Dead Space Martyr

by B. K. Evenson

  26 "We've tracked down around a dozen or so people who saw the vid broadcast," said Tanner. He'd managed to get a few hours of sleep, though his head still ached and he felt like his eyes had been rubbed with sandpaper. "Of those, about half got mostly static. The others got more. Of those, about half recorded it. But we knew that already as we used their recordings to augment our own." "Besides you and the technicians in DredgerCorp, who else has seen the version you showed me?" "Nobody," said Tanner. "I'm sure of it." The Colonel furrowed his brow. "Take a look at this." He spun the holofile to Tanner. It was a communication sent from someone with the alias "Watchdog." DredgerCorps' Illegal Doings in Chicxulub, the caption read. The body of the message consisted of a short bit of typed text--Last Words from a Submarine Tunneled Deep into the Heart of Chicxulub Crater. Retrieval Mission Gone Wrong--and a vid. He opened the vid, saw Hennessy's blood-covered body and face, watched his strange smile and brief speech. Oh, shit, he thought. The worst has finally happened. "Who sent it?" he asked. "This copy was sent to Lenny Small," the Colonel said. "The list of other recipients is several pages long, mostly scientists in Chicxulub, but a few others as well." "That vid's originally from Sigmund Bennett," said Tanner. "He recorded it." "Do you think he's the one disseminating it?" Tanner shook his head. "He's not the type. One of my men talked to him--it was pretty clear he thought it was a hoax. He probably didn't even think twice about it, probably just sent it to someone else because he thought it was interesting or weird. I'll have someone speak to him and find out who else he showed it to." "Don't bother," said the Colonel. "Don't bother? But you said--" "Too many people have seen it already," he said. "There's no point in killing anybody now. That's more likely to hurt than help." Tanner let out a deep breath. He was glad to know he wouldn't be asked to kill anybody. "What do we do, then?" "We come clean," said the Colonel. "We come clean?" Tanner felt his stomach drop out. "That's not what DredgerCorp does. Shouldn't we run this by Small?" "Small's not running the show," said the Colonel. "I am." "This is a disaster. I'll tell you now," Tanner said, face flushing red. "I'm not going down with the ship. I'm not willing to swallow the blame on this one. I'll fight it all the way." "Calm down, Tanner," the Colonel said. "We don't actually come clean; we just pretend. If we release the story to the press, then we're the ones to spin it. We play it right and we'll be in a better position than we were in before." "How do we do that?" said Tanner. "Simple," said the Colonel. "Call a press conference. Claim that you've seen the video that's been making the rounds and heard the rumors and that you thought it was time to set the story straight. You give the press all the footage you have and ask them to broadcast it. You're not losing much there, since lots of people have seen bits and pieces of it--anybody gets curious enough and they'll be able to put together a good chunk of it, just like you did." "How does that help?" "What matters is what you say about it," said the Colonel. "You can't say that it's a hoax, because that just gives the conspiracy junkies fuel for their fire. So tell as much of the truth as you can without damaging us." "How much is that?" The Colonel's lips tightened. "You need me to spell it out for you? Where's your imagination, man? "First, you say Hennessy went crazy. Not too hard a proposition to make stick once people see the vid. You say you had brought him down to Chicxulub because you were interested in testing an experimental new bathyscaphe, a borer, a vessel that can at least in theory, dig down through rock while underwater. It's something which you're certain will change the future of undersea mining, assuming that you can get all the bugs worked out. Got it so far? " "Yes," said Tanner. "Anyway, you chose Hennessy because of his experience with submarines and because he was a company man, someone who was reliable and who could keep a secret. Obviously, technology like this, the last thing you want is for information about it to be leaked. You came to test it in Chicxulub. . . . Why?" Tanner thought for a moment. "Because Chicxulub is out of the way," he offered. "We have a little more privacy here than we might have had in other places, and it's possible here to test how a bathyscaphe would respond boring through a variety of strata." "Good enough for now," said the Colonel. "Polish it a little for your answer. I'll arrange for a few testing permits to be filed retroactively to cover us. So, you did a series of test runs along the coast in shallow water, with Hennessy and another experienced submarine pilot, Dantec. Everything went fine, no problems whatsoever. Then you decided, after consulting with President Small, that it was time to test the bathyscaphe in deep water. "What happened after that, you don't know for certain. When you asked the crew to prepare the craft for a dive, they informed you that it wasn't there. When you tried to find Dantec and Hennessy, they were missing as well. You concluded that they had taken the submarine without authorization, perhaps to steal it. You looked for it, but to no avail: it was either out of sonar range or they had their engines off. You started a search, you tried to contact them repeatedly, but there was never any response." The Colonel's lips curled back in a way that showed his teeth. "The next evidence of them you had, you tell the press, was the transmission you intercepted. You don't know what happened, but it's clear that Hennessy came unhinged. You've managed to figure out the location of the sub: it's buried deep within the rock in the crater. So now you've contacted the military, asking them for help retrieving the bathyscaphe. If they're able to retrieve it, you say that you're committed to letting the press know what happened inside in those last fatal hours." "The military," said Tanner. "Is that wise?" "It's not only wise, it's brilliant. It gives us an excuse to change the scale of the operation. We don't have to work covertly anymore." "But who do we contact?" asked Tanner. "Won't we end up losing the object to them?" The Colonel gave another predatory smile. "You've already contacted them," he said, and pointed both thumbs at his own chest. "You're already working with them."

  27 Altman had just sat down at the desk when there was a knock at the door. "Are you expecting anyone?" he asked Field. Field shook his head. "Not that I know of. Do you want to get that or should I?" "I don't mind," said Altman. He started for the door, then doubled back to log off the secure site. The knock came again. "Just a minute," he called. It came a third time just before he reached the door, louder and harder now. Outside were two men that he didn't recognize. Locals, he would guess. They were wearing ties, and dark shoes that had been polished to a shine. One was tall and thin, with dark skin and a bristly black mustache. The other was clean shaven, his skin lighter. He held a smoldering cigarette tight between his thumb and forefinger, like it was a joint. He was sucking hard on it when Altman opened the door. "Yes?" Altman asked. "We're looking for someone," said the man in Spanish. "Miguel Altman." "Michael," said Altman. "Can I ask why?" "You are him, perhaps?" said the taller man. "Who's asking?" asked Altman. "Who exactly are you?" The second man sucked again on his cigarette, his cheeks shrinking in to make his face look cadaverous. "We are asking," he said. He reached into his pocket and removed a badge. "Police," he said. "Has something happened to Ada?" Altman asked, his heart thudding suddenly in his throat. "May we come in?" asked the tall one. Altman opened the door wider and they slid past him and inside. Field watched them curiously as they came in. "Hello, Field," said the smoker. "Hello, Officer Ramos," said Field. "Do you have business with me?" "With your friend," said Ramos. "Perhaps we could have privacy for a moment." "He's not my friend," said Field. "We just share a lab." He stood and limped out the door. The tall policeman pulled over Field's chair and sat on it. Ramos leaned against the wall next to Altman's desk. "What's happened?" asked Altman, his panic over Ada growing stronger and stronger. "Is she all right?" "It's nothing to do with your girlfriend. Do you know Charles Hammond?" the tall man asked. His voice was flat and uninflected. He pronounced Charles as if it had two full syllables: Char-less. "The technician? I've met him." "He says he's met him, Gallo," said Ramos. "What do we think that means?" The tall man, Gallo, ignored Ramos. "How well did you know him?" he asked Altman. "Not very well," said Altman. "We met once." "He says they only met once, Gallo," said Ramos, and suck
ed on his cigarette again. "What's this all about?" asked Altman. "What indeed," said Ramos. "Where did you meet him?" asked Gallo. "In a bar," said Altman. "Why?" Altman hesitated. "He had something he wanted to tell me." "Sounds suspicious to me, Gallo," said Ramos. "Which bar?" "How long where you there?" asked Gallo. "Which of you is asking the questions?" asked Altman. "You're confusing me." "Just answer my question," said Gallo, same flat tone. "And mine," said Ramos. "Wait," said Altman. "I was, the bar was the one on the beach, near to here, and I--" "The cantina, you mean," said Ramos. "There's a difference between a bar and a cantina, you know." "Cantina, then," said Altman. "How long were you there?" asked Gallo again. "I was getting to that," said Altman, his voice slightly higher now. "He called me and asked me to meet him. We must have been there, I don't know, a few hours." "How many is a few?" asked Ramos. "I don't know," said Altman. "Two, I guess." "The bartender says three," said Gallo. "Well, he's probably right," said Altman. "It probably was three." "And yet you said two," said Ramos. "It was just a guess," said Altman. "How am I supposed to remember exactly? What's this all about anyway? Can't you get to the point?" "No," said Ramos, "we can't." "The point is," said Gallo, "you were the last one to see Hammond alive." "He's dead?" said Altman. "He's dead," said Gallo. "What happened?" asked Altman. "That's what we're trying to find out," said Gallo. "You don't think I did it, do you?" said Altman. "You don't think I killed him?" "How did you know somebody killed him?" said Ramos. "I didn't know, but I'm beginning to suspect," said Altman. "He could have died of accidental or natural causes," said Ramos, "but you jump to the conclusion that he's been killed." "Where did you and he go after leaving the bar?" asked Gallo. "The cantina," said Ramos. "After leaving the cantina," corrected Gallo. "We didn't go anywhere. We shook hands on the street and I went home. I don't know where he went." Altman watched the two police officers look at each other, exchanging a significant glance. "What happened?" asked Altman. "How was he killed?" "Was Hammond your lover?" "What? No, of course not! Are you crazy?" "Why do you say of course not?" asked Gallo. "I have a girlfriend," said Altman. "What does that prove?" asked Ramos. "Look," said Altman. "Why won't you tell me what happened?" The two officers exchanged glances again. "Was there anything unusual about Hammond's behavior?" asked Gallo. "How the hell should I know if there was anything usual about his behavior?" said Altman. "I only met him once. I don't have anything to compare his behavior to." "No need to get upset," said Ramos, "no need to get excited." "Throat," said Gallo, and drew his finger across his own throat. "What?" said Altman. "You asked how he died," said Gallo. "He had his throat cut." "He had a knife with him," said Ramos. "Do you know whose prints were on it?" "Whose?" said Altman. "No one's," said Gallo. "The knife had been wiped clean." "Do you think I did it?" said Altman. "Why would I do it?" "How would we know why?" said Ramos coolly. "We don't even know what the two of you talked about." "What did you talk about?" asked Gallo. "This is crazy," said Altman. "You think he might have been killed because of something we discussed?" "How can we know until you tell us what it was?" asked Ramos. So Altman did. He took a deep breath and then began, best as he could remember, to recount the conversation they had had. When he said the name DredgerCorp, he watched the two officers exchange glances again. As he spoke further, he watched as first Ramos then Gallo crossed their arms. When Altman finished, Gallo stood up from the chair and said, "Thank you, Mr. Altman. You've been very helpful." Ramos was already moving toward the door. "Wait a minute," said Altman. "That's it?" "What did you expect?" asked Ramos. "That we were going to arrest you?" "We'll be back in touch if we need you," said Gallo, and then the two of them were gone. He called Ada to talk to her about it, but she didn't pick up. He still felt unsettled. His hands, he realized, were shaking. After a while, Field limped back in. "Everything all right?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "Somebody I know was killed," Altman said. "Ah," said Field. "That's terrible news." Am I in danger myself? Altman wondered. "Did you hear the news?" asked Field. "What news?" "DredgerCorp's announcement? I only just heard about it myself," said Field. "When I was outside chatting, waiting for them to get done working you over." "What was it about?" "You can get to it on the feed," said Field. "Tap in and take a look." He logged in to the newsfeed. There it was, DredgerCorp News Conference. He opened it up. William Tanner the man's name was. Altman didn't think he'd ever seen him before. There's been a lot of speculation about this strange vid clip, he said, and then showed a longer version of the clip that Bennett had shown Altman. I wish I could say it was a hoax, but I'm afraid I can't. In any case, gentlemen, I'm here to try to provide some clarity. He went on to recount a story about an experimental submarine with a drilling mechanism, which had been commandeered and then sunk deep into the heart of Chicxulub. They were calling on the military to help them retrieve the submarine. His delivery alternated between confident and nervous. At the end, he claimed that DredgerCorp is committed to finding out what went on in that submarine and why, and making sure it never happens again. Then, ignoring the reporters trying to question him, he strode quickly off the stage. Altman finished watching and then watched again. Definitely blood, he thought, upon seeing the extended vid fragment. He had to admit that what William Tanner was saying sounded plausible. It answered most of the questions he'd had. The only loose ends it left were why the pilot had commandeered the submarine and taken it. Though maybe it was enough to simply declare that to be madness. In any case, it sounded good. Indeed, it almost sounded too good to be true. Or am I trying to make something out of nothing? he wondered. Maybe he should just forget about it, let it go. One man was already dead, and he might end up dead, too, if he wasn't careful. Maybe Hammond had simply been killed in a mugging gone wrong and it had nothing to do with events in the Chicxulub crater. He thought it over, then went back and watched the press conference again. On one side of the scale were the claims the press conference had made. On the other was the pulse from the center of the crater. No matter how you looked at it, the pulse had started well before the incident with the submarine. The submarine hadn't started the pulse, but maybe whatever happened on board had been what had strengthened the signal. Maybe it was all coincidence or maybe it was a big mistake on his part, but he wasn't yet ready to give up. � � � When he arrived home, Ada still wasn't there. He felt again the same brief thrill of panic he'd experienced when he thought earlier that something had happened to her. He tried to call her again, still got no response. He waited nervously for her, one hour and then two. He tried to call again, then again, still no answer. What if something's happened to her? he couldn't help but think, even though another part of his mind knew it was nonsense, that Ada often worked late, that there was no good reason yet to assume