S Morden - One Way

“What’s my resolution?” He frowned. “I… maybe a hundred yards or so?”

“That covers the whole base. You can be anywhere inside or outside, and it just registers as ‘here’. You’re going to have to try harder than that, Kittridge.”

“ I’m going to have to try harder?”

“I thought we had a deal where you said you’d be my eyes and ears. Don’t you go backing out on me now. Not now the shit’s getting real.”

“Can we at least tell whose suits were used?”

Brack slung Zeus’s breathing mask onto the racking. “This isn’t a police state. This whole thing, this whole enterprise, it works on trust. There aren’t the systems here to keep tabs on everyone all the time, because that’s not in the contract. This is supposed to be a working scientific base, not the wing of a Supermax. Trust, Kittridge. Forget what I said about keeping tabs on you all. I have to trust you, God help me. And if this base ain’t right by the time NASA gets here, it’s my ass on the line, not yours.”

“Do you want me to find out who did this or not?”

“Do you want to know what I’ll do to the man when we do?” asked Brack. “We ain’t got a prison cell up here. You tap someone for murder, there’s only one sentence. We’re going to have us a spacing.”

“I’d better be certain, then.”

“Boy, you have to do better than that. Cast-iron, copper-bottomed, one hundred per cent certified proof. I’m not calling home to tell XO I’ve wasted one of their valuable assets because he looked at you funny.” Brack jabbed him in the chest with a rigid finger. “Do this right or don’t do it at all.”

Then he checked and double-checked that no one else was listening in.

“You want that flight home? You make damn sure they don’t get wind of this. Not a word. Not a whisper. Got that?”

“I got it.”

“Good. Now get out of here and act normal.” Brack grabbed him and pushed him stumbling out of the med bay.

Frank took a moment to compose himself, and then finished zipping up the front of his overalls.

“You OK?” Declan was passing through, staring mostly at his tablet.

“Fine. Mostly.”

“Did you find anything?”

“Out at the workshop?” Frank had racked his life support. The oxygen tank he’d placed on top of the recharger earlier had gone. He frowned. “No. Nothing.”

“Does that mean we can use the workshop again or not?”

“I’ve talked to Brack. It’s up to him. As far as I’m concerned, the hab’s safe.” He checked the separate cylinder bay, and there it was, charged up. If there’d been any evidence of tampering, he’d lost the opportunity to find it.

“So…”

“I don’t know, Declan. It’s like Marcy, it’s like Alice. It’s just one of those things.”

“OK, OK.” He paused and looked down at his screen. “Doesn’t seem likely to be just one of those things, though.”

“It wasn’t the hab that killed him. That’s all I know. I didn’t screw up.”

“So who did?”

Frank slid on his ship slippers, and straightened up. “Maybe Zeus did. Maybe he did something stupid and he died. He’s not around to ask now, so all I got is guesswork and spit. If you’ve got anything, records of things he turned on and off, then that might give us some answers.”

“Why not?” Declan nodded. “I’ll look into it.”

Frank found himself lying easily. It wasn’t what he wanted to do, but he’d been told to do it. Any stress in his voice would be understood as something else. He watched Declan as he walked away, wondering if it had been him, wondering about the timings, about everything. He didn’t seem that concerned, as if he knew the answers already.

For that matter, Zero could have picked up his suit and life support from the rack, dressed in the greenhouse, and left through the rear of the hab. No one would have seen him creep around the back of the workshop with a length of pipe, temporarily disconnected from the hydroponics.

The cameras, though. They would have spotted something, wouldn’t they? Even though they were there to watch for fires, their feeds could still be accessed by someone in the control hab. Were there recordings?

He didn’t know. He’d have to go and ask Dee.

[transcript of audio file #7907 2/10/2035 1000MT Xenosystems Operations boardroom, 65th floor, Tower of Light, Denver CO]

PL: Come on in, Bruno. Take a seat.

BT: Thank you, sir.

PL: You know to call me Paul by now, Bruno. Drink?

BT: Yes. Just a tonic water for me. I’m sorry, Paul. I respect you more than anyone alive. It’s only natural I call you “sir”.

PL: Well now. I hope I can somehow repay the level of trust you place in me.

BT: You owe me nothing, Paul, and I owe you everything. I mean that sincerely. I’d be nowhere without you.

PL: I’m sure that’s not true. A man of your obvious talents and dedication would have been an asset to any corporation. We were lucky enough to bring you into the Xenosystems fold early on, and your rise through management has been nothing but appropriately meteoric.

BT: The company is my family, sir. I’ve dedicated myself to its well-being since I joined. I’m one hundred per cent loyal. I’d do anything for you.

PL: You even came in on a Saturday, for which I’m grateful. I have a favor to ask of you. It’s a big one, and I want you to consider it carefully.

BT: I’m listening.

PL: I’ve had my eye on you for a while now, and you have qualities I appreciate. You’re not afraid of making difficult decisions, and you get the job done on time and under budget. Do you think you’re ready for the challenge of your life? It’ll take your best years from you, but I guarantee that when you’re done, you’ll be able to do literally anything.

BT: I’d like to think I was equal to any challenge you could set me, Paul.

PL: I’m looking to put you in charge of the Mars contract. Oh, there are people who are possibly more experienced and longer serving, and they probably expect that they’ll be offered it. I know they expect they’ll be offered it. But they’re older, and more cautious, and more bureaucratic. I want someone who’s quick on their feet and who’ll still be around in, say, fifteen years’ time, rather than eyeing up a retirement ranch in Oregon or a private island somewhere halfway through. What do you say, Bruno? Can you help me out here?

BT: Sir. Paul. I’d be honored.

PL: Good. I didn’t think I’d misjudged you.

[glasses clink]

BT: To Xenosystems Operations.

PL: To Mars.

[End of transcript]

They didn’t keep recordings, not from the spacesuits, not from the fire control cameras. They didn’t have the computer storage space for it. Brack was right: the base had been designed to be a place for scientific research and planetary exploration. No one had envisaged there’d be a need to watch the crew for a potential saboteur in their midst.

Dee did, however, show him how the fire control worked. The ceiling cameras weren’t normal cameras, but infrared ones, tuned to spot for high heat sources that might trigger ignition in the oxygen-rich atmosphere. The background was almost uniformly black, and the crew pale ghosts washing across the screen. The only real contrast was offered in the greenhouse: the areas under the growing lights and the fish tanks. The hot water storage, held in a drum on the second floor, was insulated enough to appear merely dark gray.

There was no way anyone could be identified through their image.

And to think, Frank had been worried about being spied on.

“Who was your second?”

Dee left the screen on a five-second cycle, even though the camera software continuously monitored everything. “Alice. That didn’t work out so well.”