Corvan's empty meal pak started to drift away. He grabbed the container and stuffed it into a mesh bag. "I made some progress on the murder."
Kim swallowed the last bite of her dessert. It felt the size of a baseball. Images flashed through her mind. She saw words blinking on the screen. She saw herself opening Martin's suitcase. She saw Havlik's battered face. Kim did her best to sound calm.
"Oh, really? What did you learn?"
"The murderer isn't one of the colonists."
Kim thought about that. If what her husband said was true, it would narrow the field, but there were more than four hundred crew members aboard the Outward Bound, and mat left a lot of suspects.
“What makes you say that?''
"Paxton ran a series of checks on the people that attended the departure ceremony. By checking the security cams, plus the tape we shot, he was able to account for about eighty-seven percent of the colonists. Then, by interviewing the rest, cross-checking alibis and verifying their stories, he was able to eliminate ninety-eight percent of the common herd."
"And what about the other two percent?"
Corvan shrugged. "Paxton placed them under surveillance, but can't connect any of them with Havlik and doesn't expect to. I think he's right. I think a crew member did it."
Kim's heart beat a little faster. It was just as she had feared. The story had caught her husband's interest and he was determined to pursue it. "Why do you say that?"
Corvan leaned on the table top. It tipped under the weight. Light glinted off his eye cam.
"Think about it. Whoever it was knew Havlik had the duty, knew enough about the ship's computer systems to get some incriminating data scrubbed, and knew how to handle him or herself in zero-G conditions. All of this at a time when most of the colonists had been aboard for a short time and were still puking their guts out."
Everything Corvan said made sense but none of it was new. There was nothing to excite the killer to action, to make him or her angry with Rex, to create additional danger. Kim breathed a sigh of relief. The feeling was short-lived, however.
"So," her husband continued, "I did some rooting around."
He paused, waiting for her to ask what he had found, and grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Kim forced a smile. "And what did you find?"
"This!" Corvan said, as he whipped a small notebook out of his pocket and held it aloft. "Havlik's personal notebook!"
Kim groaned internally. It was just as she had feared. Something that was sure to make the killer angry. Her voice was tight and barely under control.
“Rex, put that away.”
He looked surprised, then embarrassed, and slipped it into a pocket. "Yeah, I keep forgetting. The walls have ears."
"And eyes," Kim added grimly, and nodded towards a distant security cam.
"True," Corvan admitted sheepishly. "I'll be more careful." He pitched his voice lower. "But listen hon . . . this could break the case wide open! Havlik used some sort of personal code, so I don't know what the book actually says, but we can figure it out."
"Where did you get it?"
Corvan grinned. Excitement filled his real eye. "From Havlik's suspension chamber. Nobody thought to look there!"
Kim nodded thoughtfully. "How do you know it has anything to do with the case?"
Corvan shrugged. "I don't. But I feel it."
"Does anyone else know?"
Corvan shook his head. "No, I wanted to crack the code first, then announce it."
Kim understood. Like most journalists her husband would do almost anything to get a scoop. Even if it meant risking his life, and yes, hers as well. He had assumed, as he always did, that his goals were hers, that the end justified the means, that he knew what was best for the world. There was no point in complaining or in feeling angry, because he would never change.
Kim looked at her wrist term. "We're going beddy-bye in less than two hours."
Corvan shrugged. "So? The killer will go down at the same time we do and the information will keep. We'll nail the sucker when we wake up."
Kim wanted to say "If we wake up," but didn't. She thought about Martin, considered spilling her guts, and decided not to. Rex would think she was silly, order Martin back into his suitcase, and spoil the whole plan. She forced a smile.
"Okay Rex, whatever you say. There's lots to do, so let's do it."
Corvan helped Kim into her chamber. She forced a smile and made a show of snuggling in. "See you later, handsome."
The reop bent over, kissed her on the lips and did his best to burn the moment into his mind. He savored the beauty of her face, the smell of her hair, the softness of her lips. What would he do if he survived and she didn't? The thought of opening her chamber to find little more than a desiccated corpse made Corvan's stomach roll over. Kim's hands came up to touch his face.
"I love you, Rex Corvan."
"And I love you."
"Be here when I wake up."
"You too."
He wanted to say more, wanted to apologize for any pain that he'd caused her, and wanted to make promises for the future. But the technicians were waiting, gathered like so many undertakers around a coffin, eager to get their work done. So Corvan blew her a kiss, backed away, and allowed them to move in.
He turned, pulled himself down into his own chamber, and buckled himself into place. The interior was surprisingly comfortable and seemed to adjust to the shape of his body. It started to vibrate, which caused his muscles to relax and improved his circulation. The lining felt smooth beneath his bare feet.
Something pressed against his right hip. Corvan rolled a little to the left, pulled Havlik's notebook out of his back pocket, and slid it under his pillow. The same hiding place the doctor had used.
Corvan wished there had been enough time to decode the book's contents but took comfort from the thought that the killer would be out of action as well.
The chamber smelled of chemicals but not unpleasantly so. The reop started to relax. He even activated his implant and recorded some observations about what the experience felt like. It could be useful for his next report and served to keep the fear at bay.
And then the technicians came. Faces that slid into position above him, mouths that made small talk, and hands that touched, prepared and probed.
There was pain as needles slid into his veins, followed by an in-dwelling catheter and numerous injections. The pain was followed by chemicals that did strange things to his head.
The faces seemed to shimmer like hot air rising off the desert, seemed to pulsate in response to unseen forces, seemed to fade into darkness. Then Corvan fell, and fell, and fell until falling had no meaning anymore and he ceased to exist.
The suspension chamber was sealed soon thereafter, gas was pumped inside, and the reop's vital signs slowed until they hovered at the brink of death.
A technician entered something into a portacomp, checked Corvan's readouts one last time, and put her thumb print on the pressure sensitive lock. Another corpse-sickle down and thirty-seven to go.
And so it went, until every last human being had been accounted for, and all were in a state of suspended animation. Or so it seemed to the last of the technicians as they sealed themselves into their chambers and faced the darkness alone.
But two people had found ways to trick them, had rigged their chambers to bring them back only hours after they had gone under, and had started to stir.
One disliked the thought of nine months spent hovering between life and death and looked forward to spending some time alone.
The other would have welcomed nine months worth of total oblivion, but heard the babble of many voices and had a mission to perform. A rather unpleasant mission but one that would protect against the possibility of harm.
And so it was that gas dissipated, tubes were removed, and canopies popped open. There were gagging sounds followed by silence as they waited for the nausea to pass. In thirty minutes, an hour at most, both would be up and around. Th
e ship sped on.
Chapter Seven
Martin had mixed emotions about humans. Yes, they had managed to invent computers, but that accomplishment had been more than offset by the creation of staff meetings: interminable affairs during which the participants spouted endless drivel and did their best to belittle each other.
So what did Big Dan do moments after assuming control from Fornos and Jopp? He held a staff meeting, that's what. Orders went out to gather. Not physically, since very few of the A.I.'s had the capacity to move around, but electronically, via the ship's fiberoptic nervous system.
The idea had some merit since volumes of information could be exchanged during a well-thought-out five- or ten-second meeting.
But Big Dan had something more in his processor. He wanted to review the way that each and every computer would handle itself in a variety of circumstances. Not their basic programming, which he could check via high-speed data dump, but their attitudes which were much harder to nail down.
Most of Big Dan's subordinates, Martin included, had been given some latitude to make independent decisions. This was necessary should the ship run into unexpected problems. Problems their programming didn't cover.
But this freedom to depart from standard procedure made Big Dan nervous. A condition that he didn't enjoy and sought to eliminate by asking each individual what they would do in this or that situation.
Hydro, the A.I. that ran the hydroponics section was on circuit at the moment, responding to a question about unexpected crop failures. His answers consisted of chemical and mathematical gobbledegook that was totally incomprehensible to everyone except Big Dan and himself.
Martin found the whole thing more than a little boring and turned his attention to some off-line schmoozing. In spite of the fact that most of the main computer-to-computer communications channels were taken up by Big Dan's staff meeting, other less direct linkages were available, and Martin, along with his ever growing cadre of political sympathizers, was having a meeting of his own.
"So," the Maintenance Operations Management System computer, better known as "MOMS," thought-said, "how long will the Big Guy drone on?"
"Too long," LES, the Life Equipment Support computer replied. "All the way to Mars if he gets the chance. How 'bout you Martin? What do you think?"
Martin had just formulated what he hoped would be a witty reply when a fourth voice intervened. It belonged to a somewhat stern entity called "SIS." The letters stood for "Shipboard Information System" and was something of an intentional misnomer. The ship's designers had favored the name "Computer Operated Personnel Security system, or "COPS," but the PR types had vetoed that idea, suggesting the name SIS instead. They said it was warm and friendly while the other name was hard and cold.
But no matter what you called it, the function remained the same. SIS had responsibility for the Outward Bound's surveillance equipment. Given the nature of his mission, Martin had attempted to co-opt SIS early on and failed. The A.I. considered herself above politics and had the programming to back it up. The humans had taken steps to keep the security computer from acquiring or seeking to acquire dictatorial powers. Her voice-thought was stern.
"All right, which one of you digitized yahoos pulled the plug on my surveillance cams?"
Martin pulled his entire processing ability on-line. "What did you say?"
"What? I have to spell it out one letter at a time? Which one of you idiots is screwing around with my video? Confess and take your lumps."
A whole series of thoughts and possibilities flashed through Martin's processor at lightning speed. "All your surveillance cams? Or just a few?"
"What the hell difference does it make? All of them. Look, fun's fun, but the joke's over. Put 'em right or pay the price. Computers can be reprogrammed, you know."
Martin tried for just the right mix of sympathy and sincerity. The killer was supposed to be dead to the world just like everyone else. But what if he or she wasn't? What if they were up and around? Looking for their next victim? The first thing such an individual would do was disable the surveillance system. Time was critical. He had to secure the other computer's cooperation and do it quickly.
"Listen SIS, we didn't do it, but we're willing to help. Right everybody?"
"Right!"
"You bet, boss!"
"No problem."
"See?" Martin asked. "Help is at hand."
"I don't know," SIS said doubtfully. "Maybe I should tell Big Dan."
Martin switched his attention to the main com channel. Hydro was warming to his subject. The crew would have enough soy burgers to keep them flatulent for years to come. Martin switched back.
"Big Dan's busy. Why don't we take a crack at the problem and call the Big Guy if we need him?"
A nanosecond passed while SIS thought the proposal over. "Well, that would be okay I guess. Thanks."
"Think nothing of it," Martin replied cheerfully. "We're all in this together. Now, how 'bout a power failure or bad component?"
"Nope," SIS answered with certainty. "All of us would know if the power had failed. Besides, this tub has backups for its backups. No, the power's fine. Same thing with the components. I checked."
"All right," Martin said grimly. "That leaves one possibility. Sabotage."
"But how? And who?" the Life Equipment Support computer inquired. "The humans are sealed inside their suspension chambers. If one of them was up and around I'd know about it."
"Really?" Martin asked. "What if they tricked you?"
"No one could trick me," LES replied confidently. "The suspension chambers are wired tighter than tight."
"Bullcrackers," SIS said evenly. "The humans invented you. That means they could invent a way around you."
"She's got you there," MOMS put in. "A really knowledgeable homo sap could run rings around any one of us."
LES was silent. MOMS was right and he knew it.
"All right then," Martin said, "spread out and take a look around. Someone is up to no good. Let's find em.
Otis withdrew his side cutters, examined the severed line, and gave a nod of satisfaction. That took care of the primary surveillance system plus the two backups. The Shipboard Information System computer would be unable to monitor or record the body's movements. And even if it did, Otis had donned a hood, oversized ship-suit, and a brand new pair of gloves.
It would be a simple matter to locate Corvan, kill him, find the notebook, and return to a state of suspended animation. The authorities would discover the murder when the ship reached Mars but would be helpless to do anything about it.
Damn Havlik anyway. The notebook might contain nothing more than some poetry, personal observations about the trip, or a list of addresses. But it might contain notes about patients, and that was a possibility that Otis couldn't tolerate.
Otis slipped the side cutters into a pocket, zipped it closed, and let go of the access panel. It snapped into place.
Otis repositioned the body, pushed off the bulkhead, and headed up-ship. The com center was on B-deck. The body was on D-deck. It would take only minutes to get there.
Rosemary ran a hand over the stubble that covered the top of her head and grinned. The face in the mirror grinned back. It had brown eyes, a nose that was a tiny bit too large, and an unadorned temple stud. The stud, plus the implant that went with it, had been given to Rosemary as a present on her sixteenth birthday.
Her father had packed his lunch every day, gone without vacations, and practiced a hundred other small economies to save the necessary money.
On top of that they had lived in one room of what had once been an upscale three-bedroom apartment, then shared by three different families. Their single luxury had been the private bathroom that cost two. hundred dollars per month. It was an overcrowded, squalid, seemingly hopeless environment.
But her father had shown her the stars through a homemade telescope, had convinced her that better worlds waited somewhere in space, and kindled the fire that still burned withi
n her: the desire to try, to reach, to take chances.
She remembered the huge billboards, paid for by the Exodus Society, showing a man, woman and child standing on a hill, looking yearningly at the stars. Oh, how she had wanted to be that child, with Mommy on one side and Daddy on the other.
But valuable though her implant was, the wealthier kids had theirs by the age of ten and were light years ahead of her by the time they entered high school. Not only that, but they had the connections necessary to get into college, and the money to pay for it.
So Rosemary had been denied the opportunity to attend college and was relegated to a technical school. It was there that she had mastered electronics, learned the ins and outs of life support systems, and become a certified technician. A technician who had sealed more than a thousand of the colonists into their chambers. So given Rosemary's expertise, and her position on the crew, it had been relatively easy to rig her own chamber for an early release.
The security cams would record her movements, and there would be hell to pay at the other end of the journey, but that was then and this was now. She'd have the Outward Bound to herself for the next nine months. She could roam the ship, read dozens of the books contained in the ship's computerized library, and best of all, be deliciously alone.
No screaming neighbors. No teeming streets. No crowded dorms. Just her. It would be the one and only vacation Rosemary had ever taken and she was determined to enjoy it.
Rosemary grinned again, pushed herself away from the mirror, and pulled herself out into the corridor. It was wonderfully, marvelously, beautifully empty of human beings and the noise they made. There were no announcements over the PA system, no sounds of conversation, and thanks to the geologist that everyone called Dr. B, there was no booming sound. In fact the ship was so silent that it made her nervous. The life support tech yelled at the top of her lungs.
"THIS TUB IS SPOOKY!"
Her voice echoed down the corridor. "SPOOKY! Spooky! Spooky." The sound of it made her feel better.
Mars Prime Page 7