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An insistent chime interrupted Delgado’s dream of a dark future where he helped conquer entire worlds and instantly woke him. Like most of his breed, he was a light sleeper during missions. He reached for his communicator, sitting on a shelf beside his cot while noting that the barracks were still plunged into gamma shift’s nighttime darkness.
“Delgado.”
“It’s Rolf, Skipper. I have the duty,” Command Sergeant Painter replied.
If Delgado hadn’t already been wide awake from the communicator chime, Painter, whose troop worked gamma shift, calling in the middle of the night would do the trick.
“What’s up?”
“One of my patrols — Sergeant Greaves and Lance Corporal Ng — found a dead body in Storeroom Twenty-Seven-Charlie at oh-three-fifteen. The storeroom contains supplies for the administrative offices and should normally be locked, but Greaves and Ng found the door wide open. Greaves entered and discovered the body of a female lying on the floor. Although there is no immediate evidence of foul play, he secured the site as a potential crime scene. I’ve called the station infirmary, and the duty surgeon should arrive momentarily. I also informed the operations center who’ll take care of warning the CO and the chief administrator.”
Delgado absently scratched at his side, thinking. Technically, he was Tyrell’s provost marshal, the local sheriff, so to speak, and any suspicious death became his responsibility. A dead woman in a normally locked storeroom definitely qualified.
“I’ll visit the scene right away, Rolf.”
“Roger that, Skipper.”
“Delgado, out.”
By the time he’d slipped on his uniform, First Sergeant Hak materialized, no doubt warned by Painter.
“We found ourselves a stiff, I hear.” Hak was dressed as well and armed with his needler in an open holster at the hip.
“You don’t need to come, you know. Grab some more sleep.”
“And miss our first murder investigation? Not a chance, sir.”
“We only have a suspicious death, Top.” Delgado strapped his gun belt around his waist and put on his beret. “So don’t become overly enthusiastic about playing detective.”
The station seemed just as busy in the middle of the gamma shift as any other time since mining and smelting operations went on twenty-four hours a day. However, they still reached Level Two within minutes and quickly found Storeroom Twenty-Seven-Charlie.
As they approached, Sergeant Greaves and Lance Corporal Ng, standing guard by the open door, snapped to attention, and the former saluted.
“Good morning, sir. The body’s still inside the room. We’ve been careful not to disturb anything. Sergeant Rankin is busy looking for a crime scene kit — apparently, our predecessors didn’t store it in the right spot — and the duty surgeon hasn’t arrived yet. Would you like to take a glance?”
“Lead on, Greaves.” He glanced at Hak. “Probably best if you stay here, Top. The fewer tourists shedding DNA in a potential crime scene, the better.”
The storeroom was small, by usual standards, and filled with row upon row of ceiling-high steel shelves holding boxes of various sizes and colors. Behind one of the rows, hidden from the door, lay the sprawled body of the unidentified woman.
She had auburn, shoulder-length curly hair, thin lips, a pointy nose, and a slender build that made her seem very different from muscular miners, let alone tough Marines. Her clothes, a simple two-piece dark blue suit, and soft shoes marked her as an administrative worker.
Delgado saw no signs of a struggle, although her body was contorted in a fashion that hinted at an uneasy death, something the Marine had seen often enough to know. He examined the body, careful not to touch it but saw no signs of violence, meaning her death could stem from natural causes or a drug overdose. Nothing that would warrant a murder investigation. Delgado stood and adjusted his gun belt. The body at his feet looked infinitely sad, like a broken doll.
The station’s doctor, a tired-looking civilian under contract to the Navy, arrived moments later. He nodded once. “Major. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Franklin Blake.”
“Curtis Delgado, sir.”
Blake didn’t offer his hand, and Delgado stepped aside to let him work while two medics with an anti-grav stretcher — civilian contract workers as well — waited in the hallway.
After running extensive scans, Blake climbed wearily to his feet.
“My preliminary conclusion is cardiac arrest since I can’t detect any underlying cause for death. But I wouldn’t be surprised if blood analysis shows she died as a result of consuming illicit substances. It happens from time to time, no matter how much we try to educate the miners and the support staff.”
“How often?”
He shrugged.
“Two or three a year. Assenari writes them up as having died from work-related injuries to avoid intensive law enforcement scrutiny and questions from families. This is a bleak place, as you’ll find out. People crave momentary escapes, and where there’s a demand, you’ll inevitably find a willing supplier. Just one more thing Assenari would rather keep from the public. What this place really needs is a Constabulary detachment, not Marines without law enforcement experience — no offense intended.”
“None taken.”
“You seem remarkably sanguine about this, Major.” Blake gave Delgado a curious stare.
“I’ve seen my share of death.” A shrug. “In this line of business, you either become inured to it, or you find something else.”
“Lots of time on the frontier hunting reivers, then?”
Delgado nodded. “You could say that. Did a hitch in the Service yourself?”
“No, but one of my cousins was a Pathfinder command sergeant. You remind me a bit of him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Hal Tarra. He retired, joined a private military corporation, and vanished into the Protectorate Zone, never to be seen again. This happened a few years back. Did you know him?”
“I’ve heard the name, but we never crossed paths.”
A Marine sergeant first class carrying a metal case appeared in the doorway. “Sir, I finally found the scene-of-crime kit and can start if you’ll give me room. The sooner I’m done, the sooner the medics can remove the body.”
Delgado glanced at Blake, who nodded and followed him a few meters to one side. They watched Sergeant Rankin scan the body and its surroundings, record images, and take samples from the floor and the nearest shelves.
“Are you equipped to collect samples from the body and the clothing, Doctor?” Delgado asked.
“Yes. There is a protocol when dealing with fatalities, and recording evidence for a possible inquest is part of it.”
After a bit, Sergeant Rankin packed up his case and glanced at Delgado.
“I have everything we need, sir.”
“Thanks. Let the medics know they can pick up the body on your way out.”
“Yes, sir.”
Once the dead woman was gone, Delgado ordered the room sealed with one of the portable locks Sergeant Rankin brought up from the command post and dismissed the patrol to its duties.
As they returned to the barracks, Delgado asked Hak, “Ever run across a Pathfinder command sergeant by the name Hal Tarra? The doc is a cousin of his. Says he became a merc and vanished in the Zone.”
Hak grimaced. “Yeah. Hal was one of Colonel Decker’s closest buddies in the 902nd Pathfinder Squadron and his troop sergeant. Tarra died saving the Colonel’s life during an undercover mission many years ago, from what I was told. A good man and a solid Marine.”
“Small galaxy, isn’t it?”
“And the Pathfinder family is even smaller.”
After breakfast a few hours later, Delgado headed for the station infirmary, hoping for more information about the dead woman. He found Blake in his office, looking even wearier than before.
“Good morning.”
Startled, the man looked up. “Oh. Good morning, Major. Although it feels like I’ve already done a full shift. Please come in and sit.”
“Who was she?”
“Terry Evans, thirty-six, a logistics specialist from Assenari Mining on her first tour in Tyrell. She worked the alpha shift.”
“Did you determine a time of death?”
“Midnight, give or take a few minutes on either side.”
“A bit late for an alpha shift worker.”
Blake merely shrugged, indicating that he considered the habits of others beyond his concern.
“What’s the cause of death?”
“Cardiac arrest.” When Delgado frowned, he allowed himself a faint smile. “Yes, when the heart stops beating, we die, but there is generally an underlying cause. Yet, in the case of Terry Evans, I could find none. She was young and healthy in every respect — no signs of injury, trauma, or chronic issues. Her organs are in perfect condition, heart included, and I didn’t find traces of any noxious substance in her blood, so it wasn’t a drug overdose. At this point, I’m stumped.”
Blake fell silent, and he frowned in turn, head tilted slightly to one side as he studied Delgado.
“Why do I get the impression you just figured something out?”
The Marine hesitated for a moment. “I may know of one way a heart would stop beating, even though there’s nothing whatsoever to show why that happened. Did you ever hear of a procedure called conditioning against interrogation?”
Blake shook his head. “No.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised. Those who use it don’t discuss the matter. In essence, it makes a person incapable of answering certain questions. If an interrogator persists or uses drugs, a conditioned individual can die from simple cardiac arrest. Don’t ask me how the procedure works. I do not know.”
“Good heavens. Why would someone agree to it?”
Delgado shrugged. “Condition of employment, so that if an intelligence operative, for example, falls into the wrong hands, he or she can’t reveal secrets.”
“So, you’re saying Evans was a spy? A Commonwealth government agent?”
“An operative of some sort, sure, but the government isn’t the only one with its own intelligence network. The big zaibatsus, like ComCorp or even Assenari Enterprises, run theirs, meaning she could have been working for one of many organizations. If I’m right, of course. Did you examine the body for injection marks?”
“No. But now I will. However, as I said before, I found nothing out of the ordinary in her bloodstream.”
“There are sedatives to force compliance and interrogation drugs which dissipate rapidly. She died at midnight and was found at oh-three-hundred. By then, all traces would be gone.”
“You sound as if you’re rather familiar with such matters.” Blake gave Delgado a searching look.
“I read a lot, Doctor.” Delgado climbed to his feet. “Let me know what you find.”