The Furnace Page 5

  He chuckled. “Maybe. But I’m trying to get out more.”

  “Most of us eat together in the common mess at lunch,” Shaheen supplied. “Except the scientists, who always seem to be working.”

  I mulled that over. “What do they do at dinner?”

  “The crewmen eat together and have an end-of-the-day debrief, and the scientists do whatever it is they do.” She laughed. “The officers eat together here, in the officers’ mess.”

  Manny watched me with narrowed eyes. “Is this just curiosity? Or investigation?”

  I shrugged. “Both, I guess.”

  The hatch slid aside and two others entered. The first was a tall, broad-shouldered black man. He had closely cropped hair—almost shaved—and sharp, chiseled features. The second was a slim, fragile-looking woman in her fifties with blond streaks in graying hair.

  “This is my first officer,” Manny said with a gesture to the man. “Lieutenant Commander Avery Rickets.”

  I offered my hand. “Kyle Tanner.” Generally in the military we were to offer salutes to other officers, but this was clearly an informal situation—and an informal outpost. I still had qualms about it, but I squashed them for the time being. I had learning to do. I had to understand this place.

  “And Belinda Bertram, information officer,” Manny continued.

  I shook the woman’s hand and glanced at her insignia. Lieutenant junior grade. “Nice to meet you.”

  She looked at me skeptically. “So the Council thinks there’s trouble on their precious station, do they?”

  “Oh, don’t start that, Bel,” Brick drawled. “You gotta admit, we have to find out who cut poor Jimmy’s head and hands off.”

  “That we do,” Avery Rickets said. His voice was deep and melodious.

  “Did you investigate at all?” I asked the captain.

  He looked startled. “Of course! I didn’t get anywhere, though. No one knows exactly when it happened.”

  I turned to Malichauk. “You can’t tell when the body was...tampered with?” As I recalled, it had happened between the time he left the clinic at the end of the day and 0815 hours the following morning.

  “No. It occurred after death, in the freezer, so it’s quite impossible.”

  “Surveillance?”

  “All camera feeds went offline during that period.”

  My jaw hit the deck.

  “You see?” Manny said. “Not a single person—not even myself—has an alibi that lasts twelve hours. Any one of us could have done it.”

  The others shifted nervously as they stood around me. A change of subject was in order.

  “How’s the station holding up?” I asked.

  “Fine,” Shaheen answered. “But being this close to the sun puts a lot of stress on the equipment.”

  “Five million kilometers,” Brick added.

  I said, “You know, Jase Lassiter—”

  “First class asshole,” he spat.

  “—at SOLEX CG,” I continued, noting Brick’s response, “said the temperature of an object in space here is fifteen hundred Kelvin.”

  “That’s right,” Shaheen said with a nod. She shot a look at Brick and a crease appeared between her eyebrows.

  “But reentry to Earth creates temperatures of up to four thousand Kelvin,” I retorted. “Those heat shields can handle it okay.” In fact, technology to withstand such temperatures had been around for centuries, since the pioneering era. It was something about the station that still confused me.

  “Right, but reentry only lasts a few minutes, and the shields are two inches thick and ablative. Our shield here is paper-thin and has to last for decades. There’s a big difference.”

  My eyebrows rose. “Impressive. Who designed it?”

  “You’re looking at her,” First Officer Rickets said. “Our very own Shaheen Ramachandra did it. She also supervised the construction phase.”

  I turned to her. “What else can you take credit for?”

  She looked embarrassed. “Nothing else, really.”

  “Oh, pah!” Dr. Malichauk scoffed. “You’ll be getting the Nobel, Shaheen. You also designed the radiation shield.”

  “No, I didn’t,” she objected. “We’ve had that ever since we colonized the inner planets. I just upgraded it for the greater radiation this close to Sol.”

  I studied her blue eyes as she and Malichauk began a lengthy conversation about the dangers of long-term radiation exposure. Her gaze flicked to me once or twice; she had noticed my scrutiny. I turned to Belinda Bertram.

  “Anything new in the world of information?” I asked.

  She raised a glass to her lips. “Very funny. You probably know more about what’s going on in the system than I do. This station is so damn remote.”

  Her title meant that she was in charge of all communications leaving the station, and she was also the science officer. They probably didn’t need one with four solar physicists present, so I assumed she had a lot of time to spare. Before I could ask her about it, Brick Kayle cut in.

  “So,” he injected in his Australian accent, “can you tell us about the Torcher?”

  I sighed. Damn. I’d never live that down.

  * * *

  “So he actually set his victims on fire?” Belinda asked, screwing up her face as she bit into her rations. We now sat at the table, our meal illuminated by candlelight. In the background I could hear a concerto by Chopin.

  “After they were dead, yes.” I tried to hide my fatigue.

  “Come on, Bel,” Brick said. “You haven’t heard about the Torcher? How’s that possible?”

  “He’s this century’s Jack the Ripper,” First Officer Rickets said. “And our visitor is the one who caught him. He’s famous.”

  “Who, the Torcher? Or Tanner?” she asked, clearly embarrassed.

  “Both.”

  “Really?” She looked shocked and even a little disgusted. “Famous for catching a killer?”

  “Indeed,” Manny said.

  “Curious. I didn’t know there could be such a thing. Not to offend,” she added quickly.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I mumbled. “Frankly, I wish there wasn’t such a thing either.”

  Brick studied me with a raised eyebrow. “Fame can get to you, I hear.”

  I growled inwardly, but smothered my reaction and tried to be civil. “It’s just that...” It was hard to express why it bothered me. I understood that the Torcher was well-known everywhere in the Confederacy, and that as the man who had captured him, I was famous too. But it didn’t thrill me.

  “Surely you must understand that you have talents other people appreciate,” Malichauk said.

  I nodded. I did understand that. But there was something else too. Like the time in Tokyo when the reporters had made me a celebrity while I investigated a politician’s death. The fame just annoyed me now. I didn’t want notoriety anymore—just peace and quiet while I did my job. “I can’t really explain it,” I said.

  An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. Finally, Shaheen spoke. “Well, this is a time to thank Kyle for coming to help us. Maybe we should change the topic.”

  We continued to eat our rations as conversation picked up again. This time, the officers spoke about the latest vid entertainment, the scientists on board and the station itself. I took the opportunity to study my food as they pointedly stayed away from topics involving the Torcher, killers and Jimmy Chin.

  Chapter Five

  The following day I rose early, intent on beginning the formal interview process with SOLEX’s inhabitants. Once again, I left my weapon behind. I grabbed a bite to eat alone in the common mess. The station was fairly large for such a small complement; apparently the equipment needed to convert solar energy to microwaves and beam them
to Earth took quite a bit of space.

  The schematic of the station was easy to locate on my reader; Jase Lassiter had uploaded it for me during my brief visit to the Command Group on Mercury. There were ten large cylinders called modules. Nine of them were located in a three-by-three grid pattern. Superimposed over them, the tenth was as long as three of the other modules combined, but also more narrow.

  “Module M,” I murmured. Weird. By their progressive notations, the cylinder should have been Module J. I zoomed the schematic in on M and discovered a slim passageway that traversed its entire length. The label read Mass Driver. Ah. A magnetic slingshot that could launch metallic objects at extremely high velocities. Usually they were for transporting cargo or industrial material, but it was also common for colonies in deep space or dangerous locations to use one to propel escape pods in case of dire emergency.

  There wouldn’t be a problem navigating around the station. I had been in places a lot more convoluted and had always managed. Gagarin Station, located at the Lagrange point between the Earth and the Moon, for instance, had been a nightmare. I had chased a suspect for hours through its labyrinth of tunnels and had succeeded only when he fell and injured himself scaling a reservoir wall. Fortunately, witnesses called the accident in, and the local CCF commanding officer directed me to the scene.

  SOLEX’s size was surprising. It could hold three times the crew complement of fifteen easily. It would seem that space wasn’t solely dedicated to converting solar energy to microwaves. Despite my previous assumption, that equipment only utilized one station module. It was something I would have to look into.

  * * *

  I finished my breakfast and decided to interview Dr. Malichauk first. I had a number of questions about his report, and I wanted to look at Jimmy Chin’s body. According to the schematic, the clinic was located in the same cylinder as the mess—all I had to do was go up to the second level and I’d find him.

  The corridor was typical of any CCF operation: aesthetics served no functional purpose. Everything was bare metal, steel grating and dull plastic.

  I approached the clinic hatch, hit the toggle and stepped inside.

  * * *

  Malichauk had deep lines on his old, craggy face, but a thick head of long black hair contradicted his elderly appearance. It was a bizarre look: his face appeared ancient, while his hair seemed to belong on a much younger man. In my dossier he seemed like a once-magnificent doctor who was now a recluse serving out his final days in any out-of-the-way post he could find. He had become a loner, happy to be left to himself. His eyes seemed tired.

  When I entered, he was puttering around, taking an inventory of the medicines in a locked cabinet with transparent doors. On a table in the corner was a datachip reader; I picked it up as he finished. Invading someone’s privacy was hardly an important consideration when there was a killer on the loose. A journal article shone brightly on the display. The title was a mouthful: “Myosin VIIa and Vezatin Protein Production in Cellular Biological Processes.”

  “A little light reading?”

  He turned. “Just some research.”

  I moved to a chair and glanced at my notes. It was important to speak to Malichauk before the others because he had written the report that had begun this process. As the first person to examine the body, he had a great deal of knowledge that I needed, whether he knew it or not. I also had some questions regarding Jimmy’s death—questions I wanted answered before I spoke with the captain.

  “Do you have a few minutes?” I asked.

  He looked wary. “I guess.”

  I paused and studied the man’s expression. He didn’t seem to be overly interested in speaking with me. If he had nothing to hide, it was an odd reaction. Then again, he might just be nervous. “What can you tell me about Jimmy’s death?”

  “You read my report,” he said. “What else do you need to know?”

  “Let’s go over it from the beginning. From the EVA.”

  “I really don’t know the details. You’ll have to ask Manfred or Rickets, whoever was in the command center—”

  “I will. But I’m curious what you know of it.”

  He sighed. “Very well. Jimmy was doing an EVA—”

  “How long can someone stay outside here?”

  He seemed annoyed at the interruption. “Eh? Oh, I guess ninety minutes at the most. After that, radiation exposure overcomes you.”

  “Is it cumulative?”

  “Yes and no. We have medication we administer after each EVA. It helps reverse the damage, but not completely. Our regs say that no EVA will exceed the maximum time per day, and that the person must receive treatment after each one. The total allowed time for EVA is a hundred and fifty hours. After that, maximum exposure has occurred.”

  “Meaning?”

  “No more EVAs allowed.”

  “Can the person stay in space?”

  “Of course. We’re completely protected inside our ships and stations. Just no more going out on space walks.”

  “What about the magnetic-radiation shield? Doesn’t it protect people out on the hull?”

  He nodded. “To an extent. Without it the exposure time would be much less.”

  I consulted my reader. I had Malichauk’s report open, but shielded from his view. “Go ahead,” I prompted. He wasn’t very forthcoming with information, that was for sure.

  “The EVA began, as I understand it, at 1300 hours. Fifteen minutes later Jimmy reported a rip in his suit.”

  “Your report doesn’t mention how that happened,” I said.

  “I know, because we never found out.”

  “Who was with him at the time?”

  He eyed me. “You’ll have to ask the captain. I don’t know.”

  “But someone was with him, surely.” He shrugged and didn’t answer. I tried a different tack. “Your report says the body was retrieved forty-five minutes later.”

  “At 1400 hours, yes.”

  “Who recovered it?” I hoped the answer to the question could help solve this particular mystery, but he was too perceptive to be tricked.

  His eyes narrowed. “Ah, now you’re trying to be smart with me, Detective.”

  “Lieutenant, or Inspector. How so?”

  “Obviously the person who recovered the body would have been the one partnered with Jimmy.”

  I shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  “Well, I’m not sure about that either. All I know is that two crewmen brought the body here just after 1400 hours.”

  He was covering for someone, there was no doubt about it. “Very well. Tell me about the body.”

  “Have you ever seen death by decompression?”

  “Of course. It’s the sixth-most-common method of murder.”

  “Really?” His eyes seemed to light up. “How interesting. And the top five?”

  “Knife, pistol, poison, strangling and a fall from a lethal height.”

  He looked surprised. “That’s quite a list.”

  “It is. So I take it Jimmy showed all the signs of decompression.”

  “Yes. Eyes bulging. Ocular liquid drained. Eardrums burst and bloody. Dermal capillaries broken. His skin looked like a road map. Tongue swollen and protruding. Intestines pushed out the anus.” He stopped abruptly and looked at me, perhaps concerned he was being overly graphic.

  “I’ve seen it before, many times. Don’t worry about me. What happened next?” This was one of the things I was most curious about.

  “I put the body in the freezer and—”

  “Why?” It was really a stasis field; it didn’t actually freeze the bodies.

  “To preserve it before the autopsy, of course. I have to do one after every death. Regulations.”

  “I know that, Doctor.” I had to know the regs front an
d back because I frequently worked in military environments. Banks, schools, large corporations and factories were all under CCF control. “What I’m curious about is why you didn’t perform the procedure immediately.”

  He looked uncomfortable. “Well, the cause of death—”

  I shot him a pointed look.

  He shuffled his feet. “We’re so remote here...”

  “You thought no one would notice.”

  He threw his arms in the air. “Look, I couldn’t predict what would happen to the body. No one could.”

  “There’s a reason for the regs. You’re facing disciplinary action regarding this.”

  His features grew taut. “Out here, so far from everyone else, I guess it didn’t seem that important. We didn’t immediately think it was murder, you know.”

  “It’s so no one can tamper with the body before it’s been examined.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Did the captain know you waited?”

  “I don’t know.” He looked away from me again. “You’ll have to ask him.”

  * * *

  I stood and paced the clinic slowly. Malichauk eyed me uncertainly. He seemed to regard me as an enemy, someone who had dared to intrude on his private existence here on SOLEX. He neglected the fact that we were both in the military and that I had complete jurisdiction here as the investigating officer of a homicide. I could ship him off to CCF HQ on Mercury in an instant if I felt he needed incentive to speak.

  “So what was so important that you didn’t examine Jimmy immediately?” I asked.

  “Research,” he snapped. “I don’t know. Reviewing charts.”

  I cocked my head. “Researching what?”

  “New medicines. That sort of thing.”

  “Whose charts?” I persisted.

  “I do have patients here, you know.” He had grown irritated; his face was flushed. He wasn’t trying to hide it, though, which a guilty person would do.

  “What time did you leave the clinic?”

  “At dinner. Around 1800 hours.”

  “Let’s move to the following morning. Tell me what happened.”