The Ghost Of Alastair Xero Part II: A Reeves Calder Mystery

"Hey! Buddy! Who the hell do you think you are? Wake up!"

"Ennnnmmmmfffffff," I said like a deflating tire.

I had a splitting headache. In the time it took me to remember where I was, a heavy bald man had me up on my shaky feet. I flattened my palms against the wall and took deep breaths.

"Jeez kid, you look like you got pushed out of an airlock," a stout man with a bald head and dark brown skin looked at me in a fatherly way. Which is really just a mix of mild concern and aggressive disappointment, "If you can't ride the comet don't get on, son."

Thanks, dad. I managed to exert enough force to lift my head, "huh?"

"Cut back on the booze! I've known too many good men who couldn't leave the booze at happy hour— why are you dressed like that? You get some kinda leave? I don't remember Dexter approving any leave."

I blinked my eyes a few times until all the clouds were gone, "I don't work here— well I do, but more in a— cough cough— auxiliary capacity. Detective Reeves Calder," I offered my hand and lost my balance. Slipping to the floor.

"Easy there, Detective. I'm Ronaldo Cordozo. Same advice goes for you, ya know?"

"Appreciate it, but I wasn't drinking. I was just investigating the corridor when I guess I passed out."

"Don't that beat all? Sounds like something out of a mystery novel," I noticed the patch on his jumpsuit.

"Maintenance tech, huh?"

"Yes sir. Twenty years into a thirty year contract, with a seventy five percent buyout discount." He smiled proudly.

"Anything around here that could do that to a person? Make them pass out?"

He thought for a moment, "hypothetically, yes. A leaky coolant pipe or a glitch in the atmo mix. Nitrogen leak from the warehouse. But if any of those were the case I'd be on the floor with you."

"Maybe we're in heaven together?" I said playfully.

"Don't even joke, man," he looked all around and crossed his chest, "I'm so close to being out of this place. I don't need any bad luck. I just do my job and go to my quarters."

"A nitrogen leak from the warehouse could reach here?"

"A lot would have to go wrong. There's a link to the warehouse a few clicks up, maintenance tunnel. I don't usually need to use it but I got an alarm that a light was on for an extended period. Thought it was a malfunction."

"Was it?"

"Hells if I know. Like I said, it's an old station. We don't have all those fancy sensors the newer ones have. Gives me the heebie jeebies. It's like flying blind half the time."

"I know the tune. If it doesn't stop the flow of money don't fix it."

"No lie there, son. They've even been cutting back pay."

That was hard to hear. It meant unless you could secure a good discount, buying out your contract was next to impossible. It would extend a lot of contracts.

Unless someone could get a hold of the extra funds.

Side investments weren't discouraged by VHS. Hell, investment was pretty much the only human right agreed upon in the settled systems.

"Anybody you can think of that's taking it extra hard?"

"How do you mean, detective?"

"Someone who might be willing to do something desperate for extra unicreds?"

"Like I told ya. My contract is locked. That includes my salary. As long as I keep my head down and don't give them any legal reason to adjust it, I get to retire in real gravity," he started walking to the start of the corridor before he bent over, "This yours?"

I took my earwig from his outstretched hand, "Thanks."

"No problem," he started walking again, "Talk to the young folk, detective. They're future is far enough away they think they can outsmart the company."

"Thanks again, Ronaldo, uh— if you could do me a solid and don't tell anyone you found me like this?"

"My lips are sealed."

I waved as he disappeared into the next corridor and put the bud back in my ear.

"Sir! Sir! Can you hear me?"

"Yes, Watson. I'm awake."

"Thank goodness. I contacted station security an hour ago. I had to make my request through an antiquated intelligence. We could barely make it through a conversation with all the pop up ads. In the end it said it would forward my request and told me to keep your feet elevated."

If Watson had lungs he'd be straining for air at the end of that spiel.

"What did we pick up on scanners?"

"Not much. Before your last utterance it recorded a small drop in ambient temperature and oxygen level. After that it just froze. I imagine the camera did the same but we won't know until you return."

"Hmmm. It was uncomfortable at first but I didn't fully lose it until the perp got closer. Whatever they're using it's not meant to affect a wide range. Are you in the station feeds?"

"As much as one can be. It's rather sparse."

"Yeah, security around here doesn't seem to be a top priority. You'd think with all the rich guests."

"Guests of that caliber don't tend to trust station security. They'd bring their own private army. Currently the hotel boasts two hundred bookings. Three quarters of those were with a coupon."

"A station with little traffic and lax security. Wouldn't take much to make this into a smuggling hub."

"Are you still suggesting narcotics?"

"Still the best bet. Easy to hide. Less fuel to transport than weapons or people. More likely to sway Human Resources into life instead of contract termination."

"How are you feeling?"

"A little shaky but better now. How long was I out?"

"Last contact was twenty four thirty six. It's now one fifty five."

I remembered my 1:30 appointment, "Scrap! Kilroy!"

~~

Close to its 2:30 closing time the cafeteria was almost empty. I watched the workers put out packaged food and drinks on a table with a payment screen attached.

Charlie Kilroy was there in the corner. His mouth fixed in a pearly white grin as he talked to a woman wiping tables.

"You're only a five year! Your buyout wouldn't even be that much!" He said to her before taking a sip from his glass.

"You really think so?" She answered in a way that told me she hadn't met anyone like him before.

"Does the President of Vega Three crap in a platinum toilet?"

"And you'd do that for me?"

"Baby, I'll do anything for love," his eyes narrowed on the young lady. She giggled and continued wiping.

I sauntered up loudly enough to bring anybody back to their senses. After my night it wasn't entirely exaggerated.

"Hey guys. I was just watching the most insane documentary about the effects of artificial gravity on venereal disease evolution," I tipped my hat to the worker who looked at me with mild disgust. Still got it.

"Oh it's the detective! Shonda, this is Reeves Calder, space detective," Kilroy leaned back in his chair. One arm draped over like a cheap movie gangster, "I was beginning to wonder if you were cheapin' out on me."

"Pleased to meet you, Shonda," I didn't bother to offer a handshake, slumping into a chair instead, "Yeah, sorry," I rubbed the back of my neck, "ran into a little trouble."

"Everything good?"

I gave a half hearted smile, "couldn't be better, how was work?"

"Another day, another cred," he motioned to Shonda, "Can you grab me a Nebula Draft on this man's tab— and whatever you want of course," he winked at me.

"I'll just have a water, thank you."

"I am not a waitress," she declared, leaning over and tussling his hair.

"You could do me a favor," his fluxin' eye twinkled. I'd never have believed it if I hadn't seen it.

"You better be worth it," she smiled at him. Then she turned to me and held out her wristlet. I dialed in the payment on mine and tapped it to hers. She turned up her nose so I brought up a few more and tapped it over. Seemingly satisfied, she walked away.

I leaned back in my chair, "The president was recently deposed, you know?"

"Oh yeah? What for?"

"Something about misuse of funds. Again, sorry for the lateness. Workplace hazards. I'm sure you can relate."

"No doubt. One bad safety valve and I might not survive to hit on another cafeteria worker again."

Said cafeteria worker returned with his drink. Not mine. She left again to continue working.

"Yeah, she's definitely not a waitress. Anyhoo— So it only takes a little bit to kill you?"

He wiped foam from his lips, "Nah, a little bit would maybe make you pass out. You already breathe nitrogen, just not this heavy— but if you let a container go full blast while you're in a corner, and you don't have emergency ventilation," he whistled, "that's what happened to the man."

I reached for my glass, then remembered I didn't have one, "The man?"

"Alastair Xero! The hero of the four to twelve shift. Can't tell me you haven't heard of him."

"I've heard the name but can't say I've heard the story, perhaps you'll indulge?" Yeah. Let him talk for a while. I swear it's an investigation tactic and not me taking time to build saliva up again.

"Dude, it's kinda interesting actually. Believe it or not, it's one hundred years to the day tomorrow," he took a long sip. Go ahead. Rub it in, "Ole' Alastair was a warehouse worker same as me. Took care of the main storage tanks. Filled smaller canisters for transport. Fill, stock, load, repeat. But this was before Inter-Gal regs. It was a fluxin scraphouse. Equipment failures all the time. Guys would get knocked out and sleep through a shift. Terrible burns from the cryo N2."

I looked closer then at the scratches on his wrists and realized they looked more like burns.

He continued, "Alastair had to work a double shift that day. Back in those days if you refused a shift they cut your pay in half for the day. So he worked from seven to midnight. By the end he was dead tired. He was filling a canister from the main tank when the seal failed. He tried to run but he tripped and broke his leg. The subzero N2 surrounded him. Everyone else had run to the edges of the warehouse, standing around the edge of this frozen line until they finally got the emergency vents running and they could seal the valve."

"So only Alastair died?"

"Uh huh. A few people in tighter places got knocked out but it was like the fog formed around him."

"You tell it like you were there."

"This has been passed down from generations of workers. Turns out Alastair Xero was the long lost nephew of some Inter-Gal hotshot. He got legislation passed to prevent the colonies from purchasing from companies that couldn't pass basic safety regulations."

"Basic being the important word, I bet."

"You can believe that, bucko. But at least the valves are top of the line. The only way they let anything out is if you want it out. Us four to twelves and everyone else owe him a debt of gratitude."

"How many guys do you work with?"

He belched, "uh— three," he started counting his fingers. Must be a strong brew, "Linus, Priya and me. Oh I guess that's two. Yeah, we're one of the small crews. We just fill tanks mainly. Transports don't start til the early shifts."

"Just you guys huh? Must be nice to have the place to yourself. I too prefer a small team."

"That's because no one else will work with you."

I need to learn to curse in Morse code. I bet he could get that.

"Yeah— it's nice. But I don't plan on being here forever."

"I imagine a smooth guy like you has his hands in a lot of money making opportunities."

He shifted a bit, did I jab a little too hard? He shook it off, "let's just say my investments are paying off real good. I have no intention of ending up like Ole' Alastair Xero. Haunting the corridors. You know what he looked like when they found him?"

"Can't say I do."

"When fog finally cleared enough to get to him, he was covered in frost and blue to the point he was almost black. His eyes were open."

"That sounds gruesome."

"That's not the worst part. He tried so hard straining for air that he burst all the blood vessels in his eyes.

They were bright red."

~~

Not long after that Shonda returned. Having ended her shift, she took Kilroy away for what I'm sure would be a great night for somebody. I figured I should make my way back to the Sir Arthur as well.

"So he's obviously a suspect."

I walked along the corridors back to the guest docks, "he does give off suspect vibes."

"Have you decided whatever it is he is a suspect of?"

"I have a working idea. What are the colonies paying for nitrogen these days?"

"Current market price is one hundred thousand unicreds per metric ton."

"So a few decent size canisters would fetch a nice chunk of change."

"Smuggling N2?"

"Why not? Wouldn't catch nearly the same charge as drugs. Zero overhead in this place. Find a few pioneer farmers in the fringes who don't want to pay all the fees and sell it to them for cost. Could be twenty or thirty thousand per run."

"That would be a lot of money for a contract worker."

"That's the kind of money that buys out contracts," something was bothering me about Kilroy's scheduling. Four to twelve. "Watson, can you check the warehouse logs for any approved overtime?"

They may not log anything else in this station but they definitely logged work hours.

"None, sir."

"Kilroy said he wouldn't be done work until one thirty."

"That doesn't leave a wide window to sneak N2 tanks to the docks unnoticed and safely meet you in the cafeteria."

"From the warehouse maintenance tunnel to J7. Then the docks and back. Carrying a few heavy tanks. It's a stretch."

As I turned down the last corridor before my dock I saw Ronaldo approaching. The man was in a hurry.

"Hey, Ronaldo! Fancy meeting you again."

"How ya doin detective? Feeling better?"

"Well I'm not slumped on a floor drooling on myself if that's what you mean— busy night?"

"You can say that. I ran all the way down here to patch a sanitary line and now I get a ping to head back to J7."

That sounded interesting.

"Really? What's up?"

"Another light left on, in the other maintenance tunnel."

"Another tunnel connects to J7?"

"Yeah, leads that scrappin waste of creds pleasure yacht."

"The Karta— fofel— salad?"

"Kartoffelsalat," Watson corrected me.

"Piece of junk if you ask me. Why they take it out every weekend."

Possibilities were starting to add up. If they were sneaking the canisters out on the Potato Salad it would make a clean offload.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Knock your socks off buddy."

~~

He explained how the maintenance crew, once a week, would take the ship on a short run a few hundred thousand kilometers away.

"Everybody knows they're all probably liquored up half the time but the ship does most of the work. They keep upgrading the nav systems every year so it can't get lost. Supposed to go out one AM Sunday."

That gives time for another load. They probably store the tanks on the ship until the meetup. But who was buying stolen discount nitrogen?

We continued along the confusing hallways. Ronaldo led like a certified guide, remarking on the crappy systems along the way.

"You wouldn't believe the amount of toilet backups. You would think the system was zero g."

"That can't be fun for the guests."

"Most issues are on the staff side. Stuffs not great to begin with and some folks could care less about treating equipment well."

We approached J7. Right before the entrance Ronaldo stopped and went to a wall panel. Pulling a handle from nowhere he opened the door. Some fog billowed out into the hallway and we both covered our faces.

Ronaldo peered into the corridor, his face warped with shock. Smoke curled around his feet.

"Ah— I don't think I want to go in there."

"What is it?"

"You better look for yourself, son. You're the expert."

I walked over to the open hatch and looked in. Some vapor still lingered close to the floor but I could see immediately what he was so afraid of.

Slumped against the wall. Eyes wide open and mouth wide in a permanent silent scream. The body of Velouria Drake.

"Oh man, I need to get the Administrator." Ronaldo took off to find Archie.

I continued to examine her from a distance. A single frozen tear clung to her cheek. Her hands curled up, laying against her legs.

"What's going on, Reeves?"

I hung my head for a moment. She was so scared of so much less than this.

"Watson, things just got much more serious."

   To be continued….