We approached cautiously, despite the fact that the Security Minis were already there, standing guard over the scene. I very much wanted to scoop Kitten up and zoom to safety with her, but I couldn’t dismiss the possibility that she and Nemo were bait within a trap. Medusa and I tried every possible overlay to scan the scene for someone who might be using stealth technology. Schnebly and Lilith did the same. None of us felt confident in our results, but it was as good as it was going to get.
<If someone managed to sneak up on Nemo, we’re sitting ducks,> said Lilith. <All we can do at this point is stay alert.>
Once we were close enough, Kitten wrapped herself around my waist. <I’m very concerned about how clean the cut was,> she said. <Something sharp was used, by a very strong person. Unless his head was sawed off somewhere else. It looks like his suit and helmet were cut, too, and the edge of the cuts doesn’t suggest any sort of serrated blade.>
A few droplets of blood floated near the body in a loose orbit. I imagined how odd that must have been, when his head was taken off in zero gravity–zero pressure conditions and the gases and liquids vented from his body.
If that’s where he died. What if he was killed somewhere else, and placed here? Who placed him? What message were they trying to send by placing him so close to Lucifer Tower, where I had hidden after I faked my own death?
<Oichi,> said Kitten, <do you recall a certain movie from Nuruddin’s database about a monster on a spaceship?>
<I recall several.>
<The spaceship was named Nostromo,> she said. <Do you remember how they tried to find the monster? The gizmo they created? Do you remember what it measured?>
Indeed. My favorite quote from that movie is “Micro changes in air density, my ass!” <I see what you’re getting at.>
<Is it possible to measure that sort of thing?>
I considered her question. She was asking it so obliquely, I had to assume she was afraid someone might be listening to our communication, so I passed Kitten’s questions on to Medusa exactly as she had asked them.
<We’re in vacuum,> replied Medusa. <It does suggest avenues of investigation other than light and heat measurements. I’m going to pass it on to the other Medusa units and the Minis.>
Kitten’s idea was a good one, but in the end, it wasn’t micro changes in air density that would help us find Nemo’s assassin. Light would turn out to be important, after all, but not because of the frequencies at which it can be measured.
Because of the way it can be bent.
* * *
We took Nemo’s body back inside Olympia, where it could be examined by experts.
I did a bit of preliminary research before I picked a medical examiner. For most of our journey, Executives had committed murders that they needed to be classified as natural deaths or accidents. They usually took care of that detail by blowing people out of air locks—no body, no examination, no awkward details. Yet even they sometimes felt compelled to stage something more complicated. I couldn’t blame medical examiners for practicing self-preservation, but I also did not want to pick one who would be inclined to tell me what I wanted to hear instead of the objective truth.
A candidate emerged, once I studied records of unnatural deaths. Dr. Sigrit Khan had a habit of going into great detail in her reports. Her method of coping with Executive oversight had been to drown them in facts. As a result, they had not been inclined to use her in deaths that were unnatural, and she had done most of her work with non-Executive casualties on Olympia.
Dr. Khan won more of my confidence when she asked to see Kitten’s pictures of the scene. She spent quite a lot of time going over those after her preliminary examination of the body. She allowed the five of us in the room during that examination, though we had to stand well back so she and her assistants could move without bumping into tentacles. “I’m sure you two would be quite good at this job,” she remarked to Lilith and Medusa. “Those extra appendages would be useful in my line of work.”
“We still have some unassigned units,” replied Medusa.
Dr. Khan nodded, but I could tell her mind had already moved on to more immediate matters.
“There’s very little blood left in this body,” she concluded. “I’ll have to do a thorough exam, but your theory of exsanguination in zero-pressure conditions is a good one, especially if it was decapitation that killed him. If that’s the case, he would have been dead before he knew anything was wrong.”
I took some comfort from the idea that Nemo hadn’t suffered. Whatever his faults or doubts had been, he was no Baylor Charmayne. I would be disappointed to learn he had chosen the wrong allies, but I didn’t hate him.
“Before we continue,” said Dr. Khan, “I need to point out, for the record, that this man has no identity on file in our databases—no fingerprints and no DNA samples. I’ve encountered one or two like him in the past, and they were reported to have ties to Ship Operations.”
“This fellow does, too,” I said. “You can call him Nemo.”
She raised an eyebrow, and I wondered if she had also seen the movies. “Nobody. That’s appropriate. I’ll assign a case number to him and label his file Identity Unknown. You won’t be able to alter that, but you can add your suspicions about his identity in the Notes section.”
“I understand,” I said. “Do you concur with Kitten’s hypothesis about the sharpness of the blade that may have been used and the strength of the assailant?”
“I can’t discount her hypothesis at this point,” said Dr. Khan. “Though it’s also possible a mechanical device was used, and no particular strength would have been necessary under those circumstances, only adequate skill.” She stared at the neck wound for several moments before adding, “However, it is an extraordinarily clean cut.”
Dr. Khan was not the only one who went over Kitten’s pictures of the scenes. Schnebly and I made our own copies and studied them separately, so we wouldn’t influence each other. Lilith and Medusa did the same. Kitten insisted on going over them, too, and so did several other Minis, Medusas, and Security staff members. Khan and her assistants began a more detailed examination of Nemo’s remains, and our search parties continued to patrol every inch of Olympia.
We had no record of anyone leaving the ship. Other than Merlin, we had no record of anyone arriving, either. So we had to assume that the assassin could still be on board. It was not impossible that the killer had been with us all along—that one of our own citizens had killed Nemo.
Someone other than me. How many people had been looking sideways at me? After all, I had been responsible for just some of the killings on Olympia. Only a few of my cohorts knew about that.
Kitten had the most clarity. She was 100 percent certain it was an outsider.
<I felt her,> she said. <She was invisible. None of our people on Olympia can literally be invisible.>
Kitten’s certainty influenced me, but there were other good reasons to wonder about an outsider. Itzpapalotl, Bomarigala, and Lady Sheba also lent credence to the idea that an outsider had assassinated Nemo. His disappearance, so close to their new interactions with us, seemed far more than coincidence.
Another question haunted me. The body in our morgue had no head, and the man to whom we thought it belonged had no official history.
<So is it really him?> I asked Schnebly. <Or did Nemo just find a way to disappear?>
Medusa was still disinclined to leave me uncovered (so to speak), but Schnebly and Lilith had separated in order to increase efficiency. He accompanied us as we walked through narrow tunnels. <I’ve pondered that,> he said, <but not very much. I don’t think he would willingly leave Olympia. True, he could be hiding, but I don’t see him giving up his command.>
<Unless he has allies who could restore him to that role,> I said.
Schnebly shook his head. <Occam’s razor. The more complicated a conspiracy has to be, the less likely it is to be true.>
We stopped in front of some movers. <Are you coming with me to the Com
mand Center?> asked Schnebly.
<No,> I said. <We need to walk. It helps me think.>
<Don’t know about the thinking,> said Schnebly, <but if you stick to these tunnels, you can do a hell of a lot of walking.> He got into the mover and punched the buttons. The doors closed and Schnebly sped on his way.
See you later, I thought. Unless you get killed by an invisible assassin. Because that’s what would happen in one of Nuruddin’s movies.
Schnebly was right about Occam’s razor. If I assumed everyone around me was embroiled in a vast, complicated conspiracy, I might lose a lot of sleep, but I wouldn’t solve the puzzle of Nemo’s death.
Through Medusa’s eyes, I gazed down the tunnel, first in one direction, then in the other. <Any preference?> I asked her.
<That way.> She indicated the direction with the tip of a tentacle. Together we walked down narrow, winding passages, between pools of light.
We walked for quite a while. In the beginning, I pondered the evidence we had seen—and the lack of it—but after a while, my mind began to drift. <Do you remember when I introduced you to the ghosts in my machine?> I asked Medusa.
<The Three?> she said. <Or two of the three, anyway.>
<I wish they were still talking to me.>
Medusa had no apparatus for sighing, but she had her own version, expressed through the motion of her tentacles. <They’ve got good reason for their radio silence. They were becoming too fond of you—and of Ashur. Fondness can cloud your judgment.>
<Sometimes I wonder if I should call them,> I said. <You know, just sort of shout in their general direction. See if anyone picks up.>
Medusa paused between two pools of light. We stood in that darkness like sea creatures lurking inside a reef. <Oichi—what if someone else picks up?>
<Someone else?>
<We’re spending so much time trying to find an intruder with our eyes and ears. What if we simply ask them what we want to know? They might not answer, but they seemed to be trying to send a message when they placed Nemo’s body near Lucifer Tower. Maybe it’s not a warning, maybe it’s an—overture?>
<You really think so?>
<Kitten says she’s got a feeling. Well, I’ve got a feeling, too. Call it instinct.>
Could it be that simple?
On the other hand, Occam’s razor …
<Are you out there?> I asked. <Did you kill Nemo? Or is he still alive?>
I didn’t expect an answer to that question, but I got one. A message popped into my queue.
It was an imperious little icon, bumping everyone else out of line. It looked like some sort of house, but it had chicken legs sticking out of the bottom. The chicken legs ran back and forth, demanding my attention. I selected the icon and opened the message. It turned out to be very short.
Don’t waste your time wondering if Nemo is still alive. He’s dead. That was his body, with the missing head. Bomarigala had him killed.
It is time you and I became acquainted, Oichi. When Gennady stole your DNA, he was working for me. I am the Engineer. Come to Maui and see me. We will talk.
—Baba Yaga
This time around, you can bet I showed the message to Medusa. I may be selfish and irresponsible, but I’m not completely stupid. <Why is that name familiar?>
<Baba Yaga?> said Medusa. <There’s a song about her in your music database. By one of your favorite composers.>
<Lyadov!> The music began to play in my head.
<She’s in the folklore database, too.> Medusa found the file and opened it.
We read it together.
<Dear me,> she said once we got to the end. <I hope the Engineer doesn’t eat people as often as her namesake is reputed to have done.>
<Why would a creature out of a Russian fairy tale have anything to do with a generation ship?>
Medusa pondered that for a moment. <If the people of ancient Earth could see the two of us, would they think we were witches? Goddesses? Monsters? All of the above?>
Good point. Whatever Baba Yaga may be, it was not what she seemed.
<Schnebly,> I said, <I just received a communication from someone who isn’t on Olympia. Did the Command Center record it?>
<No incoming messages have been recorded by our COMMO. Are you sure it came from outside?>
Medusa and I traced the pathway of the message. <Yes,> Medusa concluded. <It used the same relays Fire used to send her messages.>
<Can you share the contents?> said Schnebly.
In that moment I saw something odd through Medusa’s eyes. On my own, I might not have spotted it. It wasn’t movement, exactly. It was more of a ripple, like what you might see if you watched light on the surface of disturbed water. The light bends with the medium through which it’s passing. There was a pool of light in the tunnel ahead of us, and we saw that sort of bending.
<Someone is there,> warned Medusa.
Whoever it was, they were moving away from us, so we did what came naturally to us.
We chased it.
10
Micro Changes in Air Density, My Ass!
I have to admit, any adventure that includes explosive decompression tends to scramble my sense of sequence, but Medusa and I hadn’t fallen into that particular trap just yet—we were still chasing the invisible(ish) thing, while Baba Yaga’s message ran through my head.
That was his body, with the missing head. Bomarigala had him killed.
I am the Engineer.…
The universe had gotten a little too big lately. It wasn’t as if our microcosm hadn’t already been packed with plenty of problems, many of which I had dealt with as decisively as I knew how, which is why, I assume, I had earned a reputation as Miss Kick-Butt.
Well, Miss Kick-Butt was starting to feel quite a good distance outside the loop, and it was time to remedy that. When Medusa and I saw the ripple in the hallway, we chased it, not on my feet but on Medusa’s tentacles, which propelled us at roughly the speed of lightning—or so we liked to think.
<You can see them?> he said.
<Sort of.>
He didn’t ask me to clarify that, which is just as well, because Medusa and I had all we could do, keeping track of our elusive visitor.
Once Medusa got a sense of the creature, her eyes clarified its movement. It looked more like a series of pressure waves, all moving in the same general direction. It sped away from us, sometimes disappearing for a few moments as it rounded a corner, then clarifying again once we could see ahead for some distance.
We chased it down a long tunnel that terminated in the hallway outside the series-200 locks, but once we rounded the corner, we couldn’t find it. We rushed into the hallway and looked down another junction.
<We’ve lost it,> I said.
Someone spoke behind us. “Hello!”
We turned. One of the air lock doors stood open. Someone waited inside, who was no longer invisible. She was tall and thin, with features that made me think of the description Cocteau had offered of the Rock Elves, except that this person was so pale, she looked like an albino.
“My name is Timmy,” she said. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”
We stepped into the lock. The door spun shut behind us.
<Oops,> I said. <It must have been set on delay.>
Warning lights flashed and a siren squawked. Timmy had ordered the outer door to open. Explosive decompression was imminent.
* * *
Timmy touched something on her forearm and disappeared.
Now that we knew what to look for, we could see the light bending around her when she moved. Maybe she knew that, because she stayed still.
If Timmy thought she could kill us by opening the pressure door and exposing us to void, she had another think coming. Medusa’s suit protected me—she and I had been blown out of so many air locks, I had lost count. “Your suit doesn’t have air tan
ks,” I said. “You can’t survive exposure to void for more than a minute. We can save you—if you surrender.”
Timmy reappeared, as if she didn’t want to speak without also being seen. Then I remembered what Captain Nemo had said, how sometimes you had to sacrifice information to gain it.
“Save me?” said Timmy. I marveled at the quality of her voice and made a mental note to add it to my library. “You have saved me, my beautiful killers. You’ve given me a taste of wonder. It is the thing I value most.”
Medusa and I threw ourselves at her, but she managed to evade us. Something glinted in Timmy’s hand as she slashed at us, and Medusa said, <Uh-oh.> We thrust ourselves away from her and regarded something that flopped on the floor.
Not Timmy, unfortunately. Now we knew what Timmy had used to cut Nemo’s head off so cleanly. She gripped a blade that looked like a small curved sword. One of Medusa’s tentacles had been cut clean off.
<Well, that’s going to have to be fixed,> said Medusa.
We were now on opposite sides of the lock from where we had started. Timmy stared at the result of her actions for a fraction of a second. Then she threw herself at us.
Medusa balled a tentacle and punched her squarely in the face. Timmy flew across the air lock and bounced off the far wall. We should have pounced on her then, but we hesitated, wary of what else she might slash with her super-blade. Was it super at all? Was it Timmy’s strength that had made the difference?
The outer door opened—atmosphere rushed out. We would have gone right with it, but Medusa grabbed the utility bars.
Timmy made no effort to resist the tide. We tried to block her, but she shot past us. My ribs went numb as she struck me a glancing blow.
Medusa whipped around, tracking Timmy’s progress. I began to count the seconds, thinking that once she passed out we could retrieve her, but something else retrieved Timmy.
On tactical, it looked like a teardrop; it changed shape when it wrapped itself around her. Then it blasted away from Olympia with her.