A Murder Over Enceladus

Protected by a thick insulating space suit, Detective Irene McCoy floated towards the shipping container that drifted by itself in the void. Sewn into the outer layer of her space suit's right arm was the embroidered logo for the Interplanetary Crimes Division: a minimalistic depiction of the solar system's four rocky inner planets as well as Saturn and Jupiter, all spiralling inwards toward a silver star. Underneath the logo were the letters "I.C.D."

The green shipping container was the kind that any trucker would tote. Its doors hung open, warped from when the man who found the container tried to pry it open; he thought he had stumbled across some loot someone else had abandoned. Instead, he found the end result of a tragedy, the reason why Irene and her investigative assistant, Dallas, were out in the space between Saturn and Jupiter.

She peered inside the container. Preserved within was the bloated body of a woman in her forties, wearing a yellow sundress and sneakers. Her skin was discoloured, covered in purple blotches where veins had burst. Darker bruises covered her neck. On the floor were dark smears of dried blood, forming the word "LIAR" in thick, sloppy letters. Irene could not see any lacerations on the dead woman.

She took out her tablet and opened up a fresh report form, typing in a description of the scene onto it, struggling through her thick gloves. It would have been easier to study the crime scene if they had towed the container to one of the nearby Lagrange stations, but that would have changed the scene. The simple act of moving the container would cause the body to bump around and as soon as they exposed it to the simulation of gravity, everything would be thrown downwards, preserving little. And that was not even taking the atmosphere into account; the oxidizing air and warm temperatures would quicken decomposition.

She gave the body a cursory examination, the light from her headlamp casting long shadows into the crate, before glancing down at the bloody letters. Irene leaned forward to speak into the microphone installed in her helmet. "Dallas, I'll need you to see if this blood matches anything."

"Now? I just got the 'bots calibrated," Dallas whined. Irene turned around to see Dallas wearing an almost identical space suit, floating tens of meters away, sitting among a glittering metallic cloud of microbots. Like Irene, she also struggled to type on her tablet.

"No, I want the photos done before our assigned friendarrives," Irene said, turning back to face the container. Normally, she wouldn't put up with such whining, but Dallas had good reason to whine. Even before Irene looked inside the container, she knew that the case would be an odd one. First thing that morning, Director Dixon had sent her the paperwork for the civilian involvement of the illustrious Terrence Maddison, the Baron of Diana Chasma, detective by reputation and private investigator by title. Director Dixon only got the Baron involved when the case was a weird one.

The Baron was considered one of the greatest minds of the generation, having solved countless high-profile cases that left others baffled. Apparently, it started decades ago, when the host of a party he was attending had been poisoned by a glass of wine from a bottle they had opened and poured for everyone else who, after having partaken in the wine, were unscathed. Only the Baron could figure out that the glass itself had been laced with the poison by the butler. Director Dixon had been one of the attendees of the party and ever since then, the Baron had been invited onto numerous cases and had solved them all with almost supernatural ease, his success documented in numerous novellas, bearing his face with its distinctive shock of red hair, so vibrant it was almost neon.

According to Director Dixon, the Baron's assistance with strange cases improved the I.C.D.'s reputation and helped reduce the number of cases doomed to go cold. Irene disagreed with that assessment, but hierarchy gave her little room to argue. Besides, Director Dixon was able to point out the odd cases even before Irene could discover their oddness. Dallas had always joked that Director Dixon was psychic or had insider knowledge, jokes which Irene was quick to shut down. Dallas may show little care for her career, but Irene wasn't keen on losing her job on accusations of slander, even if they came from a careless investigative assistant and not her.

They had worked many cases with the Baron before. During the first case she worked with him, Irene was starstruck, excited to be in the presence of the infamous P.I. At least she was starstruck until she saw the mountain of paperwork she had to fill out. Every time the I.C.D. consulted a civilian, a form or ten had to be filled out to prevent any conflict of interest. Every word the Baron uttered, every gesture he made, had to have its impact on different aspects of the case explained thoroughly, to the point where Irene wondered if she would have to deconstruct the concept of language to complete the forms. She often had to complete the same form multiple times, not only for different people, but to correct small mistakes, some of which were made by Director Dixon himself. The process often took hours, and if Irene waited too long to fill out the forms, she would be reprimanded. She never had the courage to complain about the forms to Director Dixon, but often dreamed of sending all the forms right back to him uncompleted.

Another thing Irene disliked about working with the Baron was that she didn't particularly like him. There was something about the way he examined crime scenes, the small smirk that played at the edge of his lips when he prodded a corpse with the decorative cane he brought everywhere with him, even in space. The Baron was never jovial, but he revelled in the mystery of the crime scene, seeming to know exactly which questions to ask. Normally, this wouldn't have bothered Irene, but he treated each grisly murder like a quaint children's puzzle.

Dallas muttered something under her breath. Irene couldn't make it out, but she was pretty sure it was a colourful assortment of words not entirely appropriate for the job. Dallas wasn't the greatest with people, and lacked the proverbial filter, but as long as it was just the two of them on the radio channel, Irene didn't mind. Otherwise, she would have reprimanded her. If it weren't for her efficiency, Irene would have requested a replacement for Dallas a long time ago.

The swarm of microbots snapped into action, zipping into the container, orientating themselves at their pre-programmed points. The container was briefly filled with a blinding flash of light as each microbot simultaneously took a photo. They would be able to use the photos to recreate the crime scene for future examination in the I.C.D's holoroom. The microbots then exited the container, flying past them and into the open door of the bulky I.C.D. ship, returning to their box. Dallas turned to follow the microbots.

After the microbots had taken their photos, Irene opened the GeigerPrint program on her own tablet. Even through her thick gloves, she could feel the tablet heat up as the entirety of its processing power was delegated to GeigerPrint. A "not responding" icon flashed onto the screen.

Despite how poorly programmed GeigerPrint was, it was indispensable. GeigerPrint measured incoming beta particles at a scale that allowed for the tiniest amount emitted by the few radioactive substances present not only in the human body, but in any small amounts of sweat it left behind. It turned the search for fingerprints from a tedious process that contaminated the crime scene to one that took mere minutes and left everything untouched.

After what felt like an eternity of watching the "not responding" icon flash and spin across the screen, the icon faded, and an image began to load. It showed the bright glowing form of the woman's body and the blood on the floor, but nothing else. Irene frowned. She always went through the process of using GeigerPrint, no matter the case, yet the odd cases never seemed to have fingerprints. She shut down GeigerPrint and inched her way closer to the dead woman, getting ready to scan her Shop-Eze chip.

The Shop-Eze chips implanted in nearly every human being became commonplace a century and a half ago. They were introduced by the Valkyrie corporation as an easy method of paying for Valkyrie's goods and services that didn't have the same pitfalls as face recognition had at the time. At first, it was just a novelty, something that only the wealthy and those who craved wealth implanted. But, as time went on, the Valkyrie corporation consumed countless companies and grew on a cosmic scale. It became nearly impossible to access basic necessities without purchasing them from Valkyrie, which required the use of a Shop-Eze chip.

Irene searched her tablet for the right program to scan the Shop-Eze chip but, before she could find it, a bright light shone from behind her, drowning her headlamp's light in its harsh glow. The Baron had arrived. She turned around to see a streamlined ship looming over Dallas's shadowed form. Although Irene couldn't see her face, she knew Dallas was scowling.

Some of the lights on the ship darkened and the hatch on the back of the ship slowly opened. A person in a thin space suit emerged and waved before pointing to their helmet, where one might imagine an ear to be. The person held out a closed fist. They were asking what number the comms channel they were using was.

Irene held out her own closed fist for a moment, then opened it completely, displaying all five fingers.

A cheery voice crackled over the comms. "Greetings, Detective McCoy! I'm here to accompany Private Investigator Maddison on orders of Director Dixon! I'm obligated to only speak of what I learn to the public after I have filled out the correct forms and have been given express permission by both yourself and Director Dixon!" Adonis Fletcher said, giving the usual spiel to authorize his presence, somehow managing to sound enthusiastic about it.

Irene held up her tablet, pretending to open the message she had received five minutes ago. "Acknowledged."

Adonis was a freelance journalist, one of the few that weren't working additional jobs just to scrape by. He often tagged along with the Baron, acting as his personal paparazzi, publishing the Baron's exploits in magazines and the occasional novella. "Right-i-o!" he chirped and Irene couldn't help but smile. She didn't know how he had so much energy, but the optimism was genuine, making it more endearing than grating.

Another person emerged from the ship, wearing an even thinner space suit. Adonis held out five fingers and shortly afterward, the Baron's voice sounded over the comms. "Good morning, Detective McCoy," he said, "I have already been briefed on the subject matter, but I do require a full description of the scene from yourself. Words on a screen never do it justice." He began to approach the container. Adonis hesitated, but followed, making sure to stay at least a meter back as he typed away on a massive tablet that had physical keys, making it easier to type.

"One sec," Irene said, turning back to the corpse, "Kinda in the middle of something." She opened the Chipper program on her tablet; its smiling Sun logo spun as the program loaded.

The first iteration of the Chipper program was developed almost a century ago, when the solar system's governments recognized that the Shop-Eze chips were not only ubiquitous and unique, but easily trackable, allowing Valkyrie to produce vast quantities of data to better understand their consumers. The same data Valkyrie used to market to trillions of people could also be used to figure out who was where and when, allowing those who were present at a crime to be easily identified. The solar system's governments negotiated a deal with Valkyrie to access their data from the Shop-Eze chips and develop the Chipper program.

The Chipper program loaded. Irene was too far away from any station or colonized world to connect to Valkyrie's servers. They monitored everything in their expansive reach, but there were places even Valkyrie could not touch, places that existed in the void between the pockets of society. Irene pressed the scan button, accessing what little data existed locally on the chip.

"All right," Irene said, turning around to find that the Baron was only two meters behind her. She pointed at the dead woman. "Meet Dr. Zoey Herald. She's 43 years old and worked as a research associate in the chemistry department at the University of Cassini on Saturn Station 1. She also lived on the same station. Her last known location was recorded four days ago, at public hangar 583 on Saturn Station 2. No one else was recorded in her vicinity at that time," Irene paused, glancing back at the prominent bruises on Dr. Herald's neck, "She likely encountered her killer out here, in space, sometime between then and now. They likely strangled her, but I'm going to need that to be confirmed in the autopsy … Anyway, the killer dumped her body in this shipping container, writing 'LIAR' in blood on the floor. This blood likely does not belong to Dr. Herald, but again, that needs to be confirmed by the lab rats. The blood might belong to her killer, or there might be another dead body floating about …" There was more she wanted to say, but not much to be actually said. She could speculate about the blood, or why the body was dumped along a popular shipping route, but that wouldn't have done her much good, would it? The Baron would listen and then talk around her speculations, weaving his own inevitably correct explanation. It happened in the last case she worked with him, and it would happen again.

"Thank you very much," the Baron said, floating closer to the body, "I will require a report on the blood as soon as you receive it. I assume no progress has been made on why the murderer thought she was a liar?"

She was glad that the Baron couldn't see her eyes roll through the space suit's helmet. "No. We just got here twenty minutes ago."

The Baron was silent, lifting his cane and extending it towards the body to poke it. Irene snapped her hand out, grabbing the cane before he could make contact. "We just got here. Give us time," she said.

"Apologies. My curiosity often gets the best of me," he said without a touch of remorse.

Irene frowned but said nothing. The prodding was something she had to deal with every case she worked with the Baron. It seemed harmless, but she could not help bristling at the thought of someone shifting a clue by the barest nanometer. She had complained to Director Dixon about the Baron before, but that had changed nothing. She wished that the Baron would at least get some kind of training on how not to contaminate evidence. It was a wonder that he had managed to solve so many cases with his blasé behaviour.

She returned to examining Dr. Herald's body, but found little that was not already known. The only new clue Irene spotted was a short red hair clinging to Dr. Herald's collarbone. She had Dallas bag it.

Nothing else was found on Dr. Herald's body. The Baron had managed to poke Dr. Herald twice despite Irene's protests. Deciding that there was little else to be gleaned, especially with the Baron's involvement, she had the shipping container towed back to Saturn Station 3 for processing.

***

Irene wanted to investigate Dr. Herald's office and lab to find a motive, but upon leaving the container to the coroner and his gaggle of lab rats, she discovered her inbox to be filled with 51 forms for her to complete. She spent the rest of her morning tackling them. She hadn't even finished them all when the lab report made it into her inbox. Glad for a reprieve, she read the report.

It contained little she didn't already know, and gave more questions than answers. Dr. Herald was reported missing by her spouse four days ago, when she didn't return from a business trip. The autopsy revealed that she was indeed strangled, confirmed by the fractured hyoid bone in the neck. Time of death was unknown; the temperatures the body had experienced varied wildly, giving no indication of how long she was out in the void. The red hair collected off the body had human DNA, but it matched dummy DNA patented by Louis&Co for manufacturing wigs. It could have belonged to any of their customers.

The one thing of note was the blood. Unlike the hair, it wasn't human. It belonged to a cow, something that was not only a rarity, but a luxury this far out from Earth. Irene's frown deepened as she read the words "B. Taurus" on the report over and over again. If it weren't for the blood, they would have had next to no evidence. Yet, the one piece of evidence they had was not left behind by mistake, but a choice made by the killer.

She closed the report and groaned, before returning to chipping away at her paperwork. Sometime past noon, when she was close to her breaking point, Dallas approached her desk, holding two disposable cups filled with a dark blue liquid: CaFaux. It was supposed to taste like an ancient drink called coffee, but since coffea plants had been extinct for so long, no one actually knew if it replicated the drink properly. Like coffee, CaFaux was caffeinated. Dallas placed one of the cups on the desk. "Still at it?"

Irene sighed. "Naturally." She stared at the 48^th form. "Got anything new for me?" she asked. Dallas's role as an investigative assistant meant that she had fewer forms to fill out. Not only that, but she also had the uncanny ability to speed through any amount of paperwork within an hour, leaving her with more time for other duties. Due to her efficiency, she had been offered many promotions, but she turned them all down, joking that the responsibility was not for her. Irene had always wondered why Dallas had done this. Despite her attitude, she would have made a good detective, and may even have a chance at the Director's seat. Irene thought it a waste for Dallas to remain as an investigative assistant, but it seemed that she was content just sliding by without achieving much.

Dallas shrugged. "Some, but not much. Everything points to the killers wanting to send a message, which puts this into the good 'ol cold-blooded category." She paused, taking a moment to sip her CaFaux, "The cow thing's probably a plant. It's too sloppy for a scene that clean. And now that I say it out loud, I'm pretty sure this all reeks of a hit. Almost spotless crime scene that wants to be found points to the killers having experience."

Irene nodded, leaning back in her chair. She had been thinking of something similar but hadn't considered the hitman angle. The idea seemed logical and simple at first, but the longer she thought about it, the more disconcerting the idea grew. A hit as clean as this pointed to someone with both wealth and power. The question now was not just who had had Dr. Herald killed and why, but also what else could they buy?

She picked up her CaFaux and gulped the scalding liquid down, not caring that it burned her tongue. She needed the caffeine. "You didn't tell anyone else this or write it down anywhere, right?"

Dallas was silent for a moment, her cup crinkling as she gripped it tighter. "I wrote about the killers wanting to send a message, but nothing else."

Irene shrugged. What Dallas did was not a misstep. It was standard protocol. There was nothing standard about the case though, and the implication of who might be behind Dr. Herald's murder could complicate the case further if they did not take care. "Okay, that's fine. Just … keep it quiet for now. If this is what you say it is, well, I want to minimize any … corrupt interference."

***

Getting access to Dr. Herald's office was easy. There were no forms to fill out, no permissions to be obtained. All Irene had to do was call the chemistry department at the University of Cassini and explain the situation. The man who graced her computer looked bored as he fiddled with the tag on his shirt that read "Administration Lead." It didn't take long for him to send her the access codes to both Dr. Herald's office and lab. Irene found herself feeling relieved for the ease of access, but that relief was quickly met with a tightening sense of apprehension in her gut. The Administration Lead didn't run her registration number to check if Irene had authorization and was who she said she was. Anyone could have gotten access if they put on the right act.

As soon as she got access, she and Dallas raced to the University, pushing the antimatter engines of their clunky ship as fast as it could go. The sooner they made it there and started collecting evidence, the more time they would have before the Baron came poking around. He may solve cases quickly, but Irene preferred to do things properly. A solved case didn't mean much if the evidence was too contaminated to survive in court. She wished that he could see it that way and step back a little. She wished Director Dixon would see it that way and stop sending the Baron in. It would probably take a case not making it past the courts to take that, but that was yet to happen, despite the contamination. Irene was always surprised when a clearly compromised case made it through, and would suspect someone greasing palms behind the scenes if it weren't for the fact that the palms involved were ungreasable. Both judge and jury were artificial intelligences designed by 13 companies from six worlds and stations; they had no need for wealth nor power, just order. It would take a cosmic amount of resources to slide something improper by them.

It took just under an hour to reach Saturn Station 1. The station, like Saturn Station 3, was one of many Lagrange stations sitting in the vast pockets of space, at points where one might imagine trojan asteroids to be if Saturn had any. The stations were cylindrical in shape and looked like metallic barrels in the distance, yet up close they were hulking monstrosities that seemed to stretch on forever, curving out of view. The Lagrange stations were slightly smaller than the asteroids that weren't quite large enough to be labeled as dwarf planets, but to Irene the Lagrange stations seemed to dwarf the planets she had never been to, the planets that always seemed so distant and small. They docked the ship at the University's public hangar and went about finding Dr. Herald's office as fast as they could.

As fast as they could turned out to be rather slow. Lagrange stations were designed in grid-like patterns and were the easiest settlements to navigate in the solar system. Unlike the moons and planets, places were always where you would expect them to be, controlled and predetermined by architects long ago. The University should have followed this pattern. Instead, Irene found that the University seemed to be constructed specifically to defy logic. Halls that should have been straight, curved in winding patterns. Some rooms were smaller than closets, and some closets were larger than rooms. When the walls weren't painted with murals or covered in display cases filled with tiny bits of wonder, Irene could see that the material making them up changed at random intervals.

It didn't take long for them to get lost, and it took them a long time to get unlost. They had to ask two people for directions to the chemistry department, and from there, they needed directions to Dr. Herald's office. During the entire ordeal, Irene could feel her stomach twisting and tightening. By now, the Baron would have heard about their excursion from Director Dixon. He would have already made it to the University. Irene could only hope that he was just as lost as they were.

But, to her dismay, when they reached Dr. Herald's office, she could see both him and Adonis through the small window on the door. The two men were hunched over the desk, peering at something on Dr. Herald's computer, a bulky screen small enough to be portable and large enough to be cumbersome. Irene shared a frustrated and knowing look with Dallas. They should have expected this; the Baron was one of the greatest minds of the generation. If anyone could navigate the incomprehensible maze that was the University, it was him. And now he was squinting at the small screen, his gloved fingers pecking at the tiny keyboard with awkward movements. Every now and then he'd point to something on the screen for Adonis, tapping it and causing something to change. Each time he did this, Irene winced. As soon as she had the chance, she was going to Director Dixon to request some kind of leash on the Baron. Let him observe, let him make his conclusions, but stop him from messing with her crime scene!

She punched the code into the keypad on the door handle, and they entered the office. The room was small and normally would have been just that; however, Dr. Herald had a fondness for penmanship, and piles of notebooks were neatly stacked throughout the room, transforming it from simply small to cramped. Irene could see that the computer had adhesive notes dangling from its edges, and beside it, there was a drinking glass filled with pens. She had to stop for a moment to take it all in. She wasn't used to seeing this much paper all in one place.

The two men glanced up as they entered the room. "Ah, glad you could finally make it!" the Baron said, turning his attention back to the screen, "Dr. Herald was working on some fascinating topics! I believe she was well on her way to winning a Franklin award. Now, as you well know …" he went into positing his theory on why he thought Dr. Herald was murdered, about how her research had shown that the moon Enceladus was devoid of life, about how she may have stolen the research or how maybe someone had taken offence to it, leading to the proclamation of "LIAR" in cow's blood.

Throughout it all, Irene nodded, adding her own question here and there, paying attention while feigning interest. The Baron's theory made sense. It would not have been the first time someone had killed another over the next great scientific breakthrough, and Dr. Herald's findings would ruffle the feathers of both the Believers and the Conservationists.

The Believers thought aliens existed, and strived to prove their presence. Something that went against the existence of aliens wouldn't go well in their circles. The Conservationists, on the other hand, simply wanted the moons of Jupiter and Saturn to remain as untouched as possible. Every time alien life was definitively proven not to be on some rocky body in the solar system, the land on it was available to be claimed for development. Usually this started out small; a resort or town would get built. Prospectors would venture out into the desolate landscape, in search of treasure. But then this would be quickly followed by mining companies, then cities, and next thing you knew it, the world was overwhelmed by industry. It didn't take long for a world's surface to resemble that of Titan: covered in holes the size of continents separated by the flickering lights of manufacturing plants and cities. The Conservationists wanted to avoid this and to preserve what the solar system looked like before human intervention. Proof of Enceladus lacking life would mean another world would be lost, in their eyes.

The Baron's explanation made sense. There was a motive, a reason for someone to be angry with Dr. Herald's work. But that was just the problem. There was a murder, and the Baron had figured out the motive in what could not have been any more than the forty minutes Irene and Dallas had spent lost, and now he was presenting it in a manner similar to that of a politician making promises they did not intend to keep. If Irene didn't know better, she would have suspected that he had found the motive long before coming to Dr. Herald's office and had rehearsed the speech he was giving her right now.

She glanced at the computer, trying to make sense of the jargon that sprawled itself across the screen. Between the Greek letters and numbers, all she could tell was that Dr. Herald was looking at the chemistry of what she assumed were gases. She recognized the chemical formulae for methane and propane, and she saw that the text talked of the ratios being low as significant, but was able to understand little else. Out of the corner of her eye, Irene could see Dallas lifting the cover of one of the notebooks with a gloved hand and peering inside. There was a slight frown on her face and Irene was sure she was trying to make sense of the arcane jargon inside.

"… I propose we cross-reference anyone Dr. Herald may have had contact with that is employed by a meat farm." The Baron finished his spiel, glancing up at Irene with a calm, yet gleeful expression.

She nodded, wanting a chance to dissect Dr. Herald's office herself. She looked at Dallas, who now had one of the notebooks fully open on top of its stack, reading its contents with an intense frown on her face. "I suppose we can do that," she answered, "While we do that, Dallas, I want you to bag anything that looks important here. I want to be able to present what Baron Maddison has found to the courts in as much detail as possible."

"Sure," Dallas grunted, her eyes still fixated upon the pages of the notebook. Irene grinned. She could always trust Dallas to do the work that she could not.

***

Irene got a ride back to the I.C.D. station from the Baron; Dallas needed the I.C.D. ship after she had gone through all of the evidence. She couldn't do much about the case while on the ship, but she had a chance to think as she sat in the soft velvet seat, pretending to listen to Adonis ramble about what he saw in the halls of the University. Dr. Herald's murder had been over that tiny moon around Saturn, one which Irene knew little about.

Like Jupiter's Europa, Enceladus's surface was one of ice, kilometers thick and crisscrossed by fractures. The massive geysers at its south pole were the subject of many photographers, both amateur and professional. She had once read a news article discussing the resource potential of the moon, saying that hydrothermal activity deep beneath its surface could concentrate valuable metals into deposits dense enough not only to be economically profitable, but obscenely so.

But that was all Irene knew about Enceladus. At least that was all she knew about Enceladus in the present. She knew a lot about what Enceladus could end up like. Anyone who had flown by Titan with a view out the window knew what would happen once Enceladus was proven not to have life.

Now the question was, who would kill to prevent such a fate for Enceladus? Irene knew what the Conservationists could be like, and imagined hundreds of suspects. It was now just a matter of narrowing the list down.

***

As soon as they returned to the station, Irene marched straight for her desk. The Baron and Adonis followed closely behind her, the Baron's silver cane almost tapping at the heels of her shoes. When they passed by a small waiting area outside the detective offices, she motioned for them to take a seat. "This might take a while, so make yourselves comfortable. Cafeteria is down the hall, first double door on your right," she said quickly, feeling her own stomach rumble. What the Baron wanted her to do shouldn't take long, but she half expected to find another fifty or so forms in her inbox.

But, when Irene sat down and opened up her email, she found her inbox empty. She was able to boot up Chipper right away, letting it connect to Valkyrie's servers. She entered Dr. Herald's identification information and downloaded a list of individuals she had been in contact with during the past month. She then queried the list, looking for those employed by the major meat farms in the solar system. The results came back with 15 names, 14 of which had single instances of contact with Dr. Herald. One of the 15, a man by the name of Tilen Cross, had been in contact with Dr. Herald a handful of times. He had also been in contact with her on Saturn Station 2 four days ago, not long before she disappeared. Irene pulled up his personal history.

Tilen Cross was a 47-year-old man who had worked at Saturn Station 2's Meaticulously Crafted plant as a maintenance worker for the past 19 years. When he was 21, he joined the Saturn Station 1 Believers Society and rose through its ranks quickly, becoming the society's head when he was 25. He was active on the internet and had a decently sized social media following; his most popular posts were about baking bread, heckling Valkyrie, and developing a satellite array to search for alien signals. He also had a law degree that he obtained from Tharsis University at age 26, however, he had been unable to acquire a job at any reputable law firm due to his posts on social media being deemed unfavorable. Instead, he occasionally freelanced as a lawyer, only working cases that fell within his interests. He was not a particularly good lawyer and lost many of those cases. He also had a criminal record, having been arrested once for data theft.

Tilen Cross was a perfect fit for the Baron's description of the killer. Irene sighed and rubbed her temples. It was to be expected, but she wished to have come to that conclusion without the Baron's help. It made her feel vestigial to the case, as if she was only there to flash a badge to get the Baron where he needed to be. She downloaded the information on her tablet, then made her way to the cafeteria. She had a few minutes to grab a bite to eat while she filled out the paperwork to arrest Tilen Cross.

***

After Irene submitted the correct forms, it took Director Dixon an hour to send a few officers to arrest Tilen Cross. She attempted to spend that hour reviewing the case, but instead found 12 forms regarding the Baron's involvement in her inbox. It took her nearly the full hour to finish them. She had just opened the case file to review when the Baron's shadow loomed over her desk, peering at her screen. "Director Dixon is quite efficient. Our suspect has already arrived," he said, glancing at the hallway. She followed his gaze to see four officers escorting a middle-aged man. A small, mischievous smile played across the man's lips.

She put her computer to sleep. "Any sign of Dallas?" she asked. She would have preferred being armed with Dallas's findings when she walked into the interrogation room.

The Baron shook his head. "Worry not! Patience is a virtue. In due time she will finish her work. Come! Let us commence this interrogation!"

Irene frowned but said nothing. There was a time when she would have told him to wait, that she was in charge of the case. But that time was quickly followed by reprimands from Director Dixon. He and the Baron were close friends, so ruffling the feathers of one was bound to induce the ire of the other. She couldn't wait for Director Dixon to retire and for someone else with more sense to take his place.

She led the Baron and Adonis to where the officers took Tilen Cross: Interrogation Room 2. The Baron and Adonis entered the adjoining observation chamber, while Irene entered the interrogation room itself.

The interrogation room was brightly lit, with walls painted pink. A long table was placed against the wall to her right, and to her left was a two-way mirror. Although she couldn't see beyond the mirror, she could feel the back of her neck prickle with the knowledge of being watched. At the table, sitting in an orange plastic chair, was the man the officers had escorted, Tilen Cross.

Irene sat down in the other orange chair. "Do you know why you're here?" she asked.

Tilen smiled. "No, and I know it will be a while before you tell me."

She froze. This interrogation was going to be difficult. The interrogation procedure she and many other detectives had been trained in was designed to keep the interrogatee in the dark, letting them slip up out of confusion. It was highly effective against those who had not been interrogated before, but the tactic was only usable so many times before it became useless.

She forced herself to relax. "Very well. Do you know anything about Enceladus?" She wouldn't mention Dr. Herald or the murder yet. Instead, she would attack the motive.

Tilen's eyes lit up. "One of my favorite moons! I've been on countless orbiting trips there! Have you seen the geysers? Stunning! It makes me wonder what lies beneath its untouched surface."

Irene frowned. The practice of orbiting baffled her. She couldn't understand why anyone would spend several days camping in isolation in a cramped ship with nothing but the surface of a lonely moon or planet to look upon.

"I'd hardly call it untouched," she said, "There are dozens of abandoned landers on it."

He shrugged. "Landers that are few and far between, carefully cleansed of all Earthly life. It is no more touched than you are by a mosquito landing on your shoulder. There are no drones tearing it apart for precious resources, nor any resorts metropolizing its landscape. It is one of the few wildernesses left in our solar system."

Irene kept her expression emotionless. "Wilderness implies life."

He shrugged again, glancing up at her with a wry expression. "And we're getting closer to why I'm here. I was referring to the lack of humans on the moon. But, yes, life is a distinct possibility."

She had to stop herself from grimacing as she shifted in her seat. Tilen had only been arrested once before, but he had not only picked up on the interrogation techniques, but was twisting them around, using them against her. "And if there's proof of no life on it?" she countered.

He sighed. "The planetary protection protocol will be lifted for Enceladus."

"Planetary protection protocol?"

Tilen waved a hand and looked towards the two-way mirror. "You know how the history books are filled with the destruction of whole ecosystems on Earth?" She nodded. He continued, "Well, the planetary protection protocol is there to prevent that on a more existential scale. If we ever discover alien life, we wouldn't want to destroy it in our bumbling, would we?"

"I suppose not. How would you feel if the protocol was lifted?"

He turned his gaze back towards her. "I will be greatly disappointed; I'll have to find a new orbiting spot. The geysers won't look the same with a resort next to them."

She frowned, surprised by the nonchalance of his response. "And the Believers society?"

Tilen snorted, crossing his arms. "Do you think we're interested in Enceladus?" He paused to chuckle. "We're looking for signals sent across the stars by countless civilizations, not the farts of microbes close to home. Tell me, who wants me out of the way this time? Is it Snowshoes? I bet it's Snowshoes."

Irene's frown deepened. She was starting to get somewhere with the interrogation, but she hadn't a clue where that somewhere was. "Are … are you talking about the ski resort?"

"Yes. They've been eyeing Enceladus ever since they snapped up Ganymede. I'm sure they resent my involvement with other interested parties."

This was it. He was slipping up. It was time to bring up the murder. "Do these interested parties include a Dr. Herald?"

"Let's go back to talking about orbiting. I like talking about that. Makes these things much more fun. I want my arrest to be highly detailed when you take me in chains."

Standard interrogation techniques would get her no further. It was time to be direct. "We found Dr. Herald's body this morning." As she spoke, she could see Tilen stiffen, his mischievous smile fading into an open-mouthed look of shock.

"I … I'm not here because of Snowshoes, am I?"

"No, you're not."

He put his face in his hands and muttered something under his breath. Then, he began to speak, "I … I usually defend my clients in court. But defense was not what Dr. Herald wanted … what she wanted … I … I was an atypical choice … but it was an atypical matter. She …" he stiffened and stopped speaking for a moment, then looked up at Irene. "I … I need to call my sister before I say anymore. If I say anymore."

She nodded. It was illegal to deny suspects from consulting others, and she did not want to isolate him. Besides, any call made within the station was monitored. There was nothing he could say that they wouldn't be able to hear.

She stood up and left the interrogation room, intending to head straight to storage to grab one of the many tablets the I.C.D. had. But, instead, she was stopped by the Baron. Even though Irene was far taller than him, he almost seemed to loom over her, his gloved hands grasping the silver lion's head on the end of his cane. "Your interrogation of the culprit was absolutely brilliant! You were able to squeeze the guilt out of that slimy fish!" he congratulated, patting her on the back. She frowned and opened her mouth to say that Tilen had confessed to nothing, that she wasn't done with him yet, but he yammered on, "You got him to admit why he'd hate for the planetary protection protocol to be revoked for Enceladus, his association with Dr. Herald, and even his false belief that there is life on that barren moon! Wonderful work!"

When the Baron put it like that, Tilen definitely did seem guilty. Still, she wasn't comfortable leaving it without a full confession. She would have this done properly, even if it was at a slower pace. Even if it meant getting reprimanded by Director Dixon again. She opened her mouth to tell the Baron so, but was interrupted again, this time by a voice shouting at her from down the hall. "IRENE!" She glanced up to see Dallas standing at the end of the hall, drenched in sweat, her arms filled with a small pile of Dr. Herald's notebooks, each placed in its own evidence bag. Perched on top of the stack was Dr. Herald's computer, adhesive notes and all, also in an evidence bag, its wireless keyboard tucked neatly underneath it. Even from a distance, she could see a frantic look in Dallas's eyes as she peered over the evidence stack.

"I'm not done with Tilen," Irene snapped, before marching down the hall.

Dallas tilted her head to the detective offices as Irene approached. The two scuttled inside, going straight to Irene's desk. Dallas carefully placed the evidence stack down. Irene glanced at her and then turned her gaze back to the notebooks, frowning. "What is it?" Irene asked, keeping her voice low.

Dallas pulled out a pair of latex gloves and put them on. She then took Dr. Herald's computer off the stack and turned it on. On the screen, Irene could see the document the Baron had been looking at earlier. Dallas picked out a notebook from near the top. Its pages were yellowed, and the date written on it was from almost a decade ago. She took the notebook out of the evidence bag and flipped through the numbered pages until she found the one she was looking for. She held it up, pointing at the key sentence. Irene squinted at the paper, struggling to read the sloppy handwriting. It read, "Got grant for E sat! Need to find mass spec cleared for space." There was a smiley-face drawn next to "E sat!"

Irene opened her mouth to ask what this was all about, but Dallas had already returned the notebook to the evidence bag and was pulling another one out from the stack, this time from the middle. This one had a date from four years ago on it. She repeated the process, taking the notebook out and flipping to a key page. This page had a table filled with numbers and a few Greek letters that made little sense to Irene. Scrawled on the bottom of the page were the words "CH₄ high. C₁₃ low. Could be life. Could be weird chem. Need Ni biomarker. Need lander."

"That doesn't—" Irene started to say, but Dallas shook her head and put the notebook away, reaching to the bottom of the stack to pull out a third notebook. This one had last year's date on it, but half of its pages were still not filled. She flipped through it and pointed at the sentence "E sat crashed into plume. Measured during crash. Ni₆₀ too low to be abiotic. We struck nickel, we struck life!" There was a smiley-face drawn next to the sentence.

"But the computer said that—"

Dallas shook her head. "The computer matches everything in these notebooks. Everything except … this," she pointed at the word "life!" and the smiley-face next to it. "Timestamps on the computer are useless. Our assigned friend hit something while he was there and cleared the recorded activity," she said, glaring at Dr. Herald's computer.

Irene frowned, turning the new information over in her brain. They couldn't check if the computer had been tampered with, but if the data was the same between the two, all they had to do was take it to an expert to see which conclusion was correct. The fact that something had been tampered with also meant that the guilty party would have had to access Dr. Herald's office at some point …

Irene's frown deepened. It couldn't be him. Could it? He had access, but there was no motive.

"Give me a sec," she said, sitting down. She gently pushed the evidence stack to one side and began typing away, ignoring the 27 new forms in her inbox, booting up Chipper. She input Tilen Cross's identification information and pulled up his location data from the past month. She queried the University of Cassini. The smiling Sun logo of Chipper spun as they waited for the results to load.

Several minutes later, the smiling Sun logo stopped spinning and the screen loaded with the words "Your search found no results. Please check your spelling or alter your search parameters." Tilen was likely innocent.

Irene sat there for a moment, running through the next steps in her head, the gravity of the situation having not yet set in. Tilen was likely innocent, so she would have to fill out the paperwork for his release. She'd also need to give him his call. Then there was finding out who would want Dr. Herald dead, and if they might have wanted to frame Tilen. He had mentioned a ski resort …

A shiver ran down her spine. Irene glanced up at Dallas, who had quietly watched her search Chipper in confusion. She looked back at the screen, back at the words "Your search found no results." This was a hit whose consequences encapsulated the fate of an entire moon.

"Find a biochemist. And get me the background on Snowshoes and its higher-ups," she ordered.

"Valkyrie's ski resort?"

Irene paused, the name Valkyrie prodding at something at the back of her mind. For a moment, she wondered if they were involved. She quickly banished the thought. The desires of a ski resort seemed so petty for a company that owned everything. "Yes," she said, before marching out of the office.

As soon as she exited, a loud unmistakable bang sounded, echoing down the hall from the interrogation room. Irene's march turned into a sprint.

She pushed her way through the small crowd that had gathered outside the room and threw open the door. Director Dixon stood in the center of the room, his gun in his hands. Sprawled on a plastic chair was Tilen, his mouth hanging open and his eyes blank. A small bloody hole was in his forehead and the pink wall behind him was splattered in gore. Irene stood in the doorway, frozen, as she struggled to find somewhere to look, somewhere that wasn't Tilen's body or the gore on the wall or the gun in Director Dixon's hand.

Director Dixon glanced up at her. "He attacked me," he said, his voice steady and calm.

Irene licked her lips, her mouth having suddenly gone dry. "He … he … he was unarmed." Her voice shook as she spoke. She found her eyes unfocusing, turning the grisly scene into a blur.

"He made a move for my gun."

She forced her eyes to focus, forced herself to look at Tilen's body. He was still seated where she had left him. Where she had left him to die. She said nothing as a sense of dawning horror began to grow in the pit of her stomach.

Director Dixon holstered his gun and walked up to her. He patted her on the back and she flinched at his touch. "You solved another case. I think you're due for a promotion," he said, "Why don't you take the rest of the day off? Put this gruesome business behind us."

"I … I still have … paperwork …" she muttered.

He was already walking away at this point, pushing his way through the onlookers as he strode down the hall.

Irene slowly wandered back to her desk, her mind in a daze. Director Dixon killed Tilen Cross. Director Dixon was involved with the case. If Director Dixon was involved, how deep did Dr. Herald's killer's pockets go? If they had already bought the I.C.D., was there anything Irene could do?

She closed her eyes. She could try to convince herself that nothing happened, that Director Dixon had done nothing wrong, that the universe she lived in was good and just. She could try, but she would never succeed. Irene would never be able to unsee Tilen's body.

She opened her eyes and booted up Chipper for the fourth time that day. She entered Director Dixon's identification information and brought up his location data from the past month. She queried the University of Cassini. The search came up with no results. She leaned back in her chair and sighed. The case was officially closed, and all she had was a tampered computer, a lab-grown hair, some cow's blood, and a dead lawyer. She couldn't even give Tilen his call before he died.

Irene's eyes widened and she sat upright. There may still be another puzzle piece somewhere. She began typing away madly at her computer, bringing up Tilen Cross's family information, finding the contact information for his sister, Ofelia Cross. She called her.

A tired woman answered. On the computer screen, Irene could see dark bags underneath her eyes. Somewhere offscreen, kids were yelling. "You have ten seconds to sell me something," the woman said.

"Are you Ofelia Cross?" Irene asked, the sudden burst of energy draining away. She was about to tell a woman her brother was dead.

"Eeyup."

"I'm Detective Irene McCoy. I cannot tell you the details, but … but you might want to sit down." Ofelia did not sit down. "I'm afraid to tell you that your brother … Tilen … he … today … he … well … I'm sorry, but he died today."

The effect on Ofelia was immediate. Her eyes widened and her arm frantically started to reach for something. Irene opened her mouth to tell her she was sorry, to ask her if she knew anything about Dr. Herald but, before she could do so, her computer screen went dark and there was a soft beep. Ofelia had hung up. Irene rubbed the bridge of her nose. She was back to square one.

All she had was a lab-grown hair, a dead lawyer, some cow's blood, and a tampered computer. And she couldn't even tellif the computer had been tampered with. All because the Baron prodded everything, hitting just the right key to erase anything that would reveal the computer's authenticity. She groaned. She didn't care if the Baron was supposed to be one of the greatest minds of the generation—he was a liability! She loathed how Director Dixon asked for the Baron's help on every weird case that crossed their path.

Irene's eyes widened as the realization slammed into her like a comet. If Director Dixon was dirty, why would he involve the Baron unless he was dirty too? The lab-grown hair from Dr. Herald's body was the same shade of semi-neon red as the Baron's hair.

She booted up Chipper again and entered in the Baron's identification information. But, as soon as she did so, she was met with the spinning smiling Sun logo, telling her that the information was "loading."

She frowned and pulled out her tablet, opening Chipper on that too. She entered in her own identification information. Immediately, basic information about herself loaded onto the screen. Chipper on the computer was still loading. She brought up her location data for the past month. Chipper on the computer was still loading. She queried the University of Cassini and several minutes later, her excursion that day was brought up. Chipper on the computer was still loading. She minimized Chipper on the computer and opened up another even more intensive program, GeigerMatch. GeigerMatch loaded just fine. She maximized Chipper. It was still loading.

Irene's frown deepened as she stared at the spinning logo. She had never had Chipper act up on her like this before. The timing couldn't be worse for her. Or better for …

She stiffened. If the culprit had the I.C.D. under their thumb, if they had the Baron doing their dirty work, how far did their influence reach? Did they have Chipper? Irene's neck itched where her own Shop-Eze chip had been implanted decades ago. If the Baron was dirty, how many cases had she worked with him that led to wrongful arrests? How many had died because of him? How many had died because of her?

She kept staring at the spinning logo. She wanted to do something, but how could she fight against an entity whose reach seemed to extend everywhere? How could she even hide, when her location, like everyone else's, was constantly monitored? It seemed that her only two options were to submit to its will or be crushed under its enormous weight.

"Congratulations," a voice said, snapping Irene back into reality. She looked up to see the Baron himself striding into the office. She glanced around and found that no one else was in the room. drawn out by the gunfire that occurred earlier.

"I just received the news a few moments ago. You've impressed me," he continued, "But, you are not the first to impress me." He stopped at the edge of her desk, holding his cane as if it were a sword in its sheath.

She tensed up. There was no submitting now. She had seen too much for that. There was no unknowing. The Baron smiled, giving her the same slight smile he wore whenever he prodded a corpse. She matched his smile with a glare.

While Irene and the Baron stared each other down, each waiting for the other to make the first move, Dallas met with Dr. Fairs, the biochemist that would one day inherit Dr. Herald's lab. Dallas did not know that Director Dixon had closed the case. That didn't matter though. She showed them Dr. Herald's many notebooks and computer. Dr. Fairs would soon conclude that the notebooks held the truth, and the computer held a lie.

And while Dallas worked with Dr. Fairs, Adonis Fletcher and several other journalists received a rather large data packet sent from Ofelia Cross; a data packet created by Dr. Herald. She had prepared it for Tilen to release to every news outlet if something happened to her. Tilen, knowing his reputation and tendency to blab, had given it to his sister for safekeeping. And Ofelia did what Tilen could not.

The news would soon break, though Irene would not live to see it. The disguised blade the Baron carried on him would make sure of that. Despite the cosmic size of the tiny moon's opponent, Enceladus had won, its life protected from Valkyrie's reach. Tilen would still get blamed for Dr. Herald's murder, but not all would believe it. Especially not an investigative assistant who would wonder why Irene had suddenly disappeared without leaving even a fingerprint behind.

THE END

Bio: Laura Elise Jenkins is a postgraduate student researching meteorites. In her spare time, she enjoys both reading and writing speculative fiction.

E-mail: Laura Elise Jenkins