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Authors: Ian Hocking
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her.
“Bloody hell,” David said.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said calmly. “But, actually, I can explain.”
Bruce did not lower his spear. “I don’t know who you are, but get inside now and close the door behind you.”
Caroline stood and brushed the dry mud from her lapels. “Certainly,” she said. She entered the room and sank to her knees. She frowned at David. She genuflected to the floor and sighed. She did not take another breath. There was a stiletto in the base of her skull. It still quivered. David simply vomited. Bruce said, “Shit,” and took Caroline by the shoulders. He threw her outside. He closed the door and braced it with the spear. David heard her body flop down the veranda stairs.
“We’ll have to sit this one out,” Bruce said. He began to check the windows.
“What about Caroline?”
“She’s dead.”
There was a distant booming sound. David’s fillings vibrated. He slid a metre into the floor.
“Did you feel that?” David gasped. Somewhat selfconsciously, he climbed out of the floor.
“Feel what?” Bruce asked absently.
“It must be the soldiers. They’ve blasted through.”
He heard breaking glass. His head snapped to the window, fearing the metadillo. But the window was intact. It must have been the sound of the glass immersion chamber smashing.
David gagged. Somebody was trying to pull the mask from his face. In New World, he appeared to wrestle with his own head. “Bruce,” he gasped, and tried to move forward. There was no time left. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
He tried to embrace his friend because he appreciated – far too late – that he would never see him again. His arms reached
Bruce but they passed through. The microbots were malfunctioning. Bruce smiled and he waved a goodbye. He pointed towards his eyes and then out towards David. “See you later, alligator.” “Bruce!”
The Murderer Unmasked
Monday, 11th September 2023
Saskia examined her face in the mirror. She pulled different expressions. Her eyes had rings. Her lips were too thin. A smile didn’t suit them. She thought about faces. A person’s face should be greater than the sum of its features. But not hers. It lacked something critical.
She yawned. It was fifteen minutes to nine. At nine o’clock the repair man would arrive. If she did not allow him to find the body and call the police, then Jobanique would.
She left the mirror and entered the main office.
“Computer, are you finished?”
“Ten minutes of image analysis remaining.”
Saskia rubbed her eyes. “Computer, what records do you have following 6:33 on Friday evening?”
“None for approximately fifteen minutes. No real-time data was collected during that period. It was likely that my operation was terminated for maintenance, though this was not recorded in the maintenance log.”
She smiled. It was the murderer. He had returned to temporarily deactivate the computer just as he had erased the central surveillance tapes. But why deactivate the computer?
Simple: so he could do something in the office without threat of observation.
Saskia’s eyes touched every object in the room. She looked for the slightest change: picture frames moved; pens rearranged; a plant pot turned by ninety degrees. Impossible to tell. She did not have a perfect recollection of her office. She examined the desk. She opened the drawers, emptied their contents and checked every surface. Nothing. Then she examined the shredder. It was still broken. In a flush of excitement, she realised that she couldn’t remember breaking it.
The shredder was integral to the desk. It had a thirtycentimetre slot, the mechanism itself and a detachable hopper. She removed the hopper. Inside were slivers of purple fabric. Next, she broke open the shredder itself. Deep in the mechanism, held in tiny teeth, was a little golden eagle. The hat maker had been particularly proud of it.
You are a detective, Saskia Brandt. Detect.
This,
“Bloody hell,” David said.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said calmly. “But, actually, I can explain.”
Bruce did not lower his spear. “I don’t know who you are, but get inside now and close the door behind you.”
Caroline stood and brushed the dry mud from her lapels. “Certainly,” she said. She entered the room and sank to her knees. She frowned at David. She genuflected to the floor and sighed. She did not take another breath. There was a stiletto in the base of her skull. It still quivered. David simply vomited. Bruce said, “Shit,” and took Caroline by the shoulders. He threw her outside. He closed the door and braced it with the spear. David heard her body flop down the veranda stairs.
“We’ll have to sit this one out,” Bruce said. He began to check the windows.
“What about Caroline?”
“She’s dead.”
There was a distant booming sound. David’s fillings vibrated. He slid a metre into the floor.
“Did you feel that?” David gasped. Somewhat selfconsciously, he climbed out of the floor.
“Feel what?” Bruce asked absently.
“It must be the soldiers. They’ve blasted through.”
He heard breaking glass. His head snapped to the window, fearing the metadillo. But the window was intact. It must have been the sound of the glass immersion chamber smashing.
David gagged. Somebody was trying to pull the mask from his face. In New World, he appeared to wrestle with his own head. “Bruce,” he gasped, and tried to move forward. There was no time left. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
He tried to embrace his friend because he appreciated – far too late – that he would never see him again. His arms reached
Bruce but they passed through. The microbots were malfunctioning. Bruce smiled and he waved a goodbye. He pointed towards his eyes and then out towards David. “See you later, alligator.” “Bruce!”
The Murderer Unmasked
Monday, 11th September 2023
Saskia examined her face in the mirror. She pulled different expressions. Her eyes had rings. Her lips were too thin. A smile didn’t suit them. She thought about faces. A person’s face should be greater than the sum of its features. But not hers. It lacked something critical.
She yawned. It was fifteen minutes to nine. At nine o’clock the repair man would arrive. If she did not allow him to find the body and call the police, then Jobanique would.
She left the mirror and entered the main office.
“Computer, are you finished?”
“Ten minutes of image analysis remaining.”
Saskia rubbed her eyes. “Computer, what records do you have following 6:33 on Friday evening?”
“None for approximately fifteen minutes. No real-time data was collected during that period. It was likely that my operation was terminated for maintenance, though this was not recorded in the maintenance log.”
She smiled. It was the murderer. He had returned to temporarily deactivate the computer just as he had erased the central surveillance tapes. But why deactivate the computer?
Simple: so he could do something in the office without threat of observation.
Saskia’s eyes touched every object in the room. She looked for the slightest change: picture frames moved; pens rearranged; a plant pot turned by ninety degrees. Impossible to tell. She did not have a perfect recollection of her office. She examined the desk. She opened the drawers, emptied their contents and checked every surface. Nothing. Then she examined the shredder. It was still broken. In a flush of excitement, she realised that she couldn’t remember breaking it.
The shredder was integral to the desk. It had a thirtycentimetre slot, the mechanism itself and a detachable hopper. She removed the hopper. Inside were slivers of purple fabric. Next, she broke open the shredder itself. Deep in the mechanism, held in tiny teeth, was a little golden eagle. The hat maker had been particularly proud of it.
You are a detective, Saskia Brandt. Detect.
This,
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