CHAPTER SIX
The first thing Isaac noticed about Leon Traczyk was how he picked at his beard, sometimes plucking pale brown hairs free and flicking them away, only for them to flutter down onto his flashy red business suit. The senior engineer didn’t seem cognizant of the tic as he waited for Isaac to prepare his virtual screens.
Isaac tried not to rely on his “gut” when he could help it. He preferred the steely comfort of facts over the ephemeral strengths of intuition, but sometimes his intuition tickled the inside of his mind and he listened.
Because more often than not, it was right.
He closed all his screens then began opening the same ones all over again, one by one, at a painfully slow pace, then proceeded to fine-tune their positioning to form an orthogonal grid.
“This is my first time being interviewed by SysPol,” Traczyk offered, perhaps to fill the silence as he shifted in his seat uncomfortably.
“Is it now?” Isaac asked without looking up. He shifted one screen a millimeter to the right, then nodded. Everything lined up perfectly now.
“Yeah.” Traczyk flashed a friendly smile. “You’ll go easy on me, won’t you?”
“Is there a particular reason we should go easy on you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I’m nervous?”
“And why might you be nervous?”
“Uhh . . . ” Traczyk grimaced, then turned to Susan. “Hey there. You with SysPol, too? Which division are you from?”
Susan must have detected Traczyk’s unease on her own, because she stared back at him with cold, unblinking stiffness. If her eyes had been drills, they would have bored into his skull.
“Sorry I asked. Sheesh!” Traczyk looked away and adjusted his collar. “Did you turn the heat up in here or something?”
“Mister Traczyk,” Isaac began, “I’d like to start by discussing your relationship with the deceased. Could you describe it for us?”
“We were working on the Dyson Project together, but I’m sure you already know that. He was the engineering lead, and I was his second. We formed a pretty good team.”
“How was he to work for?”
“Fine, though it was more about working with him than for him. We were a team. In the trenches of the project together, figuring our way through one headache at a time. The primary technical specs were very much a collaboration between the two of us.”
“Did you see any indications Velasco was overworked?”
“Of course, I did, but that’s nothing new. We all pushed ourselves hard, especially near the end, and Velasco pulled his weight with the rest of us.” Traczyk let out a long sigh. “He’ll be missed.”
“Did you speak with Velasco shortly before he committed suicide?”
“Yes.”
“Did he give you any indication he was about to commit suicide?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Did he say anything that might explain why he killed himself?”
“Can’t think of anything, sorry.”
“What did you talk about?”
“The project.” Traczyk shrugged. “And whose efforts Boaz would acknowledge during the party.”
“Would you say you knew Velasco well?”
“Oh yeah. Definitely. You don’t spend as much time as we did on the same project and not get to know the other guy.”
“Did you consider yourself friends with him?”
“Friends?” Traczyk sat back. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“How close were the two of you?”
“Umm, I don’t know. Hard to say. Not super close or anything.”
“Did you sometimes hang out after work?”
“Sometimes. When we could. We were both so busy.”
“Did the two of you play any games together?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes? Who doesn’t unwind with a little VR?”
“Which games did you play?”
“I don’t remember off the top of my head.”
“You don’t remember?” Isaac asked doubtfully.
“Oh, wait!” Traczyk snapped his fingers. “Yeah, of course. It wasn’t often, but we played Solar Descent a few times together.”
“What type of character do you play in that game?”
“I have a few accounts, but my favorite is an abyssal shadow. I’ve always enjoyed stealth mechanics in games, so shadows are right up my alley. He’s a Nadirian named Swift Blade-in-the-Dark. Most people I play with call him ‘Swifty.’”
“Is that the character you used while playing with Velasco?”
“Umm. Yeah, probably.”
“Are you sure or not?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I was using Swifty.”
“Which class did Velasco play?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Which class did Velasco use while you and he played Solar Descent together?”
“Uhh . . . why do you want to know?”
“Please answer the question.”
“Well, I’m not sure . . . ”
“Why not? You had no trouble describing your character. You’re clearly familiar with the game and enjoy it to some degree. Plus, you said the two of you had played together.”
“A few times. I don’t remember his class.”
“Then what archetype did he use? Melee or ranged? Solar or Abyssal? Attacker, defender, or support?”
“A ranged combatant of some sort.”
“What kind?”
“I’m not sure. There are a lot of classes in Solar Descent. You can’t expect me to remember all of them.”
“A fair enough point,” Isaac conceded. “Did his character wear any armor?”
“Uhh . . . ”
“Surely you have some recollection of what his character looked like.”
“Of course.”
“Did his character have armor?”
“Nothing that stood out to me.”
“Then his character’s face wasn’t concealed by armor?”
“Not that I recall.”
“What race was he playing?”
“Uhh . . . ”
“Let me guess.” Isaac let out a resigned sigh. “You don’t remember that either?”
“We didn’t play that often!”
“Or perhaps there’s another possibility. Perhaps you and Velasco weren’t friends. Perhaps you never gamed together, and you’ve been lying to us this whole time.”
“About a game!” Traczyk blurted.
“And how much else, I wonder?”
“Well, I thought . . . ” His eyes flicked over to Susan.
“Don’t look at me,” she said in a cool, stern tone. “Between the detective and me, he’s the nice one. If you’re forced to deal with me, then you’re already in deep trouble. Do you know what I did to criminals in my last job?”
“What?” Traczyk asked, his voice cracking.
“Shoot them dead.”
He shrank back from Susan’s intense stare, a horrified expression on his face.
“She’s being honest, too.” Isaac knitted his fingers on the table. “Now then, why don’t you start telling us the truth? Before I decide to charge you with lying to a police officer.” He glanced over at Susan. “Or perhaps I’ll let my partner interview you alone.”
“Okay.” Traczyk held up his hands. “Okay! I’m sorry! No need to get all dramatic on me. Look, I just . . . this is really awkward for me.”
“What’s awkward?”
“Talking about Velasco.”
“Why?”
“Because I hated his guts, all right?” Traczyk’s face twisted up with a combination of shame and snarling anger. “He’s dead, and I’m just so angry!”
“Why?”
“Because now that lazy bum has saddled me with even more of the workload!”
“Then the part about you and him working well together?”
“A lie, yes. I don’t know what happened, but Velasco’s work has been absolute garbage for months, leaving me to pick up the slack.”
“Any idea why?”
“Not a clue, and that’s the truth. If I’d known what was wrong, I would have tried to fix it. If for no other reason than to make my life less of a living hell!”
“Did you mention any of this to your superiors?”
“No.” He snorted. “What? You think Boaz cares? He’d just tell me to stop being such a whiner. ‘Being crybabies isn’t in our wheelhouse,’ he’d say. ‘Suck it up and get the job done.’ I’ve been down that road before. I know where it leads.”
“Why lie to us about this?” Susan asked.
“Because, like I said, I felt awkward. I know I was angry at Velasco, but I didn’t want to speak ill of the dead. Is that really a crime?”
“It is if you lie to us,” Isaac pointed out. “Do you know why Velasco committed suicide?”
“No.”
“What was your working relationship with Velasco really like?”
“We butted heads, but most of the time we kept it professional. It wasn’t until the last few months that things grew worse. That’s all I know, okay?” He sighed. “Anything else you need from me?”
Isaac gave Susan a quick look. She replied with a shake of her head.
“That’ll be all,” Isaac said, “for now.”
* * *
The first thing Isaac noticed about Horace Pangu was how normal the man looked. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected after learning he’d be interviewing the Pinball Wizard, but a baseline humanoid synthoid hadn’t been one of his guesses. Pangu had renounced his SysGov citizenship centuries ago, choosing instead to live in the Oort Cloud Citizenry where restrictions on self-modifications—be they physical or mental—were almost unheard of.
And yet there he is, Isaac thought, in a synthoid that matches the appearance of his original body. I wonder why.
Horace Pangu settled into a comfortable slant on the chair, one elbow on an armrest and a leg up across his knee. He wore the slightest hint of a smile on his thin lips. It was a polite and pleasant expression, though not a happy one, and his dark eyes acknowledged the grave event that had drawn SysPol here.
“Good day to you, Detective.” Pangu nodded to Isaac, then to Susan. “And to you . . . Agent, I believe?”
“That’s correct,” Susan answered. “Agent Cantrell.”
“From the Admin’s Department of Temporal Investigation,” he mused with a subtle shake of his head. “How quickly the landscape can change. Makes me curious to see what the next six centuries might hold for us.”
“Thank you for agreeing to speak with us, Mister Pangu,” Isaac said.
“It’s quite all right. I was one of the last people to speak with Esteban, so it’s only natural. And please, feel free to call me Wiz. Most everyone here does.”
“I’m surprised to see you looking . . . ”
“Like a humanoid meat sack?” His eyes twinkled with genuine mirth.
“I would have worded it differently, but yes.”
“You’re not the only one.” He gestured down his body with one hand. “Most people are surprised to see me like this. I commissioned this body after Atlas hired me. I don’t know if you noticed yet, but Atlas—in terms of their company culture—likes to keep things natural. They employ few ACs, and most of the synthoids who work here can pass for baseline humans. Cosmetically, at least. Using my original body as a template seemed like a good fit for the job. The path of least resistance, as it were.”
“That said, you’ve never been shy about your views on the future of the human body.”
“Or rather, its lack of a future,” Pangu corrected. “The human form, while tremendously successful on Earth, is a horrible way to expand out into the stars, but people still cling to it for irrational reasons. The only place it can survive without artificial aid or terraforming is the thin film around one rocky planet. Space is vast and inhospitable. It doesn’t care how well evolved we are for one gravity or one pressure or how much we crave oxygen.
“Human flesh is a prison. Modern technology may have breached its walls, but the inmates are so accustomed to their cells that most remain inside, out of fear of change or nostalgia or any number of poor reasons.”
“‘Flesh shackles the mind,’” Isaac quoted.
“It would be more accurate to say the human body is a liability we should all leave behind, though I still hold my original quote is catchier. I take it you’ve read A Tale of Stars and Meat?”
“A while ago. It was required reading in high school.”
“What did you think of the points I raised?”
“Hard to say. I remember struggling to meet the minimum word count on my report. Beyond that . . . ” Isaac flashed a bashful smile. “Philosophy’s not really my thing.”
“You might want to give it another look,” Pangu suggested. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re alive right now because of the advantages I preach.”
“How so?”
“I merely refer to your encounter down on Titan. I don’t pretend to know more than what’s been made public, but can all three of us agree you’d both be dead if Agent Cantrell didn’t have a synthetic body?”
Isaac glanced over at Susan, who nodded with a frown.
“He’s got a point,” she said.
“Both of you are alive in part because she chose to abandon her flawed original body.” He leaned toward Susan. “You did transition willingly, yes?”
“I did.”
“Good.” He grinned at her. “I didn’t want to assume. I don’t know much about the Admin, and some of the rumors are a bit on the ugly side, I’m afraid.”
“It’s all right. I’m used to it by now.”
“Why switch to a company whose culture is at odds with your own beliefs?” Isaac asked.
“I know it must seem like that, but the truth is I wrote A Tale of Stars and Meat four centuries ago, and it was even more controversial back then. The backlash is one of the reasons I became a citizen of the OCC. But time is a funny thing. People over here have become more open to my ideas, and I guess you could say I’ve mellowed a bit with old age.”
“But why Atlas?”
“Because I wanted to be a part of the Dyson Project, and I believed at the time—and still do—that Atlas put forth the better design. That’s the main reason I reached out to Julian about switching companies. It’s quite an honor to be a part of this project.”
“Why did you conclude Atlas has the superior design?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t answer that. Not without a court order, I’m afraid. SourceCode has me under a nondisclosure agreement, so I’m not at liberty to discuss my time working with them.”
“Of course. I understand,” Isaac replied. “Moving on, did you work closely with Velasco during the last two months?”
“Yes, though a lot of my time here has been spent bringing myself up to speed on the details of Atlas’ approach.”
“What was your opinion of him?”
“He was a very skilled engineer, and a good man to work with, but he was also under tremendous pressure, and it showed at times.”
“How so?”
“He seemed . . . unfocused near the end.”
“Do you know why?”
“No, sorry.”
“Did you speak to him right before the suicide?”
“I did, though briefly. We didn’t have much of a conversation. All he really said was he had a lot on his mind and then left.” He pursed his lips. “I thought he was talking about the project, though perhaps not. Perhaps he was referring to something else.”
“Such as?”
“It’s a matter he complained about from time to time regarding the local chapter of the Society.”
“You’re referring to the Mercury Historical Preservation Society?” Isaac asked.
“The same.”
Isaac frowned at the mention, then turned to Susan.
“The Historical Preservation Society is a loosely organized movement known for their anti-macrotech and anti-terraforming politics. The Mercury arm of that organization is focused on preserving the planet as it is today.”
“Which would place the planet’s resources off-limits for the Dyson Project,” Pangu added, “if the Society had its way.”
“Which they haven’t,” Isaac said. “All of their legal challenges have been shot down in court, but that doesn’t mean they’re not ready to ‘fight the good fight.’ I’ve never dealt with them personally, but I’m familiar with their reputation in SysPol. They’re known to play fast and loose with the law, blurring the line between peaceful protest and illegal action. They’re also the group behind the sabotage of an Atlas constructor during one of their Dyson trials earlier this year.”
“Their stance on Mercury always struck me as immature,” Pangu said. “The planet represents a wealth of resources well positioned for conversion into a Dyson swarm, but the Society would see it twirl around the sun uselessly rather than be reshaped into a megastructure that’ll benefit the entire solar system.”
“How was Velasco involved in the Society?” Susan asked.
“From what I gathered, they were harassing him, though how and to what extent, I can’t say.”
* * *
“You okay?” Susan asked as they walked back to the counter-grav tubes, the LENS floating behind them. She spoke to him in SysPol security chat, which would come across as gibberish to anyone without the translation key.
“I am. Why do you ask?”
“It’s just I’ve never seen you interview someone that way before.”
“What do you mean?” Isaac asked, genuinely curious.
“You were being awfully nice to him.”
“Well, that’s because I didn’t see any reason to bring extra pressure to bear.” He turned to her as they walked. “Did you?”
“No.”
“But?”
“Nothing,” Susan said. “Other than, at times, it felt more like you two were having a conversation, rather than us conducting an interview.”
“You really think so?”
“I do.”
“She’s right, you know.” Cephalie appeared on his shoulder.
“You too?” Isaac replied with a grimace. “Look, maybe I was a little softer than usual, but the man’s a legend. How many people can say they’ve actually spoken to the Wizard? We might not even have a SysGov if it weren’t for him.”
“I suppose we can’t blame Isaac too much,” Cephalie quipped to Susan. “He was blinded by all the stars in his eyes.”
“Was not,” Isaac protested.
“He caught you off guard with the book question,” Cephalie continued.
“I know! That was so embarrassing. I had no idea he was going to quiz me on his writings.”
“Did you even read it back in high school?”
“I . . . skimmed most of it, I think. At least enough to put a report together.”
“That would be a ‘no,’ then.”
“I was in my teens. What did I care about the future trajectory of the human form?”
They stepped into the grav tube and took it up to the hangar bays. The graviton current dropped them off near the headquarters midsection, and virtual arrows guided them down a long corridor. They followed the arrows until they arrived at the hangar with the SSP quadcopter.
Chatelain slouched in the cockpit with a sports article suspended over his chest. He didn’t look up. They passed the cockpit window, then entered through the side door to join Nina in the back.
“Hey,” Isaac greeted.
“Hey yourself.” She sat on a stool next to a retractable shelf with Velasco’s corpse and a rack of evidence canisters. Two of her drones hovered over the bagged corpse, each with a dozen metallic tendrils penetrating the surface. She leaned over the shelf, a hand smooshed into her cheek as she studied the readouts from her drones.
“How’s it going?” Isaac asked.
“Fine. Just wondering why we’re even out here.”
“You mean besides the superintendent wanting this death looked at?”
“Yeah. Besides that. You find anything yet?”
“Not really. Sounds like Velasco was under a considerable amount of job-related stress. The quality of his work had fallen off—enough to rile up one of his coworkers—and it’s possible the Society was making matters worse for him in their own special way.”
“Those jokers?” Nina rolled her eyes. “Some people can’t take a hint.”
“How about you and the body?”
“A whole lot of nothing.” She sat up and copied her screen over to Isaac and Susan. “No injuries or signs of trauma beyond the obvious. No recent injection sites. No software anomalies in his wetware. Tissue samples came back negative for residual micro- or nanotech. Neural pathways and musculature from the head down to the right hand all look normal.”
“Why check those?” Susan asked.
“In case an external factor forced the arm to shoot himself against his will,” Isaac explained. “Such as with an invasive microbot injection.”
“Ah. Got it.”
“Toxicology test shows he had a drink, so unless this guy really can’t hold his booze, he was in complete control when he blew his brains out. His last drink was a glass of Old Frontier Sparkling Hixon 2965, in case you were wondering. It’s the same wine everyone else at the party was having. I could tell you what he had for breakfast if you like.”
“That won’t be necessary. Anything else?”
“Trauma to the head is consistent with a PA7 loaded with high-explosive rounds. The barrel was in his mouth when he pulled the trigger. Both the pistol and ammo were printed about three days ago.”
“Conclusions?”
“The poor guy cracked and blew himself away.” She threw up her arms. “Besides that, I’ve got nothing.”
“Any sensory records in his wetware?” Susan asked.
“Nope, sorry. His privacy settings were maxed out, so his implants won’t have a digital trail.”
“But there might be something in his desk,” Isaac said.
“Could be,” Nina agreed. “I saw Cephalie add the job to my queue. I’ll head down to his office as soon as the drones finish up.” She leaned back on the stool, her head resting against the back wall. “How about you two? About ready to call this one a suicide and move on?”
“Not quite. I’d feel better if we had a clear motive.”
“Maybe there isn’t. At least not a rational one. Maybe he’s just a poor soul who cracked under the pressure. Not every tragedy hides something sinister behind it.”
“I know, and so far I agree with you, but let’s be as sure as we can about it before we close the case. Cephalie?”
“You rang?” She appeared on the shelf next to the corpse, then poked the bag with her virtual cane.
“What do we have for Velasco’s next of kin?”
“Public records show he’s married with no kids. Wife’s name is Cynthia Velasco. I have the address and her connection string, courtesy of Atlas. Most of their employees have been staying in a Third Engine Block apartment complex nestled in Exchanger Row. SSP flew out there and let her know about her husband while you two were conducting the interviews. Want me to set up a meeting?”
“Please.”
“Okay. On it.” She vanished from the shelf.
Nina’s drones retracted their tendrils and bobbed out of the copter. She stood up and tugged her uniform straight.
“Want us to wait for you to finish?” Isaac asked.
“Nah. I’ll hitch a ride with the troopers and catch up later.”
She followed her drones toward the hangar exit.
“Aren’t you going to tell them?” Isaac called out after his sister.
“Why? It’s your case.” She grinned at him before she and her drones disappeared around the bend.
Isaac grimaced and let out a short exhale, then walked out of the quadcopter and knocked on the cockpit window.
Chatelain bolted upright with a start. He looked around until he spotted Isaac waving through the window.
“Sergeant.”
Chatelain opened the window. “Done already?”
“More or less.”
“Then we’re free to go?”
“Not exactly.”