Colony Mars Ultimate Edition

by Gerald M. Kilby

  "So, still think it was an unfortunate accident?" Bret was keen to get down to business. He kept his voice low.

  "What I think is not the issue, Bret. It's what evidence do we have that there was foul play?"

  "But—" Bret was cut short by a service droid arriving with their food. Mia took her bowl and examined it for a moment before poking at it with her chopsticks.

  "What about the clothes he was wearing when he was found? They said he died in his sleep, so why was he fully clothed?" Bret seemed to think he was onto something.

  "Doesn't mean anything." Mia realized she was hungry, and concentrated on getting the food into her. To her surprise it was very tasty, although probably best not to consider what might be in it. She glanced over at the counter. Now that Mia and Bret had started eating, the rest of the customers seemed to ignore them; their backs were turned, heads down, busy with their own food.

  Mia reached into her rucksack and took out the plastic bag with the dead officer's effects. She tore it open, extracted the slate, and presented it to Gizmo, who had taken up a position at the end of the table, its back to the counter. "Think you could hack into this, see what's on it?"

  "Certainly." The droid placed the small slate on the table, booted it up, and began to interface with the device. Mia stowed the rest of the effects back in her rucksack.

  "Nothing," said Gizmo matter-of-factly. "All data has been totally erased."

  "Nothing?" Bret looked shocked—in complete contrast to Mia, who was busy eating. He looked over at her, waiting for a reaction.

  Mia waved her chopsticks. "I would be surprised if it wasn't wiped clean."

  Bret leaned in. "But this proves there's something not right here."

  Mia finished the last of her noodles, wiped her mouth carefully with a napkin, then pushed the empty bowl aside. "It doesn't prove anything. Who's to say Frazer didn't wipe it clean himself?"

  Bret seemed taken aback by Mia's response. "Why would he do that?"

  "I'm not saying he did, I'm just saying we don't know. My point, Bret, is all we have at the moment are suspicions. We're going to need more than that."

  Bret considered this for a moment. "So, what now?"

  "We check his accommodation module where he was found, see if anything shows up. But"—she gave a shrug—"don't hold your breath." She turned to Gizmo. "Did you dig up anything on Vance Baptiste?"

  "Yes, the broad strokes are that he is the director of advocacy for Montecristo Industries, a major corporation on Mars. He is also quite political, leader of a group called The Reliance, which advocates for self-autonomy for Syrtis. There is a considerable amount of information I have been able to glean, so I have selected the most relevant documents and sent them to your slate. You can peruse them at your leisure."

  Bret pushed his bowl away with a vague sense of disgust. "The whole things stinks, if you ask me."

  Mia considered him for a moment. "You know, it could be that he simply killed himself, things being as they are these days."

  "You mean with this eternal dust storm?"

  "Some people just...lose hope, I suppose?"

  Bret shook his head. "I just don't believe that."

  "We should go and check out that accommodation module. Who knows, it might give us some answers."

  Bret brightened a bit. "You think?"

  Mia shook her head. "Not really."

  7

  Dune

  Mia tossed, turned, and thumped her pillow more than once as she tried to get to sleep, but it was hopeless. She stared up at the ceiling, wide awake. Outside, the sounds of Syrtis drifted in, the hum of ground cars moving along the thoroughfare below, the voices of people, some of whom sounded like they’d had too much to drink.

  They had checked out Frazer's accommodation module earlier. It was a modest, three-room affair whose most striking feature was its soullessness. It was spartan to the point of being clinical. What little furniture Frazer had possessed seemed to have been chosen for utility over comfort. The only deviation from this interior design style was a small collection of books—actual paper books, a wildly expensive indulgence. One had caught her attention when she first surveyed the module, primarily because she found it stuffed down the side cushion of a battered sofa in the main living area. It was Dune, by Frank Herbert. Mia shoved it inside her jacket and thought no more of it.

  The CO2 scrubber had been replaced and the unit fixed since the incident, so there was no way for Mia to validate the claim that a fault in this unit caused the agent's demise. Officer Wells, who had accompanied them, kept referring to the departmental report as the definitive word on all that had transpired. The only doubt cast had been whether the unit failed all by itself, or if Frazer had tampered with it, suggesting that he might have taken his own life. She had seen this thread crop up time and time again. It was never explicitly said, but any time she dug a little deeper, it seemed to be where her inquiries led.

  After giving the accommodation module a quick once-over, they decided to head back to MLOD HQ and check out Frazer's desk. Mia left Bret and Gizmo to poke around Frazer's work area and terminal while she tried to interview some of his work colleagues.

  From the few she managed to find and talk to, she began to build up a picture of a guy who was much respected and admired. Where negatives were voiced, they all coalesced around him being a bit of a loner with no family and few close friends. He also seemed to have an interest in conspiracy theories, but then again, what detective didn’t? But even with all that, there was still nothing there, in Mia's mind, to hint at a person who had given up on life. But, as one coworker put it, "You never can tell, can you?"

  There was also nothing in his case load that jumped out at her. All were pretty routine and pedestrian. Mostly, it consisted of assembling evidence books for cases where the perpetrators had already been apprehended. Of those still open, several were long-term no-hopers, where no breakthrough had occurred in years. There were only three cases where he was active, and all of them looked to be crimes of opportunity by nondescript lowlifes. Nothing in any of this had the potential to endanger the life of the investigator, other than in the normal course of duty. None looked to have a motive for doing away with him.

  When she and Bret finally arrived back at their rooms, they pretty much agreed that there was nothing they had found so far to suggest that Agent Dan Frazer had not simply died due to an unfortunate technical failure. There were no loose threads for Mia to pull on, no chinks of light to follow, no obvious inconsistencies in the data. So, it was with a sense of resignation that they agreed to head back to Jezero the next morning with the body, and close the case.

  But as Mia lay in bed and tried to get some shut-eye, a multitude of thoughts did battle in her head as her brain rummaged through half-remembered comments and snippets of data, trying to divine some deeper truth within this mess of nebulous information. Something was bugging her, something was not right, but the more she tried to put a finger on what it was, the more elusive it became.

  She stood up and strode over to the window, pulled the blind down a little with one finger, and peered outside. The window had a thin film of dust clinging to its outside surface, making the view foggy and indistinct. Dull smudges of light dotted the thoroughfare below like street lamps in fog. Mia glanced up at the domed roof that enclosed this sector of the city, but it was too dark to see that far. She let the blind go and sat down on a battered armchair, one of two provided in the room.

  "Can you not sleep, Mia?" Gizmo's voice was low and soft and seemed to drift across from where the little droid had parked itself for the night. It had taken up a position in the small room close to the entrance door, like a sentinel.

  "No. My mind is a jumble of thoughts that won't go away." She rubbed her face. "I keep thinking of Frazer dying in his sleep from a faulty CO2 scrubber." She glanced around the room, as if inspecting it.

  "If you are concerned about the air quality in this room, my analysis indicates is moderatel
y good, indicative of a functioning life support system, although oxygen levels are approximately 3.6% below optimal."

  Mia considered the little droid for a moment, then leaned forward slightly. "Hypothetically speaking, Gizmo, how long would I survive in this room if the scrubber failed, assuming the door was sealed?"

  "I estimate the volume of this space to be around 32 cubic meters, which gives you 32,000 liters of air, with minimal CO2. The danger level would be if that rose to around 4% of volume. Considering that you exhale 13 or so liters per hour, then that would take around 96 hours."

  Mia gave Gizmo a quizzical look. "That long? Are you sure?"

  "Approximately. There are lots of variables, and 4% is just the level where you start to exhibit severe physical symptoms. It would need to rise to 8% to kill you."

  "But Frazer died overnight, and his accommodation module is four times the size of this room."

  "Five-point-three," corrected Gizmo.

  "So, a faulty scrubber couldn't have killed him—it would be too slow." Mia stood up and looked over at Gizmo, seeking confirmation of this revelation.

  The droid moved out from its position and into the room, close to Mia. "You obviously didn't read the detailed technical analysis of the failure in the accident report, Mia."

  She sat down again and gave Gizmo a scowl. No, she didn't read it—she’d just given it a quick glance. However, she got the feeling that if she had read it, then she wouldn't be thinking she was onto something here. "Okay, Gizmo, you got me there. So, what actually happened? And just give me the short answer—my brain is too tired for any long-winded explanations."

  "It is correct to say that the scrubber failed. However, there is more to this particular item of technology than simply extracting CO2 from the atmosphere. It also stores it. Then, when the unit cannot store any more, it regenerates itself. This regeneration process releases the trapped CO2 by venting it into reservoir tanks for industrial use. The fault in this particular unit was that it vented the gas back into the accommodation module, rapidly increasing the CO2 levels in the space way beyond the 8% critical level." Gizmo finished with a slight theatrical wave of one arm.

  "Eh...okay, I see." Mia gave a sigh and wondered why her mind was pursuing this. She should just let it lie, go back to bed, and get her ass back to Jezero tomorrow.

  She got up from the seat and moved back over to the bed, then hesitated and turned to Gizmo again. "But it could have been tampered with. I mean...that type of fault is not common, is it?"

  "Yes to your first question, and no to your second. That said, death by CO2 poisoning is a common enough occurrence on Mars."

  "So it's possible?"

  "What is?"

  "That someone did a job on that scrubber so it would vent back into the accommodation module."

  "Anything is possible, Mia. But as you have so often pointed out to me on our many adventures, that does not make it evidence."

  Mia gave a long sigh. "You’re right, as always."

  "I will take that as a compliment."

  Mia climbed back into bed. "I'm too tired for any more thinking. I'll try and get some sleep now."

  "Very well." The little droid parked itself back beside the door.

  Mia woke to a voice calling her name and a hand shaking her shoulder. She slowly opened her eyes and saw Bret standing over her. "Hey, Mia, sorry to wake you. I left it as long as I could. The freight caravan is leaving in an hour."

  Mia extracted an arm and rubbed her face. "Shit."

  "Here, I brought you a coffee." He held it up, then placed it on the small table by the window. "I'll get out of your way, let you get dressed." He gave her a nod and headed out.

  "Okay, thanks." Mia turned her head. "Gizmo, why didn't you wake me?"

  "I am not an alarm clock."

  Mia sighed. "No, I suppose not, but... Aw, forget it." She sat up, rolled her legs over the side of the bed, and stood up. She felt like shit. Coffee, she thought, and sat down at the window seat, grabbed the coffee, and took a sip. It was lukewarm but strong, and she immediately felt her brain start to wake up. She sat for a moment, just gathering her thoughts, before it was time to head to the terminal in Syrtis and embark on the long and arduous journey back to Jezero.

  She would let Poe Tarkin know that they were retuning with the body of Dan Frazer, and that there was no evidence, beyond speculation, that foul play had been involved in his untimely death. Poe would not be happy, but there was only so much Mia and Bret—and Gizmo, for that matter—could do. The MLOD here in Syrtis, while being professional and courteous in facilitating the pick-up and transportation of the dead agent, were not exactly falling over themselves to open up an inquiry into the manner of his death. As Poe suspected, without cooperation on this end, little could be accomplished.

  By now she had finished dressing and Gizmo had packed up most of her things. She gave Bret a call to say she was ready and to come and meet her in the room. She sat down again at the small table by the window to wait and finish her coffee.

  Still arrayed on the table were some of Frazer's personal effects. Her eye went to the book that she’d found in his accommodation module the previous night. She picked it up and turned it over to read the back cover as she sipped her coffee.

  It seemed to be a story about survival on an arid, dusty planet, made increasingly difficult by the machinations of various groups fighting for control of its resources. She could see why Frazer would be interested in reading it, since it resonated with their own situation here on Mars.

  It was old and well-worn, and had the look of a book that had been through many hands. Perhaps she might even read it on the caravan, a way to pass the journey.

  "Shall I pack these items away for you?" said Gizmo, referring to the personal effects. "Since I have now been relegated to the lowly office of a Lobby Boy."

  "Would you rather that than stuck on the plinth back in the museum?" said Mia as she stood up to let Gizmo clear the table.

  "You are saying that like it is an option." Gizmo reached out to take the book and pack it away.

  "I'll hang onto this, Gizmo. I might read it on the journey back. And no, going back to the museum is not an option. Not if I have any say in the matter."

  "Good. I found the entire experience extremely unfulfilling."

  Mia touched her earpiece to take a call from Bret. She looked over at the little droid and nodded in the direction of the door. "Time to go."

  When they arrived at the terminal, it was already busy with people and goods waiting for the caravan. It was due to leave in a half hour, which gave them plenty of time. Already, the remains of the MLOD agent, Dan Frazer, had been stored in one of the goods compartments, so all they had to do now was find a seat.

  Mia and Bret had been reacquainted with their respective EVA suits, which encumbered their progress through the throng that was now boarding. Nevertheless, they pushed their way along, and after a few minutes found seats and started to get settled in. Gizmo parked itself in a gap between two other, sleeker droids on the wall opposite. They stashed their EVA suit helmets in a compartment above their seats.

  Mia took the book out from a pocket and started to examine it again.

  "Where did you get that?" Bret leaned across the small dividing table, trying to get a better look.

  Mia held it up. "Stuck down between the cushions of a seat in Frazer's accommodation module." She handed it to him.

  "Dune. A classic." Bret took the book, handling it like it was a sacred artifact.

  "You know it?"

  "Oh yes. It's set on a desolate planet with lots of people trying to screw each other over for control." He jerked his head in the direction of the window. "Not unlike this one." He turned it over. "It looks like our agent friend had expensive habits. This must be worth quite a bit. You don't see many of these old paper books around anymore." He handed it back to her. "Anyway, the story is right up your street. You'll enjoy it."

  "Twenty minutes until embarkation
. Please ensure all items are stored securely," the disembodied announcement echoed around the compartment. Mia flicked through the pages of the book and found that it opened naturally at a point around midway through. There was a small slip of paper tucked into the crease. She pulled it out.

  It was a note written in scratchy handwriting. Meet Lloyd Allen 17:50. Could be key. MC47:63.

  "Bret, is there a character in this book with the name Lloyd Allen?"

  The officer gave a slow shake of his head. "It's a very long time since I read it. Doesn't sound like one. Why?"

  She showed him the paper fragment with the note.

  He gave her a look as if to say, So?

  "If this was written by Frazer, then he was meeting someone that we don't know about. Someone who knew him that we haven't talked to. Someone new."

  Bret looked slightly incredulous. "That bit of paper could be fifty years old, or more. It might have just been left in there and used as a bookmark down through the ages."

  "Attention, seven minutes to embarkation. Please ensure all personal items have been stowed securely."

  Mia jumped up, opened the overhead compartment, and pulled out her bag. She placed it on the small table and found where Gizmo had stored Frazer's personal effects. She rummaged through them and withdrew a small aluminum case. It was rectangular, about the size of her palm, and thin, maybe the width of her little finger. She pressed a button on its side and the face flipped open to reveal a neat paper notepad and a slim ink pen. Bret, seeing this, now stood up from his seat.