In Memoriam

Rafferty Lay on the slab of cold stone. He stared at the overhead lights but they didn't hurt his eyes.

Rafferty was dead.

His former partner Chris McCarthy stood at the window in the Ceres mortuary. Jerome Blavatsky came out of the post-mortem room after flinging down the thin rubber gloves which were a trademark of his profession. There was blood on his gloves but the body, still within line of sight was covered in a rubber sheet. Only the head was visible.

'Velcome Chris.'

'Wh-what do you want?'

'I just wanted to ask a few questions, yes?'

'I'll answer anything...if I can.' McCarthy looked through the window at his ex-partner. Rafferty was a tall, good-looking man, even in death. The wounds which caused his demise were concealed beneath the sheet. McCarthy was small and a trifle wizened.

'I know you have been to see the Ceres police, but I need to know a few details.'

'All right. We were on a mining expedition.'

'Where?'

'Eventually we ended up on an asteroid called Palliates in the Southwest zone.'

'I haf heard of it never.'

'We dug a tunnel, pumped it full of air and mined out the product.'

'For what were you mining?'

McCarthy shifted uncomfortably. 'Do I have to tell you?'

'Only out of interest it was.'

'I suppose it can't do any harm,' Chris sighed. Like most miners he was secretive about his discoveries. 'We were mining for crystal retinate silica. I registered the claim yesterday.'

'Uh huh.' Doctor Blavatsky looked thoughtful. He was a little gnome of a man with very white whiskers which entirely concealed the lower half of his face. He had the habit of ticking points off on his fingers. He was doing it now.

'So you pumped a tunnel full of air?'

'Yes, Earth normal balance. We needed the freedom to perform a slow excavation over the final stretch because the material we were looking for is very delicate. We used ultrasonic pulverisers to create the tunnel, then used hand probes to clear out the last few feet.'

'Without atmosphere suits?'

'Of course. That was the whole point. Then, just as we were about to transfer to the linkage corridor the roof gave way. Rafferty was trapped. He died of suffocation before I could dig him out.'

'Thank you Mr McCarthy, you have been most helpful. I now know what to look for in my post-mortem. I am skilled as a surgeon, yes, but my work is aided by your observations.'

'I'll go now,' McCarthy turned with obvious relief.

'Wait. What vas the nature of the substance for which you were looking?'

'CRS is invaluable for the manufacture of the new computer systems. It is a type of crystal which retains molecular memories. One small sliver, properly accessed, can hold as much information as thousands of the ancient PC's they taught us about in history.'

'I would have thought computers were powerful enough.'

'No, that's the point. They don't have enough processing power. The things we want to do these days need multigigabytes packed into less space than ever.'

'I see. I suppose, then, this CRS is very valuable.'

'Oh yes, it's worth megabucks...' Chris halted, stunned by the implication in the words of the old man. 'Wait a sec, I may be a miner, digging for cash is my job. But I wouldn't kill my partner for money.'

Blavatsky studied his face for a few moments. 'You know, I think you are telling the truth,' he said softly. 'Thank you for speaking to me.'

As McCarthy left the clinic his throat was dry. But he brightened up as he returned to the civilian walkways. What had the old man wanted with him? Now that the interview was over he felt more secure, ready to face up to the responsibilities of his new life. He was helped by the hundred thousand Aster's due to go into his account almost immediately. Several million were due to follow in the next few years as he slowly released into the market the supply of CRS which he now held in a secret location out on one of the minor asteroids - tagged, alarmed and boobytrapped to prevent theft.

If only Rafferty hadn't been so damned greedy. Rafferty had supplied the ship and most of the up-to-date equipment they had used. Until that time McCarthy had been a rugged individualist, one of those miners who spent their lives just cruising and landing at random, sometimes striking paydirt, mostly not.

He had first met Rafferty on one of his infrequent trips to Ceres central base, a facility for miners which had been constructed almost fifty years before. Rafferty was an Earthman, an importee, as shown by his greater height and more muscular build. He seemed to chose McCarthy on purpose, sitting beside him in the miner's canteen where the food was cheap but plentiful.

'Hi, I'm Mike Rafferty.'

'McCarthy.' Said the other bluntly. Miners tended to be short on the social niceties; it was part of the isolation.

'I know. I have a proposition for you.'

McCarthy ate in silence as the stranger outlined the situation. He was a scientist, specialising in geological structures and had developed a theory which could change the face of computing.

'I have discovered a method of detecting CRS using my geological knowledge combined with statistical analysis.'

McCarthy did not need to ask what CRS was. It had been in the news of late as scientists attempted to make even lighter, more powerful computers to process the huge amounts of information used in running colonies and planetary engineering.

'So, what are the odds of getting it?'

'Oh give or take a one on either side of .93.'

Since 1.00 equalled 100% this was a very high rate indeed. McCarthy turned red in the face and thumped down his cup of Stim. He disliked being made a fool of.

'I ain't got time for this.'

Rafferty grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back.

'I'm not playing about Mister. These are tried and true methods. I don't have time - or money - to waste.'

'So where do I come in?' McCarthy resumed his seat with reluctance.

'I've heard you're a reliable spacer. Very good at manipulating your field ship and extremely self-reliant.'

'I don't need your job.'

'My proposition is simple. I'll pay you the same for this job as you've earned in the last three years.'

This clinched the deal. McCarthy didn't mind making good money, even if, in his opinion, a smooth-talking idiot was supplying it. He kept the latter opinion to himself.

They set off in the good ship 'Dublin,' which, like everything else on this trip had been bought and paid for by Rafferty. On the outgoing trip McCarthy learned that the well-built Irishman had bought everything from his life savings. He had no money left at all. If his theory was incorrect he would lose every penny.

Some people would have been impressed by this dedication, but McCarthy continued in his opinion that the scientist was rather dense for somebody with so much knowledge.

The hold was filled with fancy instruments he had never used in his life. A field stabiliser, and x-ray crystallographer, hand-held heat blasters, a linkage tunnel and external life-support systems. To a miner, young or old, such proliferation was evidence of a mind which neither knew nor appreciated the ways of asteroid mining.

Then they struck gold or rather crystal. Gold was relatively valuable since it made excellent electrical connections but it was also quite common and would certainly have failed to recoup the losses of the errant scientist.

The first three strikes were a blank and McCarthy grew ever more testy as they turned down potential loads of rare metals which would have made either a fat profit.

Finally he could stand it no more and approached his shipmate when Rafferty was busy looking over some complicated charts and diagrams which he consulted every day with no apparent unease.

'Your theory is wrong pal.'

'My theory, Chris, is based on statistics,' said Mike patiently. 'It means we're looking at the most likely aggregates of rocky material which display accretion characteristics likely to have led to the development of our particular crystal.'

McCarthy gave in. The combination of scientific double-talk and the calm demeanour of his partner made his doubts subside. For the time being.

Now here they were. Fourth time lucky.

Palliates, the asteroid, was four miles across. The results of their initial scan were positive, so after a few hours they set the machines to work and dug down for about two hundred metres, just short of the area which Rafferty had calculated would be replete with CRS. Then they halted the machines. Mike Rafferty pumped the tunnel full of earth-normal air mixture. Pressure suits were far too cumbersome for the kind of delicate work in which they were engaged.

It was a strange sensation for McCarthy to work unencumbered by his normal equipment. He enjoyed the freedom of movement it gave him. But the painstaking work of removing the remaining soil layer by layer with handheld lasers became wearying after a while. Mike had explained it long before.

'They crystals are extremely delicate, so to reach them we must work slowly and carefully. It'll be worth the effort.'

At last the object of their search was visible; a greyish, dirty collocation of material which was carefully cleaned with an air-hose and droplets of their precious water. Extracted by hand, it weighed, McCarthy would have said, about six kilos. Even after the care they had taken unstable fragments of the crystal dissolved into a fine mist in front of their eyes.

'That's my little beauty,' said Rafferty, transferring the crystals to an aluminium case with a padded, shockproof interior.

They scanned the area for more crystals but they had them all.

'Is that it?' asked McCarthy, stunned by this anti-climax.

'Yep, we can go home.' Rafferty swaggered towards the linkage corridor;' I'm going to be rich.'

Something clicked in McCarthy's brain. This soft-born Earth creature had exploited the talents of a real spacer. He had crystals worth hundreds of thousand if not millions of Astrocredits. McCarthy was just a pawn in his game.

Just as his shipmate turned around to ask him to hurry up McCarthy pointed his laser on full power at the ceiling above Rafferty and fired.

When the body stopped twitching McCarthy rescued the crystals still intact inside their case and stowed the aboard the ship. Then he came back and pulled out the body.

He was surprised to find he was experiencing no particular emotion at all. No fear, surprise, nor elation. Nothing. He pulled Rafferty back to the ship - years of lifting metals had made McCarthy strong for a spacer - and dumped him in the freezer unit usually employed for volatile samples.

This way was better. Of course he wanted to leave the body where it was, but the rule in such emergencies was to bring back the dead crewman, the simple fact being that someone finding a valuable lodestone could simply kill the other participants and make the claim for himself. The authorities knew this and a post-mortem was inevitable.

On the other hand many accidents still occurred. Deep surface mines were notoriously unstable and it was easy to have an accident. Cave-ins were neither rare nor surprising to the authorities.

The journey was uneventful. McCarthy spent a lot of time watching his favourite moviedisks and playing solitaire. After a few weeks he handed the body over to those who could deal with such matters and put the 'Dublin' into dry dock as part of the dead man's estate. Once the claim was settled he would put in a bid for her. He would have a new ship with an empty hold. Then he could get back into space with only himself and the tri-vid for company.

He was at the hotel Excelsior when the message came for him to visit the health centre again.

He walked to the centre. The inside of Ceres was a fertile garden, terraformed over the last hundred years and the buildings were set in grounds which, while not spacious, boasted lawns so green and flowers so bright they hurt the eyes of those accustomed to the muted filters of space-travel.

Blavatsky was stationed in the fourth floor of the building. Blavatsky was waiting for McCarthy with the patient air of a man who had to get a job over with. Not unlike Rafferty. But Rafferty was dead.

'Just to let you know. Results of the post-mortem haf been noted. As vith your report your friend vas killed by a combination of suffocation and crushing injuries sustained through the rockfall.'

'I'm sorry it happened,' said McCarthy.

'Yes, I'm sure you are.' Blavatsky leant over his desk, scribbling furiously with his left hand.

'Look, why am I here? I'm a busy man.'

'We are all busy on Ceres, so much to do. I just thought you vould have wanted a personal confirmation of the news.'

'Thank you Doctor. Now can I leave? I have some certificates to apply for.'

'Wait. I have sore bones. The gravity, you understand? Before you leave could you fetch me some files from the storage cupboard?'

McCarthy stood up, visibly annoyed. Old fool. A spacer had no time for this. Well he would humour the old idiot for a moment before departing on the newly renamed and refurbished 'Caledonia.'

He opened the door to be confronted by Chris McCarthy holding a powerblaster which he silently canted upwards before firing. The image shook a little, but was in 3-D, and so realistic he screamed out loud.

Justice had reached him.

He slumped down on the floor and the doctor, suddenly restored for a man who had been so ill only seconds before, helped him to a seat.

'What is wrong?'

'I-I saw myself. It's not possible I ain't -'

'Yes. You see, when I wass doing the post-mortem I discovered not only particles of dust, but minute slivers of crystal your friend inhaled as he chipped it away from the surrounding rock.'

'It can't happen,' said McCarthy, his tone taking a harder edge. The strain of the last few weeks had made him hallucinate. That was all.

'I wish for your sake it was true. You see the crystal entered his brain and reacted vith his neural pathways, recording the last few seconds of his life.'

Chris spread the fingers of both hands across his face and began to weep.

'I ill explain,' said the doctor gently, 'you see, I extracted the particles and fed them through our best computer. That is why the image is so good.'

'I didn't want to kill him.'

'Strange, I feel this is true.'

'It wasn't the money.'

'Then what?'

McCarthy stared into a place inside his head darker than the blackest stretches on intersteller space.

'I've been a loner all my life.'

'Yes?'

'I killed because it was a long, long trip back. I couldn't stand his bloody company.'

The tears were flowing fast now.

'It is all right,' said Dr Blavatsky, touching McCarthy gently on the shoulder as he summoned the police with the quickdial facility on his lapel phone.

As McCarthy, looking almost relaxed after making a full statement in the presence of the two state officers, was being led away, he turned to Blavatsky.

'Destroy those recordings after you use them as evidence.'

'For why?'

'There will be no need,' the doctor assured him.

'But what make ya say that?'

'I made them out of the holographic images in your personal profile.'

Outside the building McCarthy did not shout or protest as he was shown into the police flyer. He was smiling almost nostalgically at the final irony of what he had done to himself.