by Robin Triggs
“What?” I had been watching Maggie. Now I turned back to the Scotsman and saw suspicion writ large over his face.
“Max followed you,” he continued.
I shot a glance at Max, who at least had the decency to avoid my eyes. I looked back at Fergie.
“Max followed you when you went out with Fischer after dinner. She heard the two of you arguing.”
“We argued. So what?” I didn’t care about this. I wanted to talk with Maggie. I wanted my evidence.
“So everyone you have a problem with ends up dead or in the infirmary,” Greigor said.
“What?” I turned to him, blindsided.
“You have an argument with the commander and he mysteriously dies. Theo beats you up an’ he—”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“The boxing. I hear he teaches you a lesson – and next day he’s dead. And Mikhail too – is your ego so small you—”
“That was a friendly bout, just sparring – I never…” I trailed off in the face of Greigor’s smirk. It was pointless.
“And now,” Fergie said, “now Julia’s in her own damn infirmary – just after you were heard arguing with her. Why’d you want her dead, Nordvelt? Was it because—”
“I didn’t want her dead,” I said, temper finally breaking. “I just—”
“We had no problems—” Greigor began.
“There’s not one shred of evidence against me, is there? Is there?”
No one answered.
“You’re only looking at me because I’m new. Did it not occur to you that the culprit might just have been waiting for the night shift to start? If you’re gonna try to destroy a base, you might as well do it when no one can interfere from the outside.”
“Yeah, but—” Greigor said.
“I don’t want anyone dead,” I said over him, “I went out with Fischer to talk to her about her drug use.”
“She’s not doing anyone any harm—” Fergie said.
“No? She’s becoming incapable of making decisions. She’s removing herself from this crew and neglecting her duties. She’s got a critically ill patient and she’s—” I swallowed and took a breath, tried again. “Whatever. Look, that’s what I was arguing with her about. I don’t want her dead, I don’t want her removed from the rest of us. We need her! You need her, I need her, the rest of us need her. And last night, at dinner, she was no damn use to anybody.” I paused, drawing deep breaths as I struggled to control myself. “It was you that gave the killer a reason to go after her,” I said.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“You told everyone last night that Fischer was going to test everyone on base. You gave the killer their motive. You caused Fischer and Keegan to wind up in the infirmary.”
Fergie stared at me in amazement. He opened and closed his mouth. “No,” he gasped.
“Or maybe you just gave that information away on purpose, to cover your own guilt,” I finished savagely, the last of my rage slipping away and leaving me cold.
“I did – I didn’t—” The Scotsman broke off, shaking his head.
“You think Fischer was targeted because of the new Psych tests?” Dmitri asked.
I shrugged.
“No – no, it’s not possible!”
We all looked round at Maggie. While we were all arguing she had gone over to the table to better examine the joints I had given her. She was holding a small blade in one hand, and had clearly sliced the half-smoked joint cleanly down one side. Now she was holding an almost microscopic fragment of leaf up to the light, her face a mask of horror. “It’s not possible,” she repeated weakly.
“What is it?” I asked.
She opened and closed her mouth again.
I hurried over to her side. Fergie, Dmitri and Max all crowded round her as well, but it was me she spoke to.
“You – you remember that new strain of hemp you saw in my lab?”
A horrible feeling began to spread from my gut. “The one that you said was poisonous?”
She didn’t need to answer. She was the expert, but the viridian of the shredded leaf in her hand suddenly looked horribly familiar.
* * *
Max brought me my food. The decision had been made: I was confined to quarters. Finally Fergie, Keegan, Greigor – I didn’t know who, the discussion hadn’t taken place in my presence – had got their way. We were past proper procedure. Lock me up. Keep me away. The inmates were running the asylum.
Except they weren’t mad, weren’t stupid. I knew that, and it almost made it worse. I could understand why they wanted me out of the way. It didn’t make me feel any less resentful, though.
Max made no move to get up when I pushed the tray aside untouched. She remained seated on the bed, arms wrapped around her knees, staring at me. I stared at my lap.
“Keegan will be fine,” she said eventually. “Weng says he’ll get over it when he’s had some rest. He puked up most of the poison.”
“And Fischer?”
Max looked away. “Not so good. She didn’t have as good a gag reflex as Keegan. Weng’s got her stabilized…but stabilized doesn’t mean ‘will definitely get better’.”
“How bad is it?”
She closed her eyes momentarily and leaned her head back against the wall. “God, all those machines that Weng’s got her hooked up to… Julia barely looks human right now.” She shook her head, then cleared her throat. “Her liver and kidneys are starting to break down. Her only chance is to get to a proper hospital. And that’s impossible.”
I stared at Max, horrified. Maggie had said the plant was poisonous, but I hadn’t ever imagined that it could be this bad. This whole situation was a nightmare. “God,” I whispered. “Does that mean…?”
“Weng’s decided that her only chance is to put her into a coma, like Mikhail. They’ll retard her metabolic functions as much as possible and try to keep her alive until help comes from Tierra.”
“Can they do that?” I asked, desperate for any sign of hope.
Max nodded, but her eyes were still grim. “There’s just one problem. They have the knowledge to put her into a coma, but they don’t know how to get her safely out again.”
“So…”
“So Fischer and Mikhail are as good as dead until we’re rescued. It’s just lucky Weng’s as well-trained as she is, or Fischer would be as dead as dead.” Max sighed. “Anyway, that’s the situation. Thought you’d like to know,” she finished in a monotone.
“What’s Fergie doing now? And the rest of you?” I asked.
“Just…just trying to get back to some sort of normality, I suppose. Trying to come to terms with… It’s all very raw, you know?” She shook her head. “We had a look in Fischer’s room. Her personal weed supply had been thoroughly doctored with the poisonous stuff. She must have just not noticed the difference. I’m not sure she even knew about Greigor’s experiment.”
“So Keegan went out with her, they found a quiet place to smoke, and they shared from Fischer’s supply.”
She nodded. “That’s what we think.”
Silence fell again.
“You must be doing something,” I said.
“Yes, yes, of course we are,” Max said, exhaustion pouring as frustration from her lips. “We’re trying to survive, Anders. We’re shutting down power to all the buildings we’re not using – the mine, the garage, the storerooms. We’re starting to clear the lowest level so we can move in there if necessary. The basement will be the warmest place in the complex if – when – we lose power, and if we’re all in there together, we can share a single heat source. Just the ambient temperature of our bodies will help a little…” She trailed off and wiped a hand across her brow. “We’re all just trying to survive, and it’s not easy. We’ve no doctor, no commanding officer, and soon we’ll be with
out proper heating in the coldest place on the planet. And all the time we’re waiting for the next…next…”
“So you don’t all think I’m guilty?” I asked, a breath of hope creeping into my voice.
Max didn’t answer straight away. She looked at me for a moment, then stretched out her legs on the bed before adjusting a pillow behind her. She looked…lovely. Even though her face was drawn, exhausted, she still radiated competence and self-possession, and I found that irresistible.
“I’m not an idiot, Anders,” she said. “Fergie’s not an idiot. No one here would have been hired if they weren’t capable.”
Now it was my turn to sigh, to run my hand over my scar, to push my mind away from her body and back to serious matters. “Whoever the killer is, they knew where Fischer hid her marijuana, and that Maggie’s new strain of hemp was poisonous.”
“Did you know both these things?”
“Yes. Did you?”
Max looked surprised to have her question thrown back at her. But she nodded.
“The saboteur can get into crew members’ private rooms – Fischer’s, at least – with or without permission. Not that that’s such a trick,” I muttered, “given the stupidly simple entry codes you all seem to use here. They can also hack into the base’s security net and can blank out the security cameras.”
“You realize that all this you’re saying only serves to implicate yourself?”
“Or you,” I said harshly. “Oh, come on,” I said as I saw her eyes open wide, “you must have worked it out. The only people I know for certain could have managed all this are you and me. I know how good you are with computers – I know how good you are with machinery. You could have done this, possibly with less trouble than me!”
“Anyone here might have done it,” she snapped back. “Maggie’s a genius, Weng’s a genius, Dmitri, Fergie – they all either have the skills or they can learn them. But they have no motive—”
“Neither do I!”
“But they’ve been here for half a year already, and I know what you said about waiting for the night shift to begin, but still – there weren’t any problems before you arrived.”
We stared at each other in silence.
“Do you really think it’s me, Max?”
She took her time and stared hard at me before answering. “Based on what I know of you, based on the impression of only a fortnight? No, I wouldn’t have said you’d be capable of murder,” she said steadily. “But I’ve known the others a lot longer. I don’t think any of them are capable of murder either.”
“I helped save Mikhail’s life.”
“I know. I was there.”
“I got this from that,” I said, pointing at my scar.
“They can remove that, a simple—”
“That’s not the point.”
She sighed. “Look, yes, I saw you walk into that inferno, and I know what you did to help Mikhail – to help us all. If it’s worth anything, then thank you. Thank you. But really that doesn’t change a thing. Look—” She hesitated. “I should go, Anders. The others will be thinking that you’ve killed me.”
“Is that a joke?”
“You know, I’m not quite sure myself.”
“Before you leave…”
“Yes?”
“Could you look at my compscreen for me?”
“What?”
I explained about the hacker. Max, lips tight, sat before the screen and frowned at the message that had been left for me. Almost immediately she began to open menus and layer information and was soon deep in the arcane world of computer programming, a place with its own language and customs. I understood none of it. “I can’t help from here,” she said after barely a minute. “It’s going to take a system reset. It’ll have to be done from the network room – I’ll get on it when I have a free moment.”
“Do you have any idea who might have done that?” I asked as she stood.
She looked at me, curiously reticent. “I should go,” she said again. “Just to warn you – we’ll be lowering the temperature setting throughout the barracks. Preserve what fuel we can.”
“You slept with de Villiers.” My God, where had that come from? But the words were out now, hanging heavy in the air between us.
Max’s face had frozen into a mask. She looked at me; there was nothing to be read there. Even anger would have been preferable. Inside I cringed.
“And?” she asked coldly.
“It’s true, then?” It was like scratching an itch; I just couldn’t help myself.
“I don’t see that it’s any business of yours.” She picked up the tray I’d left on the table.
“I just…” Just what? I was just bitter and betrayed? Just jealous? Just nothing that I’d admit to myself, let alone share with Max.
She paused by the door and looked back. “Sometimes I can see the killer in you,” she said, and she left.
I spent a long time cursing myself after that.
* * *
Over the next few days my only company came at mealtimes, when one of the crew would bring me food. Sometimes they’d sit with me while I ate; others would drop off the tray and leave. I got no information – no specifics, at least. I picked up that Keegan was back on his feet and that there’d been no further attacks. The hours passed slowly. I rested, and I threw off the last lingering effects of my pneumonia. It was somewhat ironic that this was, physically, the best I’d felt since arriving at Australis.
As I felt better, as I grew stronger, I felt increasingly frustrated at my imprisonment. I paced the room for hours. I did press-ups and stretches, exercise keeping me warm as the ambient temperature fell. I toyed with my puzzle box, listened to my music. Tried to read Holmes again, but the words were too familiar to hold my attention. I stared at my scar in the mirror, trying to work out if I still looked like myself.
I took up de Villiers’s datapad and read through his files. Although my biomarkers should have routed the device’s functions into my personal account, as chief of security I could override it and get into anyone else’s. The pads were our personal extensions to the network, so in theory everything on the base computers was available on the pads.
In practice, however, everyone retained all their passwords and kept some non-networked files for datapad use only. De Villiers had outranked me so my override didn’t get me past his password. Procedure demanded two ranking officials to override a superior’s blocks, and Fischer was in no position to help me.
So I had no access to his personal log but did get de Villier’s schedule and his messages. Of course, the message the killer had sent – my name put to a suggestion of blackmail – was top. Below that… Messages from Fischer, mostly, but all the crew seemed to be in regular contact with him. There were a few other names too, names I didn’t recognize.
The crew’s messages were insignificant. They seemed to be either professional and practical – Dmitri’s suggestions for new safety practices while working underground, Weng’s geological reports as cold as the woman herself – or thoroughly personal and relaxed. Agreements to meet (I made a chart of de Villiers’s movements, as far as I could tell, in the days before his death. I couldn’t see any pattern, nothing out of the ordinary), challenges for a gym session – Dmitri again, his need for approval and affection almost embarrassing to read.
The other names – one message was from de Villiers’s wife. It took me some time to realize that; she used a different surname, and it was only when I read about ‘our son’ that I got it. Their exchanges were cordial, even affectionate – but sent as much, I felt, out of duty and necessity and habit as out of love. No clues there.
All the other messages were from de Villiers’s bosses in Tierra or Brasilia. He was promising them big things – impressive projections. I wondered if he’d really considered his estimates realistic or if he had been engaging
in diplomatic padding.
But none of this helped me find his killer. The information I really wanted must have been in those personal files. I spent hours trying to crack de Villiers’s password. Tried the name I now knew his wife used, then the names of all the crew. Tried…desperately tried random combinations of letters and numbers. Shoved my palm into the keyboard, frustrated, moronic. A failure.
Somehow the crew had managed to block off my security access. Couldn’t override the lock on the door. Couldn’t get CCTV pictures.
And then suddenly I could.
It was Max’s doing. I knew that. And I could only think it was an accident, an oversight. My third day of captivity: I was doing sit-ups when the compscreen flickered and went blank. Reels of code scrolled up the screen too fast for me to read. The system reset, I guessed. I didn’t pay too much attention, just worked up a sweat as if it would help me get into de Villiers’s mind. I forced myself to work until my belly screamed. I lay on the floor and panted for breath, muscles so tight. The reboot finished and the screen returned to its normal welcome screen – without the hacker’s message.
Couldn’t move straight away.
What had de Villiers cared about? What would he pick as a password?
I rolled onto my front and, aching, got to my hands and knees. Then, with the aid of a chair, I got to my feet. I flopped in front of the compscreen. I wanted a glass of water, but I was out of muscles.
De Villiers. What did he love? Sex. What else? Mining. Maybe his old colleagues? His old…?
I cracked it first time. Or maybe Max had done something with her reboot. Maybe it’d have opened to anything.
Either way, Debringas – his first posting as overseer – got me in.
* * *
I didn’t do anything. Not straight away. Couldn’t quite believe my luck. I kept glancing at the door as if Fergie would march in at any second.
Max could have done it on purpose. She could’ve been playing me. I wasn’t sure, just then, if I could trust what I was reading. A clever person could lead me down a false trail easily enough.
But there wasn’t any point stalling. I’d been desperate for data, and here it was in spades. I had to go to the personal logs.