Enigma

by C. F. Bentley

Alien markings that looked like random tool scratches with no visible pattern ran around the top and bottom of the drum. Neither Pammy’s nor Control’s databases recognized the markings. Or they’d been reprogrammed not to recognize them.

  Martha pointed to seven thin rods sticking out of the top at odd angles and varying lengths. “Speed controls. They are preset at specific distances to control something inside,” she said.

  “How’d you know that?” he asked.

  “We asked,” Martha replied, as if any dummy would do the same.

  “We lifted Sharan up there, since she’s the littlest,” Martha continued. “She says the tops have been hammered, like someone rammed the rods deeper than they should. That’s why the machine is running too fast. All of them have been hammered identically.”

  “How do you know this?” Jake asked, amazed.

  “They sound different from the group at the other end of the station. We asked a Spacer engineer what the rods were for. He guessed. We only showed him the other ones in case you didn’t want anyone to know something is wrong.”

  “Good girls.” Now who did he call to fix the damned things? His own maintenance staff hadn’t noticed anything wrong. Who could he trust? Who even knew how the things worked?

  “That’s why we called you,” Suzie piped up. “Sharan and I together don’t have enough strength to pull them back out again. We don’t know how far to pull them even if we could.”

  Jake rolled the tool chest up to the vantage point. And used it to climb atop the machine, heedless of the dust and grease that stained his black daily uniform.

  He pulled a folding knife with multiple tools attached from his thigh pocket. The miniature awl was too big to fit between the rod and the casement. So was the thinnest of the extra blades.

  None of the tools left a scratch on the strange material.

  He tried a Badger Metal stiletto from his sleeve. That left faint marks in the black surface, barely enough to see.

  He stood up and grabbed hold of one of the rods with vague scratches and flattening on the tip. With legs spread wide for balance and knees bent for leverage he heaved upward.

  The rod remained firmly in place. All those hours in the heavy-grav gym gave him no advantage.

  “Whoever did this had a great deal of strength and special tools.” He looked at the nearly empty tool chest. Were the missing pieces responsible for this? “Damn.”

  “General Jake?” Mary asked, not as appalled as he thought she should be at his language. “What can we do to help?”

  “You’ve done your job. You reported something out of the ordinary. Now you need to go back to Laudae Sissy and get cleaned up for evening services.”

  “What are you going to do, General Jake?” Martha asked. She steadied the tool chest as he climbed down.

  “Find someone who knows how this works.”

  “How?”

  “I have no ef . . . idea. But I’ve got to do something fast.”

  Mac hung upside down peering into the cold room below Medbay. Not hard to create a cold room for perishable storage. Just isolate the level and restrict the heating vents but not the atmosphere.

  Doc Halliday and Physician John, the two most senior and experienced medics on station, or any of the ships docked there, examined, opened, and tested pieces of Number Seven. They compared weights and size to the two other Labyrinthe bodies they’d already cut apart and recorded.

  Those two souls were bagged and tagged for shipment back to Labyrinthe Prime.

  Mac had witnessed death many times over the decades of his life. Sometimes peaceful and natural. More times violent, ugly, and not natural. Life on the rim was harsh and often brutally short.

  Watching this autopsy should not affect him. Yet, seeing his brother’s organs weighed and measured, his blood drained and run through machines, seemed as if he watched his own death. He shared DNA with those lumps of flesh and once living tissue. His blood had similarities.

  “I can’t tell what I’m looking at because I have no baseline for comparison.” Physician John shook his head. Behind his protective mask with its built-in filters, cameras, and spotlights, his face grimaced. “Every one of the three we’ve examined is different. Probably because of breeding with other species trying to stabilize the DNA.”

  “I’m in the same quandary. We have no other data on file.” Doc Halliday also shook her head. “But I can tell that the noose didn’t kill him. He was dead already when someone strung him up and placed that placard around his neck.” She pointed to the lack of bruising around the ligature marks.

  “What killed him?” Physician John peered more closely where she pointed.

  “Blunt force trauma to the back of the head was also post mortem. Possibly to disguise this.” She pointed to something Mac could not see.

  The two of them crowded around the body—must think of it as only another body, not Number Seven—blocking Mac’s view.

  “A needle through the ear canal directly into the brain. Those huge ears are vulnerable,” Doc Halliday said. “Probably crept up on him while he slept.”

  “Whoever did this must have a great deal of strength to drag the dead weight, unseen, to a different wing cluster and down to a heavy-G level,” John muttered.

  “It’s the secrecy that bothers me. Mr. Labyrinthe fled safety from deep inside the CSS residential wing. Who knows where he hid. Possibly not far from where he was found.” Doc Halliday joined him in poking and prodding. “The idea of a murderer being able to creep about so stealthily means there is either a major security breach or someone beyond our control to detect.”

  “Our phantom seems quite at home moving through the maintenance tubes and ventilation shafts undetected,” Physician John reminded her.

  “He’s the only one who is that knowledgeable of the station, and he’s our chief suspect. I can’t learn anything more here,” Doc Halliday announced. “Tidy him up for shipment back to his own people. I need to know more about that Maril and her Numidian lover.”

  “My curiosity does not overcome my revulsion at the concept of two such different species as life partners.” Physician John shuddered and turned to putting back all the bits and pieces of Number Seven they’d removed for examination.

  “Be sure to record all weights and measurements as well as the placement of the organs. Closest thing to information we have about the Labyrinthians. I have a feeling we’re going to have more and more contact with them over the next few years. Information is more valuable than Badger Metal at this point.”

  Physician John nodded and resumed his task.

  Mac almost turned away, no longer interested in the grisly process.

  “Huh?” Doc Halliday’s exclamation stopped Mac in his tracks.

  “The Maril is pregnant, and the baby’s DNA looks more human than not.”

  “That can’t be.” John reared his head up in surprise. “I’m coming to accept that you are as human as I, even if you have no caste mark and do not worship Harmony. The Numidian also seems a subspecies of humanity. But that female is more bird than woman.”

  “Not as much as you’d think.” Doc Halliday held up a vial of blood and placed it in a machine. She studied the graph scrolling across the screen. “I need to talk to the brass about this.”

  “What do you see? We do not do much DNA research on Harmony. Just enough to keep the caste marks pure.” John peered over her shoulder. His eyes didn’t focus on anything in particular in the graphs.

  “There.” Doc Halliday pointed to a spot on the left of the screen. The squiggles and bars meant nothing to Mac.

  “I don’t see it.” John shrugged in puzzlement.

  “That’s the avian genes trying to revert to human.” Doc Halliday copied the file and shut down the machine. “This entire wing will be secured and guarded. I’m ordering full security and cameras. Not even the phantom is going to get in here until I get a geneticist in from the CSS.” Her eyes flicked quickly toward Mac. She stared just long enough to l
et him know she knew he watched. “I mean it. This is too important to allow any corruption of the evidence.” She turned her back on Mac and called Control.

  “I get the message, Doc. I’ll respect your secrets as long as I can for the safety of my station.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Gregor grimaced as Paula du Penelope pu Crystal Temple and her twin Ginny du Penelope climbed up on either side of him in the hospital bed. They each flung an arm around his waist and the other over the top of his head in an awkward hug.

  “Do you remember what I told you yesterday about caste marks?” he asked them somewhat breathlessly.

  Ginny discovered that she lay atop his oxygen tube and shifted until air ran in and out of his lungs easily.

  “Sorry, Grandfather,” she whispered as she settled again.

  Gregor hid his frown. Temple caste had no need for family names. The entire caste was one family—somewhat interbred. They should support each other, discipline each other, and band together against outsiders as smaller family groups did among the lesser castes.

  “I remember, Grandfather,” Paula whispered. “Every caste has a place in the divine plan. We humans should never question the Gods but should accept the separation of castes as sacred,” she parroted the words exactly.

  “Any variation in caste marks must be eliminated. Only pure caste marks reflect the glory of our Covenant with Harmony,” Ginny finished the lesson.

  “Your caste mark looks funny,” Paula said. “It doesn’t sparkle anymore.”

  “That is because Grandfather is very ill,” Penelope, the girls’ mother, said from the doorway. “He is too ill for you to bother him.” She frowned deeply. Her red dress looked rumpled. Unheard of for the fashion conscious priestess Gregor knew. She also looked tired, with deep lines running down from her mouth and dark shadows beneath her eyes.

  “The girls do not bother me. They remind me of the life and energy of Harmony. They give me something to look forward to when I heal,” Gregor said.

  “You are not healed yet, Father.”

  Again with the family. Would she ever get over this new craze and revert to normal?

  “Go away, Penelope.” He shooed her with a weak flutter of his hand. He hoped the gesture looked dismissive rather than revealing how much energy the twins’ visit sapped from him. He longed for the white angel to return with her stimulant patches. She always made him feel young and virile again. “The girls and I have much to discuss. I need to know that their education proceeds properly.”

  “You need to rest.” Penelope snapped her fingers and the girls climbed down from the bed and dashed to her side. They hugged her legs with enthusiasm. “I am education director. I know my daughters have the best education available.”

  “No, they don’t. You do not tutor them in proper etiquette and tradition,” he snarled. He needed to cough. Talking left his throat raw and hurt his chest.

  “We will discuss this when you are better, Father.” She turned to go, her daughters still clinging to her.

  “Grandfather.” Paula paused and turned.

  “Accept Harmony . . .” Ginny said the next portion of the sentence.

  “—when She comes for you.”

  “We will pray . . .”

  “—and offer a Grief Blessing for . . .”

  “—all of Harmony.”

  “Girls . . .” Penelope looked as horrified as Gregor felt.

  “We all die, Penelope. Best the girls learn it now. But I have no intention of dying soon. I have much to do yet. Most of it, cleaning up the messes you and Guilliam and Sissy have made of my empire.”

  His daughter hmphed and retreated with less than her usual grace, dragging the girls with her.

  Maybe now he could read the treaty notes Sissy had left for him. After a nap. The twins really did tire him.

  “Lord Lukan, I must protest!” Jake said through gritted teeth.

  He breathed deeply. In and out. Don’t hold it. Let the anger flow out.

  Just as Sissy had taught him.

  “Lord Lukan, Major Mara du Danna pu FCC has become an important part of my team. In the best interest of the Harmony delegation on First Contact Café, I strongly urge you to allow her to remain as my second-in-command.”

  “My government has never authorized Lieutenant Mara’s promotion or her transfer,” the Noble said calmly. He examined his fingernails, then shifted his attention to the holovid of the jump point that served as a window in the diplomatic conference room.

  Only Lord Lukan’s son and attaché, Garrin, served as witness to Jake’s protest. He badly wanted Ambassador Telvino there. Lukan had refused Telvino’s presence, citing this as strictly an internal matter.

  “Sir, Major Mara is the only person on this station I trust to manage Control. She is competent, organized, and calm . . .”

  “Lieutenant Mara cannot be allowed to move above or outside the controls of her caste.” Garrin stood and faced Jake. His posture expressed arrogance and contempt from the lifted chin to the slight sneer and the shoulders slightly averted. “She will return to Harmony for reassignment. If she is as competent and organized as you claim, she will certainly earn a promotion.”

  Lukan kept his back to Jake.

  The ambassador and his son were in disagreement, Jake’s only hope to keep Mara on station.

  “I feel it important that my team employ both civilian and military, from both CSS and Harmony. I have no one to replace Mara.”

  “We do,” Garrin said. “The Harmony transport arriving within the hour brings Spacer Major Roderick da Nevis pa FCC to become your second-in-command. The same transport will take Lieutenant Mara away, as well as a few other passengers from my delegation.”

  “I do not know this Major Roderick, sir. I do not know if he will blend well with my team. If you must rob me of Mara, at least grant me the privilege of approving or disapproving of Major Roderick before he is permanently stationed with me.” Compromise. Compromise.

  Jake had to remind himself that he was running a station now and not flying into a firefight with all cannons blazing.

  “Granted,” Lukan said abruptly, before his son could deny the request. “I understand the importance of trust and cooperation in a team. Admiral Marella knows this as well.” He looked down his nose at Garrin.

  What? Lukan held his palm flat and waggled his fingers. Surely he sent a coded message to Jake. Pammy had manipulated Mara’s transfer. Or bribed someone. Or threatened. She had spies everywhere, and information.

  So why was she sabotaging Jake? Endangering the entire station, murdering aliens, and now blackmailing ambassadors, he wouldn’t put any of that past her. But why?

  “I will escort Major Roderick to your office upon his arrival,” Lukan continued. “If he proves unsuitable in any way, a replacement will be found.” He stalked from the room.

  Garrin hastened to follow him.

  Compromise, Jake reminded himself. He’d earned a compromise.

  But, oh, how he wished he could climb into a fighter and blast a dozen Maril—or Harmony—ships to smithereens.

  He couldn’t even find an excuse to fly patrol with the fighter companies from Champion and Victory.

  “But we want to play with Grandfather,” the twins protested to Penelope as she dragged the girls into Sissy’s private parlor.

  “And I told you that Laud Gregor needs to rest,” the girls’ mother insisted. She shoved both girls into separate chairs.

  “What happened?” Sissy asked looking up from the screen embedded in her desktop. Why did she find reading so much easier on the computer than on paper? Whatever the difference, she managed to keep up with the masses of documents requiring her signature much better here at the FCC than at home.

  “Laud Gregor insists on drilling the girls with archaic lessons on the need to keep the caste system intact, as he thinks it used to be.” Penelope snorted. “And I don’t know how to undo his influence except by total separation.”

  The girls s
tared at their mother in mute defiance.

  “They are as stubborn as you and Laud Gregor. I doubt separation will do anything other than firm up their resolution to follow him,” Sissy said, tapping her chin in contemplation of alternatives.

  “Then there are the visions. How did your mother cope when you rolled up your eyes as if to faint and then poured forth strange images and portents?”

  “I don’t . . .” Maybe she did. Or used to. “Mama didn’t know that what I said was important. She mostly ignored my cute little sayings and went on with her day, taking care of five children younger than me.”

  An icon on her screen blinked red, quite rapidly.

  She looked away. If she ignored the alarms, often the little emergencies went away, or someone else handled them. When she looked back, it blinked more rapidly in a brighter and angrier tone. A little pinging sound accompanied it, harsh and insistent.

  “What now?” She pressed her thumb on the blinking red light, knowing instinctively this was a private message requiring her personal identification.

  “Laudae Sissy.” A stranger in a Harmony uniform with Communications in the background appeared on the desktop. “I think you need to see this message from Harmony City.” The person faded.

  Images of buildings shaking and crumbling, fires racing through familiar streets near Crystal Temple, drenching rains with roll after roll of thunder and long forks of lightning that touched ground, filled her huge desk.

  A squeak escaped her throat.

  “What?” Penelope dashed to her side, the twins right behind her.

  “Discord reigns,” the little girls said in unison.

  “Your vision earlier—you don’t need to prepare a Grief Blessing for Laud Gregor. You truly do need to prepare one for all of Harmony,” Penelope said, a little too loudly, more than a little too harshly.

  “I have to go home. I have to calm Harmony’s distress. Or at least try.” Sissy rose from her chair. Her head grew light. She stumbled and caught herself against the desk. Her hand brushed another blinking red icon.

  A new scene erupted before her eyes, this one of a massive tidal wave growing in the ocean, ready to crash into the coastline by the largest city on the Southern Continent.