by Robin Triggs
First, to the med bay. I needed to check on Fischer – needed to find out what she knew, why de Villiers would have been outside at that hour, and how she knew where he was. But when I got there, I found her still unconscious and Weng standing over her.
“How is she?” I asked as soon as the door closed behind me.
Weng looked up from her datapad, gave me an unreadable look. “She will recover.”
That was an incredible relief. I almost staggered with it, a weight I’d not been aware of until then, lifting so fast I thought I might float.
But Weng brought me straight back down. “She is concussed. A minor cranial fracture. I’ve run the MRI”—she gestured to a bulky helmet-type device, wires snaking back from behind the ears, which was set on a workbench—“and there’s no indication of brain damage. She should heal without any long-term effects, but she will be off duty for some days.”
“I need to talk to her.”
“No.”
“Weng, I need—”
“No.”
“You don’t under—”
“No, Mr. Nordvelt, you do not understand. You will not talk to her. No one will talk to her. Not for several days.”
“Weng—”
“I have injected her with a sedative to aid her natural healing. She will remain unconscious for at least twelve hours. Then I will re-examine her and judge her condition. In the meantime I shall examine this,” she said as she held up her pad to show me the pink-gray image of Fischer’s brain, “and make sure that I haven’t missed anything. Because concussion is a serious condition, Mr. Nordvelt. She will need close attention for at least two days. You will not speak with her before then. And possibly not for some time after.”
I stared at her but saw nothing beyond her cool implacability, heard no hint that she was telling me anything other than simple truth made awkward by her formality. I gritted my teeth, controlled my temper, exhaled steadily. “You will let me know if there’s any change?” I managed.
“Of course.”
I stared at her for a moment longer, then turned and left.
* * *
What I really wanted to do now was walk. It had always been my escape, my refuge – to wander the blocks and let humanity buzz around me. Of course that wasn’t an option, not here and not now. In any case I had too much to do. I needed more data.
So I went back to my room, my office.
Seal the door. Sit at the desk. Scan biometrics. Access CCTV records.
It was no surprise to find that certain sections of the footage had been blanked.
The odds of an equipment failure in the moments leading up to the destruction of the comms building were slim. I mused on the statistical significance of the CCTV going down again on the morning of de Villiers’s death.
I sat with my chin propped on the back of my hand, frowning at a screen that showed me nothing. The conclusions…they were inevitable.
I went through the night’s footage again, making notes on my pad. 03:26: Footage blanked system-wide. 03:51: Footage returns to normal. 04:41: Footage blanked. 05:31: Back. Over an hour’s worth of material missing. And nothing noticeable, nothing but silent empty corridors, in-between times.
More data. More input. Give me more.
I tapped my stylus on the desk.
I went to de Villiers’s quarters. The door opened easily to my security override.
His office was physically identical to mine but there were little signs of his superior rank. The director’s chair he’d installed behind the desk – I’d not really noticed when he’d been occupying it, but it was clearly a cut above mine. I sniffed at the indulgence, and at the fountain pens in a neat rack behind his photographs. I had a momentary flashback to staring up at my father’s desk when I was a small child.
I went round to the other side and saw that one of these pictures was of a younger de Villiers with his arm around a pregnant woman – his wife, I guessed. The other showed the commander too, this time with a group of people all grinning at the camera. They seemed to be standing atop one side of a great open-shaft mine. The sun shone down on them. Mine workers, old colleagues. There was a note scribbled on a corner: Limpopo, 20.
A filing cabinet sat in the corner; I tried one of the drawers. It slid open easily, revealing a row of neat folders, all perfectly organized and tagged. I looked at a few of the headings: Personnel; Plans; Projections. All very proper and correct. I’d have to go through them all – but later, not just yet.
I went to the door to the commander’s private room, took a deep breath and tried the handle. The door swung open. So he’d not been lying when he said he had little time for security. That or he’d not been the last person in his quarters.
The room inside was identical to mine in layout but felt so much warmer. Yellow, orange and black, the embodiment of sunset over the veldt; the walls were draped in fabrics, throws over chairs and the bed and a rug too. I thought of my own quarters and shivered.
He had a desk with a compscreen. There were more photographs, more family, more old colleagues. I studied the faces but recognized no one but de Villiers.
There was a bottle of pills by the bed. I recognized the label as that of a common contraceptive. The blankets were ruffled and slumping to the floor.
I could see nothing unusual, nothing out of character in a warm, lived-in room. Still, I wished they had such things as evidence-scanners on the base. Or even someone trained in old-fashioned forensics. But then I reckoned that I’d find fingerprints from most base occupants here. I’d learn nothing that way.
His datapad was lying on the blankets. I took it up and went straight to the last thing de Villiers had been looking at.
A message. Priority one.
As soon as it arrived, an alarm would have sounded, waking the commander and demanding his attention.
The message appeared to be from me.
De Villiers
We need to talk. Meet me behind Maggie’s greenhouse – NE corner – at 05:00. Be there if you want your control of Australis to last through the winter.
Nordvelt
I stared at the screen, read the message through again and again.
De Villiers went outside in the middle of the night because he thought I was going to blackmail him. Or at least that was how it looked to me.
Fischer, expecting to see him that morning, must have come here and found this message. She’d gone searching for him. The far corner of the greenhouse – far enough away to freeze a man, not far enough to be worth taking a vehicle. She’d have found his body on the way and called Weng, and Weng in turn had called me. That would make sense.
Fischer had read this message. I had to presume that no one else had. At least that explained why she’d been so fierce towards me, why she’d struggled so in the infirmary. What she must think…but then she couldn’t talk, not for a little while. I had a day’s grace.
I took one last look around the room. Its warmth seemed to have fled. I took the datapad and hurried back to my own space.
* * *
My mind was shot. Exhaustion; I needed to refocus, to get all the questions in my head into some sort of order. I knew I hadn’t sent the message that lured the commander to his death – it could only be that someone was trying to set me up. I wanted someone to share this with, to confide in, but I had no one. In the absence of a confidante, I chose to put headphones on, play some visualizations and pretend I was in the Pennines, running, running, towards nothing and away from nothing.
But when I got to the gym, I found I wasn’t alone in seeking relief through physical activity. A sparring session was underway between Theo and Mikhail. Keegan and Weng were watching as the oilmen fought, Theo’s heavy muscles tight against Mikhail’s greater reach. Sweat spun off Mikhail’s headguard as Theo got in a glancing blow – but then the fight stopped and all four people turned
to stare at me.
“You decided not to go out to work today, then,” I said as I dredged up a smile.
“No, we’re up there right now,” Theo panted, ripping at the Velcro of his gloves and rolling a blue gumshield out on his tongue. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I came for a run.”
“A run? When there’s—”
“Ease up, Theo,” Keegan cut in. “We’re all in shock. No need to take it out—”
“You can shut the fuck up too, stoner,” Theo snapped, turning away.
“So how did de Villiers die?” Mikhail asked. “What did you do?”
I didn’t reply.
“Did you knock him out like you did the doctor? Leave him in the wastes to freeze?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“This isn’t helping,” Keegan said. “For all we know it was – it was all an accident.”
“Yeah, right.”
Weng was silent. I wondered what she was doing here; it didn’t seem in character for her to be in the gym, in company. But then fear can make even the strongest of us seek out our fellows.
“So you wanted a run, huh?” Theo said. “Tell you what, Nordvelt – why don’t I give you a different kinda workout?”
“What do you—”
“You want a bout? Reckon you can stand with me toe to toe?”
“I don’t—”
“Yeah, thought as much. What d’you think, Mik? Want to be his second?”
“Reckon I could do that,” he said as he turned to Keegan, got him to help remove his equipment. “What do you say, Nordvelt? You up for it?”
“I don’t—”
“Good man.” His headguard came off and he shook the sweat off his blond hair before turning and grinning at me. No humor in his expression.
“I don’t—”
“Don’t you worry, dude – here, you can use my stuff. Let’s get you ready.”
I looked in turn at the four faces staring at me – and then Mikhail was in front of me, laughing as I staggered when he shoved the guard over my head. The inside was slick with sweat. Moisture trickled down my cheek. “You sure you want this, Theo? Don’t look like he’ll take much of your time.”
“Maybe it’s all a ruse,” Theo said. “Reckon he might be punking us?”
I gritted my teeth. I was tired and I was angry. “I’m no boxer,” I said. “But if you want—”
“You know the rules. Nothing below the belt. Fight until you call quit. Mikhail will ref.”
I held up my hands, let the smell of unwashed bodies roll through me as the blond thrust the gloves onto my hands. I grunted and flexed my fingers against moist padding as Mikhail tightened the straps around my wrist. He found a clean gumshield and eased it into my mouth.
“How long do you reckon he’ll last?” he said. “What do you think, Keegan? Bet you a beer he won’t go beyond three minutes.”
“You’re on,” the Englishman said. “Go on, Nordvelt. I believe in you.”
“Yeah, come on, killer. Show me what you got.” Theo grinned before pulling his gumshield back into his mouth. He bounced on the spot and brought his hands up to a guard as I stepped forward, clumsy and uncertain, onto the mat that was laid out at the end of the room.
I paused, took a moment to stretch out and compose myself. I’d boxed before – in the orphanage and in the blocks – but I’d never been any good. I’d given it up as soon as I could. I looked at my opponent. Theo was moving easily, white singlet patched with sweat. He still wore his crucifix, a dance of gold between skin and vest.
I raised my guard and stepped up to face him. Even as I was asking myself why I was doing this, how I’d let myself be pushed into this, Mikhail had stepped beside me.
“You ready? Weng, keep time. Okay – box!”
Theo laughed at my guard. Scowling, I raised my hands higher, and the American came forward with a few testing blows to my arms. I felt them, for sure, but the sensation was distant, the padding in his gloves numbing the impact. I stepped in and replied in kind – a tentative jab that he easily absorbed.
“That it, Nordvelt? You got to have more than that,” he mumbled, blue protection over his teeth making him into some kind of monster.
“Quit talking and get fighting,” Mikhail said. “There’s a beer on this.”
Theo grunted and stepped in; I caught a hard blow just above my elbow and swayed back to a straight right aimed at my chin. But the movement unbalanced me and I was helpless to prevent the subsequent left clipping the side of my face. Angry and embarrassed, I threw a haymaker, forcing him to skip back and break again. I shook a bead of sweat – my own or Mikhail’s, I couldn’t tell – from my eyes and stepped forward, rights and lefts aimed at Theo’s stomach.
I was on the mat. Hadn’t even seen the blow that had sent me to hands and knees. Hadn’t felt it, just knew that my cheek was on fire, the room slow to come back into focus.
Mikhail cheered. “You had enough yet, Nordvelt? Ain’t no shame in quitting.”
“Don’t listen to him, Nordvelt,” Keegan said. “Come on, get up – you can have him.”
“One minute,” Weng said.
Theo let me get to my feet. I returned to my guard and watched his eyes above my gloves. Suddenly he dipped a shoulder and instinctively I went with it—
It took me longer to get up this time. And this time I felt it, pain rapidly shrinking to numbness along my cheekbone.
“Watch the feint, Nordvelt,” Mikhail laughed.
“One minute thirty.”
“Don’t be so damn stubborn, Nordvelt,” Theo mumbled. I looked in his eyes. The humor had gone. He seemed – he seemed almost afraid, as if he’d realized that now he could only lose. There was little honor in beating such an overmatched opponent.
I struggled up, legs uncertain beneath me. I gathered myself and we danced through Weng’s two-minute call. Theo seemed more circumspect now, keeping his guard high and letting me waste my energy on blows that were easily deflected. He moved lightly for a big man, and I didn’t know myself why I was still trying. I had nothing to prove, I told myself; I had no reason to go through with this. Only pride and anger.
I pushed forward now. Theo backed off, looking for his moment, stinging my arms with the occasional straight but otherwise content to wait—
“Two minutes thirty.”
I don’t know what made him take his eyes off me, the merest flicker towards Mikhail or maybe Weng, but I saw it and I swung hard. A left backed by a right jab – and I scored, my first clean blow glancing off the side of the chin, all my frustrations behind the punch—
Keegan cheered. But Theo merely took a pace or two away, then came back at me hard. A flurry of punches, first into my guard, but when that wavered they fell into my gut, then again into the side of my head. I staggered back, but this time I kept my feet.
“Finish him, Theo!” Mikhail yelled.
I could do nothing but try and hold myself upright, desperately attempting to re-erect my defences.
“Ten seconds,” Weng said.
Theo had all but abandoned his guard in his attempt to break me down. Through the narrow gap between my forearms I saw his chin exposed – if I could just get in a good jab—
I saw my moment and lashed out—
Theo’s fist crashed into my skull and I was down again.
“Time,” Weng called.
“Yeah,” Keegan shouted. “That’s—”
“What are you talking about?” Mikhail turned to him. “Down three times in one round – that’s a knockout. You owe me—”
Dizzy and close to retching, I clambered to my feet. Theo watched me. I couldn’t read his expression as he held out his gloves for me to bump. “You want any more?” he asked.
I shook my head, afraid that I’d be sick if I tried
to talk.
“You got guts, Nordvelt,” he said beneath the sound of Keegan and Mikhail’s argument. “I’ll give you that one. No frickin’ muscles, though.”
I spat out my gumshield. Weng stepped onto the mat to help with my gloves and headguard. I stood unmoving, let the room drift back into focus. She lifted up my eyelids, fingers cool and delicate, and checked me over. She seemed satisfied that I’d suffered no real damage.
Still, she escorted me back to my quarters, leaving the others to continue their argument. She checked me again when I was sitting on my bed, got a couple of pills out of a medipack and made me take them with a swig of water.
I don’t know if it was something in the painkillers, or if it was just the cumulative effects of a long, tough morning, but I was asleep almost before Weng had left the room.
Chapter Ten
I woke late next morning, sleep a heavy blanket that had to be heaved off. I’d just had time to stare at de Villiers’s datapad, sitting accusingly next to my compscreen, and get a shower before the fire alarm shrieked.
I dragged on my drab clothes and hurried out into the corridor: the noise was far worse here as the klaxon reverberated off metal walls. All the doors had closed automatically, but they opened to my biometrics and after a few minutes I found myself in the rec room.
Weng and Abidene were already there, standing before the viewscreen. I could see from their mouths that they were shouting to each other, but I couldn’t hear a word. I hurried over to join them. The screen was flashing red and black – Fire came and went. As I reached them, Weng touched the screen and the message was replaced by the control panel. She shouted something but I couldn’t understand what. But I got what I needed from the display: the fire had been detected in Dr. Fischer’s room. At least she was safe in the infirmary….
Unable to communicate with the others, I ran back into the corridor and the wall of sound.
The alarms cut out just as I entered the stairwell. The sudden silence almost made me fall, but I caught my feet and I hurtled onwards, leaping down half flights. I reached the domestic level in only a few seconds.
The doctor’s office was silent and untouched. There was no fire here. I opened the door to her private room, half expecting a cloud of smoke to roll out over me. I ducked back – but there was no inferno, no roar of noise. No heat. Just a sweet-smelling haze.