notebook. “Why don’t you and Dustin play some pool after dinner? A nice long game?”

Chapter 13 - TRAUMA DRAMA

13

TRAUMA DRAMA

I was headed for bed after watching a bad movie—Paul had given up halfway through—when the door to Elza’s suite burst open and Moonboy ran out, naked, carrying his clothes. That did get my attention. He hurried straight to his room, I think without seeing me.

Then Elza appeared, also naked, hand over her lower face, blood streaming from her nose, spattering her chest, a rivulet running between her breasts. I took her by the elbow and led her to the bathroom. Tried to seat her on the toilet, but she got up and inspected her face in the mirror, a mess, and gingerly touched her nose in a couple of places, wincing. “Broken,” she said, though it sounded like “progen.”