Early the next morning, Harry hopped the mag-lev that encircled Main Ring. He was the only person in the car at this early hour, a weird no-time between end of third shift and the beginning of first. Harry’s slate chimed, and he pulled it from his pocket. Drayton Denard’s gray countenance squinted up at him from the display. Doctor Denard was the station’s chief medical officer, a title which also made him the defacto chief medical examiner and coroner when there was a death that could not be undone by a vat-grown clone and a brain upload.

“Chief Tomlin said you’re running point on the Honey Gomez case,” he said. “I’ve got cause of death for you.”

“Lay it on me, Doc.”

“Blunt force trauma to the head. Her skull is fractured in several places. She probably didn’t feel a thing.”

“That was our assessment as well.”

He nodded as if Harry’s opinion was trivial and kept talking. “No sign of rape or assault, and no defensive wounds. Whoever did it caught her by surprise, and the body wasn’t moved post mortem.”

“Except she was in an area she wasn’t authorized to be in, at a time she shouldn’t have been,” said Harry. “I think she knew her killer. Have you ID’d the murder weapon?”

“Not yet. I’ve got my forensic techs combing through the standard weapons database. I can tell you the thousand and one things it was not.”

Harry frowned. That in itself could be a clue. Some specialized tool the good doctor wasn’t familiar with. Some implement that wouldn’t be in the database. The killer used whatever had been on hand at the time, suggesting a crime of passion. That still smelled like jilted boyfriend.

“Anything else, Doc?”

Denard shrugged. “Not at the moment. I’ll let you know if I find anything else. But you know what I can’t wrap my head around? Except for those rich bastards up top, everyone dies. The Gomez girl was one of them, an immortal. Why give all that up to die with us pleebs?”

“It’s a head-scratcher, Doc,” said Harry. “Gotta go.”

He killed the connection before Denard could pontificate further. Harry wasn’t in the mood to discuss the philosophy of functional immortality at the moment.

The mag-lev slowed to a stop. Harry was to meet Maddox at an access point near Steen’s dwelling, hoping to catch him unawares as he started his shift. When he arrived at the agreed-upon rendezvous site Harry saw a stream of tired and dirty workers loping homeward as their spry, well-rested and fresh-faced replacements passed them in the opposite direction. But no Maddox.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Grumbling, Harry reached into his pocket and brought out his slate. He called Maddox but there was no answer. Then he pinged his location. He grumbled some more. The ping indicated that his partner was one level below, at least his slate was. “Dammit, Rookie. What are you doing down there?”

He pocketed his slate and found a nearby access ladder. He shimmied down it as quickly as he could and had a look around. This was a service level, full of air handlers, heat exchangers, and maintenance shafts. Most of it was automated, and the only time anyone had to come down here was to make repairs. Station personnel were rarely down here, which meant there was no reason for station security to be here either.

Beyond a labyrinth of pipes Harry heard loud voices. One of them belonged to Maddox. As he got closer, the voices started shouting, and he heard struggling. Drawing his weapon, Harry quickened his pace, jumping over piping and ducking under ductwork.

He came around a corner to find Harry down on all fours, getting kicked in the stomach by a stick-thin bald man covered in tattoos while two more looked on. One of them had a pipe wrench raised in his fist. “Let’s space him,” one of them said.

“Let’s not,” said Harry as he stepped into view, his weapon raised. He had it pointed at Tattoo, but he was prepared to take out Pipe Wrench as well since he had a weapon.

The faceless third guy twisted around, startled, all thirst for vengeance and the thrill of possibly tossing another human being out of the nearest airlock leaving him as he fled into the pipe-encrusted darkness. Harry didn’t mind him leaving, as it improved his odds a little.

“Drop that pipe wrench and step away from him. Now.”

Pipe Wrench did indeed drop his weapon, but he and Tattoo joined their friend up the darkened corridor, their booted footsteps echoing along the deck plating.

Harry holstered his weapon and went to help the rookie to his feet.

“I had it handled,” he said with a groan.

“Yeah. Sure looks like it,” said Harry. “What in hell was that all about? And why didn’t you meet me up level?”

“It’s complicated,” he said grimly.

“Well, un-complicate it. Because I’m gonna have to write up a report and put out a BOLO for those three clowns.”

“No,” Maddox said, gripping Harry’s shoulders.

“What do you mean no? What the hell was that?”

“Just…a misunderstanding. It’s OK. We’ll get ‘em later.”

“Do we need to get you to the medical level?”

“No. I’m fine. Really.”

Harry sighed, looking his partner up and down. He appeared none the worse for wear, but something nagged at him. He recalled the other night at the crime scene, when he was “just in the neighborhood.”

“Listen, guy. If something’s going on I should know about.”

Maddox held up a restraining hand. “There is nothing going on that you should know about. Really.”

“Because if there is, it reflects on me too.”

“Trust me. Nothing is going on. It’s fine. Now can we go pick up Honey’s old boyfriend now?”

Harry shook his head. “No. We lost the element of surprise on that one. We’ll have to wait until end of shift, catch him away from his friends and coworkers. Meet me up there at oh six hundred. Got it?” Harry pointed above their heads.

“Yeah. I got it.”

“Good. Why don’t you go get yourself cleaned up? I’ve got some paperwork to do. I’ll see you back at the precinct.”