Set in the early 22nd century, this science fiction murder mystery pulls the reader into Enceladus Stationâan outpost built beneath the frozen crust of Saturn's moon Enceladus. Its labyrinthine subterranean design shields it from lethal cold and a volatile surface.
Interplanetary travel is routine, and people live and work across the outer solar system.
With a Flesch Reading Ease Score of 70, this narrative is suitable for most 8th grade readers and above. However, it contains graphic crime scenes that are not recommended for readers under 12.
Educators can find free assessment materials for this novel at:
www.EnceladusStation.com
Set in the early 22nd century, this science fiction murder mystery pulls the reader into Enceladus Stationâan outpost built beneath the frozen crust of Saturn's moon Enceladus. Its labyrinthine subterranean design shields it from lethal cold and a volatile surface.
Interplanetary travel is routine, and people live and work across the outer solar system.
With a Flesch Reading Ease Score of 70, this narrative is suitable for most 8th grade readers and above. However, it contains graphic crime scenes that are not recommended for readers under 12.
Educators can find free assessment materials for this novel at:
www.EnceladusStation.com
Chapter 1: Icy Sunday
Susan McAfee sprinted down a shadowy corridor of Enceladus Station. Her footsteps echoed against the closed hatches. She counted hatches as she ran â seven, eight, nine â a habit from her first year on Enceladus, when the corridors all looked the same and counting was the only way to know where you were.
Amber lights in the walkway cast shifting shadows on the curved walls.
The initial engineers hadnât bothered with aesthetics. Everything on Enceladus Station was function first, comfort a distant afterthought. The environment made people long for things once taken for granted on Earth, like sunlight, fresh air, and open spaces. Down here, the farthest you could see was the next bend in the corridors.
She rounded a turn and nearly lost her footing on a patch of condensation. The station was trying to kill her too, apparently. The thought almost made her laugh â the absurdity of surviving a gunman only to die from a wet floor. Beads of moisture clung to the walls â condensation the thermal regulators never quite caught. Under it ran the deep-register groan of the station flexing against Saturnâs tidal pull, a sound she felt in her gut more than her ears.
She caught her balance and kept running.
For two years, Susan McAfee had conducted research on water chemistry and extraterrestrial microorganisms; evading gunfire in dimly lit corridors at midnight was never part of her job.
But here she was, blood on her uniform, running toward the only place left that might save her.
Susan used to think science was a shield. Learn the rulesâchemistry, biology, physicsâand the universe would have to play fair.
It didnât. The universe never checked her credentials.
Still, knowing mattered. It turned panic into a checklist: whatâs happening, what it means, what to do next.
A sudden shot rang out behind her, crisp and piercing. An ice bullet struck the wall three meters back and exploded into a spray of frozen shards that peppered her shoulders. She ran faster, never looking back.
The research center airlock loomed ahead â a heavy oval of titanium and composite, reinforced to withstand extreme pressure shifts. She slipped through the hatch and collapsed against the nearest computer desk, her trembling fingers searching for the control panel.
Slurring her words, she pressed the mic button, "Seal airlock 34."
She glanced back. The hatch open.
Her fingers moved across the monitor, smearing blood on the glass as she jabbed through menus. Three screens deep into the airlock subsystem, past two confirmation prompts she almost missed because her hands were shaking so badly.
âCLOSING AIRLOCK 34,â the computer stated in a calm, monotone voice.
The hatch slammed shut with a deep resonant thud that traveled through the deck plating and up into her knees. The sound echoed for three full seconds before the corridor absorbed it, the composite walls dampening the reverberation. For a quick second, she thought she saw a shadow on the other side â a shape pulling back just as the seal engaged.
She let out a breath and sank to the floor.
The research center had been her sanctuary for two years. Sheâd spent more hours here than anywhere else on the station. The lab was where sheâd made every major discoveryâ the water chemistry anomalies, the trace compounds that didnât match any known terrestrial origin, and finally, the breakthrough that had put a target on her back: the realization that the compounds werenât geological. They were biological. Something alive was producing them. Something in the water.
Catching her breath, she looked down at her uniform â a jumbled mix of dark fabric marred by jagged bullet holes, each a harsh reminder of her narrow escape.
Most ice bullets whizzed by, but one ricocheted off the wall and struck her in the stomach. It caught her low, punching through fabric and skin with a sound sheâd never forget â a wet, abbreviated thump that her brain filed under wrong before the pain even registered.
The assailant had used ice ammunition. On a sealed station, firing real bullets wasnât something you did lightly; one stray shot could pierce a pressure wall and turn an entire corridor into a vacuum chamber. Ice bullets solved that problem. The projectiles disintegrated upon striking hard surfaces. Mostly. Susan had a fresh hole in her gut that argued otherwise, and she knew the chemicals that kept ice rounds intact under fire could send them ricocheting in places no engineer had planned for.
Her shaking palm pressed the wound. Warmth spread beneath her fingers. A red stain bloomed outward, widening with each heartbeat. If the bullets were poisoned, her time was even shorter.
Footsteps echoed from the far end of the research center.
She scanned the dim lab â empty workstations. No one. The large wall clock on the far wall pulsed its bright red display:
Sunday, August 13th, 2130 â 11:58 PM (Enceladus Station Time)
Her only chance was to call for help.
She gathered what strength she had left and pushed herself upright, peering over the edge of the desk. Her own blood smeared across the monitorâs dark glass, and behind the streaks, a pale version of her face stared back. The screen was dead. The power had just been cut, yanked at the source, somewhere down the line. A low beeping sounded out from various devices in the room complaining about the power backup.
She couldn't stop herself from screaming as she collapsed back to the floor.
Enceladus Station by Douglas Alexander is a twisty tale of murder and corporate cover-up at a frozen research outpost on one of Saturnâs moons. The combination of science fiction, mystery, and a near-future setting created an intriguing story that kept me reading until the satisfying, clever conclusion.
By the 22nd century, space travel is routine, with humanity living, working, and visiting remote parts of the galaxy in only hours rather than years. Lt. Mark Grant is sent to the corporate research outpost on one of Saturnâs moons, Enceladus, to investigate the murder of one of the medical doctors stationed there. But on his arrival, heâs greeted by the disturbing scene of yet another attack; this time in the Research Center, where scientists have been studying the moonâs precious water resources. The amount of blood pooled on the floor and smeared on monitors, keyboards, and access keypads of the locked facility indicates someone has been gravely wounded, yet the body has somehow vanished without a trace, and Dobson Pharmaceuticals, the corporate partner of the outpost, has suspiciously sent their own team of deadly clones to locate and eliminate the victim.
Part sci-fi, part action/adventure, and part riveting mystery and corporate cover-up, I was grabbed by the story from the start. The setting, an underground research facility on the outermost edge of our settled galaxy, is atmospheric with the seeping condensation on its walls and floors, constant cold infiltrating oneâs very bones, the dim to suddenly clinically bright lighting, decrepit behind the scenes maintenance passageways, and the ubiquitous presence of the Pricklies, small alien insect-like creatures labeled pest, yet clearly displaying signs of awareness and intelligence.
The story is told from multiple points of view, not just that of the investigating officer, Lt. Grant, which gives the reader insight into the many working parts of the plot. However, the shared perspective also seemed to prevent me from really connecting with Grant himself or his investigation. There is some emphasis on a couple of minor characters, perhaps as possible red herrings, but their presence is not followed up on, so the opportunity is not taken. Characters with critical involvement early in the book disappear and a secret meeting with shadowy operatives goes nowhere. A couple of characters change names from introduction to reappearance, such as Dr. Eric Harris, who is later called Jonas, and there are more typos and errors than I was comfortable with in a finished book. However, the resolution is excellent and serves up a well-done Agatha Christie drawing room-style reveal, with Grant gathering together all the players and presenting his conclusions.
I recommend ENCELADUS STATION to readers of science fiction mysteries.