\nDelmo\u2019s third eye itched. He stopped outside the morgue to scratch his forehead. An inconvenience, the cybernetic device signaled his occupation as a registered private eye. He was exhausted, but space station cases were few and far between and his rent was due. His rent was always due.\n<\/p>\n
\nIt was 2 a.m., and station\u2019s hospital corridors were empty. No one noticed the tall human in a wrinkled suit that looked as if he\u2019d slept in it. He had. His last case, a background check, had paid a few of his overdue bills, but he couldn\u2019t remember when he\u2019d slept last. At least the client was happy with the results. Dead, but happy.\n<\/p>\n
\nAn old miner had hired Delmo to check out his hot new girlfriend. He\u2019d retired to Nexus Station after striking it rich and wanted to make sure it was true love and not avarice that kept her in his bed. Delmo did a lot of \u201cbackground\u201d checks for clients onboard the station, hacking and stalking them. Most of his cases ended in divorce court, but Delmo\u2019s work had uncovered the gold-digger had been hired by his family to steal his money before he died. The news of his family\u2019s treachery had given the old man a heart attack. Thank goodness Delmo always made his clients pay in advance.\n<\/p>\n
\nGiving his eye a final rub, he tucked a small gift box under his arm and opened the door.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cValma!\u201d He smiled at his old friend across the room.\n<\/p>\n
\nA Denebian, purple and weighing half a ton, looked over an open human body and frowned. \u201cThis area is off limits, Delmo.\u201d She stood in the middle of a well-lit room. It was clean and smelled of antiseptic. A large table held a flattened corpse.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cValma, my darling,\u201d he said. \u201cYou wound me. Can\u2019t an old friend visit without having an ulterior motive?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cOld friend?\u201d She snorted and tossed a bloody organ into a pan. \u201cYou only visit when you want information.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNonsense.\u201d Delmo held out the black box. \u201cI bought these Viladian chocolates and need a medical professional to verify they\u2019re real. With restitution, of course.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cViladian chocolates?\u201d She washed her hands in a nearby sink. \u201cMy husband saved an entire year to buy three pieces for our hundredth anniversary. You couldn\u2019t afford an entire box.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHe loosened the ribbon, opened the box, and revealed twelve dark brown pearls. \u201cI\u2019ve heard they super-sensitize the taste buds and overload the brain\u2019s pleasure centers.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHis artificial eye scanned the body on the table for playback later.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cOh, yes.\u201d Valma smiled at the pearls. \u201cDid you steal them?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThey\u2019re a gift from a grateful client.\u201d If he\u2019d lived, Delmo felt sure the miner would have shared the contents of his safe. There hadn\u2019t been anything else of value. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you try one? They might be fakes.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nValma took a pearl in her delicate fingers. \u201cThey\u2019re worth a year\u2019s rations if they\u2019re real.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nAnd very traceable. Otherwise, Delmo would have sold them to pay his energy bill. At least he could use them for bribery on a new case.\n<\/p>\n
\nValma popped the pearl deep into her lipless mouth, and her eyes rolled back in her head. She swayed, and Delmo feared she\u2019d fall, but she steadied herself and smiled so wide her secondary teeth showed.\n<\/p>\n
\nShe shuddered. \u201cI\u2019d forgotten how wonderful they tasted. You mentioned restitution?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHow about we split the box? Six for me and five for you?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cFor verifying they\u2019re real? I don\u2019t suppose it\u2019s a bribe to obtain Mr. Palmaster\u2019s autopsy report to learn the strange way he died.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo removed six pearls, put them in a bag in his pocket, and handed her the box. \u201cWhat do you mean when you say \u2018strange\u2019?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\nThe next morning, he took the Red-Orange walkway to his client\u2019s upscale apartment complex. From the large portals he passed, he could see the curvature of the space station spread out miles above him. Living aboard his entire adult life, he forgot he lived on an artificial planetoid until he looked out the window.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhat did you discover, Detective?\u201d Mrs. Palmaster asked. The spacious apartment she and her husband had shared was her jail cell until the trial. A police robot guarded the door. Delmo had registered and turned over his shock grip before he entered.\n<\/p>\n
\nHe tore all three eyes away from the victim\u2019s red-headed wife and stared out the window at the view. When they\u2019d been at university together, he\u2019d known the widow as Patsy. He was surprised she\u2019d called him instead of one of the more photogenic detective agencies. Maybe she remembered him from drunken parties they\u2019d sooner forget. Most likely, she had something to hide and had no recollection she\u2019d ever met Delmo. He\u2019d just been a familiar name.\n<\/p>\n
\nPatsy, Mrs. Palmaster, paced the apartment in her unbelted silk bathrobe, stopping and peering out the portal at the planet below. Freeheart hung large and benign. From here you couldn\u2019t see the death and despair.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe view and the apartment\u2019s location had made Delmo double his usual fee when Patsy called.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cCoffee?\u201d He moved to the food service machine. Although his hostess hadn\u2019t offered, he couldn\u2019t resist the real stuff. From the square footage and the luxurious furnishings, she could afford it. If she had forgotten him, it didn\u2019t hurt his feelings enough to turn down the case. He\u2019d accepted long ago that second best was good enough to get by.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNo more coffee.\u201d She shook her curls. \u201cThe lawyer and I had some earlier.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWho\u2019s representing you?\u201d Delmo took his hot cup to the divan.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cBrackston and Brackston,\u201d she replied.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know them,\u201d he lied. The two overpriced attorneys, brothers, never took criminal cases.\n<\/p>\n
\nShe flopped into a chair carved from real wood. She closed her bathrobe and frowned at his forehead. \u201cCan you turn that thing off?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cMy eye? Never. It\u2019s required by my private investigator license. But whatever it records only I or the client can review without a court order.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe didn\u2019t pursue it. He hoped he solved the case before she fired him.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI visited the morgue,\u201d he said. \u201cThe body was crushed, just as you described.\u201d His wrist computer had received copies of the police report and Valma\u2019s autopsy findings. One item stuck out \u2013 Mr. Palmaster showed signs of being on Freeheart for an extended period.\n<\/p>\n
\nShe sat back. \u201cI found him at the bottom of the stairs. He goes into the office before I\u2019m up, but the house computer said he hadn\u2019t come home the night before.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cDid he often sleep somewhere else?\u201d Delmo tapped on his wrist comp. His eye recorded everything she said, but clients liked it when he took notes. Plus, it gave the impression he wasn\u2019t watching them when he was.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIf he had a big construction project,\u201d she said. \u201cHis office has a sleep alcove.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHe only took station contracts?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe looked surprised. \u201cNo one does construction on the surface, do they?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThe police report said someone had hacked into your house computer. Its factory seals had been removed.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019m an interior designer, a good one. I get paid a great deal of money to design customized light screens for clients\u2019 homes, so why shouldn\u2019t I create my own?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo ignored the purple and gray striped walls. \u201cThe police will say your home computer is unreliable. You spent the night alone?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYes!\u201d She sprang up and paced again. \u201cJosh jumped, or someone pushed him. I don\u2019t know why.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThe atrium\u2019s safety field had also been hacked.\u201d Delmo watched her reaction. \u201cOnly someone with superior skills could accomplish that, someone familiar with large habitat computers.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe whirled. \u201cWhose side are you on?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHe held up his hands. \u201cI\u2019m asking you things the prosecutor will want to know. I\u2019m sure Mr. Brackston or Mr. Brackston has already told you.\u201d Not likely, but she needed someone protecting her. If his client was branded and exiled to the planet\u2019s surface, it would be bad for business. Plus, he\u2019d solve the case just to show her he was someone worth remembering. If she ever did.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThe odd thing,\u201d he continued, \u201cis your husband didn\u2019t die from a fall. His skeleton had been pulverized, but his epidermis remained intact. No protruding bones, no external trauma. The medical expert said his skeleton had been shattered while he was alive.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHow? Why would someone want us to think he\u2019d jumped if he didn\u2019t?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019ll find out.\u201d Delmo set his empty cup down and stood. \u201cI\u2019ll contact you if I learn anything more.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe didn\u2019t thank him.\n<\/p>\n
\nHe had one final question. \u201cDid you meet your husband here on the station or on the surface?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cOn the station, of course. We\u2019ve never been down to that hellhole.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHis eye recorded her lie, and he signed out with the police robot and picked up his grip.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nThe Blue-Green walkway took Delmo past another viewport and lit him with reflected light from Freeheart, or as Mrs. Palmaster called it, That Hellhole. The first colonists rejoiced when they saw the big orange planet. Now, generations later, their descendants scratched out a living on the planet\u2019s almost waterless surface, and nomadic groups moved from one tiny oasis to another and killed each other for a cup of water.\n<\/p>\n
\nNexus Station owed much to Freeheart. When the Confederation discovered vast metal deposits on the planet, they\u2019d strip-mined it and built a moon-sized space station. As the station grew and its inhabitants became more numerous and prosperous, the colonists below became more barbaric.\n<\/p>\n
\nStation crews had closed the Blue-Red line for a deceased councilman\u2019s memorial service. Most of the station would be on half-days to commemorate the old man\u2019s decades of service. Delmo took the Red-Orange.\n<\/p>\n
\nMr. Palmaster had been a successful engineer, spearheading several development projects on the station. Maybe the competition hadn\u2019t liked his success.\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo\u2019s wrist comp beeped, and he took the call when he recognized Valma\u2019s ID. \u201cHello, Valma. Why are you still up?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cMy husband and I have been appreciating\u2026your gift,\u201d she said. \u201cViladian chocolates have aphrodisiac qualities.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nToo much information. \u201cGood to know, Valma. Are you sure Josh Palmaster went planetside? His wife says he\u2019d never been.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cOf course, I\u2019m sure,\u201d she said. \u201cMinimum of two years from the levels of nitrogen in his tissues. From a couple decades ago.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cInteresting.\u201d Delmo stepped onto the moving sidewalk leading to his office. \u201cThe autopsy report has made things more confusing.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nValma paused. \u201cDelmo, I found something else after you left. Come by tonight.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSomething you can\u2019t tell me over the comp?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYes. And Delmo, bring the rest of those chocolates. What I\u2019m going to show you will be worth it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nDelmo\u2019s tiny office had been his apartment\u2019s living room. With two rooms, the apartment served as a workplace and a place to sleep. Plus, the price was what he could afford. The office held a desk and a comfortable chair for the occasional in-person client. As long as he kept the bedroom door closed, clients didn\u2019t know what a slob he was.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cGood morning, Molly.\u201d He slid behind the desk and voice-activated his personal secretary. Molly, a bastardized computer system an old college friend had put together and a major AI law violation, hummed to life. No avatar appeared on the monitor, only a fractal pattern. He\u2019d tried giving Molly a face, but his efforts always ended with an image that looked like his mother.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWelcome back, Horatio. I worried when you didn\u2019t come home last night.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThank you, Mother. I was in the morgue. Don\u2019t call me Horatio.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cDon\u2019t call me Mother, and I won\u2019t call you Horatio Gregor Delmo.\u201d Her voice sounded strident considering he\u2019d requested a soft, sensual audio interface. Her glitches gave her personality, but Delmo promised himself he\u2019d reset Molly\u2019s more obnoxious subroutines someday.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAny messages?\u201d He plugged his wrist comp into Molly\u2019s mainframe for updates. He\u2019d download his eye\u2019s recorded files when he caught up on his sleep.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYes. First, a reminder that your mother\u2019s birthday is next week, and if you send her a hyperspace message now, the cost will be exorbitant.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nA family photo hung on the wall. His father looked as if he wanted to be somewhere else, and his mother appeared to be sucking a lemon. Delmo resembled his tall, skinny father but had his mother\u2019s dark coloring. Molly said the portrait and some landscapes gave the room a more professional appearance.\n<\/p>\n
\nNot for the first time, Delmo considered throwing the photo into the recycler. He knew his mother\u2019s expression was one she saved for Delmo. He called it Mom\u2019s Disappointment. She reminded him often he wasn\u2019t cut out to be a detective, and she could always use an assistant on whatever planet she was digging up. He scratched his two-day-old beard and contrasted working for his micro-managing mother or starving. He didn\u2019t mind being skinny.\n<\/p>\n
\nHoratio Gregor had attended the station\u2019s university and not accompanied his geologist parents to Metamenia IV. Uninterested in geology and tired of being a responsible adult to his sparring parents, Delmo took their enrollment money and waved goodbye.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cMolly, please tell me you sent something to Mom three months ago by courier, because you know I don\u2019t have the funds for a direct link.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThe speaker reproduced a sigh. \u201cOf course, I did. You\u2019re welcome. Miss Janet Morton left a message, indicating you owe her a half-month\u2019s rent.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThere wasn\u2019t a contract,\u201d Delmo said. \u201cShe asked me to move in with her.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI hoped you\u2019d settle down with Janet and not break things off when they got serious. Shall I forward her to small claims court?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNo,\u201d he said, \u201cignore her and hope she forgets it. My girlfriends always want a lifetime contract. Anything on the Palmasters?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019ve been running his contacts\u2019 backgrounds,\u201d she replied. \u201cSo far I\u2019ve detected one aberration. Also, you wouldn\u2019t have problems with ex-girlfriends if you committed yourself\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThank you, Mother. What aberration?\u201d He\u2019d been through the reports and, aside from the shattered bones in a pristine body, hadn\u2019t found anything unusual.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhen examining Mr. Palmaster\u2019s employment and school history, I detected an anomaly.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cDid he spend time on the surface?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe hesitated. \u201cNo. Should I include such information in my search parameters?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYes. Go on.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAccording to his records, Mr. Palmaster was born on the station and attended university here. He also attended university twice. He graduated and returned several years later and retook the same classes.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cPerhaps he needed a refresher. I did.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou crammed a three-year degree into six years. You\u2019d still be getting your statistical analysis degree if your parents\u2019 money hadn\u2019t run out.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou\u2019re being unkind,\u201d Delmo said. \u201cIt took time to develop my gifts.\u201d Sitting in a cubicle and keeping statistics would be as boring as digging up ancient civilizations. He wished he was better at the detecting part, like in the movies where the detective glanced at the murder scene and said, \u201cProfessor Plum did it in the library with a candlestick!\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI see,\u201d Molly said. \u201cMr. Palmaster took the same classes he\u2019d taken before and received the same grades twice.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThat didn\u2019t sound right. \u201cHow long do the classes repeat?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cTwo years. Almost the entire engineering curriculum.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nA warning bell went off in his head. He recognized false records. He and Molly had done a few for clients, but he changed the details when he rebuilt a client\u2019s history. Only one organization operated so sloppy \u2013 the Council, the station\u2019s governing body.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cMolly, have you heard anything from Franklin DeSota?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI do have a new message from him. He says, \u2018Thank you for the binoculars. They\u2019re like the ones my Uncle Silas used.\u2019\u201d She paused. \u201cI have no record of you sending my creator a gift.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo\u2019s close friend, a talented albino, expanded AI abilities beyond what the law would allow for a hefty price. Delmo hadn\u2019t sent Franklin a gift, but he wasn\u2019t surprised his old friend had information about his current case. He monitored everything.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cBinoculars\u201d meant someone was watching him. \u201cUncle Silas\u201d indicated someone high up in the station\u2019s government had an interest in this particular case, a bureaucrat who could dummy up a person\u2019s history yet make a mess of it.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cPlease erase Franklin\u2019s message,\u201d he said.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIncluding the eye record of what I\u2019ve just told you?\u201d she asked.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThat would be a serious infraction of the law.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSo yes?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cBegin as soon as I\u2019m asleep. Please wake me before midnight with coffee. Valma says she has some new information for me.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAnything else, your majesty?\u201d Molly disliked being used as an appliance.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYes, thank you. Extrapolate what could smash a skeleton but leave the skin intact. Details are in Valma\u2019s autopsy report.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nWhen Molly acknowledged, he headed for his unmade bed. Why would the government be interested in an engineer\u2019s murder? What did Valma know she couldn\u2019t tell him over the comp? Why had Patsy lied about her husband being on Freeheart?\n<\/p>\n
\nHe enjoyed this part of the case, examining miscellaneous information that might or might not prove useful. The Council\u2019s involvement increased the chance his client was innocent. He pushed his mother\u2019s nagging voice aside and thought of silk bathrobes and a positive bank balance as he slipped into slumber.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nDelmo sat up, wide awake and still tired. He\u2019d been asleep for a couple hours. He tossed his rumpled bedclothes aside, deciding he\u2019d rather work than spend time picturing himself as his mother\u2019s personal secretary and his parents\u2019 referee. He suspected his father had gone deaf years ago out of self-defense.\n<\/p>\n
\nAfter a shower, he felt human again. He donned a black two-piece and entered the kitchenette for a soy burrito and coffee.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cOkay, Molly,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat\u2019s been happening?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWith the case or the station in general?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cDon\u2019t make me pour this tasteless pseudo-coffee on your keyboard.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou are grumpy when you wake,\u201d Molly said. \u201cMrs. Palmaster hasn\u2019t called with her court date.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThat\u2019s good.\u201d Delmo sipped his coffee. \u201cIt means the prosecution is having as much trouble with this case as we are. Her motive could be money, but she\u2019s a wealthy businesswoman. She had opportunity and expertise to override the safety protocols yet didn\u2019t hide it. Any scenario account for his shattered bones?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI have several theories,\u201d Molly said, \u201cbut all have low probabilities.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo chewed his burrito, flavored with new spices from the surface, and made a face. He wouldn\u2019t try Tango Viennese again. \u201cWhat about his competition?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSeems congenial. However, StarCraft, Incorporated lodged a civil complaint for employee theft several months ago.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cEmployee theft? Someone stole something?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nMolly sighed. \u201cNo. Mr. Palmaster\u2019s company stole a StarCraft employee.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThat sounds promising. Can you reach StarCraft?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHis screen fluttered as Molly contacted the owner.\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo swallowed the rest of his burrito. \u201cHello, Mr. Smithson. My name is Detective Delmo, and I\u2019m working on the Palmaster case. Do you have a few minutes?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nMr. Smithson, a large man with gray hair and a square jaw, stared at Delmo before speaking. \u201cYes, I heard about Josh. Too bad. I liked him.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cBut you filed a business complaint against him.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nMr. Smithson shrugged. \u201cYeah, he stole my best guy, a young nanotech. Obin could make those little buggers do anything. Josh bought out his contract and sent some business my way. We had a beer and got over it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI see. Forgive me, sir, but how are nanorobots used for construction? I thought they were microscopic. Seems like it would take them a long time to build anything.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThey are tiny,\u201d Mr. Smithson said, \u201cbut powerful. We use them for demolition. Just program them with the shape and size of whatever you want removed and let the little bastards chew it apart.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI see,\u201d Delmo said. \u201cWho might want Mr. Palmaster dead?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cBesides the shrew he married, I don\u2019t know.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nNot helpful. \u201cThank you, Mr. Smithson,\u201d Delmo said. \u201cPlease let me know if you think of anything else.\u201d He sent his number to Smithson\u2019s screen. \u201cHave a good evening.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYeah. You, too,\u201d he said. His image disappeared.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI have a high probability on what caused Mr. Palmaster\u2019s demise,\u201d Molly announced.\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo laughed. \u201cCould it be nanorobots? I\u2019ll ask Valma to verify it tonight. Can you uncover Mr. Palmaster\u2019s real history during those overwritten two years?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNo,\u201d she said, \u201csomeone erased the information before they overwrote it. They might not have been creative, but they were thorough.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cToo bad. That might tell us who wanted him dead.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThere\u2019s always Mr. DeSota,\u201d she said. Her voice betrayed the awe she felt towards the man who had given her a personality and faster processing.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWe shouldn\u2019t involve him,\u201d Delmo said.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYes, it would be bad for his reputation. What should I tell him?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSend a message that says, \u2018Linda\u2019s Lane Tomorrow Morning.\u2019 He\u2019ll understand.\u201d Delmo smiled, recalling the night a sexgirl had lured him and his friend into the alley. It had been worth the money. \u201cI\u2019ll leave a note and ask him what Josh Palmaster was doing during those counterfeit years. I\u2019ll drop it off when I visit Valma.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nMolly printed off the message.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cStart displaying my eye\u2019s download from yesterday and today,\u201d Delmo instructed. \u201cSpeed at my discretion.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cDo you want a transcript?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNot yet. Let me see what I can figure out. Start with the body shots, please.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nAfter midnight and with no answers, Delmo took the Blue-Red to the hospital. The passersby had dwindled, and he spotted the young man trailing him. Although he wore a messenger\u2019s VR helmet, the way he darted from planter to post told Delmo his shadow was young. Delmo ruled out the prosecutor\u2019s office, although he expected them to be nosing around soon. They would charge Mrs. Palmaster if they had a solid case, and they didn\u2019t have one. Yet. It might be someone from the Council, although why they\u2019d be involved, Delmo had no clue.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe shadow\u2019s awkward ducking movements each time Delmo looked over his shoulder told Delmo his follower was an amateur and not a policeman.\n<\/p>\n
\nAlthough the police and justice system worked for the Council, they wouldn\u2019t worry about anything as simple as an engineer\u2019s murder.\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo shook his head as the man tried hiding behind two older ladies who stood half his height.\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo lost him by taking an exit into Bartown and mingling with the drunks. Linda\u2019s Lane, at the edge of Bartown, looked deserted, and Delmo opened a false pipe midway down the alley and inserted his message for Franklin.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\n\u201cOkay, Love of My Life,\u201d he said as he entered the morgue, \u201cwhat\u2019s so special you had to tell me in person?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nValma placed her hands on her hips. \u201cYou\u2019re not going to like it. It\u2019s another oddity.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo, intrigued, pulled the bag of Viladian pearls from his pocket.\n<\/p>\n
\nValma opened a drawer under the table. In it, a long piece of skin lay stretched out.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIs that from an arm?\u201d Delmo grimaced as he approached.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIt\u2019s Mr. Palmaster\u2019s,\u201d Valma said. \u201cThe rest of him is in storage, but I wanted you to see this.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe swung a lamp over the drawer and switched it on. It produced no light Delmo could see, but the skin lit up with five purple squares.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhat is that?\u201d he asked. \u201cA tattoo?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSlave ID numbers. Someone\u2019s removed them,\u201d she replied. \u201cThey\u2019re a couple decades old and shallow. Whoever made these IDs didn\u2019t intend them to be permanent.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cTemporary slave IDs?\u201d Delmo had never heard of such a thing. Criminals received tattoos when exiled to the planet\u2019s surface. If they survived for a decade, they were returned to Nexus unless they\u2019d been convicted of capital crimes. Those never left the planet\u2019s surface.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSo, he was on Freeheart,\u201d Delmo said. \u201cWhy would an engineering graduate be sent down there and brought back after a couple years?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI can answer the first part.\u201d Valma closed the drawer under the table. \u201cI found traces of Sporax in his powdered bones. Long ago, he was addicted.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nSporax allowed the human body to perform far beyond its capabilities, on physical and mental levels. Illegal, and fatal if overused, the government had waged a war against the substance for decades.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSo, our student got hooked on Spore, was arrested, and sentenced to the planet. Hard to believe he\u2019s the same man who ran a major construction company here. Still, I can\u2019t blame him for hiding his past.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe handed Delmo an autopsy report. \u201cI\u2019ve seen another like him.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHe opened it to see a photo of a dead woman. \u201cWho is she?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cFelicia Dryden, a restaurant hostess on level 2.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHow did she die?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cFell down the stairs. I scanned her body twice because something didn\u2019t look right. She had too many blunt force injuries for tumbling down the stairs, but nothing conclusive.\u201d She pulled out another photo. It revealed another skin fragment.\n<\/p>\n
\nShe said, \u201cIt\u2019s not unusual to have a slave mark removed when they return, and I\u2019ve seen many while working here. But this is not a government-issued tattoo. It\u2019s only two molecules deep. I pulled her tox screen, and she had also used Spore.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo shook his head. \u201cThese two bodies both have non-regulation slave IDs and a former drug habit? That can\u2019t be a coincidence.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cTrue,\u201d Valma said, \u201cbut if these two deaths are related, you might be involved in something dangerous. I didn\u2019t mention the tattoo in Mr. Palmaster\u2019s autopsy report. I\u2019ll update it tomorrow.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cDid Miss Dryden have a family? Maybe they know about the tattoo.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nValma shrugged. \u201cHer son claimed the body. Nice young man.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nA soft buzzer went off behind her, and she checked a monitor. \u201cWe have company. A messenger from the looks of his helmet.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHe\u2019s no messenger. He\u2019s been following me,\u201d Delmo said. \u201cI thought I\u2019d lost him. Do you have a back door?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNo.\u201d She pointed at the body cabinet. \u201cBut I have places to hide. Better give me my chocolates before you lie down. I\u2019ll tell you when he leaves.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nExhausted, he fell asleep in the empty cadaver drawer before he could ask Valma if nanorobots could deconstruct a human skeleton.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\n\u201cValma,\u201d Delmo said when he awoke the next morning, \u201cthat\u2019s the best night\u2019s sleep I\u2019ve had in years. Maybe I should snooze with the dead more often.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019ll start charging you,\u201d Valma said. \u201cThe guy came in, said he needed directions. I kicked him out. I decided to let you sleep.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThank you,\u201d Delmo said. \u201cIt\u2019s me he wanted. He shouldn\u2019t bother you again. Valma, could nanorobots have pulverized Mr. Palmaster\u2019s bones?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhat a strange idea.\u201d She removed her lab coat. \u201cI\u2019ll check tonight. You want to sneak out in the garbage? Your friend might be waiting.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo hesitated. \u201cYou mean with the biological waste? No thanks. I\u2019ll take my chances out the front.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHis wrist comp beeped. It was Molly. She had a message to meet an old friend at the Purple Puke.\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo, surprised Franklin wanted to see him in person, said, \u201cI\u2019d better go. Let me know what you find about the nanorobots.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nNo one followed him when he left, but he was worried. Meeting Franklin in person never resulted in good news.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAre you nuts?\u201d Delmo took an empty park bench in the morning sun. The station\u2019s lights gave the citizens a comfortable day and night cycle. He didn\u2019t address the man sitting at a nearby bench with his back to him. Franklin, as usual when in sunlight, wore a scarf, hat, and goggles. Nobody paid the two men any attention, passing through the park to or from work.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019m surprised you remembered the Purple Puke.\u201d Delmo kept his chin down. If anyone had him under surveillance, they\u2019d assume he was using his comp.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou\u2019d be dead now if I hadn\u2019t held your head out of the gutter,\u201d Franklin said. \u201cIt\u2019s amazing that drink didn\u2019t kill you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhat are we doing here? I\u2019m being followed. I\u2019m hot.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou\u2019re not hot, Delmo, you\u2019re molten. Drop this case. You\u2019re in way over your head.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nFranklin\u2019s serious tone sent chills up Delmo spine. \u201cYou must have found something in Mr. Palmaster\u2019s artificial past. What scared you we had to meet in person?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI can\u2019t tell you,\u201d Franklin said. \u201cTrust me on this one. You\u2019ve opened a shit storm, Horatio. You might already have sunk too far to dig your way out.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhat are you talking about?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nFranklin sighed. \u201cYou\u2019re not going to let this go, are you?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019ve had a good night\u2019s sleep, Franklin. I can face anything.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou might not say that after you hear what I have to say. My investigations may have set off alarms in high places.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHow does this involve a dead contractor and a hostess?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nFranklin squirmed. \u201cJosh Palmaster used Spore at university. The police apprehended, charged, and sentenced him to the surface. Then, it gets strange.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNo,\u201d Delmo said, \u201cwhat\u2019s strange is he returned so soon. And someone knew he wouldn\u2019t be down long. That sounds like a reconnaissance mission.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nFranklin snorted. \u201cYou\u2019ve gotten better at this detective crap. It took me hours to get that far. Two others returned with him. They were involved in more than a recon.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThey worked in Scot Ray Parkson\u2019s compound.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nChief Scot Ray Parkson and his violent death was the stuff of legends. Freeheart\u2019s largest tribe protected their own and enslaved neighboring tribes, making Parkson more and more powerful. For the first time in Freeheart\u2019s history, someone had unified the planet\u2019s nomadic colonists and had taken the Confederation\u2019s mining companies to court.\n<\/p>\n
\nThen, Parkson, his wives, and children were slaughtered by a rival tribe.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019m confused,\u201d Delmo said. \u201cIf these three were in the compound, how did they escape the massacre?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAnd why were they returned to the station afterward?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo considered his friend\u2019s question. \u201cThey were involved somehow, and the Council pulled them out.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhat kind of team is composed of an engineer, a pretty woman, and a loadmaster with a demolition certificate?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo felt cold. \u201cNot a recon mission. An assassination team with a target. They killed Parkson and his people.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cBingo,\u201d Franklin said. \u201cI\u2019ve asked Molly to find the other team member.\u201d He stood. \u201cYou might already be too late to save him. Someone is tying up loose ends. Don\u2019t get caught up in it, Horatio. See if Janet\u2019s still available. I hear her last boyfriend dumped her because he had commitment issues. Better yet, give your client her money back and go work for your mother.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo still felt bad about Janet, but he\u2019d never deserted a client before, even a guilty one. He\u2019d never uncovered a Council assassination plot either. If Franklin\u2019s wild assertions were correct, three people, sanctioned by the government, had killed Scot Ray Parkson and his family. Now, someone was killing them.\n<\/p>\n
\nMaybe his mother could use someone to clean her trowels.\n<\/p>\n
\nWith Felicia and his client\u2019s husband dead, Delmo must find the other member of the temporary tattoo team before the demolition expert ended up in Valma\u2019s morgue, too.\n<\/p>\n
\nMolly beeped his comp to tell him she\u2019d found the third member and sent Delmo the address.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nThe old man punched Delmo hard. The detective had been unprepared when the big man leaped at him.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cShowed yourself, didn\u2019t you?\u201d The loadmaster stood over Delmo. \u201cMaybe now you\u2019ll stop following me.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo wiped blood off his split lip, but before he could explain, Sinclair grabbed his collar and yanked him upright. \u201cWho sent you?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo activated his shock grip and pressed it against the man\u2019s neck. Sinclair collapsed on the floor, twitching but still conscious.\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo bent over him. \u201cI haven\u2019t been following you. No one sent me.\u201d He showed his detective credentials. \u201cPatsy Palmaster\u2019s my client. She\u2019s accused of killing her husband.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHolding his head, Sinclair sat up. \u201cNever heard of her.\u201d He spat and scrutinized Delmo. \u201cWait. Josh Palmaster is dead?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAnd Felicia Dryden.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo offered his hand and helped Sinclair up. \u201cIf you\u2019re being followed, you\u2019re the next victim.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know anything about nothing,\u201d Sinclair said.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhat about that?\u201d Delmo indicated the man\u2019s faded slave tattoo. Not all survivors had them removed. Some took pride being recognized as a returnee.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI did my time,\u201d Sinclair replied. \u201cNow leave before I smash you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cListen, Sinclair. I know what you and the others did on Freeheart. Now, someone\u2019s killing you one by one. If you\u2019re lucky, we\u2019ll catch them before they get you.\u201d He offered the man his business card.\n<\/p>\n
\nSinclair scowled but took the card. \u201cI don\u2019t know what you\u2019re talking about. You\u2019ve got until I count to three. One\u2026\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo left.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nAt the office, Molly downloaded his third eye\u2019s recording of the recent morgue visit, the cargo bay altercation, and Franklin\u2019s personal warning. Dangerous as Franklin believed the case to be, Delmo wasn\u2019t ready to turn in his third eye.\n<\/p>\n
\nHe iced his fat lip. \u201cMolly, any luck discovering who was following me?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNo. There\u2019s no clear image of him in your records.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI thought perhaps it was someone sent by the Council, but this guy was too young and too inexperienced.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHave you considered it might be the murderer?\u201d she asked. \u201cAnd why would a kid kill a hostess and an engineer?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo sighed. \u201cI have no idea. I\u2019ve got a lot of questions and no answers. Maybe my mother is right, and I\u2019d be a better off as a statistician.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHe stood and filled his coffee cup. \u201cSomeone bludgeoned the hostess and turned the engineer into a human pancake. If they\u2019re not working for the Council, why are they killing people with temporary tattoos?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cCircumstantial,\u201d Molly said. \u201cThese three were there during the massacre and left soon after. Mr. Palmaster\u2019s and Miss Dryden\u2019s deaths may be unrelated.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cTrue,\u201d Delmo admitted. \u201cStill, Mrs. Palmaster should see Sinclair\u2019s photo. Perhaps the three collaborators kept in touch.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cStill circumstantial,\u201d she said.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIf this is Council business, they do sloppy work.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAgreed,\u201d she said. \u201cYour mother left a message.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSave it. I\u2019m distracted enough. I don\u2019t need her telling me what a loser I am.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cShe never says that,\u201d Molly said.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cShe can indicate years of disapproval with a raised eyebrow.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cDelmo, have you considered seeing\u2014\u201d She stopped. \u201cI\u2019ve got an emergency call from Mr. Sinclair.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cPut him through.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhere are you, you bastard?\u201d Sinclair asked when his image appeared. \u201cI\u2019ll kill you this time.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019m in my office, Mr. Sinclair, and have been for an hour. My secretary can verify it. What\u2019s happened?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nSinclair sat in the dark, his harsh features faint on the screen. Faint music played in the background. \u201cSomeone tried to kill me. Made it look like an accident.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhere are you?\u201d Delmo asked. \u201cSomeplace safe?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nSinclair looked left and right. \u201cFor now. Had to borrow Smitty\u2019s spare leg.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI don\u2019t understand.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019m at Smitty\u2019s in Bartown. Make sure you\u2019re not followed.\u201d The screen went dark.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI don\u2019t understand why Mr. Sinclair would need to borrow an extra leg,\u201d Molly said.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d Delmo placed his half-empty cup in the sink. \u201cBut I\u2019ll find out.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThe station\u2019s illumination indicated it was afternoon, but he couldn\u2019t tell the time by the traffic in Bartown. Crowds filled the streets, some coming off work, some going. Smitty\u2019s bar occupied the end of a street. It had a reputation for hard drinking and brawling. The place was empty. One young man entered behind Delmo but took a seat at the bar.\n<\/p>\n
\nAs Delmo sat at Sinclair\u2019s table, his stomach growled. He nodded at the loadmaster and reached for the bowl of nuts.\n<\/p>\n
\nSinclair blocked his hand. \u201cDon\u2019t touch those. They\u2019re twenty years old. Smitty puts them out for show.\u201d He pointed to an illuminated wall menu. \u201cThe soy burgers are good. They season them with Freeheart spices.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThanks.\u201d Delmo pressed a selection and paid with his comp. \u201cWhat happened?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nSinclair thrust his right leg from beneath the table. Two steel tubes protruded with a hinge where the knee should have been.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhat happened?\u201d Delmo asked.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI lost the flesh and blood leg years ago on Freeheart, but I got a cyborg one when I came back.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThat\u2019s not in your records.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nSmitty limped up with two unordered beers. With a nod at Sinclair, he returned to the bar.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSmitty doesn\u2019t talk much.\u201d Sinclair took a drink. \u201cThank god he had an extra leg.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhat happened?\u201d Delmo asked.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI almost jumped free, but a stack of stone toppled over and smashed my robot leg.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWho pushed the stone over?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cPushed? It weighed tons. No one could have pushed it over. The supervisor said the bottom block experienced fatigue or something. Funny that it crumbled in my direction.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo didn\u2019t mention the nanorobots he suspected had killed Josh Palmaster. \u201cDid you tell the police?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nSinclair held out his tattooed arm. \u201cCops and I don\u2019t mix. If you aren\u2019t behind this, you might know who is. First Josh, then Felicia. You\u2019re right. Someone is killing us for what we did on Freeheart.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nSmitty brought the burger and returned to the bar.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThe others are dead?\u201d Sinclair asked.\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo took a bite of his burger and suppressed a gag. Tango Viennese. \u201cYes. Something pulverized Josh\u2019s skeleton from the inside. While he was still alive. Felicia fell down a flight of stairs, but she may have been beaten beforehand.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cServes her right,\u201d Sinclair said. \u201cShe\u2019s the reason I lost my leg. Just because she wouldn\u2019t leave that damn kid when the camp blew up.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo ordered a beer. \u201cWho wanted Parkson killed?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWe never knew,\u201d Sinclair said. \u201cWe were recruited. Me for my explosive\u2019s certification, Felicia to catch Parkson\u2019s eye and get us into the compound, and Josh to tell me where to plant the bomb. They erased our criminal records, and the docs patched us up afterwards. Nobody\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThe floor rippled. Cracking sounds accompanied the undulations. Screams filled the air as the floor tilted and dumped their booth into the basement. Sinclair slipped into the darkness seconds before the gaping hole swallowed Delmo.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nHe didn\u2019t lose consciousness, but he felt every crossbeam he encountered before he hit the floor below. He landed hard, and a wall fell on him, driving air and consciousness from his body. When he came to, his right arm throbbed and was bent at an odd angle.\n<\/p>\n
\nShadows and smoke surrounded him. For a brief second, he feared the explosion had exposed the station to raw space. But he still breathed. He had more urgent matters to deal with like the wall crushing him and the agony of his broken arm.\n<\/p>\n
\nSomeone moaned. Delmo, pinned, could only move his head. In the flickering light from a sparking electrical cable, he saw Sinclair lying under the wall. His open mouth trickled blood, and his eyes were closed.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSinclair?\u201d he asked. \u201cAre you all right?\u201d A thin steel shaft supported the fallen wall. Sinclair\u2019s artificial leg had saved them.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWe didn\u2019t know we\u2019d be killing children,\u201d the old man gasped. \u201cTell them\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nWhatever wisdom Sinclair wanted to pass would remain a secret. He sucked air in jagged inhalations and never exhaled again.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe smoke cleared, and rescue teams and Smitty\u2019s customers called to one another above. \u201cHelp!\u201d Delmo shouted. \u201cWe\u2019re stuck under here.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nA pair of legs appeared near Delmo\u2019s head, soon replaced by the intense face of the young man from the bar.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIs Sinclair with you?\u201d he asked.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYes.\u201d Had he known Sinclair?\n<\/p>\n
\nHe disappeared. \u201cI\u2019ll get a pry bar and lift up the wall. I\u2019ll pull him out first.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHe\u2019s behind me,\u201d Delmo said. \u201cPull me out, and I\u2019ll help you with him.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThe wall shifted, and Delmo feared it would be his and Sinclair\u2019s tombstone. A hand reached into the enclosed space. Delmo reached for it with his good arm. His shoulder felt as if it was being torn from its socket, but he slid into the open.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThat\u2019s Sinclair in there?\u201d His rescuer held a steel bar he\u2019d used to lift the wall.\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo held his broken arm and nodded. They stood in an isolated section of Smitty\u2019s basement warehouse. Bottles and broken crates surrounded them. \u201cBut don\u2019t hurry. Your friend\u2019s already\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nTo Delmo\u2019s shock, the young man took the steel pipe and jabbed it into Sinclair\u2019s dead body.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d Delmo pulled the man back with his good arm.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHe killed my father.\u201d Enraged, the man stabbed again and again, dislodging Sinclair\u2019s steel leg and collapsing the wall.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYour father?\u201d Delmo asked. \u201cWait. You weren\u2019t just having a drink at Smitty\u2019s. You followed me to find Sinclair!\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThe man tried pulling the pry bar free in a rage. With a grunt, he yanked the bar free.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWho are you?\u201d Delmo asked. Something Sinclair had said popped into his head. The old man said he\u2019d lost his leg because Felicia wouldn\u2019t leave behind a child. A Freeheart boy. \u201cYou\u2019re Obin\u2026Dryden?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nObin swung the bar around, its tip dripping with Sinclair\u2019s blood. \u201cDon\u2019t call me that. I\u2019m Obin Ray Parkson! They murdered my father.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo felt like a fool when all the pieces fell into place. Felicia Dryden had rescued one of the chief\u2019s children during the massacre. Her payment for getting the explosive into the compound must have been an arranged adoption.\n<\/p>\n
\nWhen he\u2019d discovered his mother\u2019s role in the massacre, Obin had killed her. Then, he\u2019d killed Josh with his skills as a nano-herder.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou killed your own mother?\u201d Delmo stalled, hoping safety personnel reached them soon.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cShe wasn\u2019t my mother. She killed my real mother. I made her tell me who else murdered my family.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhy this?\u201d Delmo gestured at the carnage.\n<\/p>\n
\nObin looked embarrassed. \u201cMy nanorobots cut through a power conduit that\u2019s not on the schematics. I wanted Sinclair to fall down here where I could beat him to death. Slow like Palmaster.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhy were you following me?\u201d Delmo hoped his third eye hadn\u2019t been damaged. He needed Obin\u2019s recorded confession to free his client. He also hoped the young man didn\u2019t eliminate witnesses.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI couldn\u2019t find Sinclair, so I followed you. Why are you asking me these questions? Were you involved?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo\u2019s mangled and useless shock grip hung from his broken arm, and he took a step back.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019m a private detective.\u201d He pointed at his third eye. \u201cJust doing my job.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nObin raised the bar. \u201cYou\u2019re like everyone else. You let them\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHis eyes rolled up, and he collapsed.\n<\/p>\n
\nBehind him, Smitty held a broken wine bottle. \u201cWho\u2019s paying for all this?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nPeople walked among the hedges and flowerbeds, chatting and laughing. No one paid attention to the two men sitting together beneath a grape arbor. One man sported a large hat and a bulky trench coat. Although the temperature was warm, he also wore a colorful scarf and gloves.\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo cradled his arm in a sling.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI worried about you on this case,\u201d Franklin said. \u201cThe Council killed Scot Ray Parkson. When the councilman who planned it died, they wanted the participants eliminated. Some flunky decided the quickest way to do that would be to tell Obin the truth and let him dispose of the loose ends. We could\u2019ve been collateral damage.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo sighed. \u201cSome detective I am. I fell onto the right culprit. I should have figured out it was Obin earlier.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cDon\u2019t be ridiculous,\u201d Franklin said. \u201cYou might not have the highest IQ in the room, but you always know where to get answers. I couldn\u2019t have pieced Valma\u2019s report, Molly\u2019s discovery of the duplicated history, and what I found together. You might not be a great detective, but you are a skilled information broker. In this day and age, maybe that makes a better detective. Don\u2019t beat yourself up. You proved your client innocent, got paid, and caught a dangerous criminal.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDelmo didn\u2019t feel like celebrating. \u201cThree people are dead, and the Council may have a contract on me.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou\u2019re not that important,\u201d Franklin said. \u201cObin will be sentenced and exiled to Freeheart where he\u2019ll become the world leader his father wasn\u2019t allowed to be. Chess Thursday night?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSure.\u201d Maybe being an information broker was better than digging under the hot sun on a distant planet. Franklin was probably right about the Council thinking Delmo was too smalltime to waste resources on. Still, he\u2019d better keep his eyes open.\n<\/p>\n
\nAll three of them.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Delmo\u2019s third eye itched. He stopped outside the morgue to scratch his forehead. An inconvenience, the cybernetic device signaled his occupation as a registered private eye. He was exhausted, but space station cases were few and far between and his rent was due. His rent was always due. It was 2 a.m., and station\u2019s hospital …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":99279,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-137621","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/137621","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/99279"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=137621"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/137621\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":137622,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/137621\/revisions\/137622"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=137621"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=137621"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=137621"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}