by Robin Triggs
“It’s my life. Come and sit down, Anders. I’ll put the kettle on.”
The lounge part of the room was walled with books and papers, making it look somewhat archaic. Several large whiteboards were filled with Chinese characters, Greek symbols and acronyms. None of it meant anything to me.
I glanced at the books while Maggie made drinks in her old-style combi-maker. Most were academic works – serious, heavy tomes: Biodiversity and Growth; Structural Cell Design; A Casebook of Human Brain Analysis… There were monographs and journals and unbound printouts on many subjects, all impenetrable.
“Why bring all these?” I asked. “Surely you can get all the info on the base computer?”
Maggie paused in pouring the drinks and looked round at me. “Mm? Well…no good reason, I suppose. I like books. It’s as simple as that, really. I just like the tactile experience of holding a book. I guess I’m old-fashioned.” She smiled at me and finished pouring the drinks. I thought of my own book in my quarters. There was something about the object that transcended the words inside. Yes, I understood that.
Rather than sitting at her desk she invited me to take a battered old easy chair, one of two that faced each other, a coffee table between. She moved a book that was on her chair, and sat. Even in that low seat, her feet barely reached the floor. She set down the drinks and smiled at me pleasantly. “It was a fight to get de Villiers to allow me to bring the books, but just having them here makes me feel a little more at home – do you understand?”
“You know hypnosis?”
“What? Oh, this?” She looked at the book in her hand as if she’d not seen it before: Hypnosis for Beginners. There was a note of self-mockery in her laugh. “A hobby, that’s all. Good for breaking the ice at parties, you know? Don’t worry, I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to.” She laughed again.
We sat in silence for a moment. Greigor had not followed us, to my mild surprise, and only the low hum of the climate control could be heard.
Maggie leaned forward to take her mug, cradling it to her chest. “Well, now you’ve found out about the weed, what are you going to do?” she asked, serious again.
“How many people here are users?” I said instead of answering. This woman had a way of unsettling me, of disrupting my thoughts, without apparent effort.
“About half the crew. Some are regulars, some just like the occasional joint.”
“Do you not feel bad about what you’re doing?”
“No. Not at all. Why should I?”
I wasn’t sure how to react to that challenge. Drugs were forbidden by Company statute. That was the end of it, wasn’t it? I frowned and tried to redirect the conversation. “What do you get out of it? How much do they pay you?”
Maggie almost spilled her coffee as she laughed. “My God, Anders, is that how you’re thinking? No wonder you look so serious. This is just an informal arrangement between friends, colleagues. I don’t get anything in return, save for a bit of company, some smoke for myself and some grateful friends. Besides, hemp does well in hydroponic conditions. It could become a major crop – it’s a very useful substance, you know. It can be refined to produce textiles, paper, even fuel oils. My brief is to research, as well as to grow. The Company knew I was bringing seeds to work on.”
“But not to grow to smoke with the crew.”
“No. You’ve got me there.”
“How did that come about?”
“I’m not a pusher, Anders. I discuss my work with the rest of the crew, and I mentioned that I was having good results with my trials on hemp. Later, I was talking with others and one of them – I won’t name names – asked if I had anything we could smoke. I think it surprised them when I said I could get some.”
“And since then you’ve been supplying the base.”
“You’re determined to make this sound sordid, aren’t you? I’ve already told you – I don’t supply, I share with friends.”
I sipped my coffee, not quite sure what to say.
“Have you never smoked, Anders?”
“No.”
“You should try it.”
“Thank you, no.”
“Listen, I know it’s hard for you.” The smile had gone from her lips, her expression serious – but not unfriendly. “You’re new here, and you’ve walked straight into a nest of vipers. There’s been sabotage and a death, and you must be feeling the pressure. No friends…”
I wondered if she was mocking me, pointing out my deficiencies, divining my fears. But I could see only concern in her eyes, her wrinkled brow.
“…and enough people who think you must be responsible for the…uncertainties. But you’ve got to understand – de Villiers knew all of what went on here. He wasn’t an idiot. The Company chose well when they appointed him to Australis. He knew how to get the job done, and how to keep the crew sane. He allowed us our habits, our indulgences, because we work better with them. De Villiers allowed it and he was nothing if not a Company man. Believe me, we had arguments about that—”
“You argued about the Company?”
“Friendly ones, debates more than—”
“What did you disagree about?”
Maggie sighed and shook her head. “Look, the basic fact is that about a third of the people here think the sun shines out of the Company’s arse. Another third wants a return to nation states. The other lot don’t give a shit as long as they get fed and get paid.” She shrugged and took a sip of coffee.
“What’s to dislike about the Company? They’ve given us so much, rescued us from the chaos of the Resource Wars…”
I trailed off in the teeth of her expression; amused, condescending – it was a trick for a woman as short as Maggie to look down on anyone, but she managed it without apparent effort.
“Do you really think it’s a good thing that the biggest threat in this world is demotion? That ‘breach of contract’ is a bigger fear than the police?” she said.
“That’s—”
“Have you actually read your contract? You know what you’ve signed up for? Has anyone? They’ve got you by the balls as soon as you take your first job – and then you’re in the system for the rest of your life. ‘No activities contrary to Company interests’ – you think that’s not a catchall for just about anything? Read that section of your contract, Anders – see all the things you can’t do. We live in a giant bureaucracy, no room for any dissenting voices—” She bit off her words and gave me a rueful smile. “Sorry. As you can see, it’s something…I could spend a lot more time on the subject, let’s just say that.”
I sat back in my chair, uncomfortable. I wanted to argue, wanted to make her see the ways in which she was wrong – but I didn’t even know how to begin.
The tone of her voice, the bored certainty of the words, as if she was saying something indisputable that she’d had to go through too many times before – it took me straight back to my father. The barely remembered days all merging together, just the image of myself as a young child, still unsteady on my feet, hearing him lecture to a blur of other people.
I shook myself back to the present day.
“Who else shares these…opinions?”
“You want to know the battle lines?” She was watching me intently. I’d made it too clear that I wasn’t on her side. “Fergie and Abi were my allies. Greigor and Weng – at first, when she still talked – took de Villiers’s side.”
“De Villiers backed the Company and yet overlooked your…breaches of contract?”
“The Company isn’t as pure and holy as you seem to think. De Villiers fit in their system very well. Look, in a place like this, boredom is a much greater danger than…our little peccadilloes. If anything ever got out of hand, you knew he’d be right there to put a stop to it.”
I stared at her, my disapproval all too obvious.
She shook her he
ad. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but I’m not sure you can understand. You’ve obviously not mixed with the right sort of people.”
“I was brought up in the blocks.”
“Which is why your ignorance is such a surprise.”
I flushed, just beginning to lose my temper.
She held up her hands. “I don’t mean that as an insult. I’m sorry. You see…” She leaned forward and looked at me earnestly. “Everyone here is an expert. Everyone knows enough to stay in control. No one smokes or drinks during their work shifts. Don’t underestimate us, Anders. You weren’t here at the start. De Villiers’s way works.”
“Did McCarthy share this opinion?” I asked, sarcasm edging my tone.
“No. But he didn’t put a stop to it either.”
“Did de Villiers smoke?”
“He preferred to drink.”
“Is that his still in the basement?”
Maggie blinked. “Oh, so you’ve been down to the basement, have you? Yes, that was Anton’s. As I said, he liked a drink. Whisky, mostly.”
I nodded. “Why would you say McCarthy left?”
She paused before replying, looking at me with her head cocked to one side and a faint smile on her lips. “A combination of ill-health and a personality clash with— well, most of us, really. But the commander in particular.”
I nodded, inwardly disappointed not to get anything new about McCarthy’s departure. I’d felt sure there must have been more to it than that, but maybe it was time to let that lie. Everyone was telling me the same thing, and a vague hunch was all I’d ever had to go on. “Back to de Villiers – do you know why anyone would want to kill him?”
Maggie sighed. “I know he wasn’t always popular. Weng hated him, poor thing, but she wouldn’t kill him. Violence isn’t her way.”
“Anyone else? Did he get into arguments with anyone else on the crew?”
“I told you, we argued all the time, all of us – that’s what happens when you get a group like us all together in these conditions. Remember, Anders – we’ve been here a long time already. It’s isolated, it’s claustrophobic. Sometimes arguments come out of nothing but the pressure of the conditions. We can’t just go and unwind with our friends. We can’t go for a walk, not easily. You’re either alone or surrounded. No middle ground.”
“And you can’t think of anyone except Weng who might have had reason to kill him?”
“I’m sure Weng didn’t do it.”
“If not Weng, then who?”
“Look, I’ve told you – we all argued.”
“No one more than anyone else?”
She shrugged and glanced away momentarily. “Well, Julia…. She argued with him constantly.”
“What about?”
She shifted in her seat.
“They were having an affair,” I said.
“There’s not much else to do here,” she said as if that explained everything.
“So what did they argue about?”
She shrugged again. “Pretty much everything. They’re – they were, Fischer still is – volatile people. Neither of them suffers fools gladly; neither is afraid to speak their mind.”
Volatile people. I thought back to Fischer’s reaction in the infirmary, when she’d been unable to deny de Villiers’s death anymore. Could that’ve been an act? A killer’s cabaret? I could see Fischer becoming violent, could imagine her rage. The question was whether she’d be the type of person to sabotage her lover’s suit and leave him to freeze alone in the dark.
I changed the subject. “What about Greigor?”
“What about him?”
“There is a record…a note on de Villiers’s compscreen. The commander disciplined him.”
Maggie frowned. “I didn’t know about that.”
“Care to speculate?”
She pouted. “Not really. But you won’t accept that, will you? Greigor is…he can be difficult. A smart boy, really an excellent assistant. But he is…”
“Yes?”
“The effects of isolation are hard to predict. You think the Psych is perfect? Ha, I can tell you stories – oh, don’t pull that face, Anders.”
“What face?”
“The ‘she’s committing heresy again’ look. God, you really think that a relatively new science doesn’t ever get things wrong? Oh, my boy, you don’t—” She stopped herself and held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Greigor is oversexed. There are – have been – a lot of petty jealousies over the last few months. I’d guess de Villiers spoke to him about something like that.”
“More specifically?”
She hesitated. “Greigor sees men as rivals and women as targets. Not me, of course, or Fischer. We’re too old for him. And that’s probably why I personally have no problem with him.”
“So Max and Weng…”
“I’d guess that de Villiers spoke to Greigor about one of them.”
* * *
I shivered as I stepped away from the building, back into the courtyard. Above me stars were shining clearly; away from the artificial illumination of Australis the sky was beautiful. I saw nebulae and galaxies, and I was small.
A wind blew across the courtyard like the exhalation of giants. Ahead of me the smelting plant growled in its work. On the hillside, coal was flowing down the conveyors from the minehead to the sheds.
I made my way back to the barracks. I was tired, and I had things to do before dinner. I headed straight down to the basement to get a selection of the surveillance equipment I’d seen earlier. I wanted to see what a few cameras independent of the security system might tell me.
* * *
The meal was a subdued affair, with an empty chair at the head of the table. I suppose Fergie could legitimately have taken the commander’s place, but there was no question of that happening. He stayed with the engineers, and it was that group that brought what cheer there was to the room.
Fergie was the one who called openly for wine, the real Australis rotgut, leading a barely observed toast to de Villiers. It seemed that I had turned enough of a blind eye to all the rule-breaking for them to drink in my presence. Keegan told us there’d be a gathering for the commander the next night.
I didn’t have any alcohol. I felt too tired to sacrifice any more of my faculties. At my end of the table it was only Keegan who drank, and only he who really spoke.
Fischer was back with us, healing pack wrapped tightly around her head: half headband, half turban. She was quiet, just eating methodically and barely looking up from her plate.
Weng was, as ever, silent. Occasionally I caught her glancing up at me with something like fear in her eyes. It must have taken a lot out of her to open up about de Villiers. I guessed she was wondering what I might do with the knowledge.
Fergie was still shooting me suspicious glances from halfway down the table. I caught Dmitri glancing at me as well. I wondered what he was thinking – did he suspect me of the killing as well? At least any hostility was masked; all in all, the crew seemed to be coping well with the shocks of the last few days.
After the meal had finished, as the crew stood for some downtime, I tried to draw Fischer aside, to take her into a side room and ask some much-needed questions. But Weng was watching. As Fischer looked at me with confused eyes, Weng stepped between us.
“The doctor is not yet fit for an interview,” she said. She spoke loudly, voice echoing off the metal walls.
I could feel the eyes of the rest of the crew upon me. “I need—”
“I say again – the doctor is not yet fit to be interviewed.” The fear had gone from Weng’s eyes; she was in her bailiwick here. “She has had a severe concussion. It is my professional opinion that she is unfit to be interviewed. You have no authority to overrule me.”
“There is information,” I began. “There are things I
need to know—”
“Why don’t you just back off, Nordvelt?” Greigor snapped, his accent making even harshness seem somehow seductive. “You’ve done enough, just let the damn woman recover.”
There were murmurs of agreement all around – not one word of support for me.
“Seriously, I really need— there are things I have to know,” I tried.
Over Weng’s head I saw Theo draw Fischer away, shooting me a dark look as he urged the doctor into the corridor.
“Not tonight,” Weng said. “Possibly not tomorrow. I will let you know when she is ready to talk.”
I looked around. A kind of solidarity appeared to have grown around the crew. No one, not a single one of them spoke up for me or even gave me a look of silent support. No doubt who was in and who was out.
One by one they trailed past me and out. I overheard someone suggesting that they all go watch a film or do somesuch as a group. Finally I was left alone with Weng.
We stared at each other in silence before she too turned and headed towards the rec room.
They all went through together. I didn’t join them.
Chapter Twelve
My dreams were labyrinthine: de Villiers, laughing at me, hacking into the base computers. Then it was Max. Then both were dead, their faces distorted in rictus – and still they laughed at me. I tried to flee but I was trapped in a maze, watched, always watched…
“What do you think?”
Strapped to a gurney, imprisoned and yet oddly calm…just an all-consuming light in my eyes…voices both near and distant and all around me…
“Should be straightforward,” a woman said. “Preliminary results—”
A pain in my brow, a sense of pressure…
I woke with the taste of crude oil in my mouth, an iron dryness in my throat. I was glad to be awake, to wipe the sweat off my face.
I didn’t feel rested. I felt thin, like I was fading away. Tonight we were to gather to pay tribute to the commander. I wasn’t sure I could cope with that.
I got up and had a long shower. I was just walking up to a late breakfast when the barracks seemed to rock. I lost my footing, staggered against the wall. The shock wave lasted barely a second, and for a moment I was unsure if anything had actually happened. A sudden attack of vertigo? The corridor was unchanged. Nothing was shaking, for there was nothing to shake. Only me.