On Mars it Rains Blood (novella)

On Mars it Rains Blood,

a Gemini Case File

 

           We’d only just started the main course when someone screamed.

            It was Samira Khan, our host.

            Trixie, her current squeeze, she was known to have a different girl on her arm every other week, had faceplanted into her plate of pan seared halibut with dauphinoise potatoes and steamed asparagus.

            She’d been the first to die.

            At first, the rest of the guests, myself included, had thought she’d just had too much to drink.  After all, her and Ms Khan had arrived at the table late, tipsy and dishevelled after whatever activities had kept them occupied in their cabin for so long.

            But no, it hadn’t been the drink.  Or whatever drugs they’d clearly been taking.

            Blood had crept along the expensive and ornate tablecloth, painting the embossed gold red, and another guest had cried out.  Devon Gibbs, the vacuous shopping channel host, had stuttered and mewled in horror, staring at the blood on his hands, his blood, blood running from his eyes and nose.  He’d tried to stand.  His chair had scraped the floor.  He’d stumbled.  Fell.

            Half the guests, and our celebrity chef, were dead within minutes.

            I took a long drag of my cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke across the glass of the dining room window.  It obscured Mars.

            We’d lost our pilot too.  She’d been one of the least dramatic deaths; she’d just silently slumped back in her chair, although the blood had been just as torrential, and her body had gone limp.  She may have even been the last to die; her death had only become apparent once the living guests had stopped screaming and the reality of what’d happened began to sink in.  Her husband had become almost catatonic and had needed to be taken to the medical bay by one of our servers to be tended to.

            Damn it.

            Captain Mavis Duke, teetotaller, killed not by the bottle but by the first-class food of a luxury pleasure cruise.  I’d had some admiration for her.  Pity.

            Goddammit, I needed a drink.

I turned away from the window, from my view of the red planet, and took a step toward the table and stopped.  No.  The wine could be the poison.  Goddammit.

            I hadn’t come here to solve a murder!

Murders, damn it!

            There’d been so much blood.

            So much blood.

            It’d been a long time since I’d seen so much.

            Not long enough.  Goddammit, it was never long enough.

            I took another drag, deep, burning the cigarette to the filter and savouring the harsh chemicals the flame charred.  I flicked the burnt remains to the floor and blew smoke toward the contaminated cuisine.  And the bodies.  They were lifeless ghosts, their forms covered by expensive white sheets, and had been laid in a row along the lavish purple carpet to the right of the double doors that led out into the corridor.  Red-brown stains around each head had soaked through the fabric and become unyielding, hideous masks on the victims, bloodied faces gawking at the textured golden ceiling.

            Damn it.

            I’d told them not to move the bodies.  I’d shouted.  I’d told them to leave the victims undisturbed, untouched, but it had been the only way to quieten both the one-hit wonder Nora Summers, who’d screamed at me about respecting the dead, and Samira Khan, who’d been loudly distraught at the death of her lover.  Goddammit.  And the two remaining staff had been too subservient to our host to disagree; they’d just nodded along to the demands.  I’d almost felt sorry for them; they’d done most of the work of moving the dead.  Mrs E, who I’d assumed would back me up considering she’d invited me on this deadly trip, had quietly watched the arguments unfold with only disapproving glares at Summers and Khan.

            A crime scene ruined by emotion.

            Goddammit.

            I needed a damned drink but lit another cigarette instead.

I should’ve known agreeing to this little excursion would end in misery.  I wasn’t the type to hob with the nobs, but Mrs Elmendorf, Mrs E, had insisted I’d come as her plus one, since her husband had work obligations; this wasn’t the first time I’d taken his place, but this would be the last if this was the outcome.  Ha.

            An extravagant dinner circling Mars in a high-end space cruiser.  People would kill to have this experience… and it seemed they had.  I took a drawn out drag of my cigarette.  Half the guests.  We’d started out with ten of us, plus the two staff and the chef.  Lucky thirteen.  Six dead.  Seven still alive.

            I’d never needed a drink more than now, and the potentially poisoned beverages on the table were tempting me to imbibe them.  I resisted.

There was some hope, at least; I retrieved the small flask of whiskey I’d tucked inside my jacket.  I’d already drunk some- something to quell my queasy stomach during the spaceship’s launch half a day ago- it probably had about a third left.  I unscrewed the cap and took a small swig, savouring the fiery amber as it travelled down my throat.  I needed to preserve this.  There would nothing to drink until the local security rescued us, and they’d likely have nothing that would give me a much-needed buzz.

Our abandoned dinner was still on the table, even if the bodies had been moved away, and my stomach rumbled at the sight.  Damn it.  The starter, some sort of light salad washed down with white wine, had barely touched the sides and I was a little tempted to pick some food from one of the unbloodied plates to satisfy my cravings.  But a damned agonising death wasn’t a price worth paying for a full belly.

I took another drag of my cigarette.

None of the guests I’d questioned had been particularly forthcoming when I’d spoken to them an hour ago.  Not even Mrs E.  Shock, I guess.  I’d separated them into their cabins, they were still there apart from Professor Juarez and the staff, to give them time to percolate and calm down.

Six people dead.

Seven alive.

And one of them was responsible.  Maybe.  After all the perpetrator could’ve set this in motion before we’d even left Space Station Delta and not even boarded with us.

Damn it.

Of the remaining living, there was me; Mrs Valerie Elmendorf, Sector Six Council member and Chair of several charities; Samira Khan, our host and socialite living off the riches from mummy’s successful mining company; Nora Summers, a musician with only one hit song released over a decade ago; Professor Karl Juarez, husband of our pilot and an expert in something with multiple syllables that was difficult to pronounce; and Otto Frost and Nicole Clarke, our servers for the evening.

Damn, my cigarette had burned out; I relit the remaining half and took a drag.

The dead included Captain Mavis Duke, ex-alcoholic pilot of this spaceship; Sherry Bean, Head of Acquisitions for the research division at Tribeca Systems; Alvin Sanchez, newest owner and CEO of Newton-Prism; Devon Gibbs, semi-famous presenter of a big shopping network channel; Gene Garza, the famed celebrity chef and ours for this event; and Trixie, Ms Khan’s now former… lover?  Ms Samira Khan hadn’t known Trixie’s surname.  No-one had.  And I bet ‘Trixie’ wasn’t her real name either.  Goddammit, that was probably the most depressing thing; a nameless death, no chance to die with dignity.

Everyone was a damned suspect.  Even the dead, either through misfortune or intent.

Otto Frost, the staff member who’d escorted Professor Juarez to the infirmary had signalled the nearest authorities, or what counted as authorities this far out; we were out of range for satellite communication with Earth or any of the orbiting colonies.  The closest Mars Orbital Research Facility (MORF), one of three, would be sending a ship to come get us.  Our human pilot was dead, and we were stranded above a dead planet with only the autopilot to keep us safe.

I prayed our rescuers would bring some goddamned food with them else I risk death on the contaminated banquet left waiting on the table.

It would take several hours to reach us.

Damn it.

I’d agreed to give up half a day and a night for this trip.

A day and a half.

Five light minutes, or five actual hours to get to Mars, dinner orbiting the red planet, and then an overnight return while we slept off the food and wine.  Although I don’t think our host had anticipated that some of the guests would never wake again.

Most of our journey to the planet had been spent in our cabins.  Time to get ready, Mrs E had said.  But I’d spent the time asleep; I hated damned space travel almost as much as I hated some of the nobs at this dinner.  I’d dosed myself with sleeping pills and collapsed on the bed; I would have missed the whole damned deadly dinner had Mrs E not woken me.

I finished my cigarette and lit another, coughing in between.  Chain smoking wasn’t a good idea, but that wasn’t going to stop me; it was the only thing staving off the hunger pains.

I eyed the cornucopia of poison again.

After the salad, we’d had two choices: mustard crusted roast beef with crispy new potatoes and honey baked carrots or pan seared halibut with dauphinoise potatoes and steamed asparagus.  The food had to be the common link.  Had to be.

Fish or beef.

Either fish from the farms on Lunar, which was the only place you could get the real thing, or beef from free range cows raised on one of the few orbital farms.  Both were expensive and beyond my means.  Back home, I usually made do with the lab grown mystery meats and their comforting chemical taste, which would only kill me slowly.

Most of the victims had the halibut.  And any reasonable person would assume the fish was the cause, but I’d eaten the fish and I wasn’t dead.  Maybe I was lucky.  Maybe not.  Maybe only part of the fish was poisoned, and I just hadn’t delved that far into my meal.  Unlikely.

And then there was the matter of Captain Mavis Duke, who’d ordered the beef.

Goddammit.

The drink was another option.  We’d all had the red wine; I forget the name on the bottle.  Something posh.  Except…

No.  That wasn’t true.  Only some of us had the wine.

Captain Duke was a recovering alcoholic; she didn’t drink.  She’d had only water with a slice of lemon.

Ergh, I hated lemons.

Maybe Duke was the key.  No wine.  No fish.  There had to be something she’d consumed that linked her to the other victims.  She was the common element because, so far, there was no other link between her and the other victims apart from death.

Damn.

I needed to speak to her husband.  I just hoped he was more lucid now; his wife’s death had really hit him hard.

I took a long drag of my cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke towards the half-eaten dinner.

Someone screamed, as if on cue to my thoughts.

Goddammit.

I flicked my smoke to the floor and took off in the direction of the sound, skidding out the door into the hall and heading right.  The scream had come from the ship’s bow, from either the kitchen or the infirmary.

Only the Professor and Otto Frost, the staff member that’d escorted him there, would be at the front of the ship.

I ran along the carpeted hall, passed the kitchen, and into the medical bay.

Damn it.

Goddammit.

God-fucking-dammit.

Professor Karl Juarez was dead.

His face was painted with so much blood I could barely see the pale skin beneath, and even though the other deceased guests had suffered the same fate, the sight of his lifeless body slumped in a chair was still as shocking.

Damn it.

I don’t think any of his blood was left inside him; he was drenched from head to toe; his formally white tux and white shirt, fouled.

“I… I…”  The server, Otto, was fixated on the corpse.  He shot me a glance, but his eyes returned to Juarez almost immediately.  “This wasn’t… it wasn’t me.” His voice was quiet, measured.  “I… I…”  He was gripping a water jug tight in both hands; his knuckles had turned white.  “I didn’t know this was going to happen.”  Between him and the body there was broken glass, a former tumbler, sharp icebergs jutting from blood diluted by the water.  “I didn’t kill him,” he whispered.  A slice of lemon floated in a sea of red.

“I didn’t say you did.”

His head jerked toward me.  “I thought the water was okay,” he blurted out.  “It’s just water, plain water.”

I took the jug from his bony hands and placed it on the nearest cabinet before guiding the man out into the corridor.  He offered no resistance; he was skin and bones, almost a corpse himself; I guess working on a luxury spaceship didn’t pay that well.  I shut the door behind us.

“I didn’t kill him,” said Otto.  He walked to the window opposite, turned and leant back against the glass.  “Honestly, I don’t know what happened.”

“Tell me,” I said, a little too stern, “why did you give him water?”

He stared at me.

I sighed.  “I told you, I told everyone, not to touch any food or drink.  Why?  Why didn’t you goddamned listen to me?”

“We… we’d been drinking it all night,” he said.

“What?”

“Me and Nicole.”

“What?”

“Nicole Clarke, my colleague.”

“Yes, I know who she is,” I said.  The other server.  She should be in the staff quarters below the dining room.  “It doesn’t…”

“I’d thought it’d be fine… the water,” he said.  “He was crying so much… I… I… he needed...”  His voice cracked and a tear ran down his cheek.  “Water... that’s all we’re allowed to drink.  We don’t get any of the nice food… not even allowed the leftovers.”  The waiter dabbed his eyes with his sleeve.  “Something to be grateful for, I suppose.”

“Quite.”  I looked down the corridor, back towards the dining room and the guest cabins.  “Did you leave the professor here alone?  When you went to get the water?”

“Yes.”

“Damn it.  For how long?”

“A few minutes… I… it wasn’t long.  I just went to the kitchen and…”

“Did you see anyone?”

“No… I…”

“No-one?”

He shook his head.

I needed a drink and a cigarette.  Goddammit.  “What about before you got the water?  Did anyone else come to the infirmary?”

“No.  No, but…”

“What?”

“Nicole called me on the intercom for a chat,” he said.  “She was bored.  So was I.  And with everything that’s happened, everything that’s going on…”

“I get it,” I said.  “Gossiping.”

“No, no, it wasn’t like that.”  The waiter shook his head.  “We would never gossip about our guests like that.  We just needed to talk, yes, that’s all.  Anyway, it wasn’t as if we chatted for too long; one of the guests called for attention and I…” he stared back at the closed med bay door.  “Oh god… I can’t… so many people are dead.”

I offered him a cigarette, which he took gladly, and I lit up my own.  This whole thing was a mess.  Another guest.  Damn it.  Was the latest death intentional or had Juarez just been unlucky?  Was this a mass murder or were all the deaths just collateral damage from one intended victim?

Goddammit.

I took a long, deep drag of my cigarette and something clicked in my brain.

“Hang on, what did you say?”

“That me and Nicole didn’t talk much,” said Otto.  He puffed on his cigarette like he was sucking on a lollipop.  “We just...”

“Tell me again, why did the conversation end?”

“A guest rang for something.”

I rolled my eyes and sighed.  “And she went to them??”  Goddamned stupid.  “I explicitly told everyone to stay put!  There’s a killer on the loose!”  I grabbed the man by his collar.  “Who was the guest?”

“I… I don’t know,” he stammered.

I let him go with a huff.  It wasn’t worth getting angry with him; it wasn’t his fault.  It probably wasn’t even the waitress’s fault.  Naivety and ignorance could be dangerous.

And the killer was still on board…  “Have you heard from Nicole since?”

He shook his head.

Damn it.

“Stay here.”  I glared at the man to make sure he understood; last thing I needed was another person wandering about the ship.

He nodded.

I took a final drag of my barely begun cigarette and threw it to the floor.  Yet another smoke wasted.  I prayed she hadn’t met the same fate as Juarez and the others.  I hurried down the corridor, through the door into the vestibule and through another into the guest quarters.

Quiet.

Empty.

Nothing occupied the hall, except for the expensive adornments dressing the metal walls and floors.  Exquisite carpets, intricate vases, and saturated paintings.  A cream sofa in the centre of the room.  Part of me wanted to smash it all up, show them all how truly damned worthless it all really was.  But it would be pointless.

So much death.

And one of these goddamned bastards was the culprit.

Damn it.

I skipped the first couple of doors, they belonged to some of the deceased, and rang the buzzer for the first occupied.  It was Nora Summer’s room.

No answer.

I tried the next one along, Mrs Elmendorf.

No answer either.

Damn it.

I held down the buzzer, probably longer than necessary, but there was still nothing.

Goddammit.

God-fucking-dammit.

I punched the wall, barely disturbing the intricate wallpaper, composed myself, and moved along to the final cabin.

Samira Khan’s.

My hand paused over the buzzer.  I might be wrong about Mrs E, or even Nora Summers; I might be worried for no reason.  She… they might be okay… they both might be okay.  I pushed the buzzer.

The intercom clicked and a weary voice replied: “Urgh… what?”

I sighed relief.  “It’s Jack Gemini,” I said.

“What?”

“Jack Gemini?”

“I know who you are,” Ms Khan’s voice whined through the speaker.  “What do you want?

“I just need to check everyone’s okay.  Have you seen anyone else?  Any of the staff?”

There was no answer.

“Ms Khan?”  I pressed the buzzer again.  “Are you there?

The door swished open, and I was greeted with our dishevelled host.

“No,” she growled.  She wrapped her dressing gown tighter as if trying to suppress the more formal gown beneath.  She sniffed.  “I’ve not seen anyone.”  Her dark eye shadow had thawed beneath reddened eyes and carved branches along her cheeks.

“I just…”

“Why would I, Mr Gemini?”  A forceful finger jabbed at the air in front of my face.  “What do you think I’ve been doing all evening?”  She wiped an eye with the back of her hand and smudged her make-up further.  “Living it large?  Partying?  I haven’t seen anyone.  How dare you.”  She wiped the other eye.

“Thank you, Ms Khan.”  I snapped a courteous smile and a nod.  “That’s all I needed.”

She started to say something else, but I shook my head, ignored her, and moved back to Mrs E’s door.  At least Khan was alive.  Unlike Juarez.  Damn it.  And everyone else.

I feared the worst for Mrs E and Ms Summers.

And if they weren’t answering their doors, I’d need to break in.  I reached into my jacket and pulled out my pocketknife.

“Hey!”  Ms Khan took a step toward me.

I continued to ignore her; she was alive and that’s all that mattered.  I ran my blade along the outside of the lock mechanism on the wall, cutting a seam into the expensive and extravagant wallpaper so I could get a better purchase on the metal panel.

“I’m talking to you!”

I waved her away.  “Shut up! I need to concentrate.”  I hooked the knife under the panel and freed it, exposing the circuitry underneath.

“You can’t do that!”  She grabbed my arm and tried to pull me away, but I resisted.  “Stop it,” she said.

I turned to face her.  “Try again to goddamned stop me.”  I glared at her.  “Go on.”

She said nothing, but a sudden wave of realisation that something wasn’t right, flickered across her tear-stained face; her tone grew softer.  “Has something happened?”

“Professor Juarez is dead,” I said as I turned back to the lock.

“Fuck.”

“Yep.”  I pulled on one of the wires and cut it with my blade; it was only a simple mechanism and shouldn’t take much to get the door open.  Hopefully.  I cut another wire.  Hopefully Mrs E was alive.

“What do I do?”  Ms Khan moved closer.  “Can I help?”

I shushed her and tried to focus; I didn’t want to electrocute myself.  I briefly touched one wire to another and was met with a spark and a shriek… not from myself or Khan.

Mrs E.

Alive, and clearly not expecting company.

“What the…?”  The older woman grabbed her bedsheets and covered herself.  “How dare…” her anger turned to confusion, “Jack??”

I nodded and tried to look as apologetic as I could.

“What’s going on?”

I started to explain but was cut short.

“We’re not safe,” blurted Ms Khan.  “The professor is dead, and.. and, and…”

We were still missing two people.  One door left to open.

“Samira,” interrupted Mrs E.  “We’re not dead yet, and I don’t plan on…”

I let the conversation continue as I worked on Nora Summer’s lock; I didn’t have time for desperate panic or soothing platitudes from either guest.  I needed to get this damn cabin open too.  I yanked away the cover and got to work on the wires.

Damn it.

Damn it.

Damn it.

A bright spark fizzed, blinding me briefly and the third and final door shot open with a whoosh, and… nothing.  It had silenced the other guests; there was only silence from within.

No.

No, there was sound.

Someone was sobbing.

Then I noticed the blood, a puddle pooling across the floor and out into the corridor.

Samira Khan cried out.

I glanced back at the two women; they had a full view of the room interior and clearly, just based on Ms Khan’s reaction, someone was dead; my suspicion rested on Summers rather than the server, Nicole Clarke.

I peeked around the edge of the door.

Damn it.

Clarke was sat on the bed, head in her hands and crying.  It was clear what the tears were in response to, whether fear, guilt or something else entirely; just across from her, the body of the musician Nora Summers was slouched in a chair, bloodied face frozen in a death stare at the pooling crimson tide emanating from her.

Goddammit.

I looked to the two other living people and waved my hand to gesture for them to stay back.  They both seemed a little too eager to involve themselves in the drama.

“Ms Clarke?” I moved into the doorway, stepping around the blood.  “Nicole?”  It never failed to surprise me just how much blood the human body contained.

“I didn’t mean to…” the crying woman whispered.  “She’s… she’s… oh my god.”

Shards of glass, dressed with slices of lemon, sailed along the wet floor toward me.

“Nicole?”

Her hands dropped from her face and her head twisted in my direction.  Reddened pits stared at me.  “I did this,” she said flatly.  “I killed her.”  Her expression was blank.  “She’s dead.”

“I can see,” I said.  Was it that simple?  Was that a confession?  Damn it.  It couldn’t be that easy.  No.  There had to be more.  I needed to get her out of the room and away from the body, away from the blood.  I looked down; the red liquid was creeping its way toward me.  Nicole Clarke seemed relatively unscathed, with only a couple of splatters on her shirt and some spots on her face.  “Nicole,” I said.  I didn’t want to step any closer; not only would I be disturbing the crime scene, but it would be safer for her to come to me than me go to her if she were the killer.  I held out my hand.  “Come to me.”

The woman stared, frozen.

There was a huff from my left; it was Ms Khan.  “Arrest her,” she said; there was a quiver in her voice, and I could tell she was on the verge of crying again.  “You heard what she said.  She did it.”  She pointed to the woman on the bed.  “She… she killed Nora… she killed my Trixie.”

“We don’t know that.”  Mrs Elmendorf put herself between me and Khan.  She raised her eyebrow to me, a little unconvinced by her own words.  “Despite what it may look like, right?  Right?”

“But she…”

I rolled my eyes and garnered a sneer from Samira Khan.

“She’s a murderer!”  The host pointed again.  “She did it!  She told us she did it!  Arrest her!”

“Now, just wait a damn…” I started.

“Arrest her!!!”

“That’s enough!”  I felt like I was scolding a child and, by the way her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed, it was clearly apparent from my tone.  “I don’t want to hear any more of your goddamned bullshit.”  Any other time I’d’ve laughed at the expression on her face, the look of surprise that someone had the audacity to silence her.  “You’re not helping.”

Her mouth bobbed like a fish, trying to emit a response.

“You need to either shut up, or get out of my way,” I said.

“Listen here, I…”

“Do you have a goddamn death wish?  I don’t know enough to keep you safe; do you know how they died?  How Trixie died?  Do you know what killed her?”

“Is that a threat?”  She crossed her arms.  “I really don’t…”

“What did I say?”  I needed a drink.  “Shut up or get out of my goddamned way.”  I wasn’t in the mood to deal with this shit.  I was hungry, tired, and sober.  Too damn sober for this.  “Do you think we’ll get answers by you screaming and shouting, throwing around accusations, ordering me to do your bidding?  No?”  I needed several drinks.  “If you think otherwise, you’re a goddamned fool.”  A cigarette wouldn’t go amiss either.  “Now, shut up.”

“I…”

I glowered at her and took some pleasure in seeing her comply.  Her shoulders slumped; defiance drained.

“Jack,” said Mrs E.  “Is there…?”

“Same to you too,” I said, but with a more civil tone.  “I need you both to keep out of my way.”  I cast a quick glance from my dinner partner to the host and back again.  An unspoken message.

Mrs E nodded and put her arm around Samira Khan.  “Come on,” she said, as she led her away from what was now the third murder scene.  “Come and help me get back into my dress.”  Ms Khan started to say something in protest, but Mrs E shushed her.  “That’s enough.”

The older woman shot me a glance and I nodded in thanks as they disappeared from my view and into her cabin.  I could hear some whispered conversation, but no words, and the door shuddered shut; I’d broken the lock after all.

I turned back to the task at hand.

Nicole Clarke was terrified.  She was shaking, distant, a much more emotional reaction than her colleague.  I needed her away from the body, and more lucid than she was right now.

“Nicole,” I said.  “Breathe.”

She swallowed hard and took a deep breath, in, and out, to calm herself.  “I… I don’t know… know how…” she stuttered.  “Oh my god… I don’t…”  I could tell she was trying her hardest not to burst.  “I… oh my god… I just…”

“What happened?”

“I…”  Her gaze fell back to the bloodied body, and I considered entering the room and just yanking her out into the corridor.  “Oh my god,” she muttered.

“Start from when you spoke to Otto Frost.”  If I could get her talking, get her mind off the dead…

She nodded and turned to me.  “He gave me a call and asked if I could take some water to the remaining guests.  He thought they might need it.”  She sniffled.  “We knew the water was safe…”

“Because you’d both drank some and were still…”

Nicole nodded.  “Yes.”

Something she said didn’t feel... right.  I couldn’t quite put my finger on it yet, but something didn’t line up.  I urged her to continue.

“I filled up a jug from the service station outside the staff quarters downstairs, got a couple of glasses and headed straight here,” she said.  “I... er...”  Her attention started to drift to the bloodied corpse again, and her expression regressed.  She was horrified.  Either she was a great actress or not guilty.  Convincing, either way.

“Hey!”  I clicked my fingers and motioned for her to stand.  “Quickly, come here.”  This was my chance, while her attention was diverted, not fully focused on her story or on the horror of the cabin.  “Come on, now.”

She got to her feet, a little uncertain, eyes scanning the room, not settling on anything.  Nicole’s shock had pretty much broken, almost as if she were coming to from a deep sleep; I had to be careful not to frighten her back into her malaise.  She tiptoed around the pooling blood, still shaking.  She paused near the door.

“Almost there,” I said.

The spaceship shuddered, distracting the server from her path, and her gaze shifted once more to the body.  She paused.  Damn it.  She was close enough; I grabbed her arm and pulled, taking her out of the crime scene and into the hallway.  She stumbled as I let go, cried out.  I reached into the door mechanism, pulled on the loose wires, and with a couple of sparks, and a slight electric shock on my skin, the door slammed shut.

Nicole let out a sigh as the reddened room disappeared; the only evidence was a small puddle that had seeped out before the door had shut.

I guided her to the small seating area in the centre of the hall and sat her down.

“Tell me again,” I said.  She declined the cigarette I offered her, and I lit up.  “Tell me again what happened.”

“Otto called me and asked me to take some water to the guests,” she said.  “He said they’d need it; no-one had finished their meals so… so…”

My stomach growled in response and the server paused, as if sensing my discomfort.  I circled my hand for her to continue.  The vehicle lurched, turbulence, and my innards flipped.  I took a deep drag of the cigarette to try to ease my belly.

“I wasn’t expecting him to call,” she said.  “I thought we were meant to stay in our rooms and we’re not exactly friends.”

“Oh?”

“He only likes to talk work,” said Nicole.  “Plus, he’s technically my supervisor.”

“Technically?”

“I’ve worked for the company much longer, but he’s licked enough ass to start a chocolate factory.” ADD HERE THAT OTTO’S FAMILY USED TO OWN THE COMPANY THAT OFFERED THESE DINNER EXPERIENCES- USED TO OWN A FLEET OF SHIPS.

I nodded.  I knew the type.

“And I think he’s a little bitter that I know the job better than him.”

“Oh?”

“His family used to own the company that offered these trips,” she said.  “Before he was born.”  The woman shrugged.  “But they went under and got bought out by Calesthetica.”

“Now he works for them.”

“Yeah.”

“I can see why he might be bitter,” I said.  “Please continue.”

Nicole sighed.  “He said, ‘get water’ and ‘don’t forget the lemon.’”  She rolled her eyes.  “As if I didn’t know what I was doing.  Lemon!  What does he think I am?  A fucking idiot?”

I lamented for a moment about my distaste for the yellow citrus and a cog suddenly clicked into place.  “Lemon,” I muttered.  “Lemon.  Goddammit.”  I stood and slapped my forehead.  “Lemon!”

“What?”  Nicole laughed nervously, confused.

“Lemon,” I grabbed her shoulders and she recoiled.  “Lemon!  It was the lemon; it all makes sense!” I let go and stood back; I was scaring her a little.  “Sorry, but don’t you see?  I hate lemon, so I didn’t have any.”  I threw my hands up in the air.  “And I’m alive!  I’m alive!  I thought it was the fish, but it couldn’t be.  Couldn’t’ve have been the fish!  I had the fish.  And I hate lemon.”

Ms Clarke was staring at me as if I was mad.

I sighed.  “Captain Duke didn’t have the fish, but still…  I had the fish and I’m alive.  Who doesn’t squeeze a bit of lemon on their fish?”

She continued to stare.

“Me.”  I jabbed my chest with my thumb.  “I don’t.  And what about Captain Mavis Duke?”  The ship shivered again; the trajectory must be rougher than expected.  “An ex-alcoholic.  That’s important.  She couldn’t have any wine like the rest of us, but do you know what she did have?”

“Oh! Oh my god.” Her hand covered her mouth.

I nodded.  “Water,” I said.  “With a few slices of damnable lemon for a bit of taste.”

“Jesus.”

“Jesus hasn’t got anything to do with it.  I know who’s behind all this.”

“You don’t think it was me?” blurted Nicole.  “I gave water to…”

“You weren’t to know the lemons were poisoned,” I said.  “It’s such an innocuous little thing.  A squeeze of lemon on some fish, a buoyant fruit in your water.  Who would know it would lead to a citrussy death.”  I held up my finger.  “One person.”

“Uhm… the chef?”

“You told me the answer already.”  I raised an eyebrow.  “What you said…”

The floor rocked and I braced myself.  My empty stomach leapt to my throat as the artificial gravity failed for a microsecond and I dry heaved an empty belly.  The walls and floor shook.  There was a rumble from the back of the ship.  The engines were firing.  Full throttle.

This wasn’t right.

This wasn’t normal.

This wasn’t just turbulence, or a rough trajectory.

We were breaking orbit.

Goddammit.

“What’s going on?” Mrs E, now fully dressed in her gown again, had opened her cabin door; I could see Ms Khan standing behind her looking considerably less dishevelled.  “Is that the rescue ship?”

I didn’t answer her; rescue wasn’t due for hours and I didn’t want anyone to panic.  It seemed the culprit had either twigged that I was onto him, or this was his plan all along.

“Jack?” said Mrs E.

“Wait here,” I said.  “No, stay in your cabin.”  I sucked down the last dregs of my cigarette and flicked the spent filter to the floor.  “Take Nicole here,” I gestured to the teary woman in the chair, “and keep Ms Khan with you.  Keep each other safe and…”

“Safe?!”  Ms Khan barged out in the hall.  “From what?  A murderer?  Cracking job you’ve done so far, Mr Gemini!  Nora Summers is the latest victim of your incompetence.”  The ship shuddered and she almost lost her footing.  So did I.  “My Trixie is dead, and you want to keep us safe?!  Who are you to tell us what to do?  To boss us about?”

“That’s enough,” I snapped.  “Not again.”  I wasn’t in the mood for this.  “Goddammit, do what you want!”  I threw my hands up.  “Get yourself killed for all I care.”  I could see Mrs E peeking out from behind our host; she was trying to hide a smirk, but I wasn’t in the mood for any levity from her either.  I let it slide, and let out an exasperated sigh.  “I just want to go home,” I said.  “I want a damned drink.  I want to get off this damned death trap.”  The floors rocked and I caught myself against the wall.  “I want to survive.”

Damn it.

I turned on my heel and headed for the door.  I could hear Samira Kahn ranting about something, but I ignored her again.  I needed to get to the cockpit and quick.

The door slid shut behind me and I bounded along the corridor toward the front of the ship.  I didn’t bother to look into either the dining room or the infirmary as I passed; there would be nothing except the dead.

Otto Frost, on the other hand, was most certainly alive.

I reached the cockpit door just as another violent quake hit the ship.  I braced myself.  Smoke, followed by flames, sparked and burned up along the windows to my left, the oxygen in the protective paint burning away in the thin atmosphere of Mars as the transport dipped deeper downwards.  Goddammit!  He wasn’t trying to escape.  He was going to kill us all.  He was going to crash the ship into the red planet, to bury us in the forsaken deserts far below.

Damn it.

The door was locked.  I’d expected as much.  I took my knife to the panel to the right of the door, peeling away the metal cover to access the wires beneath.

The ship shuddered and shook, it seemed to be getting worse, and I steadied myself against the corridor wall as I worked.  This wouldn’t be easy; the lock was a little more complicated than the ones on the cabins, but I worked as quickly as I could.  Something sparked.  Pain.  I ignored it and squeezed two wires together.  The floor jolted, and I had to catch myself from falling, just as a loud crackle signalled my success.

A bullet caught my shoulder as soon as the door opened.

Damn it.

I stumbled and ducked to the left of the opening.

“Otto,” I pushed myself back against the wall, out of sight, and clutched the wound.  “Don’t be a fool.”  I gritted my teeth.  I was bleeding profusely; I hurt.  “Turn us around, talk to me.  No-one else has to die.”

“It’s no less than you deserve.  Uptight, snobby bastards,” he said.  “Can’t even feed yourselves.”  He laughed.  “Of course.”

“The lemons.”  Fighting him, physically fighting, would be difficult.  “But you must’ve known that wouldn’t kill everyone, right?”  I was unarmed, apart from my small knife; he had a damn gun.  “I hate lemons.”  I considered rushing him and my shoulder pained in reply; blood was soaking though my jacket.  “What else did you have planned?  This?”

“I didn’t need to kill all of you, just enough to make the news.  Change is coming,” he snorted.  “An uprising from the depths of the gutters.  You’ll see.  You’ll pay.  A class war is coming and…”

“Bullshit,” I said.  “You’re just bitter about mummy and daddy losing your legacy.”

“No! No, no, no!”

“You could’ve been rich, living it large with the hobnobs.”

“You’re wrong,” spat Otto.  “I told you that change is coming; my parent’s wasted legacy has nothing to do with it.  This is about justice.”

“Bullshit.”

“Think what you want; it doesn’t change anything.”

“But why crash us into Mars?”  I needed a damn plan.  A quick plan.  “What does that accomplish, eh?”

“Ergh, I messed up, should’ve killed you all while I had the chance.”

“You didn’t expect Captain Duke to die,” I said.  “Rather than a qualified pilot taking us straight to the Mars Orbital Research Facility for the authorities to deal with the deaths, we’ve got to wait for them to come to us.  A long wait.  More time to be discovered.”

“It would’ve been easy,” he said.  “I had it all worked out; I would’ve slipped away unnoticed.”

“An escape route?  Friends?”  That was a worrying thought, but something to think about later and not while we were plummeting to our deaths.  “And I bet you didn’t think you’d have a detective on board.”

“Ha! Detective!”

“Otto, stop this.”  I peeked around the edge of the door.  The man was fixated on the fiery view before him, the fast-approaching ground, framed by the smoke of the spaceship forcing itself through the atmosphere.  “You mentioned an uprising.  Turn yourself in, state your demands to the cops.”  The ship convulsed; we were getting closer and closer to the point of no return, on the verge of being ripped apart, an explosive death, our bodies likely evaporated before we even reached the surface.  “Listen, I can get you in front of the people in power.”  The lie was sour on my lips; nothing changed in this universe… the rich got richer and the poor, poorer, and a murderer wasn’t going to change that.  “Otto?”

“Fuck you,” he hissed.  He was still looking ahead.

I took my chance.

I screamed a battle cry, I don’t remember what, and charged into the cockpit.  I didn’t have time to aim, but I flung my pocketknife toward Otto just as he turned and fired a second shot.  It missed.  I missed.  Kind of.  The bullet clipped my ear as the handle of my knife cracked into his forehead.  Yes, goddammit!  It knocked him back, causing him to drop his gun, and our weapons clattered to the floor in unison.  I used his confusion to my advantage.  I grabbed his bony arm and pulled him from the chair; his thin, emaciated body offered little resistance and he flew from the seat like paper in the breeze.

I reached for the controls as he staggered, but he recovered quicker than anticipated.  He roared as he barrelled into me.  My injured shoulder roared back.  We hit the floor, his body weighing barely anything on top of me, and I tried to wrestle the surprisingly strong man and pin him.

Goddammit.

The ship was shaking continuously now, and the clock was ticking to our doom.  It might already be too late.

Otto tried to scratch at my face, but I seized his wrist and pulled him closer.  I headbutted him.  Twice.  It hurt.  But it was enough for me to gain the upper hand.  I rolled him underneath me.  His arms flailed and I caught one under my knee, pressed all my weight on him, made it hurt.  Really hurt.  He tried to fight.  Tried.  Failed.  I punched him in the face and blood splattered from his nose.

I punched again.

And again.

And again.

He went limp.

My fist was coated in blood.  So was Otto’s face.  And the floor.  I’d knocked out some of his teeth, broken his nose.  But he was alive; I could feel his shallow breaths beneath me.

Damn.

I stumbled to my feet, fought against the tremors of the crashing vessel, and rushed to the control console.  Fortune favoured clearly labelled controls, or rather it favoured uptight safety standards.

I hit the autopilot switch.

There was a hiss, the ship sighed, I sighed relief, as we levelled out, and begun a smooth ascent back into orbit.  The autopilot was only programmed to make the ship safe; it couldn’t deal with anything too complex, but I prayed thanks to whatever mad scientist had invented the damn thing.

It was over.

I retrieved a cigarette; the packet had crumpled during the tussle, but the contents were intact enough.  I lit up.  Otto was unconscious, and I took a quick moment to grab the gun and knife from the floor just in case he woke.  I’d need to tie him up soon so he could face justice, but for now I was going to enjoy some chemical goodness.  I puffed on the bent white stick and blew out a plume of smoke.

“It’s always the butler,” I muttered under my breath.

“Otto isn’t a butler, just a waiter.”  Mrs E stood in the doorway with her arms crossed.  “I think this might be last time I’ll ask you along for dinner,” she said with only a hint of sarcasm.

“It would’ve been the last,” I took another drag of the cigarette, “if you’d had any of the lemon.”

“Lemon?  That was the poison?”

I nodded.

“Lucky we never made it to dessert.”  She smiled morbidly.  “Lemon meringue was one of the options.”

I sighed, suddenly remembering the forgotten whiskey in my jacket.  I reached into the pocket and winced.  This might be fourth, maybe fifth time my shoulder had taken a bullet.  Probably not the last time either.

Mrs E raised an eyebrow as I unscrewed the cap on the flask.

“Want some?” I said.

She shook her head, thankfully declining the offer.

I took a swig; it was good.  No.  It was the best damn thing I’d had all evening and I downed the last dregs of liquid gold with some haste.

I nudged Otto Frost with my foot.  I’d beaten on him pretty hard, and he was still unconscious.  He’d said change was coming and maybe this was all part of a bigger plan, something more organised, but that wasn’t my problem.  Not that I believed his reasons anyway.  Regardless of his motives, people hadn’t needed to die for his cause.  No.  And definitely not for his warped sense of justice.

There are some that say justice is sweet, but for Otto Frost, it had been bitter.

Damn it, I hated lemons.

Case Closed.

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