CHAPTER 020
THE CHAISE LOUNGE
I was less surprised that Tamsworth had heard of Matteo Russo’s murder than I was that he’d been able to keep the news to himself. He’d even tried to backtrack on his initial statement when I pressed him about what ‘this’ meant. He only relented when I assured him that I knew about it as well. At least we agreed that it was impossible to tell who on the Lunar Express one could trust.
Michelle Benoit was not answering her comex. Still not fully recovered from Wilder’s (now understandable) snub, I calmed myself by rehashing everything I had just learned.
Ted Burke, as it turned out, had been a constant thorn in Tamsworth’s side during his tenure at Madison Defense. He came highly recommended from his previous employer, though in hindsight, Tamsworth suspected the glowing reviews might have been part of an attempt to foist him off on someone else. He was a talented engineer, skilled across multiple disciplines and in possession of a wall’s worth of framed degrees to back it up. A restless innovator and relentless tinkerer, his greatest weakness was not knowing when to stop. To him, a good solution to a problem stood only in the way of a great one. If there was no solution at all, that was simply because he hadn’t found it yet. Every question had an answer, he insisted. It was just a matter of someone asking him to find it.
While those sounded like the sorts of weaknesses one might disingenuously invent for themselves in advance of a job interview or a blind date, Tamsworth’s flaws were far more glaring. His constant clashes with authority figures were the stuff of legends. He chafed at the concepts of guidance and basic oversight, refusing to accept that anyone lacking his pedigree should have any power over him. Although he was not outwardly confrontational unless ‘provoked’—a low standard that could be met with a simple question or request for him to provide proper documentation for his arcane processes—he gained a reputation for aggressively espousing his radical social views to anyone who hadn’t yet learned to avoid him. An innocuous smoke break taken in the wrong area could lead to someone finding themselves on the wrong end of an unsolicited diatribe about the inherent biases of class structure and the workers’ obligation to break the system on the wheel. Tamsworth recalled an incident in which a fed-up coworker asked him whose name appeared at the bottom of his paycheck. They had to be physically separated, leading to the first of many disciplinary sessions Burke spent in Tamsworth’s Human Resources office.
Consensus around Madison Defense was that Burke’s massive talents barely outweighed his considerable baggage in other areas, leading him to stay on in a perpetual probation period. Tamsworth openly admitted he was one of many on the lookout for any excuse to dismiss Burke with cause. His continued presence was becoming a distraction, threatening to unravel the previously tight-knit crew of engineers that kept the Research and Development department among the best in the system. Growing rumblings around the campus hinted that if something wasn’t done about Burke, someone would have to take matters into their own hands. Fortunately Burke slipped up and got caught shipping the cyberware-dissolving prototype to their competitors at Stellar Engines. He was shown the door. Rumor was that he didn’t receive harsher sanctions for fear of retaliation, though Tamsworth uncharacteristically refused to offer his opinion on the matter one way or the other.
By the time Tamsworth was several drinks in, I felt comfortable enough to directly ask him about any relationship between Burke and Wilder. If he was, in fact, still spying for the latter, he couldn’t accuse me of saying anything worse than he already had. The HR shill bluntly stated that it was unlikely Tamsworth could pick Burke out of a two-person lineup, as he had little interest in smaller cogs in his machine. I thought back to the trial and how Wilder seemed at least passingly familiar with Pallana, the offending janitor, and asked if that struck Tamsworth as odd. He conceded that in an instance where Wilder stood to gain or lose money or prestige, he might make an exception. Although Tamsworth insisted he had no idea what the prototype involved in Burke’s dismissal had been, he conceded that its value as a symbol in the Denaro-Wilder rivalry could exceed its worth in dollars and cents.
Had he known the prototype’s sinister capabilities, I wagered that Tamsworth might have changed his tune. Then again, maybe not. He, like me, was one of the few passengers on board immune to the effects of Burke’s machine. Almost everyone else sported some kind of tech. I imagine he’d have motivation in the form of his attachment to some of them, but there was no chance I was telling him to find out. Tamsworth was the last person I would entrust with sensitive information. Smoking out the killer would be difficult enough without inciting a full-scale panic first.
I reached Michelle’s room and knocked gently, reflexively fearing the worst. She opened the door.
“Not even going to ask who it is first?”
“I’m capable of taking care of myself, thank you. Besides, there’s a peephole for a reason.”
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“Fair enough. Can I come in?”
She swung the door open and motioned for me to enter. Her room was identical to mine, albeit in mirror image. She had the same mahogany steamer trunk, ostensibly down to the same lack of my bug-out kit, and the same furniture. On the small table where I’d flung my bag, she’d spread out a stack of papers inscribed with neatly handwritten notes.
I casually scanned the wall beside the window panel for its telltale seam to the utility corridors before realizing I wasn’t sure which side of the Express we were on. The various hallways twisted and turned enough to render exact orientation impossible. That conversation would have to wait for later, if we ended up having it at all.
Something else about the room was impalpably different. Less homey. After a moment it registered. Michelle’s room was missing the smell of a cooped-up dog, now with the addition of a sweaty child. I had a feeling she was all right with that.
“Have a seat,” she offered with a sweep of her hand. I sank into the chaise lounge. “Can I offer you anything to drink?”
As tempting as it was, I was still feeling pretty good from my rap session with Tamsworth. I needed to make it back to my room before the end of the night.
“I’m all right for now, thanks.” I noticed the coffee mug she was sipping from contained red wine. She had the right idea. “And apologies for showing up uninvited. I know we agreed to check in but didn’t schedule a time or place. Then when you didn’t answer any of my messages, I just thought…”
“I thought the same when I tried to get in touch with my editor. As it turns out, the whole data system is down. I figured maybe the captain had cut the comm link to the surface networks to make sure no one heard about…” She steeled herself with a hearty pull from the mug. “That no one was passing along information he didn’t want us to. But no, no messages in or out, not even to anyone on board. Did you find Tamsworth?”
“I did. I must have gotten through just in time.”
“And?”
I repeated everything Tamsworth had told me that seemed of relevance: Burke’s impressive skillset, his fiery temper, and his anarchical leanings. I left out the fact that Tamsworth knew about Matteo’s death, not wanting to distract Michelle with the potential loss of her exclusive.
Her pen hovered over a blank page as I spoke but rarely touched down. She apparently knew more about Burke than she was letting on. Considering it was beginning to seem he was at least indirectly involved in her sister’s death, I was not surprised.
“How about you?” I prompted. “Did you turn anything up about any passengers with connections to Burke on board?”
“Not for lack of trying. Whatever is interfering with the comms network is messing with the ship’s mainframe as well. I managed to pull up the passenger manifest but it’s all linking to random cached versions of the profiles. Look.”
Michelle held up her comex. I didn’t immediately recognize the woman pictured. She couldn’t have been much more than twenty, but appeared younger due to the old-fashioned metallic braces welded across her smile. A chunky, layered hairstyle streaked through with bleached highlights swooped to one side, revealing one exquisitely almond-shaped eye.
“Oh, wow.” I’d already said too much.
“I don’t even know where they found this one. Some default database leftover from before a security upgrade?”
“Maybe, but I don’t see why they would have held onto anything this old.” I rapidly corrected course. “I mean, it’s been how long since the Lunar Express was in active service? Well before our time.” Judging from Michelle’s sustained glower, I’d gone too far in the other direction. One last try. “Actually, this might not be related to the network outage at all.”
Fortunately, her investigative instincts took precedence over any insecurities I’d indelicately trodden upon. “What makes you say that?”
“I received credible information that there were discrepancies between the passengers and their reference photos. I hadn’t gotten a chance to look into it yet, but it looks like it checks out.”
“Who told you?”
“Someone with an inside track to the Denaros.” I made a mental note to thank G for playing whatever the hell Face Bingo was. “Don’t worry, they’re on our side.”
“Do you think you could put me in touch? After we’ve landed, of course.”
“I can certainly try.” If G happened to get back to Frankie before the subject came up, so be it.
Michelle, energized by the influx of new information, refilled her mug from a glugging bottle. “You sure you don’t want anything?”
“Well, if you insist.”
She grabbed the other mug from the set, filled it, and handed it over. “Oh! I didn’t even ask. What did Wilder have to say?”
My mind went to the incapacitated CEO flopped carelessly across the bed in the brig, then to the tarped-off fountain I’d passed on the way back from the Northstar Lounge. I’d leave it up to the professional to uncover the specifics of that one.
“Not much, unfortunately. Captain Fox has him brig for now.”
“For killing Matty?”
“No, not yet. There’s still a lot of pieces left to connect before we can lock anyone up for that. For a different situation, after the dinner fiasco. Entirely unrelated.”
“That’s disappointing. Though it is also curious, isn’t it?”
“In what sense?”
“It’s almost like…I don’t know. Maybe I’m being paranoid. But for someone trying so hard to squeeze his way into high society, it’s odd that he’d make two such egregious errors on the same night. It’s almost like he wanted to make sure that he was seen, or that people would remember seeing him.”
“And what better place to do that than in a room he can’t leave, while he’s under constant observation? It’s the perfect alibi.”
“For what?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Against my aching body’s pops and cracks of protest, I dragged myself from the comfort of the chaise lounge. “But I’m about to find out.”
There was no way I was making it back to my bed tonight.