Of course, that made it very affordable and desirable to Earth’s lower-class citizens, especially in those countries that had issues with overcrowding. Many of the residents were “encouraged” to relocate here by their “benevolent” governments, often at the business end of a rifle.
He knew every corner. Gentrification only went so far, a fresh coat of paint over the mildew and rusted corruption underneath. Those areas—the unseen and unmentioned places the well-to-do tried to ignore—that’s where he and his cohorts made their home.
He slipped into a back corridor unnoticed, the smells of curry and cabbage fading behind him. Flickering lights, their affliction more obvious due to their fewer numbers, did more to bolster the darkness than vanquish it. In the farthest corner, beyond the limit of the last stuttering circle of illumination, he found a maintenance hatch. Pulling Gunny’s knife from his back pocket, he used the blade to ease the panel off the lock screen and hit the override. Just like back in his rat days.
The hatch gave way to a narrow corridor, connecting all the “back of house” necessities for station life. Plumbing, fiber optics, electrical, waste retrieval, etc., it was all here, hidden from the upper crust.
Slade covered the hundred meters to the belt ladder with brisk, long strides. He stepped onto it, activating the mechanism.
This brings back memories, Slade thought.
He felt lighter as he ascended, the gravity easing as he moved closer to the center of the station. Each ladder shift became something of a dance as he adjusted to the sensation. His younger self dared him to jump for the next ladder; his wiser current self slapped that down, hard. Missing the landing would put an end to his new career in short notice.
Just as that younger voice decided to speak up again, it was time to get off. He landed lightly on his feet in a semilit corridor similar to the one he started in. Only the floating, glowing, alphanumeric level designation differed.
Slade walked slowly for a few moments to adjust to the weight he’d lost, getting his “grav-legs” under him. With a grin, he let his younger self come out, sprinting down the corridor to the maintenance hatch. The lock was designed to keep people from getting in, not out. He hit the large exit button and slowly opened the hatch, peeked out to make sure the coast was clear, then slipped effortlessly into the foot traffic with no one the wiser as to how he got there.
So much for the easy part, Slade thought. Now what do I say to an old friend that just might be guilty of murder?
✧ ✧ ✧
“Isaac?” Lydia looked up from a glass and chrome desk as Slade walked into her office. “So this is what it takes for you to show up around here. Death and the station falling apart around us?”
She stood up and walked around the desk, the rustic curls of her long black hair slightly buoyant in the reduced gravity. Her smooth skin, tanned and healthy as though she just walked off a beach, looked as though she hadn’t spent months living as a space mole. Her tight skirt, along with the brightly colored scarf adorning her neck, gave the impression of a model playing at big business.
To his eyes she looked even better than before.
“You look…great!” Slade said, his brain deciding to shut down. Lydia walked up to him and, rising slightly on her toes, kissed him on the cheek.
“At a loss for words. I’ll take that as a compliment,” Lydia said, smiling. She indicated two chairs and a couch near a coffee table to the left of her desk.
“This office is bigger than my apartment,” he said, taking in the room. Data banks sat to the right of the desk, dwarfed by the massive monitors behind it. He turned and saw two on either side of the door, similar in size. All were showing different angles of the same scene, giving the illusion of windows overlooking a beach. “Very impressive.”
She sat on the couch, carefully smoothing her skirt and crossing her legs. He took a chair.
“You should see Salome’s. The boss has it even better.” Lydia looked down, a sudden catch in her voice. “Had.”
“Lydia,” Slade said softly. She raised her head at her name, allowing him to look her squarely in the eyes, “I have to ask—how enticing is her office to you? I mean, how badly did you want that office to be yours?”
“I am quite sure I don’t like your insinuation,” she said, eyes growing hard. Genuine indignation, or just good acting? “Are you suggesting that I might have something to do with her death?”
“You have to admit, the competition between you two didn’t always stay on the rails.”
Lydia sat back, crossing her arms.
“I’ve seen you, what, twice since you returned?” It had been four times, but two of them were all fun. She didn’t give him a chance to correct her. “I had to hear you were back through the grapevine and it was me that came to you. Now you waltz in here and accuse me of murdering a childhood friend?”
Her face twisted, like she smelled something awful.
“The nerve of you. You have no idea the relationship I have…had…with Salome. What makes you think I’m capable of committing such a horrific act?”
Slade paused. He wanted to answer carefully, with a little forethought. After all, he was accusing a friend and former lover of murder. A friend he hadn’t seen much of, granted, but one he still cared for deeply. That realization hit him like a finely aimed left hook. He didn’t want to lose her, too.
“Lydia, you have to admit, it all lines up.” He ticked points off on his fingers. “The competitive nature of your relationship with Salome is well documented. It’s no secret—you were pissed that she got the job, the job you figured was by all rights yours. You told me that yourself.”
“I did no such thing!”
“Honey, you talk in your sleep,” he said gently. He raised another finger as he continued, “You have the know-how, and access, to create a feedback loop in the implant. Take a step back, calm down, and be reasonable.”
“Calm down?” Her voice rose an octave between the first and last word.
He looked at her, trying to keep his face expressionless. She met his gaze with ferocity and a side of anger before standing abruptly and walking to her desk. He recognized the action as her way of getting under control. Ever conscious of outward appearance, Lydia hated losing composure in public.
“You need to leave. Now.” She held up a hand as he opened his mouth, cutting off any reply. “I mean it, Isaac. You have no authority here, and as far as I’m concerned you’re trespassing.”
“Lydia, I’m trying to get to the bottom of this. Salome’s death wasn’t an accident.”
“No, I get it, Slade,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re convinced I had something to do with it. I’m your prime suspect, our history be damned. Get out of here before I call Rains.”
“Fine. You know where to reach me if you want to talk.” He turned and walked towards the door. There was no reasoning with her when she got defensive.
She said nothing further as he left, the door closing with a whisper over the icy silence behind him.
✧ ✧ ✧
Slade went back to the office mollified after meeting with Lydia. Collier was already there, sitting in “his” seat.
“How’d it go with Ms. Vadinov?”
“Let’s just say I had to leave before I became the next victim,” Slade said, shrugging. He sat in the other chair. “She’ll come around and want to talk again later, she always does. She just needs time to think it all through. So what did Sammy have to say? Anything useful?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” Collier leaned forward, clasping his hands as he leaned his elbows on the desk. “But I don’t think you’re going to like what she had to say. There’s no love lost between Samantha and Lydia. She thinks that if it is murder, then Lydia had something to do with it.”
“I gathered that from the conversation I had with her. I have to admit that Lydia looks like the prime suspect but I can’t help feeling like I’m missing something.”
Collier said nothing but made a “go on” motion
with his hand. Slade sighed and continued.
“They may have been competitive, but they were good friends as well. Like sisters from another mother.” He shook his head, “It’s hard to explain.”
“Tell me, Slade, if it is murder, who else had something to gain?” Collier leaned back, combing his hair back with his fingers.
Slade thought a bit. Collier had a point. Only one person came front and center, no matter which way he looked at it. Still, there was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that it wasn’t that easy.
“There’s always more than one angle,” Slade said. “Maybe Salome saw something she shouldn’t have, or one of the contractors had a beef. Maybe she had a relationship sour. Could be anything.”
“You’re grasping at straws,” Collier leaned forward again, a smug look on his face. “You’re inventing boogeymen. Look, it’s all about Occam’s razor. The simplest solution is usually the right one.”
“It wasn’t when we looked at Salome’s body.”
Collier waved him off. “Bah—you don’t want it to be her, is all. I get it; I really do. She’s a looker, and you two have history.”
Was that all it was? Slade thought. Am I thinking with the wrong body part?
“Hey! I found something you’ll appreciate,” Collier said, changing the subject. He reached into one of the side drawers and pulled out something wrapped in an oiled cloth. Placing it on the desk, he pushed it toward Slade. “Check it out.”
Slade reached over, pulling the object closer. He knew what it was before he unwrapped it fully.
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Slade’s grin threatened to split his face in two. “A Ruger Standard? With the red eagle medallion…this is from what? 1949? 50? Where the hell did you get this?”
Slade picked up the pistol carefully from its position between the two loaded magazines. It was in excellent condition and freshly cleaned. He checked the chamber before loading it, seating the mag with a slap. He felt like a real PI, the hard-as-nails sleuth with the classic heater, ready to crack the case. He raised the .22, aiming at the wall away from Collier and sighting along the barrel.
“Sweet Jesus’s Mama! This had to cost you a fortune!”
“Nah, won it in a poker game. The guy had a major tell,” Collier said, chuckling. “Poor sucker definitely didn’t know what he was betting. I figured you’d get a kick out of an antique like this, Mr. Hardboiled Gumshoe.”
“You betcha.” Slade dropped the mag, checked the chamber again, and placed both on the cloth. After carefully wrapping everything up, he slid it back over to Collier. Still smiling, he said, “Great gun to have on a station by the way. Low caliber. Won’t pierce the walls. Well, that was a moment of delight on this otherwise shitty day.”
“I thought it might make you feel better,” Collier said, returning the gun to the drawer. “Go home. Get some rest. We’ll talk more later, maybe over dinner and a drink. It’ll do you some good to step back for a bit.”
“You ain’t lyin’ ’bout that.”
✧ ✧ ✧
Slade entered his cube, thoughts buzzing through his brain like electronic gnats. Bright flashes of ideas that would zip away as soon as he tried to pin them down, taunting him with how close he could get. If he could only slow them down enough…
The bottle of high-quality hooch sat where he left it. He went over, plopped into the autoform and poured himself a snort.
Then, with a frustrated sigh, added more.
Lots of ways to think about this case, but only one way that covered all the bases, Slade thought, taking a sip. If not Lydia, then who? Lydia knew Salome was qualified for the job. Could simple jealousy and pride be reason enough to kill a long-time colleague and friend?
It didn’t jibe with Lydia’s style. Competitive, yes—she was ruthless when it came to winning—but she was honorable. Salome had been the same way, preferring to “win” against Lydia by using what she had, not sabotaging the other woman. It’s how they were able to remain friends.
The display com announced an incoming call, causing his thoughts to scatter like cockroaches scurrying from the light.
“Lydia Vadinov. Will you accept?”
“Hell yeah!” He said, before getting himself under control. Not knowing her mood, he tried for “passive polite.” “Lydia, how nice of you to get back to me.”
“Save it,” Lydia said curtly. “How soon can you get back to my office? I have something to show you.”
“Not long,” he said. She cut the connection without another word. Slade downed his drink, hopped up, and made for the door, grabbing his hat on the way out.
✧ ✧ ✧
Slade calmed himself before allowing the AI to announce his arrival. The doors pushed aside and he walked in, not knowing what to expect.
“You got here fast,” Lydia said, looking up from her desk.
“I know a shortcut,” he said. He’d only stopped long enough to shoot a quick message to Collier about where he was going.
No kiss this time, he thought. To her, he said, “Hello again, Lydia. Feeling better?”
“I’m fine, Isaac,” she said flatly. He recognized the look on her face. Not angry, just…disappointed. “It doesn’t mean I don’t hate your guts right now.”
Okay, so more than disappointment. Slade walked over to the desk.
“Just following the evidence, baby girl.”
“Then you should have followed it more closely.” Standing suddenly, she walked around the desk, stopping about two feet away. For a long moment, she said nothing, looking him in the eyes. Her impossibly high heels brought her almost to his height.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was about to…
Her right hand came up so fast that he didn’t have time to flinch before it made contact. The sound was deafening in the silent office.
“That’s for not giving me the benefit of doubt!”
Slade rubbed his left cheek. If he had lighter skin, there would be a full handprint there. Even so, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was at least partially visible.
“I deserved that. You feeling better?”
“Much,” she said, smiling slightly.
“Well…”
She stopped him, putting an index finger to his lips while pursing hers. “You’re like a dog with a bone, Slade. You get an idea in your head and, right or wrong, you build up a story to support it. But you got me thinking.” She walked back to her desk, the computer coming to life as she tapped something into it. “I was worried about the glitching and what effect it might have on autonomic systems throughout the station. I mean, we all have access nodes.”
She stopped, giving him a look.
“Well, most of us, at least. So, if this was indeed an accident, why haven’t more people been affected? There should be more cases of failure, up to and including death.” She tucked a buoyant curl behind an ear. “So, I did some digging.”
Slade moved around behind her, watching the screen as she clicked through.
“When I checked the logs, they showed this computer as the source,” she said, bringing up the appropriate file.
“You’re not making a case for yourself, Lydia. It’s all right there, in black and white.”
“You see what I mean, Slade? You won’t give up what you assume you already know. If I were guilty, would I have called you up here?” She looked over her shoulder at him, her expression showing exasperation and disappointment. “That’s what I don’t understand, Zac. You know me. I’m not some random suspect you’ve never met before. I thought we…I thought you and I…”
“It doesn’t matter what I think, or feel, or desperately want to believe, Lydia.” The words didn’t ring true in his head, but dammit, those gnats were still eluding his grasp. He moved away from her again, heading back towards the door. “What matters is that everything still points to you. You had the motive, the means, and the ruthless streak to do it. What I don’t get is why you called me up here. Are you trying to convince
me to cover for you?”
“No! No, you don’t understand—I couldn’t have done this!”
“Oh? The woman that clawed her way to the top of this ladder, who told me in as many words that she’d do anything to make it to the top? She couldn’t have cut down anyone in her way?” He spun, frustration coming to the surface. “I’m not going to risk going to jail because you and I had a good time.”
“I’m going to ignore that for now, because I need you to quit being so damned stubborn and listen: I’m not only saying I wouldn’t have done it—I’m saying I couldn’t have. I’ve been hacked. I don’t have the codes any longer; my login was changed.”
Lydia turned her screen to face him. Like he’d said, it was all there in black and white. The internal log showed Error code 505. “Password and login unrecognized.” Dated the day Salome died. Service ticket request for new password created and received at 0800. He thought back to the autopsy—Salome’s time of death had been closer to 0930.
“It’s very subtle,” she said, pulling up the page source. “Just a few lines of code here and there. It allowed me to access the other systems but locked me out of that section until the scheduled update at 0915.”
“Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
“You mean when you were accusing me of murder?” She stared at him, unflinchingly meeting his eyes with hers. “Honestly, it didn’t occur to me that it was more than just another glitch until you came up here.”
Either this was a very elaborate lie or…she didn’t do it, and someone wanted to make it look like she did, should anyone dig deeper.
Like me.
Those gnats started slowing down, still eluding his mental grasp, but letting him see them better.
“Lydia, has anyone else used your office recently?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head, “I haven’t even allowed the cleaning crew in here recently. I’ve been practically living out of this office since the project began.”
That made sense when he thought about it. That competitive streak again. Lydia wouldn’t want any detail to be missed, just to prove that she was the better woman.
“What about Salome? Was she as diligent?”
Noir Fatale Page 3
