“Maybe we stop now,” said Tak Ch’o. He’d been talking for so long that his jaw hurt. “We stop.”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” said Jimenez. “As good a place as any.” Jimenez glanced at the translator. “Start back in tomorrow morning?”
“I want to know,” said Ch’o, “is the girl OK?”
“Yeah, I told you, she’s fine,” said Jiménez.
Reflexively, Ch’o started to nod, accepting what Jimenez said. He had heard such excuses many times in his days in North Korea, and always, he had nodded.
Because he was afraid. Fear was the central fact of his life.
No more. That was why he froze when he woke up here. The fear had been removed, and he was incapable of everything, even breathing, without it. But somehow, when he’d seen that the girl might be in danger, he had been reborn.
That was who he wanted to be, who he was now: a man who could help others by acting, not by being afraid and paralyzed.
“The girl,” said Ch’o firmly. “I will see her now.”
“Yes. I want to talk to her alone. And tomorrow, tomorrow we will speak of more important things.”
“Well, now, listen, Doc, we have plenty of things to talk about,” said Jiménez.
“We will talk about what I want to talk about tomorrow,” insisted Ch’o.
“All right,” said Jiménez, still clearly reluctant. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
“Let the girl come to the cabin.”
“She’s got to decide that for herself, but I’ll tell her.”
Thera spent the afternoon hanging around her cabin, reading a mystery the last occupant had left behind. Attempting to keep contact with the ship’s crew and marines to a minimum—and still in a dark mood because of her confrontation with Jimenez—she had a sailor bring her dinner. She flipped on the closed-circuit entertainment channel while she ate and began watching a sentimental tear-jerker about a kid looking for his father in the Alaskan wilderness. She guessed the ending five minutes into the picture—the boy’s real father had disguised himself as the guide for the journey—but still felt her eyes welling up at the very end when the guide, fatally wounded on the trek, revealed himself after saving the boy’s life.
Movie over, Thera fiddled halfheartedly with a computer game that was connected to the television set. Finally she flipped on the TV and began watching the Alaskan wilderness movie a second time.
Father and son were just about to be attacked by a Kodiak bear when Rankin knocked at the side of her door.
“Come on in,” she said.
Rankin did so. Jiménez followed.
“Busy?” asked Rankin.
“Bored.”
Thera flipped off the TV She glared at Jimenez, daring him to apologize. He didn’t.
“I was wondering,” said Jiménez, “if maybe you’d come see Dr. Ch’o.”
“Why?”
“He’s worried something happened to you.”
“Yeah. The shrink says he’s fine, a little, you know, culture shock. And maybe he’s protective of you or something along those lines.”
“Maybe he likes people who aren’t jerks.”
“Look, you’re the one who hit me,” said Jiménez. “My jaw still hurts.”
“You’re lucky I hit you there,” said Thera. “Would it kill you to say you’re sorry?”
“Would it kill you?” answered Jiménez.
“If I did anything to apologize for, I would.”
They glared at each other, neither willing to give up any ground.
“Why don’t you go talk to the scientist?” Rankin told her. “Just show him you’re OK.”
“I have no problem with that,” said Thera, getting up.
“Hey,” said Jiménez, following her out of the stateroom.
“Yeah?”
“Look, I’m not a total jerk, all right?”
“You have a way to go to prove that.”
“I jumped to the wrong conclusion. You’re pretty, and that’s the way it works with a lot of guys I deal with. I just jumped to the wrong conclusion. OK?”
“I’ll let you know what happens,” she said, turning toward Ch’o’s cabin. Never before had being called pretty sounded like such an insult.
I brought this to many people’s attention. Personally, I took it to General Namgung. Personally. I had worked with him on many special projects, most recently four or five months ago, engineering special shielding for air transport of waste. He understood the hazards, but would he act? He did not act. This is a great shame to our country. Many people will die.”
Ch’o stopped and looked up at Thera.
“You understand what I am saying?” he asked.
“Of course. But you should tell Jimenez this.”
“I will. But you . . . you understand, don’t you?”
Thera nodded.
“Maybe you could write this down,” suggested Ch’o. “To keep a record.”
“I can get Jiménez.”
The scientist shook his head. “I’d rather talk to you now.”
“All right. Let me get a pad and a recorder. Is that OK?”
“That would be very good.”
Four years of college, and I’m back to being a secretary, she thought, leaving the cabin.