Brian Evenson - Dead Space - Martyr

“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 something was wrong.

But when the door finally opened, he was close to hysteria. He started toward her, ready to berate her, when he saw she wasn’t alone. She had somebody with her. A young boy.

The boy was holding her hand delicately. He started to ask her where she’d been, but she silenced him with a look. “Michael,” she said, “I’d like you to meet Chava.”

Altman looked down at the boy. He was young, either not yet or just barely a teenager. He was barefoot, wearing a threadbare but clean T-shirt and a pair of shorts hanging barely together. He was very thin. He had deep brown eyes and a slightly apprehensive look.

“Chava,” Altman said. “What sort of name is that?”

“It’s a nickname for Salvador,” said Ada quickly. When Altman gave her a look, she nodded. “I know it doesn’t sound like it, but it’s true,” she said.

“Really?” he said, and turned to the boy.

The boy nodded, but said nothing.

Altman looked to Ada for help, for some clue as to what was going on. “I thought you might like to talk to him,” she said.

“Would you like to sit down?” he asked Chava.

The boy hesitated and then nodded. Altman pulled out a chair for him, and he climbed onto it.

“Would you like something to eat?” Altman asked.

The boy nodded again. Altman opened the fridge and started to look through it, then changed his mind. “Come on,” he said to the boy. “Look in here. Take anything you want.”

The boy approached the fridge as if it were a trap. He carefully bent his head around the door and looked in, then looked up at Altman.

“Anything?” he asked.

“Anything,” said Altman.

A few minutes later he had most of the contents of the fridge piled on the table in front of him. He was tasting everything. He’d take a small bite of something, move it around in his mouth, swallow it, and then move on to the next item.

“What would you like to talk about?” asked Altman once he was done.

The boy shook his finger at him. “The lady,” he said. “She is the one who said you wanted to speak with me.”

“Do you think you could tell him the same story you told me?” asked Ada.

“This is not a story,” Chava said with a frown. “It happened for real.”

“Yes, of course, Chava,” said Ada quickly. “That’s what I meant.”

“Okay, I will tell it,” the boy said. “I was walking on the beach, very early morning. This was a day when in my head I thought, I will walk on the beach and turn to go to town and then I will see if there is anyone who needs messages delivered. Sometimes you, the scientists, will give me a little money to deliver messages. Sometimes, after two or three messages it is enough to buy a polvorón or an oreja at the pastelería .

“But this day, my feet wanted to go the other way. I could not stop them. So, instead of going in to the town, we went together out farther along the deserted beach. That is when I found something.”