by Lee Killough
She stopped, coming to rest on her tail’s broad fluke, and gave them a chirpy smile. “Hi. I’m Coral. Are you the Lanour agents?”
Was that the chop? Janna smiled back, staying polite. “No.”
The silver eyes narrowed. “You were described to me.”
“We’re probably still who you’re looking for. I’m Brill and this is Maxwell.”
“What can we do for you?” Mama asked.
The smile came back full wattage. “Someone wants to talk to you but can’t be seen doing it. So I’m taking you to him.”
“Who? Talk about what?” Janna asked.
Coral lowered her voice. “It’s about the station. Just follow me.”
She swiveled. Undulating from arms and shoulders back to a flip of her fluke, she swam for the portal.
Maybe her smile triggered it, memory that in old stories mermaids lured sailors to their deaths, but suspicion curled through Janna.
Suspicion strengthened by the coaxing tone of Coral’s voice when she looked back and saw them still standing there. “Don’t you want to hear what he has to say?”
Mama eyed the mermaid appraisingly. Janna sent him an inquiring brow twitch. Should they go with her?
After a moment, he nodded. “Of course.” Answering both Coral and her at the same time.
Out of the Arcade module, Coral caught the handrail beside the platform and pulled up three levels to the threshold platform on greenhouse Level Eight.
Janna tensed as the portal opened.
Instead of darkness she unconsciously expected, however, overhead light panels flooded the module with daylight brightness. Rather than the customary central hallway, a nearly ninety degree ramp dropped to a narrow walkway on the bottom of the module. Completely open, it looked three or four times wider than high, crossed by tall rows of vines growing on wire trellises above soil troughs.
Perfect cover for an ambush. Her hand itched for her Starke.
Coral swam into the module. “We’re here.”
Following Mama down to the walkway, Janna searched above them for surveillance. No obvious cams showed. The station striving to keep personnel comfortable by making surveillance unobtrusive? Or was this considered one of the labs and had none. Surely not, with such free entry.
A second look spotted a small gleam at the entrance, to her relief. She hoped it covered the walkway.
“Where are you?” Coral called.
“Here,” a male voice replied from somewhere to the left.
Coral swam down the path peering into the rows. Halfway along she stopped and hovered, pointing. “He’s waiting for you in there.”
Down the row she indicated, a male figure stood half hidden by the vines. He gestured at them to join him.
In there, almost certainly away from surveillance? No. Especially since Janna recognized the zebra pattern of Saleem’s drinking buddy in Tesseract. “Let’s talk out here.”
If he wanted to talk. Rustling in the next row told her he brought company.
While checking for more accomplices in the row before Zebra and those across the walkway — and spotting none — she fished her slate from the scabbard pocket of her cargos. If trouble started, an alert to Security still needed time for officers to arrive. Until they did, the slate, like many everyday objects, had weapon potential. Drive an end of the spindle into someone’s eye, throat, or groin and she spoiled that individual’s day.
“He can’t afford to be seen,” Coral said.
Mama, she saw, had gone for his badge. “Is that because of plans you and the others for us have in what’s maybe the station equivalent of a back alley?”
Coral sent a startled look down the row . . . where Zebra stiffened. Footsteps whispered toward them in the next row.
Janna automatically shifted weight to her toes, ready to fight. Then feeling the instability in losing half her contact with the deck, went flat-footed again.
“We’re not what you’ve been told,” Mama said.
Zebra snorted.
“Look.” Mama held his badge toward Coral.
Janna pulled out hers, too, and pressed the top to activate her ID display.
Coral’s eyes widened. “They’re detectives from Topeka.”
“They’re moonlighting as corporate lackeys.”
“Director Fontana invited us here,” Janna said.
“Why would he do that?”
She gave him Fontana’s purported reason. “A reward for finding Chenoweth’s body.”
Coral blinked. “Finding— what are you talking about?”
They had not heard. “The hearse picking his body up from the shuttle was hijacked. Maxwell and I recovered it.” Would they believe it?
No. Zebra skated up the row, his lip curled in scorn, and halted several feet shy of the end. “Not only corporate lackeys but zipwits, trying that skin. Maybe you can understand this, though, and take it back to the bastards on the Lanour board. An accident killed Chen, not worker negligence, not violation of safety protocols, and not administrative incompetence. Because accidents can happen to anyone . . . anywhere, any time.”
“Is that a threat, Mims?” came an icy voice.
Zebra froze. Mama and Janna turned to see Geyer sailing toward them with an occasional pull on the end of a trellis to propel her. Behind came Doubrava, a female officer, and the male officer with the Mohawk.
Reaching them and putting down her feet, the look she gave Zebra had to be what Doubrava described as her titanium-boring stare. Zebra returned it for all of a nanosecond before his gaze dropped to his feet.
Mims, she called him. No wonder he looked familiar. He had been in Saleem’s recording, catching Chenoweth at the end of the printer porto.
He swallowed. “We just—”
“Thought you’d set the ‘corporate lackeys’ straight . . . perhaps reinforced with some physical persuasion?”
Mims winced at every razor-edged syllable.
“It never occurred to you that if this pair were corporate lackeys, you’d be doing more harm than good? Especially to the director?”
Mims looked like he wanted to melt through the deck.
“As it happens, they are exactly who they say, Earthside detectives and guests of the director. Not here for dirt on Chenoweth, the director, or the station.” She folded her arms. “Fontana expects them to be treated with courtesy. So you, and the rest of you,” she added, raising her voice, “sail and put the truth on the grapevine. Kish?”
Janna recognized the group that last whipcrack word brought slinking from the next row as the rest from Tesseract. “Chief, we have a couple of questions for Ms. Saleem. They’re important,” she said when Geyer swung that stare on her, the violet eyes dark and hard as obsidian.
Geyer paused, then nodded. “Hatcher, escort Ms. Saleem to the office and make her comfortable. Flores, see the rest of this crew on their way. Coral . . .”
The mermaid flinched.
“. . . don’t you have fish to tend?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she whispered and swam hurriedly for the portal.
The Mohawk officer crooked a finger at Saleem, who sent Janna a glare hot enough to incinerator her before stalking away with him. The female officer herded Mims and the others out.
Doubrava sighed. “Brill, Maxwell, I’m sorry about leaving you—”
Geyer wheeled on him. “Yes. How exactly did that happen?”
“We asked,” Janna said. What they intended to do anyway. “Mama and I thought we’d find people more willing to talk without a uniform behind us.”
Geyer’s eyes narrowed. “Obviously a miscalculation. You’re fortunate that the uncharacteristic behavior of a construction group gathering in the vineyard triggered an alert from Athena. What questions do you have for Saleem?”
Mama explained the glue-to-quicksilver wax Forensics found on Chenoweth’s suit seal.
Geyer’s mouth thinned as she listened. “Do you think Saleem’s involved?”
“No. We hope she can
help identify the heat source affecting the wax.”
“All right. Go on.” She paused. “I trust you can find your way back to Security?”
Janna nodded.
“Captain Doubrava and I will join you shortly.”
After she tore him a new one, Janna reflected.
Mama said, “One more thing, Chief. Saleem is more likely to cooperate if we tell her about the sabotage and give her a demonstration with the token. And we’d like just the two of us in there talking to her.”
Janna saw the automatic no in Geyer’s face . . . but remaining unspoken. “I want someone in Observation recording it.”
“Of course.”
“Hatcher can handle that until Doubrava’s back.” Geyer paused. “Don’t mention the smuggling when she asks why someone would want to kill Chenoweth.”
“We know how to stonewall,” Janna said.
Geyer gave them a dry smile. “I’m sure you do.”
* * *
Hatcher had made Saleem “comfortable” by providing a bulb of something to drink. Otherwise he left her pacing an interview room across from Geyer’s office, braids snaking around her head. She held the bulb with a grip more suited for throwing than drinking from it. An intention her tensing arm telegraphed when she wheeled, teeth bared, as the two of them entered the room.
Before the portal finished closing behind them, Mama said, “Chenoweth’s suit was sabotaged.”
Surprise froze her.
Before anger had a chance to resurface, he added, “And we can prove it.”
Her lip curled. “Yeah? Show me.”
Mama peeled open the bag he brought from Forensics. Pulling out the token inside, he laid it on the rectangular-topped pedestal table in the middle of the room. “Pick that up. ”.”
She did. “So?”
“The substance on that token came from the seal of Chenoweth’s suit.”
“Yeah? I repeat, so?”
“What’s in the drinking bulb?”
She frowned at the non sequitur. “Coffee. Do you want it?”
“No. Is it hot?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah.”
Ace, Janna thought. Shortcut to quicksilver. Despite protective insulation, the coffee bulb with her lunch had still felt substantially warm in her hand.
“Stick the token to the side of the bulb and hold it there. Hold tight.”
“What?” Saleem stiffened, then slapped the token and coffee bulb down on the table. “Bull! You claim Chen’s suit was sabotaged and you can prove it. I sure as hell don’t see that with this dodge. Geyer didn’t arrest me, so I’m leaving!” She pushed off toward the door.
Janna blocked her way. “The suit was sabotaged. Someone killed your crewmate. Murdered him!” Anger rose in her. “If you fucking care about that you’ll pack the fucking attitude and let us finish demonstrating how it was done!” Hardly walking softly. Not subtle. All being recorded. But Security had not come barreling in so far. So . . . fine. “Now take back the fucking bulb and token and hold them the way Maxwell said!”
Mama sent her a micro-wink, but wore an impassive mask retrieving the bulb and token and holding them out to Saleem.
She took the two, stone-faced . . . radiating we’ll-just-see. No matter. She held them as Mama asked. Tightly, too . . . the bulb deforming under the pressure of her fingers.
Counting the seconds, Janna prayed this went faster than it had in the Forensics lab.
A seeming eternity later, though probably under a minute, Saleem’s expression changed to surprise. “It — it feels like it’s moving.” She started to loosen her grip on the cup.
Mama reached as though to clamp his hand over hers. “Don’t let go!”
Just as the token spurted from beneath her hand toward the ceiling.
Saleem gaped. “What the hell?”
Caroming off the ceiling, it headed toward Janna. Forget repeating the chase they had in the Forensics lab. She trapped it between cupped hands. Where it skittered around in the hollow, creeping her.
“Crap. It’s like holding a spider or something. Mama, bring the bag!”
He opened it under her hands . . . and quickly pinched the top after she squeezed her palms together to shoot the token in.
“What the hell,” Saleem repeated.
Mama opened the bag again, holding it toward her. “One last thing before we explain. Try to pick the token out. Be careful. Don’t put on pressure that might squirt it up again.”
Saleem reached in. Her thumb and finger closed on the token . . . only to find the token sliding free. After four more failed tries, she backed away. “Fuck it. Okay, explain.”
Mama sealed the bag. “At standard room temperatures and colder, the wax on that token is the sticky you experienced first picking it up. But heat it, and it turns slick as quicksilver. Someone sabotaged Chenoweth’s suit by substituting this wax for his regular. When it went frictionless, the seal couldn’t hold and blew.”
She stared at them. Her cheekbones darkened with returning anger. “Some son of a bitch . . . Why! Who!”
“We don’t know who. Yet,” Janna said. “We have another question we need your help answering.”
“My help? What question?”
“What heated the wax? Was the porto warm that shift?”
Saleem frowned. “Of course not. It was open to the construction site, VE conditions. We’re in suits to keep us warm as well as let us breathe.”
Mama said, “In the suit would you know the porto’s ambient temp?”
She considered that. “Maybe not. But what would heat it?”
“How about the printer? Fusing the material into panels involves heat. At the inquest cooling time on the out tray was mentioned.”
“Yeah, but . . .” She shook her head. “I’ve worked around the printer when we weren’t suited and it puts out some heat, yeah, but it’s not uncomfortable.”
“How about some way for heat to be applied directly to the front of Chenoweth’s suit?” Janna asked.
“Direct—” Saleem’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh fuck.”
“What?” Janna and Mama said together.
“The panels are five feet wide. If it’s one person, you move them like this.” She demonstrated by spreading her arms wide.
Hugging them. “Chenoweth had that kind of contact with some of the panels?”
“All of them!” She took a breath. “When it’s flat panels, like the day before, we move them between us but with curved panels it’s faster for one person to bring them from the printer and the other to have the form ready to sandwich them. Since Chen has — had longer arms than me, he worked the printer.”
But . . . “He brought them straight to you.” Janna sighed. “That’s not much time for warming the wax. And if it did, wouldn’t the wait between panels cool it?”
“The wait isn’t that long,” Saleem said. “Ten minutes or so.”
Janna stared at her. “How’s that possible? The 3D printers I’ve seen at home take—”
Saleem smirked. “You don’t know the uberQ’s we’ve got up here. They’re always tinkering and improving. I bet there’s not a piece of equipment in the station still factory issue.”
Plans for a speedy printer might be worth smuggling. “How often did you and Chenoweth work at the printer?”
She shrugged. “Maybe every six weeks or so. If we’re not specialists we rotate to new assignments when we come back from our twelve and twenty-four hours off. We switched to the printer that Monday.”
“Not always doing shaped panels.”
“Of course not. Monday they were all flat, and we printed a run of light panels.”
“Who knew you’d be doing shaped panels on Tuesday?” Mama asked.
Saleem stiffened. “You think this was one of us? That one of our crew could let him die that way!”
The portal opened. Doubrava stepped through. Apparently no worse for whatever Geyer had to say. “There’s no reason to think any of your crews did i
t, Saleem. Don’t start accusing each other. Your war stories and shop talk in the Arcade bars and cafeteria are enough to educate any interested eavesdropper. Construction schedules aren’t so classified, either, that someone can’t learn them. Thank you for your help. Officer Hatcher will show you out.”
Her mouth thinned. The braids swayed above her head like cobras. “That’s it? You show me killer wax that greased Chen’s suit, and that’s all you’ll tell me? How was there heat enough to make the seal blow? If you don’t know that and who put the wax in Chen’s locker, what’s to stop it from happening to someone else?”
A reasonable concern, Janna admitted, with no more information than they gave her.
“You and the rest of the crew are safe,” Doubrava said. “But you know how to check the wax. As for who did it, we’ll find out. We will.” Doubrava gave her a laser stare. “Just in case your crew has any ideas of sleuthing on their own. Geyer won’t tolerate vigilantes. If you don’t end up in detention, think about losing bonuses.”
After Hatcher escorted Saleem away, Janna frowned at Doubrava. “You think she believes she’s safe? Do you believe they are?”
He smiled. “I expect she and the rest of them will make sure of it by warming a little wax between their fingers before using it. Though I hear the current job site is being pressurized so they’ll need VE suits just for warmth. In any case, I doubt our smuggler will try the same method twice.”
“Speaking of hearing,” Mama said. “If your finger’s on the pulse of the station, weren’t you aware of the chop about us?”
Doubrava’s smile went rueful. “No, and I do apologize. That failure displeased the chief more than leaving you on your own. In my defense — though it’s no excuse — the crew’s refusal to talk to you is what I’d have expected, not an assault.” He paused. “I know you wouldn’t tell Saleem, but have you figured what heated the wax?”
“It has to be a cumulative effect of handling the panels,” Mama said. “The seal didn’t fail until late in the shift.”
Janna said, “Except, why didn’t his suit cool between panels?”