Mercury Going Down

by Brambach, C. S.

  Soon we were on an uncomfortable couch on a set at the Media Center. I think it was the set where they broadcast the community roundtable from. The Media Center was where they made the colony news, cooking shows, gardening shows, health shows, (mostly on mental health), instructional shows, (mostly art shows) and community forums and of course, the inevitable talk shows. Janice Spring was that seasons big hit. They also broadcast sports programs of the base leagues, mostly volley ball and basketball although shuffleboard, pool and darts had a strong following as well. It never failed to amaze me what would hold the attention of people who were trapped inside a closed environment. Karen and I had had some make up applied and were waiting for the camera’s to come on and the interview to begin. Presently the screen between the camera’s lit up with the image of Matt Ku, one of the host’s of Good Morning World. I had been hoping it would be Cynthia Jennings. She was hot. Another one of life’s little disappointments. Well, I was a past master of making lemonade out of lemons.

  He asked the usual lame, how do you feel questions, which I deftly parried with out sounding trite or mean. Worked in a reference to Karen’s art, which she followed up with an appeal for folks to visit her website and check her out and her work. She was adding a blog with her feelings about my near loss and Dave’s loss and Susan’s sorrow.

  She went on about how scared she was when I hadn’t come home when I was supposed to that day. How she had freaked out once she was told that Dave was missing as well and that we hadn’t been heard from and were hours overdue. Her sense of relief when she had received word that I had been found in the air lock and was recovering in the Med Unit. As well as her shock upon hearing of Dave’s death.

  Then Matt blew me away.

  “Mr. Dunn, Drew, has any progress been made into finding out the cause of the skimmer crash?” Looking me in the eye like he was boring into his financial prospectus.

  “No, not that I’m aware of, what have you heard?” Turn the tables on him.

  “Nothing official of course, but there are rumors of foul play.” I smiled, played dumb.

  “What else have you heard?” Gave him a brave half smile.

  “Well, Dave had been through Rehab for gambling problems and we have it on good authority that there might, just might be a problem with Memredux and Imaginex out there in the colony.” I smiled like a retard. Fuck this bozo.

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that, or about Dave, he was a great guy and a good friend.” I think he had just blown his shot at getting an interview with Susan.

  Soon, but not soon enough for me we were done, and I was left with a feeling of having been stabbed in the gut with a rusty knife. Dave involved with Memredux? Man, talk about one of the most, (if not few), illegal substances in the solar system. With just about every other drug having been made legal or decriminalized to the point of a slap on the wrist, hey, it was easier to tax it, control it than to leave it in the hands of a criminal underground, and the tax money funded Rehab programs that worked, Memredux was taboo. Memredux was scary. When you took it you would get the most incredible euphoric high even as what ever bad memories, (or good ones for that matter), you wanted to be rid of were evaporated like a mornings rain on a hot high desert afternoon. This scared the powers that be to know end. Memory was the underpinning of civilization. It was the catch all of the good, the bad and the ugly. And of all the beauty as well. Without it, official reasoning went, civilization would crumble. So Memredux was banned.

  Imaginex was different. Imaginex basically let you live out what ever you imagined. Like it was real. It was only illegal because they couldn’t figure out how to get people to take it while involved in a holo program. It was rumored to have been created by the holo industry to be used in conjunction with the programming, but had been a big hit with the raver community and it’s use had taken off from there. It was being tested by the FDA before being approved for use under a doctors supervised use. I had also heard rumors that it was an incredible sexual enhancement/aphrodisiac.

  The psychiatric community saw all sorts of curative potential in a drug that could unleash the imagination of people with stunted creative abilities.

  Dave was definitely a candidate for both. To forget the horrors of Rehab and develop an imagination. So who was he tied up with or into and why had he been a target?

  The same question, who had wanted Dave dead, and by extension, me?

  With Karen on her way to work, I headed to Security with Jazz and my protective escort in tow. I had a call from the Comm Center. Ray Zacari wanted to talk.

  “How’d it go Drew?” He sounded ebullient.

  “Okay I guess. How’d you do?” I smelled a killing.

  “Fantastic. Normally they only pay out about a quarter to a half million credits, but I was able to get them to pay you, get ready for this, one point two five million credits for you and three quarters of a million credits for Karen.” Wow, at this rate, I might not have to think about another tour. I might even be able to retire on Earth and skip Mars altogether!

  “Wow! That’s great Ray! Thanks man.” True gratitude.

  “Don’t mention it. You want to think about coming home as soon as they’ll let you off planet. I can get you big bucks for print interviews and news vid follow ups as soon as you get back. The sooner the better. We might think about a book, we can hire a ghost writer for it and then sell the rights for a movie of the week.”

  “Cool. I’ll think about it.” Too much exposure concerned me. I was used to life in the anonymous lane and I wasn’t sure I was ready to leave it.

  My escort left as soon as I walked into Chief Fonagy’s office. He stood as I entered.

  “Good, you’re here. Come on. Something has been discovered at the farm. On the edge of the new park. You’ll want to check it out with me.” I had never been to the farm. Psych Ops had determined that with the growing population there was a growing need for some green space for people to use to depressurize. So a ten acre park, with trees and flower beds and a baseball diamond that was nearing completion as well as a soccer pitch, was being created between the farm land and the retaining wall that separated the farm unit from the rest of the city. I wondered if they’d planned a golf course.

  On the moving walkway North I was getting the thumbs up from people and Robot’s alike. I would give a short perfunctory wave in acknowledgement. Fonagy scowled.

  “Disconcerting, being with a hero huh?” He shook his head.

  “I would find it annoying, fairly quickly.” I laughed.

  “Lucky it’s not you then.”

  “Luck has nothing to do with it.” Gruff.

  “So what’s up with me being jumped by Matt Ku?”

  “Jumped, how so?” Taken aback?

  “He said Dave might have links with Memredux and Imaginex.” He looked at his sneaks as we entered the first lock. He nodded his head as we entered the second.

  “Yes, tox screens reported traces of both drugs in his system in minute amounts. We found a huge dose of Memredux in Hugo Lakshmi’s blood, what little was left that is.”

  “So who ever killed him was trying to cover up their tracks.” Certainty.

  “It would appear so.” Confirmation.

  As we entered the green area the first thing that hit me was the smell. Dirt and growth.

  Decay and life. Lavender with a hint of pig crap underneath. There were pots of herbs lining the walkway. Rosemary, thyme, basil. I ran my hand over a rosemary bush and put it to my face and took a deep breath.

  “Oh, yeah.” A strong but pleasant smell. It reminded me of linguine bolonese at my favorite Italian joint back on Earth, the Cafe Capri. In the hollowed hills of Silverlake.

  Over head the lights hanging below the metal scaffolding and maintenance catwalks were off. We were in sun phase. The polarization of the heat resistant to 2500 degree F, two foot thick skin was in full effect giving the skin a blue tinge reminiscent of the blue sky of Earth. They had to darken it to simulate night, beca
use day phase lasted twenty eight days. Misters produced a short lived cloud effect. I had heard the Eco Department was working on real rain fall. That would be something if they could pull it off.

  We crunched along gravel after taking a short cut through a grove of young cork oaks to the edge of the park area where they were converting farm fields to park land. Somewhere out on the edge of the farm land one hundred acres of soy field were being planted with vines. In seven or eight years the cork would come in handy for real wine grown, fermented and bottled on Mercury. No more need for crummy synth wine.

  We approached a large mulch pile that was surrounded by yellow caution tape. Several evidence techs were lurking around. As we reached the far side I could see two techs kneeling down with make up brushes gingerly brushing away dirt from the face of a half buried corpse. A tech was taking pictures as they worked. As we approached the tech at the body’s head looked up and gestured to the chief.

  “Chief, take a look.” He pointed down at the just uncovered head. He had just brushed the face clear. The Chief leaned down and gestured for me to take a look.

  It was Jim Simpson.

  “As soon as you get him dug out, get him to the Morgue. I want a full tox screen on him asap.” The tech gave him a look, said,

  “You got it Chief.”

  In the distance a motor whirred. They were expanding the whole farm area to accommodate the rapid expansion in population. I wondered at the machinery involved.

  The Chief gave me a short wave to follow him as he made his way down a gravel path, past a non functioning fountain to a park bench in a small grove of cypress trees. He sat down and indicated that I should join him. Jazz took up her station to my left, her eyes wide at the sights and sounds of faux nature. I was surprised that the notorious germ phobic Chief would want to stop in such a living, crawling region. A bee buzzed by.

  The Chief produced a stainless flask and, after taking a hit, passed it to me. I’m not much of a Scotch drinker but I could recognize good McCallan’s. Twelve years old at least. I wiped off the stem with the palm of my hand before passing it back. Trying for cleanliness. I held it out to him and he waved it away. I took another hit. Smooth.

  He breathed a heavy sigh. Wiped a hand over his eyes. Finally took the flask and took another hit. Screwed the cap back on and put it back into his red coveralls. The stress was clearly over riding his phobias.

  “So let’s recap the situation.”

  “Okay, let’s.” He gave me a sharp look. I saw his eyes go wide as they drifted down to the sheathed Porter’s tool on my belt.

  “Are you a docker now?” Shock and a little awe.

  “Honorary.”

  “Ah, so.”

  “So?” He looked over at a blooming azalea.

  “Well, it starts about a month ago, when someone, as yet to be determined put a delayed action wonk in the system of a prospector drone. Someone, as near as we can tell, in Supply. Who then, about two weeks ago, put a delayed action wonk into the repulser plates of the skimmer. Causing Dave’s death and your near death.” I coughed, he looked at me alarmed. I noticed he moved, very slightly, away from me on the bench.

  “It’s okay, old allergy to dust. Yeah, someone in Supply with a connection to Art/Ent/Rec.” He raised both eyebrows.

  “Jake figured that out did he?” It was my turn to look at him in askance.

  “Jake’s good, the best, probably on this whole planet, I put two and two together when all that clean data started showing up from you and I realized that you didn’t have the time to do all that work, what with you roaming around the base, shagging hot women enamored with you in their hero lust. Tell him thanks for me. He could have a slot in Security if Maintenance and Repair would ever part with him.” Kudo’s for Jake.

  “He’d be pleased to hear it and I will pass the sentiment on.”

  “Right. So Dave’s dead, and we can’t rule out that he was the primary target of the hit. Someone was definitely keeping tabs on his schedule and knew when he was on the roster for outside maintenance and repair. We have the fact that he had traces of Memredux and Imaginex in his system and that he had been a gaming junkie before he came out here.” I raised a hand.

  “For which he went to Rehab.” He shook his head, a small grimace on his face.

  “Maybe it didn’t take, or take all that well. Be that as it may, within three, four days of this incident, the Reverend Gonzalez and his wife are found dead, killed by a malfunction of the fire systems, the fire retardant system, and the alarm system. First the fire system detects a fire where there isn’t one and goes off, and then the alarm fails to go off.” He looked at me with one eyebrow raised as if to challenge me. I took the bait.

  “So first the alarm doesn’t sound, the suppression system goes off and then the alarm that the system was in action didn’t go off?” He nodded, poked three fingers up at the ceiling.

  “Correct. Not one, or even two coincidences, but three, count ‘em, three coincidences. Which is just too much. Which is another example of why I don’t believe in coincidence. Our inquiry into their deaths has turned up another trace back to Supply. In fact it traces back directly to Jim Simpson. Plus Memredux was found in the Rev’s system. We now know that the Reverend was tied in with Jim in some corporate larceny. Jim’s files showed that payments were being made to six different couples as employees of the Religious Therapy staff. The Reverend signed their pay vouchers right on time every month. Some of the spouses were shown as employed in Art/Ent/Rec, under the supervision of Hugo Lakshmi, who also routinely signed their pay vouchers like clockwork every month.” The Chief pulled out the flask and took another hit and held it out to me. I took it and took a hit, of course. He stared off into the near distance.

  “Now it starts getting really convoluted. You are threatened by a goon from Rec. and Hugo Lakshmi is found in the Religious Center, killed by a Porter’s tool. Hugo was in charge of the gambling concessions here in Doheny. We found a slush fund with his name on it. What we are having a hard time figuring out is if he was skimming the profits or was he laying fixed bets or both? He was also found to have traces of Memredux in his system. So now Jim Simpson is found dead. Him and Hugo were obviously in cahoots. And I won’t even take bets that his locator chip was cut out with a Porter’s tool and that there is Memredux in his system as well.” He shrugged and sighed.

  “Plus, those hooligans who tried to clean your clock last night were from Supply and Recreation, evenly divided. They all received anonymous instructions by paper memo draft and all have Memredux in their blood, so trying to get them to remember who they work for is and will be impossible. That stuff is just too good at wiping the slate clean. All minor league drones in the distribution of smuggled goods.”

  “Yeah, all roads seemingly lead to Jim, and now he’s dead too.” I said, trying to make sense of it.

  “Are these deaths diversions? Are they misdirection? Are they to hide something? Are they to cover up something and if so, what?” He took the flask back and, after taking a short nip put it back in his pocket. He put his hand to his head and squinting his eyes up said,

  “It’s enough to give a guy a head ache.”

  “Hold on, let’s look at the cause and effect of what’s going on here.” I looked off past the trees. Fields of broccoli and asparagus faded away to fields of wheat shimmering in the light. He assented with a single dip of his head.

  “First off let’s look at the changes going on here in the city. There are all kinds of new colonists coming in as the living quarters are expanded and the mining operation is expanded and the farm is expanded. More people means more vices to cater to, more opportunities for graft and corruption, drugs sales, smuggling, etc. What if this is all just a power struggle? A weird turf war. How many tours was Hugo on?”

  “His second.” Fonagy looked up as if to beseech heaven for the answer.

  “Okay, and the Reverend, he was out of here after this tour, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes,
he had made his intention known to personnel some months back.”

  “Yeah, so maybe that was going to end the graft in Religious Therapy, and if Jim saw a diminishing return in gambling, maybe he just figured to cut his losses and eliminate any evidence against him or any competition that might have come up.”

  “Smuggling being the cash cow of the future?” The Chief asked.

  “Exactly.” He looked down at his sneaks and shook his head.

  “Then who stood to benefit from Jim’s death?” He looked at me out of the corner of his eye.

  “Who ever was directly in charge of the smuggling and from my understanding that was Pete Simms. Mostly beef, real booze, illegal drugs and the occasional cat. Maybe the odd bolt of nanotube fiber cloth. What ever you can’t afford to ship in in bulk or is simply not allowed. Yeah, yeah, I know that Jim was in charge of the manifests, but there was some hinky shit going on at the port. Ever wonder how contraband was brought in? What with every item and every bit of space being accounted for on the incoming ships as far as cargo goes? Every bit of space on an incoming ship is allotted to a specific item. That leaves what ever passengers bring in, and that makes it tough, cause the company is real tight about who it ships out here till the last minute, did you ever wonder how stuff that shouldn’t be here gets here?” I looked at him arching one eyebrow.

  “If you know, tell me.” He was looking off towards the fountain, thinking.

  “You know how much water is imported on an almost weekly basis now?” He shook his head.

  “Probably no one else does either, cause the numbers don’t add up. There is a small, an almost negligible discrepancy, the mass doesn’t match the volume, the weight doesn’t match the volume, on most of the incoming shipments of water. And I’m sure you can guess who is in charge of the water shipments here in Doheny.” I smiled an assured smile.

  He looked at me then as if the light had just went on.

  “Pete Simms?” I shook my head and waved a finger.

  “We know from circumstantial evidence that Jim was head of the smuggling, larceny racket here on base. I think we can assume that he put the hit out on Dave, the Rev and on Hugo. But who offed him? Pete? What would he have to gain? Command? Control? Unless they were all killed by Pete, but why would he go on such a killing spree? Once again, what would he have to gain? It would be good to find out Jim’s time of death and then trace the time of when, if possible, my most recent assailants received their instructions to try and wack me.” The Chief almost smirked.