The Ethics of Silence

by C. J. Nash

  “The process must be slow to preserve the specimen. For instance, if you were to step out onto the surface of Mars without a pressure suit, you would literally explode. Your body temperature is around ninety-eight degrees and the atmospheric pressure on Mars is about six millibars. All the gases in your body would immediately expand to one hundred twenty-five times their volume. Your blood would begin to boil furiously and it would continue to boil until there was none left. Your eyeballs would actually explode. I promise you that it would not be a pleasant sight.

  “But lowering the pressure slowly allows the gases to slowly expand and escape. Then, when the pressure reaches the critical point where the water begins to boil, the water boils away slowly doing very little damage. In this chamber the entire process takes about five days.”

  Mason asked, “There’s no danger of the system starting while we’re in here is there?”

  The Farmer grasped the door and swung it shut. “You can’t be trapped; there’s no latch on the door. It is held shut by atmospheric pressure. The pump would have to run for at least fifteen minutes before the door became difficult to open. But after 30 minutes, one man probably would not be able to force the door.”

  Mason stepped past the Farmer and pushed the door open. “I would feel a lot better with the door open.”

  The Farmer pointed to a light above the door. “If the pump is running, that indicator turns red. The pump does not start unless someone enters the key code on the pad from the other side of the door. And if all else fails,” the Farmer grasped a handle in a recess at the side of the doorway and pulled, “emergency release. This is a fail-safe. No electronics, just a manually operated valve that lets air into the chamber.”

  “If it’s all the same to you,” said Mason, “I’d feel a whole lot more comfortable if we left the door open.”

  The Farmer laughed. “Now you’re thinking like a colonist, Johnnie. Be ever vigilant.”

  Janet nodded. “I think Mason would make a good colonist.”

  Mason had begun to search in the vicinity of the lone table that occupied the room. “I assume that Mr. Echols’ body was on this table.”

  “Yes. Dr. Norton and I put the body on the table. I would guess Mr. Echols weighed about seventy pounds when he came in here, but he was only about thirty pounds when he left. Hell of a weight loss program.”

  “Did you see anything, maybe a letter opener with the body?”

  “I didn’t notice anything. But, as you can see, the light isn’t very bright in here. No. Wait…Maybe I did. When Dr. Norton came to collect the body, I didn’t help him take it off the table. I figured that Mr. Echols had lost enough weight that the doctor could handle him alone. But Dr. Norton dropped the body. I helped him get Mr. Echols back up and onto the gurney. There was some broken glass in the floor under the body. Could that be what you’re looking for?”

  “Maybe,” answered Mason. “What did you do with the glass?”

  “I picked it up and threw it in the trash.”

  “Is there any chance that the trash might still be here?”

  “I don’t know. The trash bin is right outside. Like I said, we don’t use this chamber often. Maybe the bin hasn’t been emptied.”

  They overturned the trash bin onto the floor and, among the papers were three pieces of broken glass. Mason pushed the pieces together with his stylus. “That’s it!” he exclaimed, and then asked, “What’s this?” Mason pointed to one of the pieces. Highlighted in the brown stain of dried blood was a circle with the words: Product of Mars.

  Janet glanced at the words. “They all say that. It’s mostly for the tourists. They all want to buy souvenirs that say Made on Mars. Nobody really uses letter openers anymore. They are just decorative items and something to sell the tourists.”

  “And they make effective murder weapons,” Mason added.

  “Don’t you think that it could be possible that a tourist was the murderer?” asked Janet. “After all, those letter openers are mainly for the tourists.”

  “No, it wasn’t a tourist,” Mason countered. “Ms. Echols convinced me that it was no tourist.”

  “What did Mrs. Echols say that convinced you that the murderer couldn’t be a tourist?” the Farmer inquired.

  Janet answered, “Mason is convinced that Mrs. Echols knows who the killer is and since she wouldn’t lie to protect a tourist, it had to be a colonist.”

  “I see the flaw in your logic, already,” said the Farmer. The murder happened on The Day of Secrets. Even if the murderer were a tourist, would anyone tell?”

  “Damn it! I thought I had eliminated the tourists and the murderer had to be a colonist. Now I’m not sure again. Well, anyway, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get this to the DNA lab and see if anything turns up.” Mason slipped the shards into a collection bag.

  “Well, just a heads up,” said the Farmer. “My DNA may be on those pieces of glass. I picked them up and put them in the trash. I didn’t know that they were evidence at the time.”

  ****

  Donna Ward took the three glass pieces and prepared them for DNA testing. “This will take about thirty minutes if you want to wait. Actually, it’s getting near lunchtime. Would you two like to join me for lunch?”

  “That sounds great,” answered Janet. “I’m absolutely famished. And, of course, Mason will pay for our meals.”

  “No, I couldn’t let you pay…” Donna began.

  But Mason interrupted, “No. Please. I’m buying. Janet insists.”

  Janet laughed and then had to explain why she found the statement humorous. By the time they had reached the cafeteria, Donna was laughing, too. “Okay,” she agreed. “If Janet insists, I’ll let you pay for my lunch. And I’ll make sure that I eat plenty.”

  Once seated, Mason asked, “Do you collect DNA samples from the tourists and scientists?”

  “No,” replied Donna. “That’s an invasion of privacy that the NAU doesn’t allow.”

  “So, you never get DNA from the tourists?”

  “We do get some DNA, but not directly—and not the complete sequence.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Sometimes a single colonist might enter into a temporary marriage contract with a tourist. Or any female colonist might visit him on The Day of Secrets. If either of those actions results in a pregnancy, we have the DNA. And if it is a viable pregnancy that’s a good thing; we’ve expanded our gene pool. If the pregnancy is not viable, the DNA sample and sequence record are destroyed.”

  “And if you had a DNA sample, could you subject it to a paternity test with a child who was the result of a coupling with a tourist?”

  “The possibility exists. The probability is zero. We don’t trample on the privacy of our people. Our children are precious and their parentage is none of your business.”

  “So, you have no DNA records from anyone except the colonists?”

  “As I’ve already told you, no. Why?”

  “Apparently there is the possibility that the murderer was not one of the colonists. If true, my suspect will not be in your database.”

  “If we have an unknown sample, I can send you a copy of the sequence data. Maybe there will be a match in the database on Earth.”

  “Maybe but unlikely. With ten billion people, there is no possibility of maintaining a complete database of the population. There are high-profile criminal DNA records, but those records are incomplete. I actually hope that your test reveals unknown DNA. I have gained quite a bit of respect for the colonists.”

  “Thank you, Mason. And I have to admit that you have completely shattered my perception of Earth people. Apparently, not everyone from Earth is an arrogant asshole.”

  “Thanks, I think,” said Mason. He turned to Janet. “I still need my old notepad synced with this one. If there is unknown DNA, I won’t be able to send it to the crime lab on Earth until my data is synced.”

  Janet opened her pad. “I had completely forgotten. Sorry. I’ll get Lou to handle i
t. It really shouldn’t take long.” She typed a message and immediately received a response. “Lou says that you should be set up in about an hour.”

  ****

  Donna peered at the screen. “Okay, the specimen shows three sets of DNA. The first, and no surprise, matches Lawrence Echols, the victim. The second DNA match is Edward Brannon.”

  Janet interrupted, “That’s his name! It’s been so many years, I had forgotten. Edward Brannon!”

  Mason’s eyes grew wide. “Who is Edward Brannon?”

  “The Farmer,” Donna answered. When he became the Farmer, Edward Brannon became Old MacDonald because he had a farm. Eee-Aye-Eee-Aye-Oh!” She laughed and then asked seriously, “You don’t really suspect him do you?”

  Mason shook his head. “No, I actually expected his DNA to be there. He accidentally contaminated the glass pieces before he realized that they were evidence. You said that there were three DNA signatures. Who does the third belong to?”

  “I don’t have a clue. I guess your hunch was right. It must have been a tourist. I’m sending you the data right now.”

  Mason opened his notepad. “I actually didn’t believe that it was a tourist, but the Farmer convinced me that it could be a possibility.” He tapped his ‘pad. “Good. My devices have been synced. I can transmit this data back to the system on Earth. It’s unlikely, but this DNA may be in the database.” He tapped his ‘pad again. “It doesn’t appear to be working.”

  Janet laughed. “Remember lesson number one?”

  “Yeah. What does lesson number one have to do with my notepad not functioning?”

  “We’re approximately four light minutes away from Earth. Round trip on anything you try to process over that distance is going to be eight minutes, give or take. And it’s going to get worse as the distance between the two planets increases. Get used to lesson number one.”

  “Damn!” swore Mason. “I never thought of that. And there’s other data on the Earth server that I was hoping to access. But anything I try to do is going to take forever.”

  “What do you need from the Earth server? Maybe it is available on our server.”

  “No, I want to access my personal files. I thought that I was being sent to Mars just because I pissed off my superiors. But maybe I was sent here because of a case I was investigating. Either they thought I would find what I was looking for on Mars, or they wanted me here because there was something there that they didn’t want me to find.”

  Janet said, “The delay isn’t as bad as it sounds; you just have to change the way you work. Instead of requesting one piece of data and then waiting eight minutes for the reply, you make various requests for eight minutes and then you get eight minutes of data. Or, if you really need that one piece of data before you can continue, make the request, then take a coffee break while you wait. But why be in such a big hurry. It is still over four hundred days before you can leave for home. Slow down and learn to enjoy lesson number one.”

  ****

  Mason spent the entire evening connected with the server on Earth. Somewhere in his notes had been the name Edward Brannon. Could that name be significant? The delay was excruciatingly slow, but he was actually making progress on the case he had left behind—progress that could not have been made without also having access to the Mars server. He totally lost track of time.

  Janet walked up behind Mason and brushed her fingertips across his forehead. “Aren’t you coming to bed,” she asked.

  Mason looked at the clock; it was after midnight. “Yeah, I’m coming.” Then he realized that he was unsure if he had received an invitation to join Janet. “Am I sleeping in your bed again, I hope.”

  “Yes. And hurry. I’m sleepy.”

  As Mason lay his notepad down it chimed, announcing a message. He opened the ‘pad and read: Desiccation chamber tomorrow at ten hundred. More evidence. Come alone. Don’t tell Ms. Edwards. The message came from an anonymous source and something about the message seemed wrong; it nagged the back of his mind but refused to reveal why.

  Mason climbed into bed and closed his eyes. For just a moment he felt tender, soft lips pressed against his own. The kiss was fleeting; when Mason opened his eyes, Janet was on her side facing the opposite wall.

  Chapter 13

  THE CHAMBER

  Mason cooked omelets the next morning. Two were already on plates and the third was almost ready when he went to wake Janet. “Wake up. I’ve got breakfast.”

  Janet stretched and yawned and followed Mason into the kitchen. “Both for me?” she asked with a giggle.

  “No. One for you and one for me.”

  Janet pouted, “Just one?”

  Mason chuckled, “Your other one is still in the pan.”

  Janet wrapped her arms around Mason and kissed the tip of his nose. “You’re good to me.”

  Mason placed his hands on each side of Janet’s face and brought her lips down to his. Their lips had barely brushed when Janet pushed him away. “That smells delicious. I’m starving.”

  Mason swallowed his first bite. “Janet, I’m going to see the governor today,” he lied. “You should stay here and rest. I don’t think I’ll be gone long.”

  “I don’t mind tagging along. If you want to talk to the governor alone, I can visit with Beth.”

  “No. I’d really rather you didn’t come with me today. I promise to hurry back. Maybe we can go to the Starlight Room tonight.”

  Janet didn’t argue.

  ****

  Mason found his way to the building that housed the desiccation chamber. He was about fifteen minutes early, but he saw no reason to wait outside. Inside the building, Mason saw that the door to the chamber was open and the light was off. He stepped inside and flipped the light switch—nothing. And then—nothing…

  ****

  Mason awoke in dim red darkness. His head was throbbing. He reached back and felt a sticky bump. Something had hit the back of his head—hard. Mason’s ears were ringing; he swallowed to relieve the pressure. Pressure! He was instantly alert. Mason was inside the desiccation chamber. The red glow was the warning lamp above the door. He was inside the chamber and the pump was operating!

  “No reason to panic,” thought Mason, as he stood and staggered over to the emergency release—the emergency release that was no longer there; the broken handle was lying on the floor. Mason pressed against the door but could not find a foothold. Weighing only about seventy-five pounds every effort just caused his feet to slide along the floor. He positioned the table so that it was lengthwise against the far wall. By bracing his back against the table, Mason was able to press against the door with his feet, but the door would not budge. “Now might be the time to panic,” thought he.

  “But why panic? I will just call for help.” He searched the tiny room but his notepad was nowhere to be found.

  What next? Shut off the vacuum pump? No the controls were on the other side of the door. Block the airflow? Maybe. Was there a single point from which the air was escaping?

  Mason found it. There was a vent grill along the back wall. But the grill was large and he had nothing with which he could cover it. Mason removed a shoe and pounded the grill. The grill bent and deformed and finally a corner broke free. Mason used the broken handle from the emergency release to pry the grill away from the wall far enough to force his fingers into the opening. Little by little the grill ripped away from the wall. With the opening uncovered, Mason found a shred of hope.

  The opening behind the grill decreased in size until it was fairly small. Though it wasn’t tiny, just slightly smaller than a closed fist, there was a possibility that it could be blocked. Mason removed his pants and shoved them into the opening. It was evident that some of the airflow was blocked because there was now a hissing noise that had not been there before. Mason’s shirt followed the pants along with his underwear and socks. Maybe he had managed to buy himself some time, but how much? And was there any possibility that he would be rescued or would he, in five days' time,
resemble the desiccated corpse of Mr. Lawrence Echols?

  Mason searched the tiny room again and again but could find nothing that would assist him in his plight. Since he found nothing in the room that could save him, he sat upon the table and tried to think of a means to improve the odds of survival. The table felt freezing cold to his naked butt cheeks and even before he sat, Mason was shivering. Mason knew that it wasn’t just his nudity that was causing the discomfort. Decreasing air pressure also decreases temperature. Mason had no idea how long he had been unconscious. He couldn’t guess how much the air pressure had decreased. He was still thinking clearly so the pressure was far from being dangerously low.

  After a period of time that Mason was unable to mark in hours or minutes, he felt the urge to take a pee. There was not even a trash bin to use as a receptacle and he was about to relieve himself in a corner of the room when he had an inspiration. He retrieved his shirt from the vent where the precious air was escaping. He urinated onto the shirt, soaking it thoroughly. He pressed the shirt back into the vent knowing that the wet fabric now formed a much better seal to delay his demise.

  Mason realized that he had done all that it was possible for him to do to slow the steady escape of air. He was huddled in a corner, shivering, when he lost consciousness.

  Chapter 14

  THE RESCUE

  When Mason had not returned before lunch, Janet decided to walk to the cafeteria. She had gotten used to riding the transport but the walk did not cause as much discomfort as she had feared that it might. After lunch, she returned to Mason’s apartment—he still had not returned.

  By dinner, Janet was beginning to worry. Except at night, she had not left Mason’s side for any length of time since his arrival. Recently, even their nights had been spent together.