by Mel Odom
“Why?”
“He was on Mars at the time these men were killed. The Bradbury colony police detectives tried to build a case against him.”
“Why?”
“Trace DNA at the crime scene seemed to link him.”
That was interesting. “What trace DNA?”
“Blood.”
“Simon was wounded?”
“The Bradbury police believed so. They brought Simon in for questioning.”
“Did they find a wound?”
“No. Furthermore, when Simon gave them a DNA sample, it was only a sixty-eight percent match.”
“In order to bring Simon in, they had to have had a DNA sample to match against.”
“They found one in a hospital database from a few years before. Back when Simon Blake was a mercenary with the Chimeras.” Floyd gave me the date and I realized it had to have been from when Simon was wounded and met John Rath.
“A sixty-eight percent match is significant.”
“It is, but it wasn’t enough to lock Simon down for the executions.”
“Where was he at the time of the murders?” I asked.
“At a hotel. Alone.”
“So he had no alibi.”
“None.”
“Was there another reason he was a suspect in these murders?”
“These individuals all had records for doing wetwork for Human First.” Floyd pushed more files at me. “They were suspected of murdering Haas-Bioroid and Jinteki R&D people, and also destroying bioroids and clones.”
Images of scrapped bioroids and gutted clones popped into view for a moment, then I had them in my PAD.
“They were very good at what they did,” Floyd said. “The man who killed them was better.”
“One man?”
“Yes.” Floyd raised a hand and the three dead men rose to their feet. They stood talking around the conference table, studying a holo that projected above the surface. The door mended itself and floated back into place.
In the holo, Mara Blake—newly married to Simon—arrived at Bradbury Port Authority and made her way along a slidewalk. Simon Blake walked at her side. He was keenly alert but attentive to his wife. They smiled and joked, and I could almost remember that moment.
“The holo was found at the scene,” Floyd said. “Bradbury PD assumed that these men had been tasked to kill Mara Blake and possibly Simon Blake as well.”
“If that is true, I can see why Simon Blake would target them.” I paused. “You say he was alone in his hotel? He wouldn’t have left Mara Blake unattended.”
“He didn’t. She was asleep in an adjoining room.”
“So she could provide no alibi.”
“Correct.”
I considered that. “It would have been better if she had lied for him and said that they were together.”
“Simon gave his statement first. He did not try to hide behind his wife.”
“Perhaps he didn’t wish to involve her until he knew the case against him. He would have protected Mara.”
“Possibly.”
I studied the three men, thinking about how dangerous they were based on the information Floyd had passed on to me. All of them were augmented, faster and more lethal than anything human. The odds of one man getting all three of them without getting killed were astronomical.
“You’re sure there was only one man?”
“The Bradbury PD was.” Floyd gestured again and pointed toward the door.
Events progressed in slow motion. The door blew inward and revealed a single figure standing on the other side. The person looked like he or she had been cloaked in ink. A large-bore slug-thrower belched flame before the pieces of the door thudded to the carpet. Lime-green laser lights tracked the paths of the bullets.
One of the bullets chewed through a section of the door, throwing it off-balance, then mushroomed against a man’s face, throwing him backward. Another two punched through the second man’s chest as he brought out a slug-thrower and opened fire. The paths of those three bullets were marked in bright blue. Two of them embedded in the bullet-resistant transplas, spider-webbing the panes. The third hit the shadow-person. Blood—marked in lemon yellow highlighter—sprayed from the shadow-person, but I couldn’t tell where the bullet hit.
As the second man stumbled back from the impact of the bullets, the shooter took a step to the side, slid one foot through the blood, and fired three more rounds. All of the bullets punched into the last man as he sprinted sideways. His efforts only added to his impetus as the bullets caught him and knocked him from his feet in a rolling death spiral.
Calmly, the shooter entered the room.
“No other blood was found in the conference room,” Floyd told me. “So the killer had to have attended the wound.”
In no hurry, the shooter walked through the men and shot each one of them through the head to ensure the kills.
“Competent. Professional. And highly skilled,” Floyd said. “This is something the Bradbury PD felt certain Simon Blake could have done.”
He could have. I didn’t say anything for a moment, then I focused on the question that most troubled me. “Why would you investigate a fourteen-year-old crime scene?”
“Because I got a hit on DNA the coroner found on Jonas Salter’s body.” Floyd touched one of his silver eyes. “Sweat was found inside Salter’s right eye that did not belong to him. That trace evidence was not discovered on the preliminary inspection of Salter’s body.”
“The killer sweated on Salter?”
“Probably as he stood over Salter to confirm the kill. Or perhaps when the trace liquid that tracked back to you was applied.”
Around us, the conference room melted away and Jonas Salter’s crime scene took its place. A single drop of sweat stood out against Salter’s right eye, highlighted in yellow.
“That drop of sweat allowed the coroner to establish a DNA sample.”
“Did you connect it to anyone?”
“Only to this crime scene on Mars,” Floyd replied.
“You’re sure it is the same DNA?” The question felt redundant even as I voiced it. The statement Floyd had given me was a closed loop. There could be no other answer.
“Yes. It also is a sixty-eight percent match to Simon Blake’s DNA.”
“Curious,” I said, and I knew that was an unnecessary assessment.
“I had hoped it might stir more of Simon Blake’s memories within you.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Perhaps you will remember something later. You will let me know?”
“Of course.”
“In the meantime, I shall endeavor to pursue this latest piece of evidence.” Floyd paused. “Things on Mars have gotten very complicated.”
“Yes.”
“There is talk of the Martian Colonial Authority declaring martial law in the near future.”
“It will be a mistake if they do. They should have learned that during the Colony Wars.”
“I think so, too, but humans have a tendency to repeat their mistakes. Stay safe, Drake.”
I thanked him and faded from the meetbox, returning to the room where Leigh and her companions slept.
* * *
I worked quickly when I got back to the barracks room. My mind buzzed with questions, trying to work out how those two DNA samples—a sixty-eight percent match for Simon Blake—had ended up on Mars and on Jonas Salter’s corpse. I could frame no cogent hypothesis. Too many variables still existed.
Instead, I concentrated on Tallin, the man whom I had carried into the barracks after he had fallen. While he was still sedated, I reopened his chest wound just enough to slip in a GPS transponder that I could track through the Net.
I had no illusions about Leigh letting me join her when she left the area. As soon as she deemed it safe to leave, she would be gone, and I would be left behind.
I still believed she knew where Mara Blake was. She was a prominent player among John Rath’s plans. In fact, Simon was certa
in Leigh had been inserted into his security group watching over Mara to spy on him.
I closed the incision with adhesive, made sure it was sterile, and was satisfied that if the adjustment to the wound was noticed I could simply say it had broken open slightly when Tallin had fallen.
Finished, certain my work had gone unnoticed, I sat back and thought about Simon Blake and the three dead Human First assassins.
* * *
“State your name for the record.”
I looked at the hard-faced female detective seated on the other side of the interrogation room table. She was in her middle years and wore prominent tattoos that marked her as Marsborn. Her name was Donna Carbo and she was good at her job, focused and unflustered.
I held up my hands, cuffed only a few centimeters apart. A shock collar encircled my neck. “You know who I am. You picked me up at the hotel where I was staying with my wife.”
She frowned at me. “This will go faster if you respond in the appropriate manner.”
I sighed and told her that I was Simon Blake.
“Where do you live?”
I gave her the address I shared with Mara in New Angeles.
She proceeded down her list, going back through Simon’s personal history, first covering his marriage to Mara, then his employment as her security chief, then back to my work as a mercenary on Mars.
“You worked with John Rath?”
“Yes, but that is all I will say about that relationship. That has nothing to do with the murders you’re accusing me of.”
She tried a few more questions about John Rath. He remained something of an enigma for the Martian Colonial Authority. People could hire him, if they had enough credits—if he wanted the assignment—but not much was known about him.
Simon grew irritated at the repetitive questioning. The emotion was something new in my experience, but I recognized it. Finally, he fell silent and refused to speak.
“What were you doing before you signed up with John Rath and the Chimeras?”
The question threw Simon for a moment. Panic and uncertainty fluttered within him. He spoke succinctly. “I was a mercenary. That’s all logged into my file.”
“Tell me about those years.”
Simon leaned back in his chair. His pulse and respiration picked up tempo. “Why?”
“Because I’d like to know.”
“That has no bearing on your investigation.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
Simon smiled. “I’ve been pretty generous about this if you ask me. You brought me in here and I haven’t lawyered up yet.”
“Getting an attorney would only delay your release.”
“I’m beginning to doubt that.”
She ignored me. “Tell me about your life before Rath.”
“Why?”
She tapped her PAD. “Because I’ve checked through your history, Mr. Blake, and it’s pitifully lacking in detailed information. I’ve tried to find someone—anyone—who knew you before you signed on with Rath.” She paused for effect. “I can’t. Maybe you can give me some names that aren’t in my files.”
Simon’s confusion was so alien to me that I almost lost touch with him at that point. I clung to him, though.
“Can you do that, Mr. Blake?” Carbo remained calm, giving no sign of hostility.
Simon leaned back in his chair. “No.”
“Why?”
“There was an accident a few years ago. My memory was damaged. Before that time in the hospital, I can’t remember much. The doctors told me I was lucky.”
“Would you be surprised to learn that I haven’t been able to turn up much personal history on you? Like where you’ve lived? A job history beyond what’s put in your files? Friends or references that become flesh and blood at any point along the way?”
Simon’s voice turned harsh and I felt his anger and fear surging in a volatile mix within him. I hung onto him, not wanting to let go. “All of those memories are gone, Detective. Did you not hear that?”
“I did, but—”
“No buts.” Simon swore. “We’ve lived through a civil war in the colonies, Detective. Do you know how many lives were lost?”
“I’m well aware of—”
“All those lives, and you’re worried about electronic documents that vanished in an electromagnetic surge?” Simon leaned closer to her. “Do you know what I remember most? I remember the night my parents and my sister were killed. I remember that really well.” He leaned back in his chair again. “Now either let me go or book me, because I’m not saying another word without my lawyer present.”
I lost Simon then and went spinning away from him.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The next morning, Tallin came around and was doing much better. If he noticed any additional pain from the wound in his chest, he didn’t say anything about it. He got up with Leigh and the rest of the team and made preparations to leave.
Leigh didn’t say much to me and I knew she wasn’t sure what to do with me. Shortly after 0800, her comm pulsed and she answered. The device was heavily encrypted, but after I’d worked on Tallin, I’d also hacked into it. I couldn’t embed a GPS trace on it because it was equipped with squealies that would notify Leigh of its presence.
But I could listen in.
She took the call and walked to the corner of the room.
“Where are you?” a man’s voice asked.
“Paxton Node,” Leigh answered.
“Are you still free?”
“Yes.”
“Rath heard the Colonial Corps crashed the bars there and rounded up mercenaries they deemed potential terrorists. The Chimeras made the list.”
“Lucky us.” Leigh frowned and I knew she was thinking about how much more difficult it was going to be to leave Paxton Node without being noticed.
“You don’t know the half of it. The vidcasts are full of the action the Colonial Corps have pulled off. The Martian Colonial Authority thought they were going to be able to shut down the unrest. All they’ve done is succeeded in accelerating it. Lines have been drawn in all of the major colonies.”
“Just like Rath said it would.”
“Yeah. Rath’s intel people have also told him the Earth corps are shipping special sec units to Mars. They’re due to arrive in the next few days.”
“The locals are going to read that as an invasion when it happens.”
“I know.”
Beside me, Shelly cursed. “What are they thinking? The situation on Mars between the pro-Earth groups and those favoring Martian independence has been filled with friction anyway. If Earth lands sec forces here, it’s going to start a war.”
I silently agreed.
“Rath wants you back here,” the man said at the other end of the comm.
“Give us a few hours and we’ll be there,” Leigh replied.
“Get here before dusk because we’ve got orders to pull up stakes and get gone by then.”
Leigh folded her comm and put it away, returning to me. She crossed her arms and stared at me.
I sat on one of the beds.
“I don’t know what to do with you,” she admitted.
I remained silent.
“My gut tells me that I should burn you here and be done with it after the way you approached me last night.”
I was prepared to move quickly if I had to. A small needler filled with tranquilizers sat hidden in my hand.
Tallin grimaced. “McDreamy saved my life last night. You guys wouldn’t have come back for me.”
“Would have got us killed if we had,” one of the other men said, sounding petulant. “Can’t blame us. If it had been one of us, you wouldn’t have stopped either.”
“And getting emotional about a bioroid doesn’t make a lot of sense,” the other one said. “We burn this one, Haas-Bioroid will just make another.”
Leigh ignored them and studied me. “I’ve got a lot of questions about you and Simon, but I don’t have the time to ask
them.” She took in a breath and let it out. “Know this: if I see you again, I’ll end you.”
“I understand,” I said.
She turned on her heel, called her men to her, and marched down one of the tunnels.
“She means it, Drake,” Shelly told me. “If you go out there, she will destroy you.”
“I know,” I replied. Leigh had always meant what she said.
I remained seated on the bed for twenty minutes in case she posted someone to stay behind. Then I pinged the GPS transponder I’d placed inside Tallin’s wound, locked onto the signal, and started following. They were already three kilometers away and moving.
* * *
Leigh and her team escaped Paxton’s Node by joining up with a terraforming group that was undoubtedly part of the smuggling operation in the area. I watched them go, waited a while, then stepped outside the node airlock with a group of bioroids, blending in easily. We rode in the open rear cargo compartment of a crawler.
When we reached the work site, I toiled with the crew for hours, waited until dusk, then stepped away from the group. No one noticed, not even the bioroids I had been working with. They were all Franks and Diesels, purely manual labor to move materials.
By that time Tallin was seventy-six kilometers away and accelerating fast enough that I knew he was traveling in a land vehicle. I took off running, able to see easily in the dark and capable of accelerating almost as fast as their vehicle in the Martian gravity.
Still, I questioned myself, doubting whether I was getting any closer.
Shelly ran at my side, something she would never have been able to do when she’d still been human. “This is the trail, Drake. Don’t second-guess yourself. Everything you’ve been following has been leading up to this place and time. Whatever is going on, the Chimeras, John Rath, and Mara Blake are all connected. You’re an investigator. You’ve investigated. Follow what you know.”
I ran quietly, taking great, bounding strides across the mountainous terrain, following the GPS transponder but losing ground. The moons cycled through the dark sky.
At Kline Node, a smaller, seedier version of Paxton, I got lucky just before dawn and found a minihopper that someone had built from salvage parked outside of a pleasure house. I knelt and stripped the GPS beacon, switched the ID with another vehicle, and hot-wired the minihopper.
