CHAPTER EIGHT
Isaac and Susan exited the Crimson Flower through one of several doorways on the ground floor. They followed the sidewalk around the League protest zone to a cluster of dark gray trailers set up near the back of the crowd. Simple virtual signs hovered over the trailers, listing the services provided by each portable building: food printers, field office, public restrooms, and so on.
Two LSP quadcopters and half a dozen stern-faced state troopers formed a protective semicircle around the entrance to the men’s restroom, augmented by virtual police tape and the copters’ strobing lights. League protesters pressed in as close as they dared, and Isaac detected a dangerous mixture of curiosity and defiance simmering within the crowd.
One of the protesters spotted Susan’s Admin uniform, and the crowd’s attention shifted in her direction.
“Monster!”
“Fascist!”
“Go slink back home, you snake!”
Susan marched forward, back straight, her face an impassive mask as they neared the crime scene.
“You okay?” Isaac asked quietly.
“Of course. I’m not about to let them bother—”
Her arm flashed up in a blur of motion, and she caught something speeding toward Isaac’s face. He flinched back, but quickly recovered as Susan opened her hand to reveal a rough moon rock.
He let out a sharp breath and checked the crowd. One of the protesters stood with his arm outstretched in the obvious aftermath of an overhanded throw. His black cap and scarf covered his entire face except for a narrow slit around the eyes.
Those eyes locked with Isaac’s, then widened.
“Oh shit!”
“You!” Isaac pointed at the man. “Stop right there!”
The protester dashed into the crowd.
“What going on out here?” Lotz shouted from the restroom entrance. He strode over to the detectives. “Something wrong?”
“Just this.” Susan presented the rock then bobbed her head toward Isaac. “It almost clubbed him in the head, though I believe I was the intended target.”
“Aw, hell. You catch who threw it?”
“I did.” Cephalie appeared on Isaac’s shoulder, and the LENS hovered up to eye level. “Caught the throw on video, and I’m tracking his current position in the crowd. Want me to nab him?”
“Thanks, but we’ll take care of this.” Lotz turned back to the troopers clustered around the restroom. “O’Leary!”
“Sir?” A fresh-faced trooper hurried over.
“We’ve got another troublemaker to take care of. Get the perp’s ID from the LENS and then send out some drones to bring him in. Charge him with assault on an officer.”
“Yes, sir. Right away.”
“Let’s get you back from the crowd.” Lotz put a hand on Susan’s shoulder and urged her toward the two copters. “Before something worse gets tossed our way.”
“Good idea,” Isaac agreed, and they followed the lieutenant through the police cordon.
“Sorry about that.” Lotz shook his head once they had the reassuring bulk of a police vehicle between them and the crowd. “Guess I didn’t make the connection when I messaged you.”
“What connection would that be?” Isaac asked, though he already suspected the answer.
“Her in that uniform.” Lotz gestured to Susan with an open hand. “Sorry, I should have expected your presence might rile up these idiots.”
“It’s quite all right.” Susan clasped her hands behind her back. “I’ve dealt with worse.”
“What’s the situation, Lieutenant?” Isaac asked.
“Well, we’ve got a fresh corpse inside”—Lotz pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the restroom entrance—“and an unruly crowd outside. I’ve had worse days, but not by much.”
Isaac checked the entrance, which was obstructed by a combination of virtual police barriers and a large OUT OF ORDER sign hovering in front of the privacy bend.
“What do we know so far?”
“Not much.” Lotz summoned a file over his palm. “We pulled an ID from what’s left of the victim’s wetware. Name was Pablo Evons. Lunarian, age twenty-six. Lived all the way out in Armstrong Landing. No criminal record. We’ll need some time before we can say more, but he’s dressed all in black like the rest of these troublemakers, so I’m pretty sure we’ll find he was a member.”
“What’s ‘left’ of his wetware?” Susan asked.
“You’ll see,” Lotz warned. “It’s a mess in there.”
“Who found the body?” Isaac asked.
“One of the technicians from the toilet company,” Lotz said. “The League rents this and the other trailers from an outfit called Party Logistics. The reclamation unit in the men’s room backed up about half an hour ago and sent a fault to their nearest satellite office. One of their ACs, a gentleman named Asepsis, transmitted into an on-site support drone and entered the restroom to service it. He discovered the body.”
“Was he the one who put up the out-of-order sign?” Isaac asked.
“No. According to him, the sign was active when he arrived. Though, the interesting bit is he says the sign is wrong. The font and coloring are off, and it lacks a link to their service techs. Based on that, I’m wondering if the killer put up a fake sign to delay the body’s discovery.”
“If so, then it’s noteworthy the killer failed to account for the fault message. Anything else?”
“Just the body and the crime scene itself. Let me show you.”
Lotz led them around the bend at the front of the restroom to a long interior lined with burnished metal sinks, urinals, and stalls. The body lay facedown in a pool of blood centered around the head, its limbs spread to either side at the base of a wall-mounted reclamation unit. The unit’s protective handguard had been bashed aside, and blood streaked down the front.
“Where’s the top half of his head?” Susan asked with a grimace.
Lotz pointed to the reclamation unit. “Down the chute in a million pieces. We have a forensics team on the way. It’ll be their job to search the trailer’s waste reservoir.”
Isaac knelt and rested his forearm across his thigh. What remained of Pablo Evon’s head resembled a top-down cross-section of a human skull, albeit one where the top half had been chewed off by grinders designed to break down waste.
“We arrived with a medical team,” Lotz added, “and they would have tried to revive him, or pull his connectome, but…”
“Not enough of the brain left.”
“Nope.”
“The killer wanted him to stay dead. That’s for sure.” Isaac pushed off his knee and rose to his feet. He swept his eyes across the crime scene, soaking it in. “Blood splatters on the third sink over, and a dented basin.”
“Signs of struggle?” Susan suggested.
“Very likely. The forensics report will tell us more, but if I were to guess, I’d say the killer and Mister Evons fought each other around here.” Isaac gestured vaguely near the third sink. “The killer managed to subdue Evons, then dragged him over to the reclamation unit, bashed the handguard aside, and shoved his head in.”
“He may have been trying to dispose of Evons entirely,” Lotz said. “The unit’s wide enough for a body to fit.”
“Right. But the grinders seized up before they made much progress,” Isaac finished, his eyes intense and focused.
“What are you thinking?” Susan prompted. “You have that look.”
“I’m thinking this crime scene is an awful, sloppy mess. Whatever transpired here wasn’t planned.”
“Then you don’t think this is related to the death threat?”
“I’m not willing to go that far,” Isaac cautioned. “Given where this crime took place, the killer is either a League member or disguised as one, and the League is one potential source for the threat against Miss Sako. That means this crime could be related in some way we can’t see yet. Furthermore, we’re dealing with an individual who isn’t afraid to go for a permanent kill. He didn’t just defeat Evons; he ground up the man’s brain to finish the job.”
“I see what you’re saying,” Susan said. “And Sako would be even more vulnerable.”
“How so?” Lotz asked.
“There are only two types of people in the Admin who have their connectomes extracted: STANDs like me and criminals.”
“Criminals?” Lotz’s eyes widened. “Wait a second. Then it’s true? Your government rips people’s minds right out of their skulls?”
“If they’re guilty of certain crimes,” Susan replied matter-of-factly.
“But…” Lotz shook his head. “I mean, are people over there okay with that?”
“I suppose most are.”
“Are you okay with it?”
“Of course. I’m a sworn agent of the Admin, after all.”
Lotz’s face twisted in disgust. “But doesn’t that practice bother you at least a—”
“Lieutenant Lotz,” Isaac interrupted. “I believe we’re getting distracted here.”
“I…You’re right.” He sighed and gave Susan an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I’m sure you’re sick of hearing stuff like that.”
“It’s all right.” She shrugged. “At least you didn’t throw anything at me.”
“The important point to realize, Lieutenant,” Isaac began, “is the Admin’s here—both through the exchange program and in this tournament—because they want to be here. They want to peacefully coexist with us, despite all our differences. Despite the ways our culture and technology can sometimes terrify them.”
“Such as how your president’s an AI,” Susan offered.
“You find that unusual?” Lotz asked.
“Oh yeah! I’m not really bothered by it, personally, but a lot of people freaked out when they learned about her.”
“And there are plenty more examples where that came from,” Isaac said.
“It’s been a learning experience working over here, adapting to how SysPol operates. We’ve had our share of disagreements.” Susan patted her sidearm, and her eyes twinkled with mirth. “He doesn’t even like me carrying around a lethal weapon, and you should see his face every time I suggest using my combat frame.”
Isaac gave her a profound grimace.
“That,” she said, her eyes still laughing. “That face right there.”
“It is a tad on the excessive side.” Isaac let out a brief sigh. “Moving on, I believe we can leave this investigation in your hands.” He raised an eyebrow to Lotz. “Unless you feel SysPol should take a more active role.”
“No, we can handle it for now. And I’ll be sure to let you know the moment something unusual pops up.”
“I appreciate that.” He faced Susan. “Well?”
“Where to next?”
“Back to our interviews. We still need to speak with Wong Fei.”
* * *
Wong Fei sat opposite Isaac and Susan in an expansive cushioned chair with an easy, confident smile on his face. His posture was formal as he cradled a teacup in his hand, yet not so rigid as to be unapproachable. His dark hair was neat and trim, and he wore a crisp brown business suit complemented by a dynamic scarf animated with falling cherry blossom petals.
“Can I offer either of you some refreshments?” Wong Fei asked, setting his tea down on the low glass table between their chairs. “I just finished brewing a pot of my favorite Darjeeling blend. There’s plenty if either of you would like a cup.”
“No, thank you,” Isaac said, and Susan shook her head.
“Of course. Business first, then.” Wong Fei sat attentively in his chair. “I imagine this is about the severed head in Elly’s suite.” He shook his head. “Such a terrible way to greet a visitor. This sort of pigheaded behavior isn’t constructive at all.”
“How did you learn about the death threat?”
“Elly called me shortly after she reported it to her security detail.”
Interesting, Isaac thought, making a quick note. Elly didn’t mention talking to him. This could be nothing more than an oversight on her part, though.
“Describe her reaction.”
“Emotional. Shaken.” Wong Fei smiled sadly. “About what you’d expect after being shown your own severed head. I did what I could to soothe her. I would have headed to her room, but I wasn’t sure how her security would react to my presence, so I settled for keeping on the call until she sounded more composed.”
“What is the nature of your relationship with Miss Sako?”
“We’ve grown very close in a short span of time.” He smiled coyly. “Romantically close. I’m excited to see where it leads.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because, as strange as it might sound, we have a great deal in common, and I find that very appealing in a woman.”
“There’s a lot different between the two of you,” Isaac pointed out. “Young versus centennial. Organic versus synthetic.” He paused for emphasis. “Admin versus SysGov.”
“Oh, certainly!” Wong Fei grinned. “But think for a moment about the differences you just described. Do those really paint a portrait of who someone is? No, they don’t. They’re broad brushstrokes. Categories to lump this or that person into. They don’t speak to the unique beauty of the individual. And that’s what I feel attracted to here. Not a young, organic, Admin woman. Not a category. But Elly Sako, the one-of-a-kind human being.”
“Describe your relationship with Mister Lacan.”
“Icy, to say the least.” Wong Fei chuckled. “I suppose he considers me something of a rival.” He raised a hand. “In both a romantic and professional sense, I mean.”
“Do you consider him a rival, romantically?”
“No.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because Elly broke up with him, of course.”
“Then you feel the two were in a relationship.”
“Yes, even if she denies it.”
“Did you encourage her to break up with Lacan?”
“I did, though perhaps not for the reasons you might be thinking.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Two reasons, really. First, I could see how unbalanced and unhealthy their relationship had become, with Lacan obsessing over her while she viewed it as a purely physical dalliance. The sooner she ended it the better, in my mind. For both of them, really. Second, our relationship was becoming more serious, and so I felt this was an important step for her to take if we were to continue seeing each other.”
“I see.” Isaac expanded a highlighted section of his notes. “Moving on, I’d like to discuss your criminal history. Specifically, your attempt to sabotage and intimidate your opponents at various tournaments between late 2955 and early 2956.”
“Ah.” Wong Fei frowned ever so slightly. “That. Well, if you’ll permit me to clear the air, Detective…?”
“Go ahead.”
“I’d like to point out I pled guilty during my sentencing and have paid my debt to society. Also, it was a long time ago. Over three decades and counting. I’m not the same person I was back then.”
“I understand all that,” Isaac assured him. “I’m more interested in hearing your motive for the crime.”
“Simple. I wanted to win. At any cost. I was obsessed with victory back then.”
“And now?”
“I’ve…mellowed, I guess you could say.” He smiled disarmingly. “Winning isn’t as important to me as it used to be.”
“Your record indicates it is. You regularly reach at least the semifinals of any competition you’re in, and you have an impressive number of victories to your name.”
“Well, yes,” Wong Fei agreed. “I do like to win, of course. But I earned those victories through hard work and dedication to my craft. And I’d like you to note, Detective, there isn’t even a sniff of illegal activity in my record since the ’50s.”
“Of course.” Isaac glanced over his notes. “Do you have an IC at present?”
“Yes. Nezha. We met about ten years ago, I think, at a Solar Descent tournament and really hit it off. Our personalities clicked, and it didn’t hurt we were in the same line of work.”
“Where is he now?”
“On Earth visiting some old friends. Some very old friends, even by our society’s standards.” Wong Fei flashed a crooked smile. “He doesn’t like it when I make fun of his age.”
“He’s not on Luna?”
“He’ll transmit back from Earth before the tournament starts so he can watch it live, though he’ll be staying off-site.”
“Why’s that?”
“Too many issues with the Admin, especially since I had to travel there recently. The Admin puts heavy restrictions on our abstract citizens, you see. Nezha would have had to switch to a synthoid body, amongst other limitations, and he wasn’t feeling up to it. He’s spent his entire life in the abstract and wasn’t about to start messing with the physical now.
“I miss him, but it’s not like I need him for this tournament. The two of us will team up sometimes, depending on the entry requirements for a given tournament. We heavily integrate our connectomes for unlimited tournaments and go our separate ways for limited venues, such as this one.”
Isaac jotted down a follow-up note to confirm Nezha’s whereabouts.
“And the other SysGov players?”
“Both of them are going it solo. One of the stipulations for the Weltall Tournament is no abstract citizens or anything that could be construed as an artificial connectome may enter. I guess you could say the contestants for this tournament are ‘restricted,’ though that’s a bit of a loaded term with the Admin. Anything else, Detective?”
“Just a few more questions, then we should be on our way,” Isaac said. “Do you know who threatened Miss Sako?”
“No.”
“Do you suspect anyone of threatening her?”
“No.”
“Do you want her to leave SysGov for any reason?”
“No, of course not.”
“Understood. Thank you for answering our questions.” Isaac rose from his seat. “We’ll let you know if we need anything else.”
* * *
“I’ll have Cephalie check with the Ministry of Transportation,” Isaac said in security chat once they were outside Wong Fei’s hotel suite. “I want to see if Nezha really is on Earth.”
“Suspicious of something?” Susan asked him. “Or just checking?”
“Just checking, but it doesn’t hurt to be thorough while we wait for Nina’s findings.”
“By the way…”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry to say I missed Wong Fei’s old crimes when I looked over his records.”
“That’s all right. We’ve been playing catch up from the start.”
“True, but it made me wonder.” She turned to him as they walked. “How exactly did Wong Fei pressure his rivals?”
“Ah, that. Most of the intimidation was done through anonymous messages, but not always.” Isaac held out a palm, and an evidence file appeared.
Susan winced.
“In the incident that led to his arrest, one rival received a replica of their own severed hand. Complete with a bloody message carved into the flesh.”