They could hear the distant clunk inside the Cellini as the smaller ship docked.  A slight tremor followed.

A visit from another ship, rare as it was, would normally be an event to stir curiosity, even levity and amusement amongst the small crew on a long, tedious mission. However, no-one was celebrating at this time.

The Commander's clipped voice gave the command over the intercom: “Once visitors have been processed escort them to the bridge, thank you Mr Tybol.”

'Processing the visitors' would amount to no more than signing in with their ID cards everyone knew.

“The body – Sergeant Mir's body – was moved to the… freezer”, Tybol informed the officers as he led them to the bridge.

“Who ordered that? It should not have been touched, let alone moved.” The officer was clearly angered by the news.

“The Commander. Her call.”

The three moved on in tense silence, ducking low-hanging screens and equipment, squeezing through untidy spaces past a few operators and technicians who eyed them uncertainly.

“Commander Dennis, I'll be lodging a formal complaint against your conduct. You had no right to move the body. This is an investigation into an unlawful killing. It could even be a murder! Valuable information – clues – will have been lost.”

“And good morning to you, sergeant. I trust your journey out here was comfortable. Welcome aboard Central Space Command's survey vessel, Cellini.” the Commander's voice was cool; her gaze steely.

The sergeant immediately snapped to attention as did his assistant, and both executed crisp salutes.

“Sergeant Blunt, Military Police grade two, Jupiter-1, Ma'am. My assistant, Private Seto. Reporting for duty to investigate the unlawful killing of one of your crew, Ma'am.”

The Commander's gaze changed not one iota: her expression condescendingly bored. Blunt and Seto stood frozen. She let the cocky fly squirm on the pin. Unhurried, she turned her gaze to her junior officer.

“In future, Mr. Tybol, you will escort guests to the bridge as per instruction and keep your... observations to yourself. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

“Return to your post. We have important work to do. At ease!”

The MPs relaxed and Tybol squeezed past them on the narrow bridge, making his way back to his small section.

“Commander, as an investigation...”

“Private Seto,” the Commander cut through the sergeant's words calmly. He would remember stepping onto her ship, she was certain.

“As of now, there are only three females onboard my vessel. You need to be aware of that at all times. Do you understand?”

“Ma'am, I'm here to assist Sergeant Blunt...”

“I'm very aware of your assignment, Private. And I'm also aware that my men can be... brash at times. They would laugh that off as mere high spirits, of course. However, I wouldn't want you to face any distractions in your job.”

“No, Ma'am. I'll bear your words in mind. Thank you Ma'am.” It was easier for Seto to go along with the Commander's game rules than try to rewrite them and fly solo on this uncharted ship.

“From my point-of-view, Sergeant, we had no choice but to stow Sergeant Mir's body to make room in a vital work space. The area had to be cleaned. It was slippery with blood and it could effect the working of our equipment. We have kept the cloths used to mop up the area if they're of any use.”

“Vital work space? A man has been killed and this is just a ...” Blunt knew his mistake as soon as his mouth began to form the words.

“Just a what, Sergeant Blunt?” That they were off to a bad start was a supreme understatement. “Just a survey ship on a mission of no great importance? Mapping one of the outer minor moons of Jupiter?”

“No, Ma'am.” Blunt held his tongue for painful seconds. “I apologize unreservedly, Ma'am. It was certainly not my intention to denigrate the important role of one of Central's survey ships.”

“Apology accepted. You have my initial report, and the statement from Geisler, the enlisted man who found Sergeant Mir?”

“Yes. All here,” Blunt replied and patted the satchel he was carrying.

“ I'm sure your time is valuable, as is ours,” she continued. “How do you envisage your investigation proceeding from here?”

Visible relief enveloped the sergeant. “Ideally, and with your permission of course, we'd like to begin with an examination of the deceased, Ma'am, and then proceed to the section where Sergeant Mir's body was discovered.”

“Where he was killed?” The Commander asked.

“Not necessarily, Ma'am. He may not have died where he was found. We need to look at all possibilities before we draw any conclusions.”

“Of course.” Her words but a small sign that the frozen atmosphere between them might warm slightly. “We will offer you every assistance. We are short-handed, especially now, but I will spare you one of the enlisted hands to show you around.”

“Thank you, Ma'am, but I'm sure we can manage. Perhaps a room for interviews? Other than that, we can use the deck layout maps and we won't interrupt your work any more than is necessary.”

“Interviews?”

“They will be in the second stage of the investigation.”

“Fine. I won't hold you up any further.” She turned away and the two police officers began to exit the bridge. The Commander suddenly spun back.

“One more thing, Sergeant.”

“Ma'am?”

“Once you've made your finding... your discovery,” she searched for the correct word but Blunt refused to rescue her. “When you have a final decision and know who carried out this act, I want to be the first to know. Understood?”

“I wasn't expecting that reception.”

“No, Sarge. She's um...”

“A piece of work. And I can't do much more than lodge a complaint about disturbing the crime scene after all that.”

“No, Sarge.”

“Anyway, let's have a look at him.”

Blunt and Seto had located the freezer room on the lower level, stuck out of the way between mechanical spare parts and the linen closet, neither of which enjoyed a conspicuous sense of organisation.

Blunt opened the freezer room door and the body lay before them on the floor. A dirty tarpaulin, with its light covering of frost, held the body.

“This damn rust-bucket! We'll be lucky to lift any fresh clues here.” Blunt exhaled his frustration and shook his head. “Come on. Open it up.”

The body of Sergeant Mir lay on its back, frozen, metaphorically and now physically, in a moment of surprise. Its eyes were open and lips were slightly parted. The uniform, was blood soaked and hardened, but surprisingly free of the large tears and rents you'd expect if there'd been a violent struggle.

The two police officers knelt on either side of the body. As their eyes scoured their subject, both automatically put on latex gloves and strapped on head lamps. Seto retrieved a small kit of forensic tools from her bag and Blunt produced something very retro, very old-fashioned: a magnifying glass.

“Remind me: did the report say time of death was Sol 135...?”

“Time the body was discovered,” Seto corrected. “Sol 135, oh-eight forty-five... or thereabouts.”

“Rigor, definitely. Stiffer than a frozen chicken. Time now - for the record...?”

“Fourteen thirty. Sol 138.”

“That makes it... about...”

“Thirty-two hours.”

“Close enough. Nails?”

“Some blood. There may be skin...”

“And it could all be his,” Blunt responded. “Test it asap. What do you make of his clothing?”

“Same as how he's laid out - either done in ignorance or to conceal how he died. Can't hide that someone went berserk at the time, though.”

Mir's shirt was buttoned to the neck. The buttons in front perfectly aligned, and in line with his belt buckle. A mannequin in the making.

“And thus where he might have been killed. And why?”

They spent the next fifteen minutes cutting the clothing, from the body, one layer at a time, searching through the pockets and crevices for any secrets concealed therein. Each treasure, however insignificant, would have a tale to tell, if only they could find the key.

When the body was finally naked Blunt and Seto once again examined every small detail of the head, the torso and the limbs. A scatter of small red wounds – possible stab wounds – covered Mir's body. Seto snapped photos and described what she was seeing into her recorder.

Having finished that step, they rolled Mir over and looked closely at the back of all those parts.

“Interesting, sir.”

“Hmm. What part in particular?”

“There are the same wounds over on this side, though not as many.”

“Yes. That is one point worth considering, isn't it? So where was he killed?”

Blunt's comm handset buzzed quietly and vibrated.

“Petty Officer Tybol here, sir. The Commander has set aside an interview space for you on the third level. Room 11B.”

“Please thank the Commander for us. We will make our way up there shortly; after we finish here. And Tybol, we will take a few minutes to look over the ship. To get our bearings, you understand. All important for the investigation.”

“Yes, Sergeant. That should be satisfactory. I'll inform the Commander. Over.”

“Over?” Blunt was momentarily surprised at the old-fashioned radio protocol but quickly recovered. “Thank you, Tybol. Out.”

“Now, isn't he a helpful lad? Do they want us to succeed or fail? To crack the case and to get off their damn ship lickety-split, or to leave empty-handed and bamboozled?”

Seto took that as her signal to begin winding up her examination.

“The shoulders don't appear quite balanced or level. The left one seems to exhibit some kind of bony extrusion. Old injury. I wonder if Sergeant Mir had seen active duty during his career.”

“Possibly. Pull his full service record,” Blunt said. He continued musing in patter familiar to his partner, “About sixty. Could have been. Knuckles are broad, bony. Not bad shape for age. Pugilist? Liked a drink.”

He shook himself back to the present and spoke directly to Seto. “Get the few things you need here. We should X-ray the body. Will the convertible fit through those passageways?”

“If it won't, I'll make it.” Seto's chin stuck out.

“Good. Bloods first and then stomach. I'll chat with our friends back at J-1 and we can meet in 11B in 45 minutes. Suit you?”

“Yes, Sarge. Sounds like a plan.”

When Seto approached room 11B an enlisted technician – Private Zek - was waiting outside. His face brightened immediately on seeing her and he leaned back cockily against the wall, giving her the once-over. The striped mass of the “Main Guy” - Jupiter - filled the small porthole on the wall behind him.

“Hey, good looking. Life suddenly ain't all bad.”

“Wipe the smile off your face and get serious. A man has died – one of your crew mates!” Seto snapped.

Zek snorted disdainfully. “If I plead guilty now do I get to spend some quality time with you? I might be worth saving; you shouldn't underestimate that.”

Seto pushed past Zek, the memory of the Commander's voice fresh in her ears. Sergeant Blunt had already set up table, chairs and vid-recorder.

Blunt shot her a glance, “Smart-arse?”

“Yep. But I'm sure his mummy loves him.”

“Apparently radio communication has been dodgy for the past thirty hours.”

“Is it a coincidence it neatly fits our timeline?”

“Maybe yes, maybe no. The Main Guy has been belching a few of his own radio waves this past few sols.”

“Usually does: part of the story living next to the solar system's largest planet.”

“And they don't have shielding like you see on Europa, so... radio communication has been dodgy.”

“Did you manage to talk to Central after all that?” Seto asked.

“Sort of... mostly. Central takes note of our complaint regarding moving the deceased, but anything goes out here in the gravel pit. And the same goes for Commander Dennis. Seems she stood up to the powers over some glass ceiling and this is her reward.”

“The boonies. Hardly fair, sir.”

“Right you are, Seto. She's done it hard for three years now even though she has a spotless record. Word is she's preparing a paper for Council and is going to name names, as they say.”

“I don't understand. Being passed over for promotion? Hardly a matter for Council.”

“No. Extent of corruption out here on the frontier is the main topic. Smuggling is off the charts: rare earths - yttrium, monazite - and a few more, even space diamonds. A good little earner apparently, and the Central Government doesn't cop a razoo in tax. Word round the base is that there are some big names involved.”

“I bet that's a dangerous game. Then what is the Commander's role in all of this?”

“It adds to the rich tapestry. Let's get that mouth in here and see what he can tell us.”

Seto swung the door open.

“Private Zek?” she read from her mini-tablet. “In,” her voice without emotion. “Speak when you're spoken to.”

She left him to manage the door and stepped back into the room, taking the seat behind the table next to Blunt.

“This is Sergeant Blunt of the Jupiter-1 Military Police. I am Private Seto. We are here to investigate the murder of Sergeant Mir of the survey vessel Cellini. State your name, rank and position aboard this ship for the purposes of the recording. Be aware that what you say may be used as evidence in court.”

Zek's swagger snapped to rigid attention and he barked his details.

“Zek, Artemis, Private. Navigation and mapping technician, first class.”

“Thank you Private Zek. Be seated,” Sergeant Blunt said calmly. For a moment he held Zek's gaze under much-rehearsed dismissive scrutiny. Zek complied with an uncertain gulp.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

“When did you learn of Sergeant Mir's death, Private?”

“Shortly after Ranter... er Private Brikil found him. She screamed the house down.” Zek smiled broadly and chuckled.

“That amuses you?”

“No sir. Begging your pardon.”

“You called Private Brikil... 'Ranter'?” Seto asked, leaning in. Zek looked at her uncertainly.

“Yes, Ma'am. Didn't mean to. It's her nickname. She talks a bit.”

“Oh, I see. And do you have a nickname, Private Zek?”

“Nah, they just call me 'Zek'.”

“Thank you, Private,” Blunt resumed. “What did you do once Private Brikil raised the alarm?”

“ I went over and had a look. Anyone could see he was beyond it. Tybol came running and got down next to him checking his vitals and that sort of thing. So I just er... worked on Private Brikil. Helped to calm her down, you know. Put my arm around her.”

The thought of being comforted by Private Zek didn't much appeal to Seto.

“I'm sure you were of great help. What had you been doing immediately before that, Private?” Blunt once more nailed him with his gaze.

“I was on a bit of downtime. It's the screens and details, contours and so forth – you always have to be watching really close, and we miss half the story. The sonar is too fast.”

“Surely naval survey has AI to manage that?”

“Well, yes and no. It is a government ship when all's said and done!” He tried a laugh but no-one joined in. They looked at him. They didn't blink. “Adrastea is certainly not Ganymede or Europa. It's just some piss-ant little rock that's no good to anyone. Only about sixteen kilometres across. The worst it can be is a hazard for some sleepy skipper somewhere down the line. But you'd need your head read to be flying around out here.”

“Hmm, interesting to hear you say that. So what's a navigation and mapping technician – first class – doing flying out around out here in the back of beyond?” Blunt raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“It's a job. You go where the navy sends you.”

“But a first class ticket would get you a stint on one of the big explorers round the asteroid belt; doing the Mars run or even Venus nowadays. Hell, there'd even be plenty of cushy opportunities on good ol' Mother Earth. For a class one tech, that is.”

Zek looked from one poker face to the other. He had no friends here.

Blunt smiled and nodded. “Why don't you tell us your real story; the way you see it. Save us the trouble of having to go through your file. Those things can send a bloke to sleep through sheer boredom. Did you know that?”

The private managed a weak smile but he looked seasick-green giving it. And then he told them his real story. All of it.

When he'd finished Seto began. “How did you and Sergeant Mir get along?”

“Mir? We weren't friends, if that's what you're asking. He was a hard son-of-a-bitch. Cruel. And he enjoyed making you squirm and jump to his tune, no doubt about it.”

“Did he have it in for you especially? Or did he share the love?”

“Just whoever got in his way at the time.”

“When did he last go for you? Tell us about it.”

Zek tugged at his collar trying to ease his growing discomfort.

He began hesitantly, “A couple of shifts back, maybe Sol 133, he upped me over some photo-flik I put together. It was just harmless, y'know: everyone can share a laugh, work doesn't have to be so tedious.”

“You building a little team spirit for the tech crew?”

“It was no big deal. We're all humans in this rust-bucket together. Better to get along with each other, that's what I say.” He tried another chuckle, to no avail.

“Was that the picture with the woman on all fours crawling towards some god-like male? And there was a wolf next to him?”

Blunt would later swear Zek's eyes nearly jumped out of their sockets. Seto's expression - calm and impenetrable.

Zek licked at his dry lips. How did she know about the picture? Had she seen it?

Seto deliberately opened a folder in front of her and coolly produced an image printed in the old fashioned way, on paper. Admittedly it was grainy but it still retained sufficient clarity to show Commander Dennis's face on the crawling woman and Zek's own on the god-like man.

“Oh, god,” Zek moaned.

“So you were selflessly thinking of staff morale and Sergeant Mir, bastard that he was, got up you! And he ripped you up good and proper in front of everybody, did he? So you thought you'd pay him back...”

It took Zek a moment to shake himself back to the here and now of her assumption.

“No! I didn't kill Mir – no way!”

“What's a reasonable person to think, Private Zek? You have an axe to grind. Mir belittled you and everyone else beneath him. You're in the middle of nowhere. This rattling hulk of a ship and only a handful of crew. A sleepy mission to map a rock no-one cares about.”

“No. I didn't kill him. I wouldn't... Sure, I hated his guts and I don't care he's... not here anymore. Couldn't stand him, but...”

“You have a motive. Who could blame you? And there would have been plenty of opportunities.”

“No. Not me.”

“We're still examining the body, Private Zek, but you could give us a hint as to how you dispatched the sergeant...?”

Blunt and Seto sat in the corridor amongst the crates and boxes waiting for their next witness. They had let Zek skulk back to his station. Instructions to keep the interview to himself were considered surplus to requirements: the private didn't look like he'd be yapping to anyone anytime soon.

“Remind me never to walk on your wrong side, Private Seto,” Blunt quipped soaking up a few of the Main Guy's rays.

“What a greaser! I doubt he'd have the guts to do it.”

“Even the most unlikely weasel can surprise us,” Blunt sighed.

“Such wisdom, boss,” she said giving a sarcastic laugh. She paused, changing tack. “Y'know, I don't think I'd last too long out here. The constant nothing-to-do, no-one-to-talk-to would drive me off the rails. It's hard enough at J-1 and new faces are always turning up back there.”

Once Europa's Jupiter-1 Base had been established ten years earlier it had quickly grown as a frontier crossroads where most long-haul travellers wound up at one time or another. Casually dropping that you'd spent a couple of wasted weeks recuperating at J-1 was worth gold in the right circles on Mars, priceless on M.E. – Mother Earth.

They were interrupted by a cough from behind them. Brikil was directed into the room and Blunt and Seto sat opposite her at the table.

She appeared nervous. The necessary preliminaries were quickly dispatched and when she sat, Blunt and Seto took a long moment to look her over, staring at her, caring little for any niceties or basic courtesies. Brikil appeared shy and avoided direct eye contact for any length of time. She described the shock of finding the sergeant's body and basically confirmed Zek's version, the arrival of Tybol and Zek's “comfort” - “I didn't need him pawing me.”

“How did you get along with Sergeant Mir?” Blunt asked in his best innocent tone.

“You shouldn't speak ill of the dead.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Seto surmised, “But some have been downright bad, haven't they? Was the sergeant one of them?”

“Don't know what he got up to in his own time.”

“Oh come on, private!” snapped Blunt. “You're supposed to be the “ranter” aren't you? Isn't that what they call you round here? Well, start ranting!”

“The likes of Argo and Zek might call me a lot of names. They're cruel. It's just entertainment for them. They even laugh that the sergeant... met his end.”

Both Seto and Blunt inwardly rolled their eyes.

Seto began again, “So are you this prim little school-girl innocent, or do you have something to say? What was Mir like to you?”

Brikil sat back and sniffed, looking once to Seto and then to Blunt. Would it later harm her chances of transferring off this bucket if she opened up about a superior?

“He made it known to me there would be benefits if certain things came about. You know?”

“And were there benefits?”

“I'm not like that. I told him 'no' and to stay away from me or I'd go to the Commander.”

“And what happened then?”

“He just laughed and said 'go ahead' and that she wouldn't care. He said she was happy with him as long as he kept the section working. We didn't need him.”

“So, he kept trying?”

“Once or twice but he saw I wouldn't change. I found him...”

“Creepy?” Seto offered.

“No. Zek's creepy. Mir was a thug. Even though he was pushing maybe sixty, he worked out and looked after his body out here. Zek and Argo said he was always with the working girls at the bars back at Jupiter Station when we had leave. I think he treated all the enlisted women as tarts. And he'd fight too. You could see his knuckles all cut up when we were back on ship, or he'd be wearing sunglasses. Maybe his women liked a fighter.”

“Did you kill Sergeant Mir?” Blunt asked.

The private laughed at the suggestion. “If I was going to kill that bastard I would have shot him a thousand times, with a big gun, not some... how was he killed? I didn't see any blood till later.”

“A man's face is his autobiography; a woman's, her work of fiction.”

“Woohoo, Sarge! What did you have for breakfast? I can't keep up with all this wisdom!”

“Not my words, of course. Oscar Wilde's.”

“Was he one of the scallywags you sent down for that diamond job on Mars.”

“No. They weren't that bright. Have you been checking my past ops, Seto?”

“A girl's got to read something round J-1 station otherwise the days would bore me to tears.”

They were moving up a level in the ship, quietly observing its daily working, its bumps and dents, dust and crap, and crew when they found one.

“I'd describe Private Brikil as an attractive woman, wouldn't you?”

“Yes,” Seto conceded. “And men can do strange things for attractive women.”

They decided to once again go their separate ways round the deck to see what they could find. Blunt soon ran into the Commander doing her rounds.

“I was going to call on you a bit later,” he said. “I wanted to learn a little about the smuggling rackets someone like you might stumble across out here.”

“Once I report what we've seen or found it becomes classified information and handed up the line. Your top brass can talk to ours, but I doubt they'll tell you much. They leave me in the dark.”

“Yes, that's what they tell us - in the handbook, anyway.”

The commander returned his stare, icicle for icicle. And she didn't blink once.

“Let's be open with each other, Commander.”

“Continue.”

“Word around J-1 and all the way back to Earth is that you're going to lift the lid on some smuggling job out this way. Right? And that more than a few of the navy top brass are caught up in it.”

“It's your story. I'm not going to interrupt.”

“But it's not exactly new information, is it? I'm guessing that this time you've got recordings, vision? Or even a few people willing to turn witness for the prosecution,” he said, smirking. “Classic, eh? I always love throwing that one in: it gets the sleuths all excited. You know, Christie and all?”

He thought he could hear the commander's eyes rolling as she sighed the last of her patience.

“Come to the point Sergeant Blunt.”

“Then again, you've probably had all that stuff stashed away somewhere for quite some time. So why haven't you gone ahead and sent it off long ago, to whoever... the courts, the Attorney General, your local member? My guess is that timing is all: the right time to drop the bomb to cause the most damage, or to ensure you have a few safeguards in place. For your future, that is. Or a combination of both?”

Her silence was cold and without heartbeat. She bore through him with her now-familiar stare. Suddenly she smiled, condescendingly.

“I don't know what you're talking about, Sergeant. You've been reading too many of those cheap murder-mystery novels,” she said. “Now if you'll excuse me; I have a ship to run.”

“Private Argo, you're fairly quiet round here.”

He looked from one to the other. Who were these people? Temp cops from J-1 or Mother Earth sticking their chests out, big noting? Hmm... but her chest was allright...

“I mind me own.”

“And what exactly is your own, Private?” Seto inquired.

“Like I said, I'm on nav and apps.”

“And you're just a good guy who minds his own business and wants to get on with his job? Is that it?” Blunt asked.

Argo didn't answer them. Their eyes gave nothing away. They were just screws in neater uniforms.

“Interesting er... graphic,” the sergeant said, pointing to the crude tattoo of a dagger on the back of Argo's left hand. The private immediately covered it with his right.

“What of it? That's past.”

“Boriskan-3, Private Seto,” Blunt said to his assistant and to anyone else who might be listening in that small interview room. “Have you heard of the place?”

“They say if the judge gave you the choice of going to hell or to Boriskan you'd be wise to go to hell.”

“That's right,” Blunt nodded. “A prison ship they finally got right, if you ask me. What say you, Private Argo?”

“I've been here five years. I do my job. Commander says I'm okay - in the reports.”

“And no little kiddies out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“She was seventeen, damn you. And my luck, the daughter of Commander Torrens on Mars-3. It's all there in my file.”

“Yes, reads better than most pulp fiction,” Blunt said. “Five years here and never to get off, I'd say,”

“That's all you know. Commander says I can transfer after two years! Or we... I might go earlier.” Argo fired back.

Blunt and Seto let that sink in for a moment.

“They tell me Sergeant Mir was a bit of a thug. You two must have hit it off pretty well.”

Argo snorted with more than a hint of derision. “He's not missed.”

“Oh, you break my heart, Argo,” Blunt said dryly. “And why were you not so fond of the dear sergeant?”

“That's all over: it's in the past.”

“It won't be, you know, if I connect you to his death in any way. You'll be back in Boriskan before you can change your socks.”

Argo returned the sergeant's cold gaze: he could play chicken with the best of them.

“I can be reasonable...”

“That's a laugh right there, isn't it? I didn't do it. Good riddance to the bastard. I can't think of a redeeming feature and I'll say that to his mother if you want!”

Good cop – gentle, understanding Private Seto – leaned forward, her voice soothing, quiet.

“What did he do to you?”

“It's over...”

“Yes, we know it's 'in the past', but it obviously isn't, is it? What happened?”

It took more coaxing and a bit of the old faux TLC before Argo opened up about their last R-and-R on J-1, supervised surprisingly and yet not surprisingly; the flimflam blackmail net which Mir strung up and which Argo, more than a little out-of-his-tree, walked right into as dumb and stupid as the day is long; and Argo's girl, whatever her name was, likewise zonked on the strong stuff - the big K - found herself the main purpose of Mir's generosity with the amphetamines that evening, though for the life of her she couldn't remember much about the occasion the next day, least of all the whereabouts of her skirt and undergarments.

Needless to say, true love didn't endure and Argo was left shakily piecing the festive occasion together in a remand cell before being unceremoniously bundled back aboard the Cellini for another bout of pointless mapping. Mir smiled through it all and took opportunity aplenty to show the hapless private pictures of his recent conquest of said young lady, and to brag at length of his virile mastery and on and on and on.

“What do you know about rare earths, Argo?” Blunt threw him the surprise ball but the private didn't flinch.

“No. I'm not involved in that at all. I serve my time on this can, keep my nose clean and I'm out of here. No going back to Boris.” And with that he shut up and said no more except to repeat something like “I've told you everything” or “You've got the details” but no real dirt.

“There's plenty of motive, that's for sure,” Seto observed after Argo stamped and grouched back to his station.

“If you apply even the barest degree of imagination, you can see they all have motive,” Blunt replied. “But which one of them had enough to be pushed into action? There's the rub!”

Seto's gaze lingered on the Main Guy for a minute longer before she threw in her penny's worth. “And if you dip into their service records each and every one of them might do it merely for the entertainment. There's some more rub!”

“High level of the toxin in his blood suggests poisoning,” Seto concluded, still looking at the Main Guy. “But was that the cause of death or was it the stabbings?”

“Or a combination of the two?”

Seto chewed on that for a moment and then came back, “And was there one perp, or two... or multiple?”

“There's a famous crime novel of two centuries ago by a writer called Christie in which she describes a crime where practically everyone in the story plays a part in killing the victim.”

“Do you think that's what we have here?” Seto asked.

“No. Yet everyone is involved in activities that, in turn, relate to the killing. Methinks removing Sergeant Mir from the equation has been fortuitous for more than one player.”

“You couldn't say he was deeply mourned by anyone we've met.”

“An understatement!”

“So where does that leave us now, Sarge?”

“Closer... but messier, I'm afraid,” Blunt said. “I think we should talk to the Commander, don't you?”

“Why? You don't think she did this, do you?”

“No or yes, or I don't know. But if there's one thing I remember from basic training it's that you don't disappoint your commander.”

“Huh?”

“Didn't she ask that when we know who did the dirty deed she was to be informed first? Well, let's go!”

“Commander Dennis, what an interesting ship you run!” Blunt announced on arriving at the bridge, sans salute, which did not go unnoticed.

“Interesting? How so, Sergeant?”

“You have a smuggling ring right under your nose, one of its operatives is killed by one or more of his fellow partners-in-crime. I love that description, don't you? Classic. And you're hoping, with a degree of naivete I must tell you, that by exposing some of the smuggling profiteers back home you'll be pensioned off this rust bucket with a handful of your most loyal. If I wrote a book about it they'd call me a liar!”

“You certainly have a vivid imagination, Sergeant. I hope your assistant has the intelligence to apply some common sense to these wild ideas.”

Private Seto indulged the Commander with a knowing smile.

“It's difficult to determine what eventually killed Sergeant Mir. Was it the heart attack suffered by a hard-living, hard-drinking brawler which, in turn, was almost certainly induced by the overdose of potassium chloride we found in his system? Or was it the forty-six stab wounds we found on his body that finally did it?”

“Continue.”

“I'm betting that had a person, or persons unknown, not undertaken their frenzied needlework...”

“Needlework? What do you mean?”

Seto spoke up. “Ma'am, the stab wounds were made by a long, thin instrument, probably steel, no wider in diameter than a knitting needle. We found a box of eight such instruments in stores down on our level, and on examination we found that one had been cleaned to the point of being surgically spotless. That's our most likely candidate.”

“Thank you, Private Seto,” the Sergeant said, smiling. “Described with precision!”

“Go on.”

“What matters is that Mir was killed. My theory is that he was actually one of this little band of smugglers and probably stepped out of line. Perhaps he wanted more of the take, or perhaps he was simply unmanageable, too big for his boots and getting up everyone's nose. Who knows?”

“I see. So what now? Does your report say “death by misadventure by persons unknown” and stop there?”

Blunt was looking down, concentrating. He ignored the Commander's question.

“We know he shot his mouth off around the place, and perhaps he disclosed important information to the wrong people,” Blunt said thinking out loud.

“Sounds like we'll never know. Thank you for your investigation, Sergeant Blunt, Private Seto. Central Command is trying to locate Sergeant Mir's next-of-kin to see what they want to do with the body and so forth. He didn't have many possessions onboard from what we can see...”

Blunt interrupted her without batting an eyelid. “It's what information he might have told that intrigues me.”

“I beg your pardon, Sergeant,” the Commander said, obviously peeved at his rudeness. “I was about to say that shipping a body back is seen as too expensive by most families in these circumstances...”

Blunt did it again. “Let's imagine for a moment that Mir had a side hustle as a smuggler but also a second earner as a sort of double-agent or informer.”

The Commander was about to raise her voice and give this junior – not even an officer! - a memorable dressing-down when she cottoned onto his final words.

“Commander, you're about to spill the beans on some of your superiors back on J-1 and even Earth who have their snouts in this trough. I don't have a lot of experience with slow, clunking survey ships but I'd be very surprised if they just accidentally happen across any form of activity whatsoever – legal or illegal. The radar signature on this pile must be massive!”

She looked at him coldly. Jamieson back on J-1 said he was sending junior, inexperienced MPs. This was not part of the plan.

“I'm betting Mir was your double-agent Ma'am. I'm betting he sold info to you to help you get yourself, Private Argo and maybe one or two others off this ship and back to civilisation. Am I close, Commander?”

“More fantasies, Sergeant.”

“But Mir had a mouth - a bragging, smart-arse, cruel mouth - and it obviously brought him undone with some of his other club members. Thus the potassium chloride and the start of his demise. The stabbing was likely second on the list: an embittered recipient paying out for Mir's frequent... largesse.”

Blunt smiled at his own summary but was met by the Commander's cold nonplus. She was hard-to-please!

“I'm also betting that Mir being out-of-the-way suits you just dandy.” He looked her straight in the eye, never flinching. “It won't take us long to pack, Commander, and we'll be out of your way before you know it.”

The Main Guy looked in silently through the port hole. Its striped clouds and massive swirling storm ignored by everyone.

Seto had stowed their baggage. She emerged from the capsule to find Blunt speaking with the Commander. He later told his assistant he thought the Commander must play poker: he'd expected her there earlier.

“You have the right friends, Commander. I've been advised Central Command will take charge of Mir's body and we're to report back to J-1. End of story.”

“The right result under the circumstances, I'm sure you'll agree Sergeant.”

Blunt considered that for a few moments and shrugged, “It's no skin off my nose which way it goes Ma'am. Central Command will send in the heavies to catch the smugglers but they'll be long gone. Trouble is, in my experience, the baddies always seem to have long memories and don't readily turn the other cheek. You should watch your back, Commander. Especially when you get back home.”