“Approximately one hour since the assassination of Second Class Chemistry Technician Arvid Singh,” he narrated. “Victim was standing at the railing here. There was a noise I’m assuming was a gunshot, and the victim was killed instantly due to the near-disintegration of his head.” He turned to the floor of the stands several meters behind the corpse. “This hole in the floor appears to be the continued path of the bullet, indicating the ammunition was not explosive.” He quickly sent a message to Gregorian, Loesser, and Emer, to send deputies, when available, to bag evidence, find the bullet, and guard the scene of the murder.
Konami squatted down and held his arm straight to match the angle from the hole to the spot where Singh’s head was struck. “Based on the path from above the railing to this hole, the shot may have been fired from 8th Rib, around mid third, in the aft Can.” His next message directed that deputies search that area for vantage points from which the Arena stage would be visible.
He switched off the vidcam. Somehow he felt serene, tense as he was. Despite the confusion and chaos of the last hour, things seemed much clearer. There are killers onboard Aotea, killers with influence and knowledge of the ship, and the murders aren’t going to stop until I find them.
CHAPTER 28
The Command Bridge of Aotea was dead calm. Gone was the chatter of sporadic conversations that Mattoso recalled from before. The only sounds were occasional indicator chimes from the operator’s screens, the periodic voice watch check-ins, and the repetitive shuffle of one of the Auxiliary watches, anxiously playing with the seat strap that kept him from floating away from his station.
The Bridge itself was something of an anachronism. Supposedly Captain Horovitz herself had insisted on actual hardmounted displays and interfaces, with wearable projections only as backups and supplements. Something about a near-disaster she’d faced in a convoy decades before. Of course, the laconic skipper had never confirmed nor denied such a story, but Mattoso had always found the old-fashioned technology of the bridge, solid and immovable as the Captain herself, oddly comforting.
Since the incident at the Arena, the entire ship was effectively locked down. The roving security watchstanders had more than tripled in number, and were now paired off at random with each other when on duty. Single-person duty stations were disallowed — every station must now have two personnel at all times. This left far fewer watchstanders for the rest of the stations onboard, and most of the ship’s complement were now spending between a third and half of their waking hours on watch. A curfew was instituted, such that when not on duty, Aoteans must remain in their quarters unless escorted by security watches.
Mattoso found herself yawning and closed her mouth. The exhaustion of the Bridge crew was palpable — the yawn made its way through the Nav watch, the Comms watch, the Eng watch, the Auxiliary watches, and the Systems Coordination watch, before striking her, the Officer of the Deck, once again. The lack of gravity made it worse — nearly every position was comfortable and restful in the near-zero gravity of the Operations spaces forward of the Cans.
She thought back to her brief conversation with Konami, just after order had been restored. He couldn’t stop looking over his shoulders, even as he spoke. “What just happened,” he had said under his breath. “It’s much… bigger. Not just the shooter. There are more—” He had paused, like he didn’t want to say it.
“I know,” she had responded. There are others involved, she knew he meant. Someone high up. Maybe multiple someones.
“Don’t trust anyone,” he had said before rushing off.
Someone, or someones, high up. She tried to think about it logically, and sequentially. Singh gets second thoughts, about whatever’s going on. He’s still alive at the start of the big meeting in the Arena, so he hadn’t told anyone yet. He stands up to speak in the Arena, and has problems with his wearable. She tried to think back — maybe Konami would have video to show it clearly — how much time elapsed between Singh standing to speak and being shot? Maybe a minute? Maybe two? A public shooting is a panic move, considering the other murders. Maybe they’re all panic moves, each one sloppier than the one before. So whoever shot him wasn’t ready when Singh stood up. The shooter had to run, get his weapon, and get positioned. She started taking notes, but stopped. Somehow it didn’t feel right… could she really assume her own wearable’s notes were secure?
Mattoso could feel the tension from the watchstanders on the Bridge. There was no more small talk. Anyone could be a killer was the unspoken subtext of each look. Is it you?
Even more, perhaps, was the collective shock at the undeniability of the violence. This was why we left. But it followed them. Weeks before, everything was simple for her to understand – simple and certain. Earth’s culture was inherently violent, and a clean break was needed to create a society that could be free of that violence.
Now, nothing was clear. Nothing was certain.
After a moment she looked down at the screen on her chair arm. “Comms — execute check-in with Power systems.”
The Comms watch acknowledged the order. “Power, Bridge, check-in all watches.”
“Bridge, Power, check-in acknowledged. Power officer of the watch, Lieutenant Qiang checking in.”
“Fusion control watch, PT2 Landers checking in.”
“Antimatter control watch, PT1 Ossyngul checking in.”
“Distribution watch, ET2 Ygsil checking in.”
Mattoso had to pinch herself to keep her eyes from glazing over as the rest of the Power watches checked in.
What would she do when she got off watch? Nothing seemed more attractive to her then her own bed in her quarters, but the killers wouldn’t wait for her to sleep… she couldn’t put off the investigation. She thought back to the rather limited progress they had made — the manufacturing of the defective filter. That was about it, she realized — most of the rest had been just flailing about, until Nicolescu’s murder, and now Singh’s. A conspirator just gave us more information in a minute, before being killed, then we’d found on our own in weeks of investigation.
Fabrication was the site of the only discovery they had made on their own. A defective filter… She perked up in realization. Every murder has a murder weapon. The defective filter was the first, a syringe and venom for the second, and a gun for the third. It would be nigh-impossible to track the syringe — Medical probably ordered dozens every month. But the gun? Mattoso resolved that, if she could stay awake, Fabrication would be her first stop after she got off watch.
CHAPTER 29
On his way to the department head meeting, the frustration and boredom of recent months seemed like a distant memory. Konami knew this was contrary to the SNH philosophy, but he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt. This is why I’m here.
It felt good to have a purpose.
He heard voices from the conference room around the corner. He had arrived early — since the forward Can was still spun down, they had moved the department head meeting to the aft Can, and he had given himself extra time to find the new conference room among the twisting passageways.
“If you hadn’t held me back, Singh might be still alive, and in custody, and we’d know everything.”
Konami stopped. The voice was one of the Bigwigs, Mara Ngayabo.
“I grew up in the slums of Ares City, Mara.” Konami recognized this voice too — it was another Bigwig, Wilson Paramis. “I know what killers look like, and I could see it in Singh. What the hell were you gonna do, anyway? Arrest him yourself? He’d have swatted you like a goddamn fly! And there’s no way you’d have gotten up there in time anyway!”
“Don’t call me Mara, Professor Paramis,” Ngayabo shot back. “There were constables nearby. I could have given the order. I had a feeling—”
“Enough,” said a third voice. Hamad Maltin. “They’re going to be here any second. Do we really want the gossip going around, just after three murders, that the eminent SNH Bigwigs are fighting amongst themselves like children?”
&n
bsp; “Agreed,” answered Paramis. Ngayabo just grunted, but they stopped arguing.
Nice to hear that they’re as human as anyone else… Konami entered and took a seat, and the other department heads trickled in.
The Mayor signaled for him to begin, and Konami cleared his throat. “We’ve confirmed circumstantially that Singh could have rigged the filter and the hatch that killed Muahe, and one of Nicolescu’s neighbors said that she saw Singh nearby just before he was killed. I believe we should accept that his confession was genuine.”
“And his assassination?”
“My deputies dug a ferrous slug out from several centimeters into the floor beneath and behind the scene. There was no sign of explosive residue. Considering the caliber of the slug, along with the extreme damage to Singh’s head, I believe the weapon was a high powered railgun.”
“Railgun?” someone asked.
“It uses powerful electromagnets instead of explosives to propel the slug to incredible speeds, far greater than old-fashioned gunpowder.”
In response to a question about the gunshot noise, Konami explained that a loud noise will accompany any supersonic projectile.
“Monstrous,” someone muttered.
“Barbaric!” came from another.
Commander Chulanont spoke up. “I’m quite certain that there is no such design in the Fabrication catalog for a railgun. And even if there was, there’s no way Zubiri’s Fab techs would just sit by and ignore someone ordering up a weapon.”
“But what if it didn’t look like a weapon?” inquired Lieutenant Commander Olin.
Konami nodded. “That’s what we suspect — that it was ordered and fabricated piecemeal, and assembled later. Or brought onboard before we departed.” He looked at Commander Papka. “I’d like to borrow your best Electrical Engineer. We may have to reinvent the damn thing, to see how it could have been constructed.”
Papka looked at Captain Horovitz, who nodded assent. “Very well. She’ll report to you shortly.”
Mayor Akunle broke in, asking if they’d found the shooter’s perch.
“We think so. The roof of aft housing unit six has a perfect view of where he was standing.”
Dr. Madani asked how the shooter could have gotten there so quickly.
“Maybe he was waiting there,” suggested the Bigwig Wilson Paramis.
Konami shook his head. “I don’t think so. If they knew Singh was going to talk, they would have killed him already. They wouldn’t ever kill someone so publicly except as a last resort.”
Paramis leaned forward. “How do you know? Maybe they wanted a panic.”
“If they were waiting and wanted a panic, they could have killed him as soon as he stood up, or before he confessed,” answered Konami. “No, I think this was desperation. I think the killer, or one of them, was in the Arena, and when they saw Singh stand up, they knew he was about to talk, and they rushed out to get their weapon and get to the roof perch. Maybe they scrambled his wearable too to buy time. I think the railgun was fired as soon as it possibly could have been.”
“Maybe the killer’s superior was in the Arena, and sent a message to the killer, somewhere else, when Singh stood up.”
“Perhaps,” Konami conceded.
“So what can we conclude?” asked the XO.
“I think we can put this info out. We need to solicit the help of every Aotean. If the killer was in the Arena stands and saw Singh stand up, someone saw them sneak out. If it was the killer’s superior, maybe someone saw them fiddle with their wearable right when Singh stood up.”
“I’m not sure—”
Captain Horovitz interrupted. “That’s exactly what we need. The crew is afraid, and a big part of that fear is uncertainty. We need them to be on our side.” Konami recalled her earlier emphasis on the importance of the crew seeing the ship’s leadership as allies. She turned to the Administrative chief recording minutes of the meeting. “Saul, put out as priority for all personnel: the shooter of Second Class Chemistry Technician Singh may have rushed out of the Arena when Singh stood up, or the shooter might have already been outside, but received orders from someone inside the Arena as soon as Singh stood up. Report to the Constabulary immediately if you recall anything strange inside the Arena before Singh was shot, particularly if you witnessed someone leave the Arena or otherwise act suspiciously.”
Konami had to suppress a smile at this. In his experience, the help of the public during a murder investigation was invaluable, and only rarely was secrecy warranted. This was not one of those times, in his opinion.
The rest of the department head meeting was consumed with talk of weaponry. How low we’ve sunk from the SNH’s vision...
“At some point we’re going to find the shooter,” said XO Criswell. “And he’s armed. What if he resists?”
“We didn’t leave the Earth system just to take part in more savagery,” barked Commander Papka, the chief engineer.
“So what do you suggest, CHENG?” asked the Operations officer, Commander Dofo. “We just ask them to come in quietly?”
“What about the stunners?” asked Madani. The Constabulary maintained, very securely, a few dozen handheld contact stunners, but neither Konami nor any of his constables had ever used them aside from drills and routine maintenance.
Dofo snorted. “Contact stunners against a sniper? Good luck.”
“The Charter specifically bans any weapons or tools capable of fatal injuries at a distance,” responded Papka.
The XO turned to Konami. “CI?”
The chief inspector took a breath. “Section 5.13.2.b. If the captain and mayor agree, we can declare a shipwide emergency, and make guns. I’d say this qualifies as a shipwide emergency.”
“A panic is not an emergency,” responded Papka. “Who onboard has ever even seen a gun, much less fired one? Do I really need to bring out the old Earth statistics on deaths caused by firearms?”
I’ve fired one, Konami thought to himself sadly. Even in the slums of Lagos and Singapore, he had very rarely felt the need to be armed. But there had been a madman in one of the old abandoned towers of Singapore — a killer — and Konami had volunteered.
He shuddered thinking about it.
“How do you suggest we capture an armed killer, Commander Papka?” asked the XO, sneering.
“Dart guns.” Everyone turned to the end of the table — it was Madani. Konami nodded to her. “The emergency section requires a new vote every thirty days,” she continued. Konami checked — she was right. “That sounds more cumbersome than we need right now, if it’s not absolutely necessary.”
Captain Horovitz leaned forward, asking what kind of dart guns.
“Veterinary dart guns. We could load the darts with a smart sedative — overdose is impossible. They aren’t capable of causing fatal injury. You could shoot a baby with one, and they’d just have a very long nap.”
“Supply, is that even possible? Does Fabrication have specs for veterinary dart guns?” asked the CO.
Commander Chulanont replied that he’d have to check with Zubiri.
“If he doesn’t have specs, I’ll bet my techs could design one,” offered Commander Papka. Konami raised his eyebrows — wasn’t he just complaining about gun safety?
“Any objections to dart guns?” asked the XO.
Everyone looked at the CO, and she nodded her approval.
And so we arm ourselves...
CHAPTER 30
“Lieutenant?” A pause. “Uh, Lieutenant?”
Mattoso’s eyes snapped open, and she flailed about for a half-second before realizing that she wasn’t falling.
“The chief inspector will see you now.” The admin tech kicked over to Konami’s door and opened it. Mattoso failed to suppress her yawn as she floated across the passageway. She glanced at the time, sighing. Yay, another two whole hours in bed before watch... She was so tired she had to search her memory just for her purpose for being there.
In his little office, the chief inspector
gave her a nod but said nothing. He floated upright as he gesticulated and scrawled in the air, tilted slightly as compared to her own orientation. She spun slightly to match him.
“You look as tired as I feel, Cy.”
His chuckle sounded like a cough. His eyelids scraped over his eyes so slowly that she thought she could hear a scratching sound.
She had been up for more than a day straight, standing watch and combing the Fabrication archives for anything that might be a component of a long-range firearm. She’d found nothing at all.
She asked if he had put out the public call for information about the shooter.
“Yeah, but the captain didn’t need her arm twisted.”
“I had a thought and went to the Fab shops,” said Mattoso. “Didn’t find anything about the railgun, but since we know when the defective filter was ordered, and when it was picked up, even though they didn’t log who it was, I went through the, uh, watch-bills and stuff, to see who was busy either time.” Her own yawn cut her off.
“Singh?”
“No, I ruled him out. He was on watch in the Chem lab when it was picked up.”
“Watch-bills can be altered.”
“Yeah, so I checked the other Chem techs on watch. By a lucky coincidence, two others were running a joint experiment with Singh at the time, and they confirm he didn’t leave. Before you ask, yes, they gave the same answer without time to coordinate, so I think we can trust it.” She cleared her throat. “In addition to Singh, I could rule out another seventy percent of the crew.”
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