2075 - Space Corps Central Command Office
When Colonel Moore had disappeared from sight and the elevator doors had closed behind him, Harlow found himself alone once more.
He made his way back to his quarters, doing his best to appear composed since he knew he was being watched closely. In reality though, his heart was pounding, and his hands shook as he ran his fingers through his hair, which seemed to be going grayer with each passing day. And he walked inside fully knowing that if this gamble failed, it might very well be his last day in office, and quite possibly his last day alive.
He didn’t sleep that night. He paced about his quarters, then tossed and turned in bed, then got up and paced some more, then collapsed on the sofa, where he closed his eyes from sheer exhaustion and fell into a restless, fitful nap which lasted barely an hour. Then he awoke with a start, heart still pounding in his chest, and began his day.
Every minute seemed interminable, but the hours flew past. The time of the supposed document leak came and went, and Harlow carried on, as usual, as if nothing was amiss.
He knew it wouldn’t last. There was no question as to whether something was going to happen; it was simply a matter of what, and when.
And sure enough, mid-way through the morning, his routine was interrupted when a junior aide rushed into his office and whispered a frantic message in his ear.
The evening prior, they said, General Lin had gone to sleep a few hours after their meeting, and never woke up.
And Harlow, stone-faced as ever, responded to this news with a solemn nod.
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Rumors began circulating immediately.
Whispers, conspiracies, and accusations swirled throughout the ranks, spreading in hushed tones in mess hall lines, growing more elaborate over iced glasses of brandy in officers’ lounges, and flying with exponentially increasing degrees of half-truth and speculation through rows of enlisted bunks, which now harbored talk of black magic, witchcraft, secret organizations, and ancient curses. But the autopsy revealed nothing aside from a man in his early sixties who’d died in his sleep of natural causes.
A weak heart had finally given out after years of stimulant abuse and the stresses of the war—factors which were exacerbated by a heated discussion several hours prior. There was nothing suspicious about it; even the independent investigators who’d been brought in from Headquarters couldn’t prove otherwise. The wording of the Space Corps’ official press release was intentionally vague, but it implied that General Lin had followed his usual evening routine, and nothing out of the ordinary had occurred that night.
Harlow was asked to come in for questioning, and did so without resistance or complaint. However, he was quickly cleared and released. All of his statements as to his actions that evening were corroborated by camera footage, and he was honest regarding the nature of their discussion, and the times of his arrival and departure. Colonel Moore’s name never entered the discussion aside from a brief mention in a long list of those he’d spoken to that afternoon. It was barely a footnote—a two-minute elevator chat he hardly remembered.
Some speculated he might’ve poisoned the wine, but it had been a brand new bottle which Lin had personally retrieved from the wine cellar and poured himself. Harlow never touched it, nor either of the glasses.
The only evidence of potential misconduct was the shattered glass in the corner of the room. However, one of Lin’s aides testified that these findings weren’t abnormal. The General had likely broken it himself, they said, and his staff were accustomed to cleaning up after him, as such behavior was a regular occurrence.
And indeed, when the few surviving shards large enough to be analyzed were scanned for fingerprints, only one set was found.
Lin’s.
This small, destructive gesture was confirmed to have been one of his final acts.
There was no mention of the scattered papers on the floor in any of the investigative reports. Harlow could only assume his staff must’ve removed them—along with quite a few other things—before notifying authorities.
No one requested further investigation into General Lin’s death. Harlow thought they might, but the man had a surprising lack of mourners, given his status.
He attended the memorial service, as did most of senior command, with that stone-faced demeanor displayed throughout, and issued polite condolences to the family. But as soon as he left, he felt as if the darkest chapter of his life was drawing to a close.