It was something worse than murder. So they called me in.
A small group of curious onlookers had gathered behind a bar on the edge of Outown, with the Big Dry stretching off into the darkness beyond. The Police barriers were keeping them back, whilst a sonic screen was doing the same for a few thousand excited suckrats. Which confirmed that this was one for my department.
The Sergeant in charge showed me the corpse, for what it was worth. The mobile lab would tell me more about the pitiful remains than the naked eye could. Suckrats don't leave much.
"Found by a lad out hunting s'rats." The Sergeant explained. He was a big fellow with an outland accent, name of Bodell. I'd worked with him before, and trusted his competence to dig out the basic facts. "Found more 'an he expected – place was swarmin' with 'em. So he called us in."
I nodded. "When was this?"
"Hour or so ago. Lab estimates time of death no more'n an hour before that."
I glanced at my watch. "So he went down around midnight. How?"
"Stabbed in the stomach, but that's not what killed 'im. Whoever did it ripped off his mask and slashed his suit open: but he was still tryin' to crawl when the s'rats found
'im."
Which wouldn't have taken long. All that moisture would have brought them running from miles around. But the victim might have had ten minutes in dry air before that. Ten minutes of lungs and eyeballs drying up, skin cracking open... plus the stomach wound.... The suckrats may have been a mercy.
"Foun' his mask over there, sir." Bodell indicated a patch of ground. "Just thrown away, it 'pears."
"Theft?"
"No sir. Tanks were intact, except for what the s'rats got. Hard to tell now, but we think he had nearly half a litre of pure, plus his reclaim."
"A lot for this part of town."
"Yessir. An' a lot for someone to leave behind."
"What about the suit?"
"Good quality, an' almost new. Mask as well. Heavy Duty rig - OK for the Dry Jungles or the Outmines."
A Labtech came up with a printout. "Positive ID from genetic scan, sir. Names James Farnon. Age 23. Outminer."
"That fits." Sergeant Bodell took the printout "Last employed by Blake Mining - but that was two months ago. Hm - applied for a prospectors licence, few days back. That explains the new gear, then."
"No, not really, Sergeant. Think about it. A man on Blake Company wages comes to town, lives here nearly 40 days, then buys himself a new outfit - and still has water to spare?"
"Someone was staking 'im."
"Right. Question is, who?" I thought for a moment, then nodded towards the nearest building. "Did you check this place yet?"
"Jus' for witnesses. Negative, of course."
"Of course. Well, lets go and have a few words, all the same."
With the Sergeant in tow, I walked round to the front of the structure, a typical low slab of sealed concrete. Cheap, efficient and ugly. We cycled through the moisture lock, and found the inside just as typical: a shabby little dive, with customers to match. Most were sucking Kool or smoking. This end of town, few people could afford the luxury of drinks.
I turned to Bodell as he took off his mask. "What about this place, Sergeant? Known to you?" Meaning `known' in the specific police sense of having a history of nefariousness.
"Not for anything special, sir. Occasional fight, a bit suspect on Air an' Moisture regulations. Owners Vonson. He's the one behind the bar."
I'd thought as much. I was in a plain suit, but Sergeant Bodell was in uniform, and the bartender had a worried look.
We walked up to the bar: I nodded at the Sergeant to start us off.
"Hello Pete. Quiet night?"
"Uh - well, yes, Sergeant. Can I get you something?"
"No, not on duty, Pete. You know that. Hmm - little dry in here, don' you think?"
"It's up to the reg." Pete said, then caught Bodells eye. "But I'll check it, of course! Can't be too careful!"
With Pete nicely rattled, the Sergeant got serious. "Nasty business, out back o' your place."
"Yeah, I heard. Real bad. But look - I already told your men - I don't know anything. How could I? That's six inches of moisture sealed, windowless concrete. Can't hear a damn thing through it."
"Yeah. Convenient, sometimes, isn't it." Bodell gave Pete a hard stare, but more from habit than real suspicion.
"Name James Farnon mean anything to you?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Don't ask for names in here, Sir." He didn't know who I was, but he was being very polite, very cautious.
Very wise. I showed him Farnons picture on the ID printout.
"Yeah - yeah, I know him. Know the face, that is. Been here a lot, last few weeks. Mostly with his girl."
"Ah, a girl. Tell me about her."
Pete shrugged. "Blonde, pretty. Quite young. Good quality suit and mask, plenty of water. They always had drinks, paid water or tokens up front. Didn't get any names."
"What about tonight?"
"Didn't see her, but he was here. Man with him."
"Description?"
Pete shrugged. "Stayed masked all the time, far as I could see. Good gear, though. Come to think of it, they both had good stuff - looked like brand new. Better than the young fellah had before."
"Did they argue?"
"Not that I noticed. Youngster was here first, seemed surprised to see him, but they sat down together and had a drink. Didn't seem like trouble."
"Did they leave together?"
Pete shrugged. "Maybe. I wasn't paying that much attention. I just noticed they were both gone - must have been around midnight."
I nodded. "Well that's about it then. Did anyone in here know either of them - or the girl?"
"Couldn’t say. Perhaps, but they didn't talk to much anyone else."
"OK. You ask around, Pete. Hear anything, let the Sergeant know. Meantime, we'll get someone in here to work up a picture of the girl from your description."
"Glad to help, sir."
I laughed. "You'd better be, Pete." I slipped him a glimpse of my ID, and Pete looked impressed. He escorted us to the door, assuring us of his full cooperation at every step.
Back outside, we found that the murder weapon had turned up. Nothing special to it, just a standard six inch knife, single edged, with a plastic handle. Like Farnons mask and suit, it was brand new.
"Farnon didn't have a knife, did he?" I asked. "No sir. At least, there was no sheath." The Lab tech answered. "We've about finished here, sir - is it OK to pack up?"
Bodell looked at me. I nodded. "File the report, keep the remains stashed pending further investigation." I turned to the Sergeant. "Well, what do you think, Sergeant?"
"It's a strange one, sir. I don't get the motive. Not robbery, f' sure. A fight over that girl maybe - but why leave the water behind? And why do it right outside the bar?
The knife wasn't hidden, either. Just tossed away. Like whoever did it didn't care if it was found or not."
"It's got a smell to it." I agreed. "Expensive new suits, careless about hiding evidence - to me it smells of wealth and arrogance. And what does that combination bring to
mind?"
He smiled, a little grimly. "If you're thinking about Dome City, sir, - you know I've no jurisdiction there."
"But I do. And I'm about ninety percent certain that that's where we'll find our answer. Care to come along? I might be able to use some help."
"OK then, sir. It's all wrapped up here in any case."
"Fine. You drive."
While Bodell headed us towards Dome City, I made a few enquires via the computer link. City records had Farnons most recent address at a cheap miners hotel in Outown – not far from us, but it had been thirty days since he checked out, and I saw little point in going there myself. I had a Lab team dispatched, though, just in case. Then I started digging in a few other places, including some private accounts that would have been closed to the normal Police.
By the time that was done, the picture of Farnons girlfriend, computer generated from Pete's description, had been relayed to me, along with the half dozen closest matches from city ID files. I compared them with my other information, and had the name I was looking for.
We pulled in to Dome City entrance control about an hour before sunrise. I decided that there was enough of the working night left to finish the job, if we hustled, so I used my priority override and went straight in, ignoring the indignant glares from the Dome City Security guards. Once inside, I turned off the vehicles moisture control, and opened the windows.
The inrushing air was so thick and cool and wet that for a moment I felt I was suffocating. Bodell had a coughing fit that nearly took us off the road.
"Rich, isn't it?" I remarked.
"Incredible, sir. Those smells.... an' it's so damp!"
"Yes, that's good wet air the way men were meant to breath it. Smells of green growing things - smells of life, Sergeant."
We sat back and enjoyed the air and the scenery. Dome City is beautiful. There are trees, and bushes and grass and flowers, all deep rooted in soft moist earth. There's even actual streams - real flowing water, just like they say it was back on Earth! Of course, a lot of people just refuse to believe that, and they'll call you a liar to your face when you try and tell them. So few ever get to see inside the Dome.
And that's why, in a way, I hate coming into Dome City. When the Colony Ship built it for us, with technology that we no longer have, it was intended as a park and a playground for all the Topaz colonists the ship was leaving behind. Leaving to build a new world in a harsh environment, but always remembering who we were and where we'd come from. That was what the dome was for, a reminder of Earth and an
encouragement for the future.
But it isn't any more, and hasn't been for nearly a hundred years. Not since Derek Mondare gained control over the Ice Caves, and declared himself President for Life. Then he took over the Dome as well, and made it into a private garden for himself and his chosen elite. They say that things are a little better now, since the old tyrant died. Certainly there are more people living in Dome City than there was before - but it's still restricted to the wealthy and their servants. Most people from the Caves and DownCity – let alone Outown! - never see more of Dome than it's outer shell.
Naturally, I said nothing of this to Bodell, although he would probably agree with me. My position gives me a lot of power, but not enough to talk treason. We drove silently through paradise.
Our destination was a low, rambling building built in some old Earth style that I failed to recognize. A sign outside announced it to be the home of Malcome Blake, of Blake
Mining. Large company, rich man. Lately, he had taken to calling himself Lord Blake, following the fad for aristocratic titles sweeping through Dome City.
"How many litres d'you think this would have cost?" asked Bodell.
"More than you or I'll ever see. Listen, Sergeant - I want you to take the lead on this one."
Bodell gave me a suspicious look. "I don' quite follow, sir."
"I don't want him to know who I am. Not at first, anyway. If he thinks it's just a murder inquiry, we may learn something. This is want I want you to ask him about..."
I passed on some of the information I'd gleaned. Primed with this ammunition, Sergeant Bodell led the way to the door, and announced our visit to the servant who answered.
We were, predictably, kept waiting for a while, though not as long as I'd expected. Lord Blake apparently thought that thirty minutes was enough to demonstrate his importance.
Eventually, we were ushered into an office bigger than the bar we'd just left. The desk alone was the size of my bedroom and carved from a solid block of crystal. Presumably, this was supposed to impress us with the owners wealth. In fact, it made the owner himself, sitting behind it, look rather small. A sleek, well groomed man, with a pinched, disdainful expression.
He barely glanced up from his computer screen. "Ah - Sergeant... I understand you wish to ask me some questions?" His tone was one of politely restrained irritation.
"Yes sir." Said Bodell, stolidly refusing to be impressed by the desk or intimidated by Blakes manner. "I'm investigating a murder in Outown."
"Really? I don't see what that has to do with me." Blake replied absently, making notes on the screen with a light pen.
"The victim was a young miner, name o' James Farnon."
"I don't know him."
"He was recently employed by your company, sir."
"What? Oh, really, Sergeant is that you're only reason for bothering me?" Blake spared Bodell a glance. An annoyed one. "You surely don't expect me to know every person in my employ, do you? Contact my Personnel Office." He turned back to the screen. Interview over.
Not quite. "It seems that the late Mr. Farnon knew your daughter, Sir."
"What?" Blake gave another frown. "Nonsense, man."
"A young women was seen in Mr Farnon's company on several occasions lately. She matches the ID of Sarah Blake, your daughter."
"Lady Sarah is my daughter, but any notion of her being seen with a common miner is ridiculous. Ridiculous and unsavoury!"
"At the time of his death, sir, Mr Farnon was wearing a bran' new moisture suit and mask. We have identified it as having been purchased on Lady Sarahs account. Can you explain that, sir?"
"What!" For the first time, Blake gave us his full attention. I gathered that this was not something that he'd anticipated. "How - who gave you authority to access my
family’s private accounts?"
"We also have information that Lady Sarah has, in the past month or so, taken possession of a large accommodation area in Dome City. We have reason to believe that James Farnon was living there." That last was pure speculation, so far, but it was a good guess. Several emotions flickered across Blakes face: surprise certainly, anger probably, fear - perhaps? He settled on anger.
"I don't know where you got this information, Sergeant, but you had better be very careful what you say! I will not have my family linked with this affair!"
"No sir." said Bodell calmly. "O' course not. But it would be very useful if we could talk t'your daughter for a few moments, sir."
"That," said Blake in tones of icy finality. "Is quite out of the question."
"O' course sir. I was forgetting - Lady Sarah left for one o' your outlaying mining stations jus' a few hours ago, didn't she. Was that to keep her from being investigated, sir? Or was it to keep her from finding out about Mr. Farnon's death?"
Blake jumped to his feet, livid with rage. He was, I noticed, actually quite a tall man, in spite of the desk,and powerfully built. Bigger than Farnon had been.
"That is enough!" He shouted. "I'll break you for that suggestion! You will not make such statements about my family! You will not involve my daughter with some seedy back-street stabbing!"
As simple as that? I was almost disappointed. But Blake had never been too concerned about covering his tracks. Wealth and arrogance.
"Well, sir. I don't believe I mentioned that Mr Farnon was stabbed. But since you bring it up, it's interesting that a knife identical to the murder weapon was purchased on your private account yesternight. An' you also bought a moisture suit. A man seen with Mr Farnon shortly before the murder was wearing a new suit of an identical type. Would you care to explain that, Sir?"
"What?" Blake seemed surprised again, as much by Bodell's calmness as by his own slip. But he recovered fast, sitting down and leaning back in his chair. "No, Sergeant, I do not care to explain that. Nor do I have to. Let me remind you, this is Dome City, and out of your jurisdiction. This questioning stops here and now! You will leave at once, and you will make no further attempt to link myself or my family to this affair. I will be contacting your superiors about your behaviour here, but if you drop the matter at once I may let you remain in the Police Force! Is that quite clear?"
"Would you be willing to submit to a truth scan, sir?" the Sergeant asked blandly.
"Damm your insolence!" Blake was seriously angry now, with a wild, gleeful anger that took pleasure in it's power to estroy. "Now you've gone too far! I'll have you in Dome City cells for this! You forget that you have no power here!"
"But I do." I put in.
Blake glared, taking notice of me for the first time. "What? Who are you?"
I held out my ID "Craxley. Senior Investigator, Moisture Control Police. And I do have authority here. Or anywhere else on Topaz, for that matter. Enough authority to put you under a truth scan, with or without your co-operation. I think you've given me enough evidence to justify that."
He was puzzled now. And alarmed, because he knew that I did indeed have authority. "But - I don't understand. What has this to do with the Moisture Police?"
I shook my head slowly. "I think you've lived in the Dome too long. Obviously, you've forgotten how serious moisture loss is. Perhaps you think of it in terms of broken pipes or stolen tanks. But when you murdered James Farnon, you left him unsealed, out in open air. The entire moisture content of his body was lost."
"I - but - dammit... the man had influenced my daughter...she was asking to marry him... just a common miner – my daughter... it was unthinkable. Impossible! Outrageous!"
"I see you still don't understand. I'm not charging you with murder. That's not my concern. My concern is with the irreplaceable loss of the water content of James Farnon's body. Topaz is an alien environment for mankind, Blake. Too harsh, too arid for us to survive, without the strictest control of all moisture. That's one law that no one can be allowed to break. And it's our one and only capital offence."
Blake seemed to collapse, dazed. "But... he was only a miner..."
"A miner has as much water in him as any of us." I shrugged. "Ironic, isn't it? If you'd murdered him indoors, you'd have got away with it."
A small group of curious onlookers had gathered behind a bar on the edge of Outown, with the Big Dry stretching off into the darkness beyond. The Police barriers were keeping them back, whilst a sonic screen was doing the same for a few thousand excited suckrats. Which confirmed that this was one for my department.
The Sergeant in charge showed me the corpse, for what it was worth. The mobile lab would tell me more about the pitiful remains than the naked eye could. Suckrats don't leave much.
"Found by a lad out hunting s'rats." The Sergeant explained. He was a big fellow with an outland accent, name of Bodell. I'd worked with him before, and trusted his competence to dig out the basic facts. "Found more 'an he expected – place was swarmin' with 'em. So he called us in."
I nodded. "When was this?"
"Hour or so ago. Lab estimates time of death no more'n an hour before that."
I glanced at my watch. "So he went down around midnight. How?"
"Stabbed in the stomach, but that's not what killed 'im. Whoever did it ripped off his mask and slashed his suit open: but he was still tryin' to crawl when the s'rats found
'im."
Which wouldn't have taken long. All that moisture would have brought them running from miles around. But the victim might have had ten minutes in dry air before that. Ten minutes of lungs and eyeballs drying up, skin cracking open... plus the stomach wound.... The suckrats may have been a mercy.
"Foun' his mask over there, sir." Bodell indicated a patch of ground. "Just thrown away, it 'pears."
"Theft?"
"No sir. Tanks were intact, except for what the s'rats got. Hard to tell now, but we think he had nearly half a litre of pure, plus his reclaim."
"A lot for this part of town."
"Yessir. An' a lot for someone to leave behind."
"What about the suit?"
"Good quality, an' almost new. Mask as well. Heavy Duty rig - OK for the Dry Jungles or the Outmines."
A Labtech came up with a printout. "Positive ID from genetic scan, sir. Names James Farnon. Age 23. Outminer."
"That fits." Sergeant Bodell took the printout "Last employed by Blake Mining - but that was two months ago. Hm - applied for a prospectors licence, few days back. That explains the new gear, then."
"No, not really, Sergeant. Think about it. A man on Blake Company wages comes to town, lives here nearly 40 days, then buys himself a new outfit - and still has water to spare?"
"Someone was staking 'im."
"Right. Question is, who?" I thought for a moment, then nodded towards the nearest building. "Did you check this place yet?"
"Jus' for witnesses. Negative, of course."
"Of course. Well, lets go and have a few words, all the same."
With the Sergeant in tow, I walked round to the front of the structure, a typical low slab of sealed concrete. Cheap, efficient and ugly. We cycled through the moisture lock, and found the inside just as typical: a shabby little dive, with customers to match. Most were sucking Kool or smoking. This end of town, few people could afford the luxury of drinks.
I turned to Bodell as he took off his mask. "What about this place, Sergeant? Known to you?" Meaning `known' in the specific police sense of having a history of nefariousness.
"Not for anything special, sir. Occasional fight, a bit suspect on Air an' Moisture regulations. Owners Vonson. He's the one behind the bar."
I'd thought as much. I was in a plain suit, but Sergeant Bodell was in uniform, and the bartender had a worried look.
We walked up to the bar: I nodded at the Sergeant to start us off.
"Hello Pete. Quiet night?"
"Uh - well, yes, Sergeant. Can I get you something?"
"No, not on duty, Pete. You know that. Hmm - little dry in here, don' you think?"
"It's up to the reg." Pete said, then caught Bodells eye. "But I'll check it, of course! Can't be too careful!"
With Pete nicely rattled, the Sergeant got serious. "Nasty business, out back o' your place."
"Yeah, I heard. Real bad. But look - I already told your men - I don't know anything. How could I? That's six inches of moisture sealed, windowless concrete. Can't hear a damn thing through it."
"Yeah. Convenient, sometimes, isn't it." Bodell gave Pete a hard stare, but more from habit than real suspicion.
"Name James Farnon mean anything to you?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Don't ask for names in here, Sir." He didn't know who I was, but he was being very polite, very cautious.
Very wise. I showed him Farnons picture on the ID printout.
"Yeah - yeah, I know him. Know the face, that is. Been here a lot, last few weeks. Mostly with his girl."
"Ah, a girl. Tell me about her."
Pete shrugged. "Blonde, pretty. Quite young. Good quality suit and mask, plenty of water. They always had drinks, paid water or tokens up front. Didn't get any names."
"What about tonight?"
"Didn't see her, but he was here. Man with him."
"Description?"
Pete shrugged. "Stayed masked all the time, far as I could see. Good gear, though. Come to think of it, they both had good stuff - looked like brand new. Better than the young fellah had before."
"Did they argue?"
"Not that I noticed. Youngster was here first, seemed surprised to see him, but they sat down together and had a drink. Didn't seem like trouble."
"Did they leave together?"
Pete shrugged. "Maybe. I wasn't paying that much attention. I just noticed they were both gone - must have been around midnight."
I nodded. "Well that's about it then. Did anyone in here know either of them - or the girl?"
"Couldn’t say. Perhaps, but they didn't talk to much anyone else."
"OK. You ask around, Pete. Hear anything, let the Sergeant know. Meantime, we'll get someone in here to work up a picture of the girl from your description."
"Glad to help, sir."
I laughed. "You'd better be, Pete." I slipped him a glimpse of my ID, and Pete looked impressed. He escorted us to the door, assuring us of his full cooperation at every step.
Back outside, we found that the murder weapon had turned up. Nothing special to it, just a standard six inch knife, single edged, with a plastic handle. Like Farnons mask and suit, it was brand new.
"Farnon didn't have a knife, did he?" I asked. "No sir. At least, there was no sheath." The Lab tech answered. "We've about finished here, sir - is it OK to pack up?"
Bodell looked at me. I nodded. "File the report, keep the remains stashed pending further investigation." I turned to the Sergeant. "Well, what do you think, Sergeant?"
"It's a strange one, sir. I don't get the motive. Not robbery, f' sure. A fight over that girl maybe - but why leave the water behind? And why do it right outside the bar?
The knife wasn't hidden, either. Just tossed away. Like whoever did it didn't care if it was found or not."
"It's got a smell to it." I agreed. "Expensive new suits, careless about hiding evidence - to me it smells of wealth and arrogance. And what does that combination bring to
mind?"
He smiled, a little grimly. "If you're thinking about Dome City, sir, - you know I've no jurisdiction there."
"But I do. And I'm about ninety percent certain that that's where we'll find our answer. Care to come along? I might be able to use some help."
"OK then, sir. It's all wrapped up here in any case."
"Fine. You drive."
While Bodell headed us towards Dome City, I made a few enquires via the computer link. City records had Farnons most recent address at a cheap miners hotel in Outown – not far from us, but it had been thirty days since he checked out, and I saw little point in going there myself. I had a Lab team dispatched, though, just in case. Then I started digging in a few other places, including some private accounts that would have been closed to the normal Police.
By the time that was done, the picture of Farnons girlfriend, computer generated from Pete's description, had been relayed to me, along with the half dozen closest matches from city ID files. I compared them with my other information, and had the name I was looking for.
We pulled in to Dome City entrance control about an hour before sunrise. I decided that there was enough of the working night left to finish the job, if we hustled, so I used my priority override and went straight in, ignoring the indignant glares from the Dome City Security guards. Once inside, I turned off the vehicles moisture control, and opened the windows.
The inrushing air was so thick and cool and wet that for a moment I felt I was suffocating. Bodell had a coughing fit that nearly took us off the road.
"Rich, isn't it?" I remarked.
"Incredible, sir. Those smells.... an' it's so damp!"
"Yes, that's good wet air the way men were meant to breath it. Smells of green growing things - smells of life, Sergeant."
We sat back and enjoyed the air and the scenery. Dome City is beautiful. There are trees, and bushes and grass and flowers, all deep rooted in soft moist earth. There's even actual streams - real flowing water, just like they say it was back on Earth! Of course, a lot of people just refuse to believe that, and they'll call you a liar to your face when you try and tell them. So few ever get to see inside the Dome.
And that's why, in a way, I hate coming into Dome City. When the Colony Ship built it for us, with technology that we no longer have, it was intended as a park and a playground for all the Topaz colonists the ship was leaving behind. Leaving to build a new world in a harsh environment, but always remembering who we were and where we'd come from. That was what the dome was for, a reminder of Earth and an
encouragement for the future.
But it isn't any more, and hasn't been for nearly a hundred years. Not since Derek Mondare gained control over the Ice Caves, and declared himself President for Life. Then he took over the Dome as well, and made it into a private garden for himself and his chosen elite. They say that things are a little better now, since the old tyrant died. Certainly there are more people living in Dome City than there was before - but it's still restricted to the wealthy and their servants. Most people from the Caves and DownCity – let alone Outown! - never see more of Dome than it's outer shell.
Naturally, I said nothing of this to Bodell, although he would probably agree with me. My position gives me a lot of power, but not enough to talk treason. We drove silently through paradise.
Our destination was a low, rambling building built in some old Earth style that I failed to recognize. A sign outside announced it to be the home of Malcome Blake, of Blake
Mining. Large company, rich man. Lately, he had taken to calling himself Lord Blake, following the fad for aristocratic titles sweeping through Dome City.
"How many litres d'you think this would have cost?" asked Bodell.
"More than you or I'll ever see. Listen, Sergeant - I want you to take the lead on this one."
Bodell gave me a suspicious look. "I don' quite follow, sir."
"I don't want him to know who I am. Not at first, anyway. If he thinks it's just a murder inquiry, we may learn something. This is want I want you to ask him about..."
I passed on some of the information I'd gleaned. Primed with this ammunition, Sergeant Bodell led the way to the door, and announced our visit to the servant who answered.
We were, predictably, kept waiting for a while, though not as long as I'd expected. Lord Blake apparently thought that thirty minutes was enough to demonstrate his importance.
Eventually, we were ushered into an office bigger than the bar we'd just left. The desk alone was the size of my bedroom and carved from a solid block of crystal. Presumably, this was supposed to impress us with the owners wealth. In fact, it made the owner himself, sitting behind it, look rather small. A sleek, well groomed man, with a pinched, disdainful expression.
He barely glanced up from his computer screen. "Ah - Sergeant... I understand you wish to ask me some questions?" His tone was one of politely restrained irritation.
"Yes sir." Said Bodell, stolidly refusing to be impressed by the desk or intimidated by Blakes manner. "I'm investigating a murder in Outown."
"Really? I don't see what that has to do with me." Blake replied absently, making notes on the screen with a light pen.
"The victim was a young miner, name o' James Farnon."
"I don't know him."
"He was recently employed by your company, sir."
"What? Oh, really, Sergeant is that you're only reason for bothering me?" Blake spared Bodell a glance. An annoyed one. "You surely don't expect me to know every person in my employ, do you? Contact my Personnel Office." He turned back to the screen. Interview over.
Not quite. "It seems that the late Mr. Farnon knew your daughter, Sir."
"What?" Blake gave another frown. "Nonsense, man."
"A young women was seen in Mr Farnon's company on several occasions lately. She matches the ID of Sarah Blake, your daughter."
"Lady Sarah is my daughter, but any notion of her being seen with a common miner is ridiculous. Ridiculous and unsavoury!"
"At the time of his death, sir, Mr Farnon was wearing a bran' new moisture suit and mask. We have identified it as having been purchased on Lady Sarahs account. Can you explain that, sir?"
"What!" For the first time, Blake gave us his full attention. I gathered that this was not something that he'd anticipated. "How - who gave you authority to access my
family’s private accounts?"
"We also have information that Lady Sarah has, in the past month or so, taken possession of a large accommodation area in Dome City. We have reason to believe that James Farnon was living there." That last was pure speculation, so far, but it was a good guess. Several emotions flickered across Blakes face: surprise certainly, anger probably, fear - perhaps? He settled on anger.
"I don't know where you got this information, Sergeant, but you had better be very careful what you say! I will not have my family linked with this affair!"
"No sir." said Bodell calmly. "O' course not. But it would be very useful if we could talk t'your daughter for a few moments, sir."
"That," said Blake in tones of icy finality. "Is quite out of the question."
"O' course sir. I was forgetting - Lady Sarah left for one o' your outlaying mining stations jus' a few hours ago, didn't she. Was that to keep her from being investigated, sir? Or was it to keep her from finding out about Mr. Farnon's death?"
Blake jumped to his feet, livid with rage. He was, I noticed, actually quite a tall man, in spite of the desk,and powerfully built. Bigger than Farnon had been.
"That is enough!" He shouted. "I'll break you for that suggestion! You will not make such statements about my family! You will not involve my daughter with some seedy back-street stabbing!"
As simple as that? I was almost disappointed. But Blake had never been too concerned about covering his tracks. Wealth and arrogance.
"Well, sir. I don't believe I mentioned that Mr Farnon was stabbed. But since you bring it up, it's interesting that a knife identical to the murder weapon was purchased on your private account yesternight. An' you also bought a moisture suit. A man seen with Mr Farnon shortly before the murder was wearing a new suit of an identical type. Would you care to explain that, Sir?"
"What?" Blake seemed surprised again, as much by Bodell's calmness as by his own slip. But he recovered fast, sitting down and leaning back in his chair. "No, Sergeant, I do not care to explain that. Nor do I have to. Let me remind you, this is Dome City, and out of your jurisdiction. This questioning stops here and now! You will leave at once, and you will make no further attempt to link myself or my family to this affair. I will be contacting your superiors about your behaviour here, but if you drop the matter at once I may let you remain in the Police Force! Is that quite clear?"
"Would you be willing to submit to a truth scan, sir?" the Sergeant asked blandly.
"Damm your insolence!" Blake was seriously angry now, with a wild, gleeful anger that took pleasure in it's power to estroy. "Now you've gone too far! I'll have you in Dome City cells for this! You forget that you have no power here!"
"But I do." I put in.
Blake glared, taking notice of me for the first time. "What? Who are you?"
I held out my ID "Craxley. Senior Investigator, Moisture Control Police. And I do have authority here. Or anywhere else on Topaz, for that matter. Enough authority to put you under a truth scan, with or without your co-operation. I think you've given me enough evidence to justify that."
He was puzzled now. And alarmed, because he knew that I did indeed have authority. "But - I don't understand. What has this to do with the Moisture Police?"
I shook my head slowly. "I think you've lived in the Dome too long. Obviously, you've forgotten how serious moisture loss is. Perhaps you think of it in terms of broken pipes or stolen tanks. But when you murdered James Farnon, you left him unsealed, out in open air. The entire moisture content of his body was lost."
"I - but - dammit... the man had influenced my daughter...she was asking to marry him... just a common miner – my daughter... it was unthinkable. Impossible! Outrageous!"
"I see you still don't understand. I'm not charging you with murder. That's not my concern. My concern is with the irreplaceable loss of the water content of James Farnon's body. Topaz is an alien environment for mankind, Blake. Too harsh, too arid for us to survive, without the strictest control of all moisture. That's one law that no one can be allowed to break. And it's our one and only capital offence."
Blake seemed to collapse, dazed. "But... he was only a miner..."
"A miner has as much water in him as any of us." I shrugged. "Ironic, isn't it? If you'd murdered him indoors, you'd have got away with it."