by Rexx Deane
‘That’s like—’
‘Shh!’ Aryx hissed.
They looked at each other, and Sebastian wound the footage back again. He paused the image at the instant the figure’s face should be clearest; it was still a blur.
‘What’s wrong with the camera?’ Aryx asked.
‘I don’t know, but I don’t think it is a camera fault – it’s too much like the Folian ship. Computer, enhance image.’
The computer attempted to resolve the motion blur, but the subject still had the appearance of smeared paint.
‘Damn it!’ Sebastian shouted.
‘It’s obviously not motion blur.’
‘Computer, run extended processing routine on video.’
‘Estimated time for completion: two days.’
The estimate rose while they watched. If only he’d tried it on the photos Aryx had taken at the time – at least then they’d have an idea of the timescale.
‘Typical!’ He slammed his palm against the console. ‘It’s going to take longer and longer as it goes on. At this rate it will be weeks!’
‘Aren’t your office computers faster? You can always lock it down to make it secure.’
Sebastian clenched his teeth. ‘Gladrin said it was best to keep it off the system, but it looks like I’ve got no choice. Computer, copy video to my secure station; re-run routine using local resources.’
‘Estimated time for completion: seven hours.’ The estimate began to rise again.
He sighed.
‘Better than nothing,’ Aryx said. ‘At least it’s only estimating a couple of days now.’
‘I’ll just have to leave it running. Computer, notify me when the task is complete.’
‘Acknowledged.’
Aryx rubbed his chin. ‘I still don’t see what could cause that blur.’
‘I don’t know – but whatever technology the Folians are using to protect their ships from being photographed, this person might also have access to. It might be worth asking them about it. We might then be able to trace the source of the technology and likely users.’ Sebastian stood and paced back and forth. ‘I wonder if it could have actually been a Folian that did it?’ He looked at the image again. ‘No, it’s too bulky to be one of them.’
‘Their ship left the station before the explosion anyway, didn’t it?’
‘Yes, but it’s worth checking to see whether any of the crew were still here. Computer, what was the Folian presence on the station around the time of the explosion, plus or minus two hours?’
‘There is no Folian presence logged in system records during specified time-frame.’
‘Right … When was the last Folian presence logged on the station?’
‘Yesterday, sixteen-hundred hours.’
‘Did the Folians go anywhere near the laboratory affected by the explosion?’
‘No.’
‘Then where did they go?’ Bloody TI.
‘The delegates were collected at the central docking hub by their ship when it arrived and remained aboard while it navigated the transport system to the private bay area. Delegates did not leave the ship again after embarking.’
‘Where did they go before the hub? What were their movements? A complete list.’
‘After arriving on the station their activities were limited to the docking hub, the atrium and the lift sections between.’
‘Gods, damn it!’ Sebastian slammed his fist on the console.
‘Calm down!’ Aryx said. ‘You haven’t even investigated the scene yet, so it’s not like you’ve run out of leads.’
‘I suppose not.’ Sebastian took a few slow, deep breaths. ‘The picture I took of the Folian in the atrium came out normal, not blurred, so I guess it wasn’t much of a lead anyway. It could be that only their ships have that weird cloaking thing going on.’
‘You didn’t tell me you finally managed to get a picture! I wish I hadn’t bothered.’
‘If you hadn’t taken a picture of the ship, we wouldn’t know about the blur.’
‘So, when did you get a photo of the Folian?’
‘On my way to work, the day before I heard about the job. Have you ever seen one close up?’
Aryx shook his head.
Sebastian brought the image up on the console next to the video. ‘See? They’ve got a different body shape from the thing on the video. Even though it’s blurry, it looks far too big to be a Folian.’
Aryx peered closely at the screen. ‘What’s that stuff in its hair?’
‘That is its hair.’
‘The leaves, not the spongy bit.’
‘A wreath. It even had fruit in it, from what I could tell.’
‘Maybe that’s why people call them Folians.’ He waved his hands about in an exaggerated stroking gesture. ‘Because they’ve got a fetish for plants and foliage or something.’
Sebastian shook his head and dismissed the image. ‘Let’s see if they have finished securing the lab.’ He activated his wristcom. ‘Contact the damage control team dealing with the lab explosion.’
‘Damage control,’ a man’s voice said on the other end. ‘What can we do for you, Agent Thorsson?’ It sounded so official.
‘Has the lab been secured?’
‘Yes, Sir. We finished refitting the outer seals on the vent and it’s being repressurised as we speak. It should be ready in about two minutes. The heat detectors don’t sense anything, so it should be fine for you to enter. We’ll open her up once she’s got atmosphere.’
‘Thank you. I’ll be there shortly. Please leave it sealed until I get there. As a matter of security, nobody is to enter. You can refit the inner seal after I’m done.’
‘Very well. Damage control out.’
Sebastian got up. ‘Are you going to be alright here?’
‘I’ll be okay,’ Aryx said. ‘Did you bring the box for me to examine?’
‘Oh Gods, no. I forgot it in the rush with the explosion.’
‘Will you have time to get it? If not, I’ll carry on working on the mobipack until you get back.’
‘I’ll try, but this is priority now.’ Sebastian picked up his rucksack.
‘I’ll see you later,’ Aryx called after him as he descended the ladder. ‘And be careful!’
***
Bannik was busy dealing with the collateral damage when Sebastian called at the office to retrieve a forensics kit, and he easily avoided her.
After retrieving the kit, he stopped off at the changing room – if he put his bag there, he’d be forced to pick up the box when he returned. Aryx would be fuming if he held off giving it to him any longer. He opened the locker, picked up the unopened box, and stood turning it in his hands. Had he done the right thing by taking on the investigation? He’d probably have more success sitting at a desk, trying to work out what this thing was – but if he hadn’t agreed to play lead investigator, Gladrin would likely have taken the box back, and the SpecOps commission with it. Then he could wave goodbye to any chance of ever leaving the station. Aryx could, too.
He put the box back and stuffed the rucksack in the locker. The gun … He still hadn’t had time for any training. There wasn’t enough time for anything anymore. It would be fine, if he didn’t have to shoot anything; at least forensic investigations didn’t require guns.
***
The lab was on the far side of the station and sat in the outer level of the rim section for safety reasons and, with the interruption in lift service, the trip took over half an hour and Sebastian arrived impatient and sweating.
The corridor to the lab had been cordoned off where it branched from the wide central hallway. A security guard stood at the entrance, and a small group of aliens sat around him.
‘Please remain calm,’ the guard said, addressing a bewrinkled Antari. ‘You’ll be able to go down there shortly. The scene needs to be investigated before we can open this section for public access.’
‘I want access now!’ chittered a Q’vani.
‘I’m so
rry, but it’s not up for discussion.’ The guard gestured to the group. ‘You’ll have to wait just like the others.’
‘Rrrrrrt!’ the Q’vani rattled, and scuttled off on its short hind legs to join the throng.
The alien stood about as tall as Sebastian, maybe an inch or two taller. Its long abdomen, supported by four short legs protruding from the sides, trailed along the floor behind it, and its entire body was covered in orange and brown segments of chitin that flexed as the creature breathed. He had never seen a Q’vani other than Q’orrig, and his lower half was always obscured by the counters in the restaurant. Just below the head, four segmented arms terminated in prehensile, claw-like hands. The head had two big compound eyes, and a large pair of black serrated mandibles that flanked its mouth parts. The Q’vani looked as though it could do terrible damage if you got into a fight with it.
Sebastian shook his head to rid himself of the idea and approached the guard. ‘I’m here on behalf of SpecOps to investigate the crime scene.’
‘ID, please.’ The guard held out an infoslate. Sebastian pressed his thumb to it and the man nodded and stepped to one side, pulling the temporary barrier open. ‘It’s down there, then turn left on to the parallel.’
Sebastian made his way down the short corridor to the junction and turned left. Eighty yards down the upward-curving corridor, stood a doorway with coloured tape across it.
He took a handheld scanner from the forensics kit and paced down the corridor, pointing the device at the floor and lower walls, searching for DNA and other trace evidence that might have been left by the perpetrator’s passing. The scanner bleeped at intervals as it detected various compounds and stored their locations for later analysis.
After making a thorough scan of the doorway, he ripped the tape down and entered his security override codes into the keypad beside it. The heavy steel door scraped open and a foul, acrid stench burst forth – the stench of chemicals that shouldn’t be mixed. Chemicals and burnt flesh. The opening to the room presented a black, gaping rectangle against the white of the corridor.
With his stomach tightening, he took a torch from the forensics kit, put some anti-contaminant coverings on his feet, and stepped in.
Chapter 6
The lab’s charred and blackened walls absorbed almost all the torchlight as Sebastian entered. His nostrils flared; the odour was appalling, and so strong he couldn’t think properly, so he took a respirator mask from the forensics kit and fitted it over his nose and mouth. A couple of breaths later, the air was comfortable again, and he set about surveying the scene.
The room extended three metres ahead and seven to the left. The bench on the opposite wall was strewn with remnants of equipment, melted plastics, and broken glass. In the far left corner stood a large gas canister, its top split and peeled back like a giant metal flower. It was probably the cause of the explosion, but until a simulation could be constructed from the evidence and video recorded by the scanner, that hypothesis was little more than an educated guess.
The scanner recorded numerous hydrocarbons as he walked the length of the bench, but little material that could indicate an accelerant. As expected, the flammable compounds signature increased with proximity to the ruined canister. Above, a gaping hole where the pressure panel had been indicated that whoever worked in the lab had been conscientious enough to follow the correct safety regulations.
Bleep! The scanner had picked up something else on the bench: DNA. Sebastian pressed the scanner’s contact pad to the area of the bench indicated and stored the sample for later analysis.
Following the wall around the room anticlockwise, he turned left at the canister. Several wrecked containers littered the floor, along with a metal frame that may have been a bed leaning up against the wall opposite the bench. The mattress and fabric components had burnt away, leaving a crumbling, charred mass – temperatures in the room must have been phenomenal. The scanner bleeped again: DNA, this time on the bed frame. The unit’s basic analysis indicated there had been two people in the lab during the explosion. He continued around the room, recording video along with the forensic scans for later digital reconstruction; with a virtual model, he could determine whether the canister was the cause of the explosion or a secondary ignition source.
With the scans complete, he marked the evidence for collection: several small tools and other objects that had melted onto one of the benches; an open metal frame, twelve inches square and eighteen inches high; a bundle of burnt wires that looped through the frame; and a fist-sized lump of charred, melted plastic, apparently connected to the wires. Aside from several beakers that might have contained fluid, judging by the tacky patches around their bases, there wasn’t much else of interest. The room had no discrete computer; the only connection was the ubiquitous comms terminal in the wall by the door.
‘Computer?’
The terminal replied with garbled audio and the display glowed faintly through the blackened glass.
Sebastian rubbed the soot away with a cloth from the forensics kit.
‘Respond with visual only.’
Acknowledged.
‘Does this terminal contain records pertaining to activity in this lab?’
Negative.
‘Has it been used at all since the start of the laboratory’s contract?’
Negative.
Another dead end. Any records made in the lab must have been kept on a separate system, or on an infoslate that had likely gone out of the vent when the pressure seal blew. But why hadn’t the broken glass gone out of the vent as well?
He collected up the forensics kit and left the lab. The door closed behind him, but grated to a halt a couple of inches short. He rolled his eyes. There went forensic integrity.
Sebastian made his way back to the junction and approached the guard. ‘Nobody is to enter the laboratory except for the forensics retrieval team. The door doesn’t shut.’
‘Yes, Sir. Are the civilians allowed access to the corridor now?’
Sebastian nodded. ‘I think I’ve got enough scans. Just keep them away from the door.’
‘Very well, Sir. I’ll inform the team right away. We’ll get the evidence sent to your office.’
‘Actually, I’d like it sent to this hangar.’ He took the infoslate from the guard and entered the relevant details.
‘That’s a bit … unusual, Sir.’
‘Just do it.’
The man stiffened. ‘Of course, Sir. It’ll be done right away.’
He left the guard to deal with the civilians that had clustered around the corridor entrance and headed back to the ship.
***
Aryx sat at the diagnostic console aboard the Ultima Thule, putting the final touches to the mobipack. Now the feet had grip for rough surfaces, and the legs could move in response to sensors, he should be able to put together a decent patent proposal over the next couple of days. It would all need testing of course, but how rewarding it would be to finally produce something that could help others in his predicament.
It had been over three years since he’d done any repairs in the field himself, and he’d never forgotten the day of the accident.
Rain had lanced down from a rapidly blackening sky, punctuated with flashes of light while he bounded down the ramp out of the shuttle, his big arms carrying a bundle containing every possible tool he might need. He crossed the threshold, and water pouring down over the doorway triggered the wetsuit properties of his already tight military-issue vest, shrinking it further, and immediately warmed him despite the cold rain that plastered the hair to his scalp.
‘Computer, send the cargomech out!’ he said, and dropped the tools in a heap midway along the starboard side. The shuttle’s landing supports had sunk too far into the soft ground – there was no way he’d get under it to perform repairs in these conditions.
The ship’s TI complied, and seconds later the eight-foot tall, vaguely humanoid forklift trundled out of the ship, churning up the marshy, waterlogged soi
l in its tracks.
‘Lift it here!’ he shouted, pointing to the bottom of the hull. The din of the rain battering the ship made it almost impossible to hear himself. ‘High enough for me to crawl under.’
‘Acknowledged.’ The cargomech bent down and reached out with its two-pronged grippers. Hydraulics strained and mud flew through the air as it slowly forced itself between the ship and marsh. With a creak, the side of the shuttle lifted a metre from the ground.
‘That’s high enough, hold it there.’
His wristcom chirped into life. ‘We’re on our way back with seven surviving colonists. The ITF have rigged the base’s reactor to blow and we need to get off this rock ASAP! Our ETA is three minutes. What’s your status?’
‘Engines operational, I’ve repaired the navigational array, and I’m about to fix the atmospheric ballast seal. Two minutes, tops.’
‘Good work, marine. Alvarez out.’
There was no time to lose. He dropped to the floor and shuffled under the ship, dragging the bundle of tools through the muck after him. Within moments he’d located the ballast seal – a rubberised hoop surrounding a large panel – where a piece of shrapnel from a surface-to-air missile, launched by the terrorist cell, was lodged in the rubber. He rolled onto his back and pulled out a pry-bar from the bundle of tools and wedged it in. With a few sharp tugs, the seal came away and he threw it aside, took the replacement from the tool bag along with a large spanner, and began removing the panel.
Thirty seconds later, the panel dropped free. He quickly fitted the new seal and lifted it back into place. That was odd – was it somehow closer than when he’d removed it? He began tightening the nuts that held it in place and hit himself on the chin with the end of the spanner. It was closer. The ship’s support struts had sunk a few inches deeper into the marsh and there wasn’t space to finish fitting the panel.
‘Computer, get the mech to raise the ship a few inches!’
The hull moved farther away and he resumed tightening the nuts.
He finished the last one as Alvarez’s voice came over the wristcom. ‘Trevarian, what’s your status?’