The Falls [05 Diving Universe] 2016 Read online

  Zhou had opened a body bag. It was spread out at the edge of the water, waiting for them to place her into it.

  Her gender was certain, but little else was. The body had rolled as they pulled it toward them, the face going underwater.

  A bit of a stench accompanied it as well. Not the bright, fresh dampness of the Falls, but something a little rotted, as if a dead fish were caught on a nearby rock.

  The pool did have a slightly brackish odor that Tevin had noticed in the past. He had to assume that he was smelling a version of that odor right now.

  Although smells could be indicative of cause of death. He remembered to turn on the analyzer on his suit as he crouched over the body itself. The analyzer sampled the air and stored a small sample for later testing. The analyzer also did an on-site reading, in case the scent or problem had been carried on a breeze and couldn’t be captured easily.

  He hoped the others had their analyzers on as well. He didn’t want to mention it, though, not while they were concentrating on recovering the body.

  Dinithi had crouched near the feet. Novoa was near the head. Zhou held the bag open, making sure it maintained its position.

  Tevin, as the most experienced person on the team, had the torso. He gently slid his hands under it, even though standard procedure called for him to use a flat brace. He’d found that the edges of the brace caught on clothes and skin, making an autopsy even harder.

  Not every body found in this pool was autopsied, but this one would be. No one had observed her going into the water, so there would be no way to know if the death was voluntary or involuntary. Murder, suicide, and accident—the death investigator had to take all three of those things into account now.

  The watery clothing felt squishy against his gloves. He remembered to have the gloves’ analyzers on as well, so that everything would be recorded.

  This time, he would speak about it.

  “Make sure your analyzers are all on,” he said to his team. “We need a record of what we’re finding here.”

  They didn’t respond. They didn’t have to. They knew the drill.

  Tevin’s gloves registered the frigid temperature of the water, warning him about it. He didn’t need the warning. He couldn’t feel the cold, but he had a sense of it. Something about his gloves felt different when they were in cold. He never could identify what that “something different” was, but he knew it existed.

  He slowly worked his arms underneath the body. It was too close to shore for him to shove his hands beneath it. He had to touch the clothing and skin, but he did so gently.

  He had no idea how long the body had been in the water, and sometimes skin sloughed off, loosened by the water itself. He didn’t want that to happen here.

  He finally reached the body’s far side, and then eased his arms upward, actually holding the body in place.

  “Now,” he said. “Gently and carefully.”

  He had to say that for the record, in case something went wrong. He wanted the YSR-SR covered against all contingencies. The tourists had become litigious lately. He needed to make sure there was no real liability here.

  Both Dinithi and Novoa verbally acknowledged him. Dinithi grabbed the body’s ankles—gently, Tevin hoped—and Novoa placed her hands underneath the head.

  On the count of three, they lifted the body.

  He was braced, fortunately, because the body weighed more than he expected. He leaned ever so slightly forward, a little startled at the effort moving the body took.

  Water poured off every surface, running like a minifalls into the pool. The team held the body over the pool until the water went from pouring to dripping. They didn’t want to carry extra weight back with them if they could help it.

  Then they levered the body over the bag and slowly lowered it onto the bag. Zhou continued to hold the bag in place.

  Water gathered around the body itself, despite their precautions. The body was facedown as well, which was usually not an issue. They usually closed the bag and then carried it, remembering which side needed to face upward.

  But they needed to do an on-site identification if they could.

  “Let’s roll her gently,” Tevin said. He placed one hand on the body’s shoulder.

  Novoa kept the head stable. Dinithi moved away from the feet and crab walked until she was behind Tevin, so she could see as well. She grabbed Zhou’s flashlight.

  Tevin eased the body backward slightly. Novoa gently moved the head so that he could see the features. She had to smooth the hair away from the skin.

  Tevin frowned. The face was bloated and blotchy. Even though the skin color was grayish-white like the water in the Falls itself, he was beginning to think the skin wasn’t pale at all.

  One eye was open and clouded, the other closed. The nose was lost in the water-swollen flesh. The lips were parted, revealing small white teeth.

  He tried to compare in his mind that destroyed face with Glida’s face. He couldn’t. And he didn’t dare remove a handheld and compare image to corpse. That would show a predisposition toward an identification, which had been a problem in the past.

  “Do you recognize her?” Novoa asked. Implicit in her tone was the answer: Of course you recognize her. Stop stalling and tell us.

  But he wasn’t stalling. And Dinithi and Zhou were silent behind him.

  “Do you recognize her?” Novoa asked again. This time, her tone was a straight inquiry, mixed with just a little confusion.

  Dinithi and Zhou didn’t volunteer their opinions, so Tevin spoke for all three of them.

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “I’m really not sure.”

  SIXTEEN

  THE SANDOVEIL DINER smelled of onions frying with spicy mountainside greens. The air had a snap to it that meant the cook was frying the onions in toolique oil, conjuring mistura, a local delicacy that only a few could manage to make without setting the entire kitchen on fire.

  Bassima Beck’s stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since she’d had an early lunch. She’d spent much of the day searching for the Kimuras, on instructions from the security office. She’d spent enough time at the Kimuras’ house to realize they were nowhere nearby, and for the last few hours, she’d been trying to trace the Kimuras’ routines.

  One of their routines had included eating regularly at the Sandoveil Diner. Or so Bassima had told herself when, really, she was just hungry.

  Besides, the Kimuras had changed their routines greatly in the last few years. Bassima hadn’t seen them much at all.

  The diner was full this evening. The low hum of conversation didn’t hide the interest the patrons were taking in Bassima. By now, everyone would know that something was wrong—that a body had been found. If she wasn’t careful, everyone would ask her.

  From the area near the door, she heard the telltale sizzle of water being added to the oil, the final step before the mushrooms, cheese, and egg that gave the dish its signature taste. Her stomach growled again, and she finally gave in, heading to the counter.

  The tourists loved this place because it looked like something from Ancient Earth. The diner had been designed to look like an old Earth place, the interior taken from some old history that the Fleet had left behind.

  The Fleet had originated on Earth millennia ago. If it weren’t for the documentation, for the Fleet’s history, Earth itself would be considered a myth. Some actually believed that, even now. And, if Bassima were truthful with herself, she half-believed it as well.

  There were Fleet officers and crew in this diner. They didn’t wear uniforms, except for formal occasions, but they looked different. Most of them were thinner than the locals—not in weight, so much, but in build. Despite all the precautions taken on the ships, those who had grown up shipside always looked more delicate. Their bones were thinner—strong, yes, but not as dense.

  She could spot someone raised shipside with a single glance—at least among the tourists. Sometimes the locals surprised her. Privately, she believed they changed aft
er living in Sandoveil for a decade or so. But the one time she had mentioned that to someone, they had accused her of judging people unfairly.

  She hadn’t thought she was judging anyone unfairly, although that was the moment she realized she had been judging people. Of course, judging them—sometimes at a glance—was part of her job.

  Just like she was doing as she walked deeper into the diner. Two tables to her right were crammed with people from the latest Fleet ship to visit the sector base. They talked and laughed with a familiarity of people who had spent a lot of time together.

  A table to her left had real tourists, probably from somewhere else on Nindowne. They ate quietly; plates of local food sat in the middle of the table, with everyone serving themselves and picking tentatively at the dishes.

  One of the tourists noted the laser pistol on her hip, then looked up, saw her uniform, and turned away.

  It was late enough in the day that the locals who were here were here for some kind of dinner. Locals nodded at her or smiled or looked away. Bassima respected all of those reactions. When someone invited her to sit—which two different groups did, by patting the chairs or the empty place near them—she shook her head gently.

  She needed time to think. She felt like she was missing something.

  Hardly anyone sat at the counter. It wound its way through the entire restaurant, providing seating for people in a hurry or people who preferred to eat alone. She picked a seat on one of the curves that was mostly hidden from the people in the restaurant, but she had learned long ago that the seat actually provided a view of everyone and everything.

  As soon as she sat on one of the round, padded stools, a servo unit rose in front of her, blinking its questions about her order. Someone had set the thing on mute, for which she was very grateful. She tapped in an order of mistura because it had smelled so good, some coffee since it would be a long night, and added a side of meringue plum cake for dessert.

  Usually she didn’t indulge like this when she was investigating, but the office had slowed her down twice now—the first time at the Kimuras’ house, and the second time when she wanted to dig into their financial accounts to see when they were last used.

  All of that was standard behavior when someone might be missing. Sometimes the best way to find out where they had gone was to see what they were currently spending money on.

  Or not spending money, as the case might be.

  But the office told her to hold off, to find out how their day went, and maybe, Amy Loraas had said, find one of the women and call this entire search off.

  So far, Bassima hadn’t found anything, and it frustrated her. Taji’s company, a small consulting, information, and legal business, hadn’t been open all week, which was odd. Taji always had her doors open when a Fleet ship was in town.

  Many in the Fleet had no idea how planetside behaviors worked and so sometimes paid for help with that. Others just needed to consult on what was normal—at least in this place. And still others needed help with legal advice from someone who wasn’t part of the Fleet but understood it.

  Bassima wasn’t certain how Taji became an expert in both Fleet customs and planetside behaviors. She wasn’t even sure how much of an expert Taji was, except that she was the expert for Sandoveil.

  The servo unit brought a sizzling plate of mistura. The oil still popped and the greens had turned so bright they almost seemed alive. All of it rested on a bed of cheese and eggs ringed by thinly sliced onions and mushrooms.

  Bassima dug in, trying to sort the information she had gathered. Taji’s business was closed. No one had seen either woman most of the week, not even at the grocers or any of the restaurants.

  Although Bassima hadn’t asked here. She would have to go into the kitchen to do that. The chef was the only working human on the premises. Everything else was done by automation or servo units.

  Bassima ate slowly, savoring every spicy bite. Behind her, the conversations were mostly about the base closing and the decisions every single family faced now. Did they leave their established life on Sandoveil or did they try to find new employment here?

  The servo unit finally brought her coffee, but it was too hot to drink. She stared at the dark liquid, then frowned. It wasn’t just the people at the sector base itself who would have to make choices.

  Taji’s business was based entirely on Fleet visits. She didn’t cater to the average tourist. She specialized in assisting Fleet crews, and she seemed to understand all the vagaries of Fleet rules and regulations, which seemed to vary from ship to ship.

  She never said whether or not she loved her job, but she had done it for years and years. She had to enjoy it on some level, or she would have shut it down. Right?

  Bassima had no idea how to answer that last question to herself. She had always worked for other people, although she had only worked on things she loved. She assumed everyone else made similar choices.

  She finished the mistura and waited for her plum cake, although she wasn’t sure she wanted it anymore. She wanted to check out Taji’s business the way she had checked out the house. She had gone by the business before, but she hadn’t really examined it. She hadn’t given it much thought.

  And it deserved a bit more of her time.

  She had a hunch she might find some answers there.

  SEVENTEEN

  TWO MEMBERS OF Bristol’s team still hadn’t arrived. The other four hovered in the back of her lab. She didn’t want to brief her team until everyone was here. Talking to people was stressful enough for her without having to repeat herself six times.

  Still, waiting meant the lab was even more crowded than it had been just an hour ago. Her skin crawled. She wanted the unnecessary security personnel to get out. She half-wanted even the essential personnel to get out.

  She rubbed her hands together and glanced at the door into the lab, willing the remaining two members of her team to arrive. But they didn’t. Instead, someone touched her right arm. She jumped, and turned at the same time.

  Wèi.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  She took a deep breath, nodded at her team, and then walked with him inside the storage room.

  She didn’t want to be in there. She could see the walls glistening as they continued to repair themselves. The fact that it was taking hours to repair the damage—whatever it had been—meant that the damage had been extensive.

  She tried not to look at the walls. Instead, she focused on Wèi. Two other members of his team were in here: Fitzwilliam and Tranh.

  “We found a new image,” Wèi said.

  He put up a holoscreen. A human-sized image floated in the center of the room. The image was of a woman. She was slight, with sharp features, and long brown hair pulled away from her face.

  In spite of herself, Bristol took a step backward. It was as if someone else had walked into the room. She had already had enough of people. Another stranger made her uneasy.

  Then she swallowed hard and made herself walk around the image. Usually these holographic images were the same size as the actual person.

  She had been wrong, earlier. She didn’t recognize this woman at all. Not from the front, and not from the back. Bristol didn’t think she had ever seen the woman in person, but she was aware that holographic images were not the same as actually seeing the person, particularly when the image was static.

  “Who is this?” Bristol asked.

  “You don’t know?” Wèi asked.

  Bristol shook her head. “I’ve never seen her—that I can remember, anyway.”

  “She’s the person who spent thirty-six hours inside this room,” he said.

  Bristol moved away from the image. It made her queasy. She had known, since she saw the shadowy figure, that someone had spent a lot of time in her lab. She hadn’t really put together that it was more than a day.

  “I thought we couldn’t identify the person,” Bristol said.

  “It took some imagery manipulation,” Wèi said, “and a
bit of carelessness on her part. Not here, but at the upper levels of security.”

  Bristol walked back to the door, staying away from the glistening walls.

  “She works here,” Bristol said, as the realization dawned. “That’s why you think I know her.”

  “Not in the lab,” Wèi said. “At the base.”

  “Yeah, her and most of Sandoveil,” Bristol said. “I don’t know all of them either. I don’t even see all of them. I’m not very social. I don’t go into town much—”

  He put up a hand, stopping her. She made herself take a deep breath. She was sounding as stressed as she felt. And the stress was veering into panic.

  They weren’t going to blame her for this, were they? That was her biggest fear, that they would somehow pin whatever happened here on her, and take her work away from her.

  She didn’t want to lose her work. It was her life.

  She drew in a shaky breath.

  “She works in security,” Wèi said quietly.

  It took a moment for Bristol to process that sentence.

  “What?” she asked, but more as a filler than an actual question. Security? That meant this woman was Wèi’s responsibility, not Bristol’s. “She works for you?”

  Wèi tilted his head slightly, as if he didn’t even approve of the question. “She works in a different department. Sector Base E-2 has one of the largest security staffs in the Fleet, primarily because Sandoveil became a major tourist destination.”

  Bristol wasn’t sure she knew that. She wasn’t sure she knew much about security at all, except that it existed, and it was a pain in the butt to go through when she came to the lab. This afternoon had been the first time she had contacted security, although she’d been through sweeps before.

  “But you know who she is, then.” Bristol wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or not. She was still jittery, and some of that was the storage room.

  “Yeah,” Wèi said. “Her name is Glida Kimura.”

  He paused as if Bristol should know the name. She didn’t.