by Sean Parsons
Erin looked out over the broad space. There were rows of horizontal conveyer belts along the length of the room. The belts were broken occasionally by upright machinery with doors, that processed the material passing through them. On the conveyer belts were blobs of yellowish muck in various stages of production. The furthest conveyer belts had the finished product, which was stamped out into shapes and packaged. The room was empty of people.
“This is the yeast factory?” Erin said, slightly awed by the immensity of the room.
“Yes,” Rickard said, gruffly. “This is where the majority of Eden’s food is manufactured. The yeast vats are through those big doors at the back of the factory floor. The yeast is grown and cultured in those vats, and then the various products are sent out along these belts to be cooked, cleaned, stamped and packaged.”
Without another word, he started off among the rows of conveyer belts, and Erin ran to catch up.
“There aren’t any operators?” Erin said, looking around.
“No,” Rickard barked, over the noise of the belts. “The scientists do all their culture work in the labs, which aren’t on this level. The vats are just for growing and are regulated by computer programs. The belt systems are all automated.”
Rickard went down the length of the belts to the noisy middle of the floor. The din was almost deafening. He checked a bank of dials and digital displays, against a clipboard hanging on a string. As he did so, he looked at Erin out of the corner of his eye.
“Was there something else you wanted?” he said.
“Yes,” Erin said. “We never finished our talk at lunch. I want to know how the cameras were shut down outside Susan’s apartment. I know you know.”
Rickard turned to him, his expression furious. “Just what exactly are you accusing me of?”
“They don’t have that capability on the sublevels. Only the security team up here does. Where were you two nights ago, when Susan was murdered?”
Rickard came closer. “Are you asking me for my alibi?”
“Or you can give me what I need to know.”
“You got some nerve, cop. Coming in here, acting high and mighty; mister tough-guy. Well let me tell you something.”
He came right up to Erin and poked a finger into Erin’s chest.
“You have nothing on me but a worthless piece of paper, and I don’t have to tell you shit.”
He started to walk away, but Erin grabbed his shoulder.
“I had an interesting talk with the left-handed Latino you hired to kill me. I didn’t catch his name. He was one cold customer, but in the end he chickened out and left me hanging. He did mention your name though.”
Rickard turned around and looked Erin in the eyes, trying to see if he was bluffing. Erin returned the stare, levelly.
“Ok,” Rickard said. His voice was obscured by the din, but his intent was still clearly legible.
He drew a gun out of his pocket and aimed it at Erin’s chest.
“You’re one big trouble maker, aren’t you, cop?”
Erin looked at the gun, then looked at Rickard. The security chief was serious. He would fire the gun if he was driven to it.
“You’re making a big mistake,” Erin said.
“Shut up,” Rickard said. “Turn around, and walk.”
He gestured with the gun. Erin had no choice. He turned around and started walking. Rickard stopped him near a conveyer belt. He came around so Erin could see his face and hear him speak.
“You don’t have any proof,” he said. “Without the guy you can’t corroborate anything.”
“But I can haul you in for questioning,” Erin said. “I can detain you. And I intend to. You have a bad record, Rickard. I’ll get a computer forensics unit up here to look at the system. The second they find any evidence of tampering with the cameras from your end, you’re finished.”
“I know,” Rickard said, smiling. “You don’t have to tell me how this works. I already know. That’s why I’m not letting you get out of here alive.”
He suddenly struck Erin over the head with the butt of the gun. Erin pitched forward onto the conveyer belt, and was yanked away. He rolled over, his head reeling from the blow. The lights whisked by overhead.
Erin looked up and saw the steel doors of a processing unit slamming shut on the yeast material. He would be crushed. His legs and knees were weak. He couldn’t rise. He heard the sound of a shot, and the pinging sound of a ricocheting bullet. He looked over and saw Rickard running after him, his gun raised.
Quickly, regaining his strength, Erin rolled off the conveyer belt, falling to the steel floor with a bang. As he fell he drew his gun. He took aim and fired, but Rickard ducked out behind a processing unit and the bullet impacted it harmlessly. Then he came out and started firing again, and this time it was Erin’s turn to duck and run for cover.
The blasts of the gunfire were totally obscured by the racket of the belts, echoing in the cavernous space of the factory. Erin was completely alone, with no help coming. The only one who knew he was there was Rickard.
He hated to kill a man, but he had little choice that he could see. It was a matter of life or death; self-defence. Rickard was a military man, trained to kill, and his time as a security officer hadn’t softened him one bit. He knew how to handle a gun.
Erin took cover behind a steel bulkhead, and opened fire. He spent a whole clip of ten bullets in Rickard’s direction. But the man was quick. He dropped to the floor, rolled off to one side, and every bullet missed. He returned fire and Erin barely got back behind cover in time.
Erin checked his belt. Only one clip left. He had no idea how much more ammunition it would take to get him out of this alive. He reloaded, and when he checked again he had lost sight of Rickard. He swore, looking all over the factory floor. Rickard was gone. Thinking he must have gone for the doors, Erin came out and took a look around.
He was hit from behind by the full weight of a man. Rickard had crept up behind him and thrown himself at him. His weight carried them both onto the neighbouring belt, pulling them along with it.
They were swept towards a stamping machine. Erin rolled over and punched Rickard in the face to get him off. The security chief stood shakily to his feet, bracing against the quick motion of the belt, and advanced on Erin. The stamping machine was getting rapidly closer. Before Erin could get to his feet, Rickard jumped at him. Erin rolled over backwards and kicked upwards. His feet met Rickard’s chest, and the blow combined with his forward momentum sent him sailing over Erin’s head. He landed in a pile of yeast and was stuck to the belt.
The machine drew closer to Rickard, and he screamed. Then he went inside it, and the door came smashing down on him. Erin rolled off the belt just in time. He stood by the whining machine, shaking. He clenched and unclenched his hands to try to gain some control over them. When he was ready, he walked to the end of the belt to see what became of Rickard.
The security chief’s mangled body was lying at the end of the belt. He was certainly dead; an instantaneous blunt force trauma of immense power had smashed his head and chest. Erin set about the grim task of rifling through his pockets. Rickard’s body was covered in blood. It had soaked through his clothing, and everything on him was slick with red. Erin’s hand closed on a key and he drew it out. He wiped the blood off the label. It read, ‘Head Office’. It was Rickard’s private office key.
Erin dragged Rickard’s body into a corner of the big room. It would be found by one of the security staff, or it would stay there until 6pm, when it wouldn’t matter anyway. The thought made him check his watch. 3pm. Time was running out.
Quickly, Erin left the body and crossed the factory floor. He got into the elevator and pushed the button for the security level.
14.
The security level was busy as always. No one noticed Erin passing through the workspace, past the bank of monitors, to the door on the other side of the room labelled, ‘Secure’. He inserted Rickard’s key and the door opened.
Insid
e was a short hall, lit by a single light, with a couple of doors opening off it. One said, ‘Armament’. The other said, ‘Head Office’. Erin opened the door to the Head Office. It was a small room, with a desk and computer, and rows of filing cabinets. Rickard must have used the space when he wanted to get away from the bullpen.
Erin rifled through the file cabinets but didn’t find anything interesting. He went around and sat behind the desk. The computer had tape playback equipment plugged into it. Erin switched the computer on. While it booted up, Erin searched the desk. It was bare except for a locked draw. The key wasn’t on the chain that Erin had taken from Rickard’s body.
The computer started up with a beep. Erin browsed around inside it for a while, but couldn’t find anything obvious. The clock in the corner of the screen read 3:15pm. He tapped his fingers and his eyes were drawn back to the locked draw. He looked around the room for a way to open it. There was nothing. He considered using his gun to blast the lock, but he might destroy whatever was inside. He decided to use that as a last resort.
Getting up, he went back out into the hall and opened the door to the armaments room. It opened with the same key as Rickard’s office. Inside, he saw a treasure trove of weapons hanging on racks on the walls: shotguns, semiautomatic pistols, bullet-proof vests and riot helmets.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Erin said.
Sledgehammer and his men would have a field day, if they reached this room. The guards would kill a lot of them, too, if they had access.
Erin looked around and found a box of combat knives. He selected a big one and left the room, locking it behind him. He had the only key to the armament, and he wasn’t giving it to anyone. He had to stop some of the violence that would happen in less than three hours.
Back in the office, he inserted the knife into the draw and broke it open. Inside was a single tape, in a plastic case. He opened it, inserted it into the computer and hit play.
On the screen, a window popped up, with control buttons along the bottom of it. The tape automatically started. It showed the hall outside the director’s suite, and a time clock. It was the same view that Rickard had showed Erin on the security monitors the day before. The time clock read 8:30pm. It was the missing portion of security footage.
Erin ran the tape forward, and saw Rickard come down the hall, approaching the door. Behind him, carrying a briefcase, was Grossman.
“Son of a bitch,” Erin said.
They stood under the camera, and Rickard knocked on the door. Erin couldn’t see who answered it, but he assumed it was Susan. Rickard and Grossman smiled, and seemed to be invited inside. Susan knew them, and wouldn’t have suspected anything.
Abruptly, the camera angle changed. It now showed the interior of Susan’s apartment. Erin narrowed his eyes and leaned in for a closer look. He thought there were no cameras on the inside of the suite. The angle was low down, and he saw a portion of table extending along the bottom of the screen. It looked like a view from a hidden camera.
Erin thought about it a minute. Then he remembered Grossman’s briefcase. The bastard had secretly filmed the whole thing. Erin guessed why, but he watched the rest of the tape, to be sure.
Susan sat on the couch and looked like she was talking. There was no sound. Her face grew steadily more serious. She didn’t like what she was hearing. Then she seemed to resolve herself. She stood up and pointed off screen, probably to the door.
Suddenly Rickard entered the frame, tackled her onto the couch and held her down. Erin frowned. He didn’t want to see it, but he had to know for sure. Grossman came into the frame as well. He stood watching Susan and Rickard, saying something out loud. Rickard held Susan down. His face was a mask of rage. His hands went to her neck and squeezed. Her eyes went wide with terror. She fought back. She was strong. Grossman had to help hold her down. Rickard squeezed harder, his muscles bulging. Then, suddenly, Susan went limp, and it was all over.
Erin watched numbly as Grossman and Rickard undressed Susan’s body, inserted the needle, tidied up and left. It was all there, all the evidence he would need. Why did they even make the recording?
But even as the question crossed Erin’s mind, he knew the answer: they didn’t trust each other. They were each ensuring the other’s cooperation, and silence. No doubt the key to the desk draw was with Grossman. They each had their own key to the evidence.
The only thing left was to determine the motive, and make the arrest. And with Rickard dead, only Grossman remained.
Erin ejected the tape and slipped it into his jacket pocket. He switched off the computer and left the office, locking up behind him. He kept the key, so that no one could get into the armaments closet.
Outside in the security office it was just as busy as before, and no one noticed Erin leave.
He went up to the hospital and paged Rachel. She came rushing to him with a worried look.
“Is everything all right?” she said.
Erin drew her into a deserted alcove.
“I have proof that Grossman and Rickard committed the murder,” Erin said to her.
Her eyes went wide. She was speechless.
“I’m going up to arrest Grossman now. Rickard is dead.”
She nodded, still struggling to take it all in.
“Time is running out. You should get to an escape pod while you still can. It’s dangerous around here now. If Grossman finds out about Rickard, he’ll arrest us both on some fake charge. I can’t waste time getting out of it. I need to get him while he’s alone, and take him down.”
“What can I do to help?” Rachel said.
“You can’t do anything, just get to safety. This is a police matter. You’ve been a big help to me. You saved my life. But I need you to do what I tell you now and get to safety. Things are going to go to hell around here in less than two hours.”
“Fine,” she said. “But you have to take care of yourself. I want to see you after this is all over. I have so much to say to you.”
“I know,” he said. “I’ll find you, don’t worry. Get to the escape pods, Rachel.”
She nodded, and he turned and left.
Erin stepped off the elevator tube on the flight deck, and checked his watch. 5pm. One hour to go. He had lost time fighting Rickard, and checking the tapes. He had lost more time waiting to warn Rachel, but he had to. Now he had evidence, it was time to end it.
Grossman’s secretary had told him the acting director was up there. Erin looked into the flight control room and saw the same activity as before. The operators were hunched over their terminals, their eyes fixed on the screens. Offenheimer was marching up and down the rows, conferring occasionally with someone. Erin passed the room by, and went to the observation deck.
The door to the viewing room hissed open, and Grossman was standing there, looking out. He turned at the sound of the door.
“Detective,” he said, in a flat voice. “To what do I owe this pleasure? I trust your investigation is reaching its long-awaited conclusion?”
Erin said nothing at first, only approached closer to Grossman, and put his hand to his firearm. Grossman saw the gesture, and his eyebrows lifted.
“What’s going on?” he said.
“Acting Director Alan Grossman,” Erin said, “I’m placing you under arrest, for the murder of Administrator Susan Grior. Put your hands above your head.”
Grossman looked at him, stunned. Then he laughed, loudly.
“What the hell are you talking about, detective?”
Erin came slowly closer. “I saw the tape. I know what you and Rickard did.”
Grossman considered this.
“Well, well,” he said, “I guess you aren’t as stupid as I thought you were. But unfortunately, you won’t be arresting me today, detective.”
His eyes flicked to the door, and Erin heard it hiss open – too late.
He turned and saw Doctor Cho standing there, holding a drawn gun, pointing it at Erin.
“Put your gun on the floor,�
� Cho said.
Erin did as he was told. “You’re making a big mistake, doc. This is going to get you into a lot of trouble.”
Cho said nothing. He walked forward and kicked the gun away.
“He doesn’t care what you think,” Grossman said. “He only cares about saving his own hide. And he’s involved in this too, in his own way. Bring him here.”
Cho beckoned with the gun for Erin to move forward, and he did so. He came and stood at the window, by Grossman’s side. Earth showed big and blue through the viewing port. Clouds swirled above the surface.
Down by Erin’s right hand there was a control for the PA communicator. Smoothly, barely moving the rest of his body, Erin flicked it on – to broadcast. Distantly, he heard the PA buzz, but it was muted in the viewing room. Everything Grossman said would be communicated to the rest of the station.
“There it is,” Grossman said. “Billions of people, squabbling for a bare existence. All because it took us nearly half a millennium to face up to the problem our increasing numbers were causing. The quality of life down there is a tiny fraction what it used to be. The air is toxic, the climate hot and humid, the sea levels higher, the crops lacking diversity. Space is at a premium. There’s no room to move, no room to breathe. And this,” he gestured to the station all around him, “was supposed to fix that problem.”
He laughed.
“What a joke. A mere hundred thousand. No more than a tiny percentage of Earth’s population, crammed onto this station, and the other stations. A self-sustaining environment, to conserve a population that shouldn’t have been allowed to exist in the first place.”
“What would you do,” Erin said, “Kill them all?”
“Yes, in fact, I would,” Grossman said. “And I will. You don’t understand, detective, because yours is an inferior mind. These people enjoy no quality of life, and nothing we do can make that possible. There is no quality of life anymore. I’ve worked all over the globe, for dozens of different communities. I’ve seen the kind of conditions that humans are living in and calling a life nowadays. The human race is declining.”
