Children of a Dead Earth Book One

by Patrick S. Tomlinson

  “I’m sorry I’ve made more work for you. But someone’s been making more work for me, too.”

  “Yeah, well, just let the professionals handle space from now on. OK?”

  Benson chuckled. “Don’t worry, it’s all yours.”

  Seemingly satisfied, Hekekia strutted out of the waiting area without another word, leaving Benson to deal with the captain.

  Mahama was a tall, thin woman with tightly curled hair slowly giving way to silver. Her skin was a caramel hue common among the Ark’s citizens after eleven generations of interbreeding, but her sharp jawline, dark eyes, and wide nose revealed a proud ancestry tracing its roots back to Zimbabwe. The blue-over-green uniform that usually made the too-skinny crewmembers look like kids playing dress up, she wore with distinction. Benson wondered who her tailor was.

  “Detective, may we speak in private?”

  Benson held his hand towards the door. “As ‘private’ as anything ever gets on this ship. Let’s take a walk.”

  Mahama looked him over for a moment. “Are you sure you’re up for that?”

  “Sure I am. As long as you don’t mind walking slowly. I’m still the tiniest bit wobbly.”

  “Not at all.” The captain leaned in and pitched her voice low for privacy. “Just between us, I’m not exactly a sprinter myself in gravity.”

  Benson chuckled politely. They walked together into Avalon’s evening air. Everyone called it Sickbay, but it was easily the size of a hospital, with a campus laid out in a similar fashion. Unlike many of the other large structures inside the habitats, the two identical Sickbays were built in the middle of the modules so that transit times from the residential centers at each end were roughly equal.

  The day grew short. Only another hour before the lights would dim, an hour after that and Game Five would start. People scurried about in all directions, either in a hurry to finish their work, or to make game day preparations. All were too busy to pay much attention to the two of them strolling down the wooded path. Most had never seen the captain in person before anyway.

  The apple trees here had been grown thick and pruned short, like oversized bonsai. Any tree much over five meters would topple over during the deceleration phase after the Flip. Workmen were busy anchoring the larger trees to the ground with wire.

  “So, what can I do for my captain today?”

  Mahama took in a deep breath through her nose before starting. “You present me with a unique set of problems, Detective Benson. I wonder if you appreciate that.”

  “I think I might,” Benson said carefully. “And thank you for not starting this out with ‘What the hell were you thinking?’”

  Mahama sighed. “Don’t worry, that’s coming.” She spotted a bench and pointed at it. They sat down. Once comfortable, the captain reached out and picked an apple blossom. “Do you know why these trees were planted, detective? What their purpose is?”

  Benson wasn’t sure where this was leading, but played along anyway. “Of course. They make oxygen and food. Can’t have apple pie without apples.”

  “That is the common belief, yes. Would you like to know the truth?”

  “That’s my job, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose that’s one way of seeing it. The truth about the trees is they make almost no net oxygen when all is said and done. And what little surplus they do make is entirely outweighed by the havoc their pollen wreaks on the air filtration system each ‘spring.’ They require huge amounts of fresh water, placing additional stress on the systems. They’re completely dead weight when it comes to life support.”

  Benson sat and considered this for a moment while Mahama smelled the blossom. “You’re waiting for me to ask why we keep them, then.”

  “An excellent question. Have you studied much about the Ark’s development?”

  Benson shrugged. “About as much as the average person, I expect.”

  Mahama nodded. “Did you know these were not the first habitats?” When Benson shook his head, she continued, “The first habitat was actually built on the Earth’s surface. While obviously not a cylinder, it was built with the same acreage and completely self-contained, right down to a ceiling of lights. It was an experiment, you see. Even as the Ark’s keel was being laid in orbit and Nibiru tore through the Kuiper belt, twenty five thousand people were living their lives inside the fake habitat. The experiment ran for almost thirty years, and everything they learned was incorporated into the designs of Avalon and Shangri-La in real time. Do you know what they learned?”

  “No,” Benson said honestly.

  “That people need trees. Or at least we need to know they exist. People need to believe there’s an inside where we work and sleep, but also an outside where we can visit, play, exercise, and all the rest. Otherwise, given enough time, we go crazy. Cabin fever, it used to be called. We plant the trees to give the appearance of an outside.. Appearances are often even more important than the reality behind them. They have to be maintained, just as our air scrubbers or water purifiers do.”

  Here it comes, Benson thought sourly.

  “Which is why you pose a unique challenge for me, detective, and the rest of the crew. You see, we’re sprinting the last hundred meters of a marathon we’ve been running for two hundred and thirty years. We need everyone, crewmembers and citizens alike, focused on the task at hand; preparing this ship for the Flip and then the Landing. You may not know this, but your, let’s say, ‘mission’ today has become big news, and it’s causing unnecessary distractions.”

  “So,” Benson interrupted her. “For the sake of appearances, you want me to declare Edmond Laraby’s death a suicide and bury the investigation.”

  “Goodness, no,” Mahama blanched. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Well, you already told the doctor performing the autopsy that he was a suicide, which could cause her to prejudge the situation and overlook clues.”

  Mahama waved her hand. “A slip of the tongue, I assure you. But if she did, it wouldn’t be the only thing ‘overlooked’ lately.”

  Benson’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Mahama looked around conspiratorially. Satisfied that no cattle were within earshot, she leaned closer to Benson’s face. “Please understand, I’m not supposed to be sharing this with you, because it’s internal crew deliberations. But we know full well that your comlink back to Command didn’t magically fail the moment you were ordered to abort. Several people, including my first officer, argued quite strenuously to have you punished for insubordination.”

  Finally goaded past his tolerance, Benson sat up. “With all due respect, ma’am, I don’t answer to the crew. Not even to you. My charter makes it quite clear that I have independence and broad discretion while in pursuit of my duties as detective, or chief constable, for that matter.”

  Mahama leaned back and waved her hand, palm down, in the universal “keep it down” gesture. “Within your jurisdiction, yes. No one disputes that. But, Bryan, it would do well for you to remember that your jurisdiction is Avalon Module, and by tradition the Zero stadium. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, but you weren’t in Avalon when you were ordered to return. The only reason you were allowed in the pod was as a courtesy. You were in crew equipment, operating in Ark airspace. We hold authority over ship operations. You know that. I’m not even sure why Officer Feng let you get in the pod in the first place. I wouldn’t have approved it had I known. Not to play Captain Hindsight, but the risks were too great.”

  Benson readied a sharp retort, but held his tongue. The trouble was, Mahama was technically right. Even if a magistrate might eventually approve of Benson’s actions after a charter fight, the regulations at that moment were untested and unambiguous.

  When she didn’t see a reply brewing, Mahama continued, “Anyway. I decided that you are simply an extremely dedicated constable, and that punishing a man for risking his own life in the line of duty would send entirely the wrong message less than two weeks before so many
others may be called to do the same thing for the survival of the species.”

  “Thanks,” Benson said sarcastically.

  If Mahama picked up on his tone, she didn’t let it show. “Don’t mention it. Now, you’re the detective who faced down a meteor shower to bring a disturbed man home to be laid to rest. The Zero Hero who refused to leave a man behind. Surely you can see how valuable that appearance is to our little family?”

  Benson crossed his arms and leaned back on the bench. “Is that an order, sir?”

  Mahama laughed. “Heavens, no. As you already said, you don’t answer to the crew. I couldn’t give you an order if I wanted to. We’re just two professionals comparing notes. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure I do.”

  “Excellent.” Mahama stood up. “I’m glad we found common ground. And on behalf of the crew, I’m relieved to see you made it out unscathed. You’re a respected and valuable man, Detective Benson. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Mahama stood, placed the apple blossom on the bench where she’d been sitting, then turned and walked off in the general direction of the lifts.

  Benson watched her leave without comment. This was the second time a crew bigwig had spoken to him in person in as many days.

  Something smelled funny, and it wasn’t the fertilizer they were using on the apple trees.

  Chapter Nine

  After his encounter with Mahama, Benson made his way back to the office as quickly as his feet would carry him. He had a hunch, and he wanted to put it to the test.

  Along the way, he had to shake hands with several admiring Zero fans already several drinks deep into pre-game preparations. A small but growing part of him was glad only three games remained. Probably one, if the Mustangs didn’t find some way to breach the Yaoguais’ Great Wall formation like so many Mongols.

  He reached the stationhouse quickly. It was empty, except for Lieutenant Alexopoulos sitting at the shift supervisor’s desk. Everyone else was out patrolling the footpaths or setting up for Game Five. Theresa looked up at the sound of the sliding doors, then jumped out of her chair and ran at Benson. He put up his forearms, ready to deflect a renewed assault, but instead of another slap, she threw her arms around his waist and squeezed him tight.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Whoa, lady.” Benson returned the hug. “Pick an emotion and run with it, maybe?”

  Theresa sighed and shook her head. “Men. Like it’s healthy to limit the feelings you display to ‘hungry’ and ‘horny’.”

  “What a coincidence, I’m both.”

  That earned him another slap, although it lacked the conviction of the one she’d delivered in the recovery room.

  “I listened to the whole thing, you know? I thought you’d died when the explosion happened, and then your coms were down, and…”

  “Shhhh.” Benson returned her hug. “It’s OK, Esa. I’m here.”

  “Don’t ever do that to me again,” she said firmly. “It was terrifying.”

  Benson stroked her soft hair and kissed her forehead. “Trust me, it wasn’t a picnic on my end either. C’mon, we have work to do.” They held hands as he walked her back behind her desk. “I just had a very enlightening conversation with Captain Mahama.”

  “I saw her in the waiting room. So, she didn’t come by to express relief at your miraculous survival?”

  “Not in so many words.” Benson sat down. “Or in any words, for that matter. Instead, she seemed very eager for us to declare Laraby’s death a suicide and forget the whole thing ever happened. Oh, and I get to be canonized a hero in the process.”

  “And you’re not taking her up on it? I’d have thought that would appeal to your ego.”

  Benson scoffed. “My ego is already well cared for, thank you. And there’s just the tiny problem that I continue to believe Laraby was killed. I’m going to need the video files from all of the locks, starting from when Laraby’s plant went off the grid, until he was reported missing.”

  “I already did,” Theresa said.

  “No, not just the internal locks. I need all of the external airlocks, too.”

  Theresa rolled her eyes. “I heard you, Bryan. I already ran that search. I figured it would be the first thing you asked for, so I went looking. Nothing.”

  Benson scowled. “What do you mean, ‘nothing’?”

  “I mean, the video files from the security cams in and around the external airlocks are all gone.”

  “Someone deleted them? Who? There has to be an ID fingerprint on the command history.”

  Theresa shook her head. “The memory cluster glitched. At least that’s what the tech I spoke to said.”

  “Glitched, huh?” Benson smirked. “Seems to be a lot of that going around.”

  Theresa nodded. “The tech said, and I quote, ‘Let’s see how good your memory is when you’re two hundred years old.’”

  “I swear they all take a condescension class before they’re allowed to talk to us.” Benson leaned forward and put his elbows on Theresa’s desk. “But that confirms it. Someone killed Edmond Laraby, someone with deep access to the ship’s computer networks. Unless we’re really expected to believe he deleted the videos after he threw himself out an airlock.”

  “That would be an impressive trick,” Theresa agreed. “The kind of network access you’re talking about screams crewmember. Even our permissions don’t come close to letting us pull it off. I told you from the beginning we should be looking at crew.”

  Benson’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, you’ve earned that ‘I told you so.’ Before I thought maybe somebody was protecting him. But now? Someone is trying to cover up a murder.”

  “Maybe more than one someone,” Theresa added quietly.

  Benson’s head tilted. “Explain.”

  “Well, think about the timeline. Laraby slips off the grid at the same time he’s shoved out into the black. Laraby wasn’t very big, but he was still an adult male. It couldn’t be easy to cram him into an airlock and push the button, while manipulating the plant network and security cameras. I don’t even know if you could do all that remotely.”

  “Maybe Laraby was drugged,” Benson countered.

  “Which doctor provided the drugs?” Theresa responded. “I still think this would require more than one person to pull it off.”

  Benson wasn’t entirely persuaded, but he had to admit that it could be true. The thought of trying to take down one floater was scary enough, but a conspiracy of them? Being a fake hero held more appeal than being a genuine corpse.

  “What are we going to do?” Theresa asked, bringing his attention back to the here and now.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “This whole thing is getting out of hand.”

  “You’re not seriously considering going along with this, are you?”

  Benson sighed. “No, just bidding goodbye to my career and personal safety.”

  Theresa shrugged. “Those were screwed as soon as we landed anyway. But we still need a case. Suspects, motive, little things like that. Why go to all this trouble to kill a competent, well liked geneticist doing important work?”

  Benson laced his fingers. “I think Laraby knew something dangerous. Something that could damage whatever member of the crew killed him. I think the big house and the painting tried to buy his silence. When it looked like that wouldn’t work, he was silenced permanently.”

  “And you want to know what he knew?”

  “Knowledge is power, they say. And maybe leverage. We need to get into Laraby’s private files. It was strange enough to block us the first time, but now that we know he’s dead under mysterious circumstances? They can’t fall back on the ‘privacy’ of a dead man anymore.”

  Benson stood up from the chair to pace the floor. “We have to keep this front and center among the cattle. If they manage to bury the news, it’ll be that much easier to bury us, too. Figuratively or literally. We need to publicly announce that we’re
launching a murder investigation. Then any move against us will obviously be part of a larger cover up.”

  Theresa watched him wear a rut into the floor as he paced. “You want to announce a murder investigation before the autopsy is finished? Are you sure you’re not jumping the gun?”

  Benson stopped in his tracks. It was a valid point. Any announcement ahead of the autopsy could be spun as grandstanding.

  “You’re right. But we can’t wait on the warrant in case another ‘glitch’ gets to his private files, too. Draft it up and send it over to the magistrate. Even if you’re right and we’re dealing with a conspiracy, it still has to be a small one. Right?”

  Theresa looked up at him doubtfully. “How do you figure?”

  “Well, if all the floaters were in on it, then they’d never have reported him missing in the first place, would they? And they really wouldn’t have let us know about the body. Whoever this is has enough power to muddy the water, but not enough to actually keep it buried.”

  Theresa considered this for a moment before answering. “But the captain’s leaning on you. How much more powerful can you get than that?”

  Benson sucked air through his teeth. “I don’t think she’s in on it. I get the feeling she’s just trying to keep it from blowing up.”

  “But you’re not sure.”

  “Does it matter? If I’m wrong we’re dead in the water, no matter what we do.”

  Theresa gazed off into the distance in deep contemplation. “Or just plain dead.”

  “I guess that’s possible. You OK?”

  She took a deep, cleansing breath. “Yeah, I think so. Just… never walked into the crosshairs before.”

  Benson smiled warmly and came around to hug her. “It grows on you.”

  “Not the most reassuring thing I’ve heard. I’ll draft up the new warrant, then?”

  “Draft it, send it. I’ll call over to the doc and make sure she pays close attention to the tox screen.”