Yeah, I know the feeling. Mike began walking back toward the group. Halfway there he stopped and looked over his shoulder. Akio was still standing near the cargo door. Perhaps he’d started trying to forget.
Mike recalled an image of a French-kiss under water-balloons then remembered watching a small feminine hand tugging on a little white ribbon. I know the feeling well.
Minutes later, Mike took Tina aside but to a spot without the annoying sunbeams. He led her around behind a vertical hallway and asked her where she’d been and what she’d been doing when the ship announced the coming power failure.
“That dreadfully clumsy oriental man was trying to make a pass at me.”
Mike failed to hide his astonishment. “He was?”
Tina didn’t seem to notice. “Yes. Silliest thing. He should have known he didn’t have a chance with a woman like me. I have rather high standards, you know.” And with that she tossed back her imaginary long hair.
Mike squinted. Hair? “Did you see him do anything that might trigger an explosion by remote control?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
Human hair in the fuel tanks. Lots of hair. “How long has it been since you had long hair?”
She smiled as if flattered and ran the fingers of one hand through her flawless blonde coiffure to show it off properly. “How ever did you know that I used to have long hair?”
“Just a guess.”
“I had it cut about six months ago.” She shook it, as though to straighten any strands that might be out of place. “It’s much easier to take care of now. But you know, sometimes I miss it.”
Mike nodded. “That’s understandable.” He had no idea where he was going with that last bit of questioning. Did he really think it was her hair that had clogged Corvus’s fuel filter; and if so, did he think that she was the one that clogged Richard’s fuel filter too? Richard died seventeen years ago. She would have been… What? Five? Choosing her as the murderer didn’t make sense; not if both sabotages were by the same person. Well, maybe they weren’t. And maybe I just don’t have enough clues to make a judgment yet. Damn, I wish the ship would call and give me all the answers!
“Mister McCormack?” Suddenly Mike realized Tina was again twirling between her fingers that fragile white ribbon: the one that held her blouse closed. Her voice softened into a playfully sensual caress. “Is there anything else you’d like to ask of me?” She smiled up at him and gave the ribbon a tiny tug.
“Huh? Umm. No, not right now. Maybe later. Thank you for your help.” And he turned and walked off as briskly as deck ten’s low gravity would allow.
Chapter Ten
Eye for an Eye
Mike woke from a fitful sleep to the piercing sound of a woman’s screams. His head was groggy and his neck was stiff and his stomach insisted it was time to eat.
Raising himself into sitting position, he looked around for the screamer but couldn’t see any details smaller than a human head. He’d had trouble falling asleep thanks to the bright flashing sunbeams and had chosen this part of deck ten for its relative gloom and darkness, gloom and darkness, gloom and darkness.
He fumbled about for a flashlight long enough to become annoyed at his failure to find one. And all the while, the screaming never ceased.
Flashlights burst to life around him. Their beams searched for the screamer and for whatever it was that the screamer thought was so all-fired important.
One beam found the screamer and was quickly joined by others. Tina was as hysterical as Mike had ever seen anyone. Her mouth was open, her eyes were closed and she was jerking her hands up and down as though trying to fly away.
Jumping to his feet, Mike hurried across the ceiling to her: carefully, since he had no flashlight with which to inspect his path. The temptation to slap her theatrically across the jaw was as strong as it was stupid. He fought it, then fought it harder, and finally fought it hard enough that he didn’t do it. He yelled above her screams, “What’s wrong?”
She moved her mouth as though speaking but suddenly no sound would come out of it.
“What!?” he demanded.
She pointed behind him. All the flashlight beams left her to the alternating darkness and converged on the spot she’d indicated.
Zahid Mohammed Kaseem lay still and silent. The blood on his neck and pooled on the ceiling around him suggested his throat had been cut. His eyes and mouth were open wide as though in fear. His shirt had been pulled open and there was a poem crudely painted on his chest—apparently with his own blood:
An eye for an eye.
A tooth for a tooth.
A life for a life.
Forsooth, forsooth.
A large thick hand reached down into the beams of light and touched Zahid’s neck. “His trachea was cut just below the larynx,” Gideon said. “Perhaps to prevent him from calling for help.”
Akio whispered nervously, “He looks terrified.”
“His mouth is open only because the muscles are relaxed in death,” Gideon said calmly. “He may truly have been terrified but whatever facial expression he had just before he died is long gone.”
Mike turned and looked at Tina. “What happened? This is exactly the kind of thing you people were supposed to be watching for and prevent!”
Tina looked from Zahid to Mike, then back to Zahid, then collapsed. She hit the ceiling at Mike’s feet so hard he wasn’t sure if she’d fainted or if someone had killed her too.
The plan they had all agreed on was that only half the group would sleep at a time. Akio, Tina and Zahid had been allowed to sleep first. So now Mike, Gideon and Nikita were supposed to be asleep and Akio, Tina and Zahid should be awake, guarding them. The idea—or at least the hope—was that while it might be easy for a lone murderer to surprise or overpower one witness, two would make it difficult enough that the murderer might decide not to take the chance. Apparently, however, something had gone wrong.
“Akio?” Mike said. “Where are you?”
“I am here.”
A light shone in the young man’s face. He squinted, shielded his eyes and turned his head to one side. But whoever held the light showed no pity; it continued to light his face.
“So what happened?” Mike asked.
“Zahid fell asleep,” Akio said. “I didn’t want to wake him. It seemed the man had suffered so much already.”
“Then what?”
“I tried to stay awake!” Akio pleaded. “I really did. But later I must have fallen asleep too.”
“He was alive when you fell asleep?”
“Of course! Do you think I killed him?” Akio sounded genuinely amazed at this idea.
“Well, somebody killed him! And you’re somebody! Sounds to me like you’re a definite candidate.”
Tina interrupted this exchange by moaning as she regained consciousness. Gideon helped her sit up. When she sounded lucid, Mike asked her, “Do you remember what happened?”
“Yes. Zahid fell asleep, then I fell asleep. When I woke I saw someone huddled over Zahid. I asked them what time it was but they ran off. I didn’t understand why they would run, so I pointed my flashlight and discovered what they’d done.” Tina’s irises disappeared under fluttering lids and her mouth started to go limp.
Worried she might faint again, Mike steered the questions away from the dead body. “Did you see Akio fall asleep before you?”
Her irises reappeared and she blinked a few times. “No,” she said. “He might have, but I didn’t see it.”
“Akio?” Mike turned toward the young man. Someone’s flashlight beam swung to where Akio had been standing but he was not there. The beam searched but came up empty. Mike looked around. “Akio, where are you?”
There was no answer.
“Where’s Akio?”
“I don’t know,” Gideon said. “He was here just a moment ago.”
“Nikita, did you see where Akio went?”
Again, there was no answer.
“Nikita?”
Nothing.
“Where in the world is everybody going?”
Gideon pressed a flashlight into Mike’s hand. “We’d better search the deck. Their throats’ could be cut. They could be dying in the shadow of a ventilation duct or behind a vertical hallway or against a cargo door where the sunbeams can’t shine.”
Searching the deck turned up nothing except the fact that Nikita and Akio really were gone.
“I’ve found no signs of a struggle,” Gideon said. “I guess they just snuck off.”
“But why?” Mike asked.
“Fear of being murdered, I should think; or of being accused of murder; or both.”
Tina had her own theory. “Maybe one of them is the killer, and left the group to avoid capture.” Her eyes grew wide, “And will return to kill again!”
Chapter Eleven
Silent Answers
Returning to the fringes of consciousness, Kim groaned.
She tried to raise her hands to her temples but they traveled not at all before meeting solid resistance. Trying harder moved them about an inch, and slid her nose and one cheek across something rough and hard and flat.
Opening her eyes, she discovered a well-lit gray metal surface pressed against her face. Lifting her head from this surface, she felt the curved foam padding of a vacuum suit’s helmet press against the back of her head. How can I have a helmet behind me but not in front? Pondering this curiosity helped spur her memory.
Again lifting her head, she tried to focus on the surface immediately in front of her. Tiny particles sparkled in the light from her helmet. Glass. Must have broken my faceplate when I fell.
Stiffness had accumulated in her muscles and joints as if she’d been laying on this hard surface for a long time. How long have I been unconscious? She rolled painfully onto her side and checked her suit watch. Twelve hours? I couldn’t have been out that long.
She squinted as she remembered dreaming of a mysterious man with cool soothing eyes as green as her own. His muscular body had towered over hers. She’d studied with great interest his dark brown hair and the stubborn cowlick above his right eye as well as the gentle curve of his cute little butt.
Must have passed from unconsciousness into ordinary sleep. I was pretty tired; still, I didn’t know you could do that.
The room’s illumination oscillated as thin beams of sunlight swung upward on one side of the room and then downward on the other. Sun is still running around in circles.
Her suit’s backpack prohibited rolling flat onto her back, so she rolled until she was leaning against it—a position just beyond laying on her side. She removed her gloves, then unsnapped her helmet’s fasteners and slipped the helmet off—carefully, since chips of broken glass remained in the faceplate’s frame. Her blonde ponytail raked across this broken glass and once free of the helmet, swung down and up and very nearly slapped her gently in the face. Only by jerking her head to one side did she avoid getting its tiny flakes of glass in her eyes.
After removing her tool pack, she disconnected the suit’s waist ring, wriggled out of and pushed away the suit’s bottom half, and then wriggled out of the upper half. While performing this last bit of wriggling, she discovered a number of bruises on her chest that corresponded to the largest attachments mounted on the front of her vacuum suit. Must have gotten those when I fell.
Her sky-blue flight uniform was now wrinkled and sweaty and stank to the highest heaven. Climbing to her feet, she discovered bruises on her knees and hands as well. She decided to ignore these problems and concentrate on more important matters.
That she was standing on the ceiling of a cargo deck, was clear enough, but she remained at a loss about this ship’s name and nature and was not at all sure if she’d ever been aboard it before.
With all the scattered glass and nothing on her feet but white cotton socks, she tip-toed most of the distance to the nearest vertical hallway door. She pulled the door open, stuck her head inside and looked down and then up. From one end of the ship to the other, the hallway was pitch black.
She leaned into the hallway and directed her voice downward. “Hello?” She waited, but there was no response. Directing her voice upward, she asked louder, “Can anybody hear me?”
Still nothing.
Stepping back out of the hall, she checked both sides of the door frame and found the ship’s upside-down intercom. Pressing the speak button, she said, “Hello? Is anyone there?”
Again, she waited. But again, she heard nothing.
“Ship?” she said. “Ship, are you… Can you hear me?”
There was no answer.
Well, what do I do now? She looked around the cargo deck. Staying here isn’t going to do me any good. If I’m gonna get any help from the crew, it looks like I’m gonna have to go find them. She glanced at the vertical hallway’s open door. And it looks like I’m gonna have to provide my own light.
Her helmet was ridiculously bulky for a flashlight but it would have to do. Leaning down to pick it up gave her such an awful throbbing pain in the side of her head that she closed both fists and rose without it. Stubbornly ignoring the pain, she bent down again and snatched it up.
Gently, she explored the most painfully sensitive area of her head with her fingertips. Its matted hairs felt as if splashed with cheap paint: rough, course and flaking badly. Some of the flakes lodged under her fingernails. She examined them by helmet light. Dried blood. Must have fallen harder than I thought.
She swung the helmet’s trio of light beams across her discarded suit and gear. Amongst the glittering bits of glass she saw a tight cluster of small puddles of blood. She ran her fingertips over her face. More dried blood—crusting and flaking—adorned her nose and cheek and forehead.
As soon as I find a crewmember, I’ll need to get some medical attention. But first I’ve got to find the crew.
She entered the vertical hallway and climbed down to the next deck. It was just as empty as the first and the centrifugal gravity was stronger; much stronger—almost a full gee.
If this deck is experiencing one gee then the decks closer to the bridge must be under four or even more—further evidence this ship’s spin isn’t by design. And if it’s spinning out of control, that might explain why it has no electric power and why no one answers me. Everyone may have abandoned ship. On the other hand a ship this size has got to be awfully expensive. Nobody’s going to abandon it without a fight.
Walking to the other vertical hallway, the one she had not yet used or examined, she directed her helmet lights into it as she looked up and down. Something seemed to be down at the far end: down on deck one. Adjusting the focus of her helmet lights to narrow beams, she pointed them at it again.
It was a body—a dead and badly beaten body. Blood had pooled generously around it, especially around the head. Based on the clothing style, she guessed it to be a male civilian. Civilian? Am I military? Whoever it had once been now lay on his back with his arms and legs twisted into positions they could not possibly have achieved in normal life.
Must have fallen. Damn. What a terrible way to die.
A growing queasiness manifested itself high in her stomach. No, I don’t think I’m military at all. She could sense that she was not accustomed to dead things, especially if they were people. Still, it seemed her duty to try to memorize the individual’s appearance for later description, so she strained to make out his features, but the distance, poor lighting and random smears of blood on his face prevented this.
She turned to continue her search for the crew with the newly added burden of informing whoever she met first that one of their people had suffered a fatal accident. As she turned toward the other vertical hallway, her narrowly focused lights flashed across something bright and cylindrical near one of the cargo doors. Pausing, she shone the lights on it again. It was a grease gun.
What could anyone possibly grease in an empty cargo deck?
The grease cartridge must have been new; its wrapper lay cru
mpled next to the gun. The gun’s plunger was halfway in. Half of the grease had been applied to something.
The many layers of tension that had accumulated in her: tension concerning her survival, her missing memory, the compound mysteries of this derelict ship, and finding a dead body, had become too much for her mind to handle. Though unaware of it, she was very close to a nervous breakdown, which was why she now started laughing stupidly. And why, though it made her feel guilty for disrespecting the dead, she found that she could not stop.
Her eyes fell on the crumpled wrapper. She recognized its color and design. This grease was the highest priced of the three outrageously expensive types manufactured specifically to lubricate bearings that operate in vacuum. This grease was just as clear and colorless as distilled water.
As abruptly as she’d started laughing, she stopped. Stepping to the door of the hall with the body in it, she knelt. The position made her head pound again, but she ignored it. She played her helmet lights over the rungs. All those within reach were bumpy and uneven. She touched one. It was covered with grease. A grisly shudder passed through her body. Someone had set a trap and the man at the bottom of the hallway had fallen into it. It wasn’t an accident. It was murder.
_____
Two hours ago Mike and Gideon had carried Zahid’s lifeless body to the far side of deck ten, laid it out behind a vertical hallway shaft where it could not be seen from their little improvised encampment and covered it from head to toe with a blanket.
They then preformed a short-lived and fruitless search for Akio and Nikita. Fruitless because neither had been found, and short-lived because the pair of bold searchers slowly developed a growing paranoia that one of their missing comrades might leap out and kill them. They did not, however, have to admit this fear to one another as the farther they roamed from Tina—who apparently never considered helping them search—the more insistent she became that they return and protect her.
And so they did.
Since then none of the three remaining group members slept, or even tried. Tina, sitting on her ventilation duct, insisted she would not sleep again for the rest of the flight.
Bones Burnt Black: Serial Killer in Space Page 14