Chapter Sixteen - Charnel-House
'Dr Retta? Dr Alizen Retta?'
'Yes, Mr Fenton,' confirmed Paize.
'Dr Alizen Jane Retta?'
'Yes, Mr Fenton. Dr Alizen Jane Retta. I understand you were in the same year at Gadder.'
He stood up in agitation, his mind and body going crazy, a horribly familiar confused, crushing cocktail of emotion: joy and anger, hope and dejection, fear and excitement, love and resentment. It was overwhelming, just like it had been so many times before, so long ago. Once she was in his head he simply couldn't function. She filled his every thought, distracted him from everything. It was just her, her and nothing else, nothing else could possibly matter. No, she shouldn't be able to do this to him, not after all this time. But of course she could. Sweet, sweet sorrow. Sorrow and despair.
'What's she doing here?' Suddenly he knew and then the anger really began. 'She's here with Graeme?' Graeme had won her back, after everything that had happened? He would kill him if he found him.
Paize looked shocked, surprised at the sudden ferocity, the madness.
'No, Mr Fenton. She's here with me.'
'With you?' The bastard, he was almost twice her age.
Paize realised the mistake. 'Not with me, Mr Fenton, with us, she's on my team.'
'Why? Why have you brought her here?' He'd exposed her to the most appalling risks. 'Why her?' It must have been an emergency, a panic mission. They'd grabbed the first available doctor, dragging Alizen away from her vital, lifesaving work.
'She's part of the team, Mr Fenton. She works with us. She's SSD.'
His legs buckled and gave way. He sank back into the chair in total shock. He couldn't believe it. It was a betrayal. SSD. She'd joined the enemy. But then she'd been halfway there at Gadder. She'd always accepted the status quo, mocked his political leanings, accused him of having student pretensions. She hadn't believed he was serious. She thought he'd settle down, join Culris and run the empire. She'd been surprised when he'd run to Zarros. Had he done it to shock her? To show her he had the courage of his convictions? That it wasn't a game.
It had never been a game.
He was an outsider. Still was. Always had been. Always would be. She never was. Never could be.
She wouldn't shake The System. She didn't want to. She'd always been pro the Central Authority, always defended it against his rants, but not because she was afraid of it. She was fearless, an iconoclast, he knew that. She never held back, never bit her tongue, never backed down from a fight she believed in. She was tenacious. There was fire in her compassionate soul and he loved her for it. But she would never fight the administration because she could see no point in it. She would willingly accept her role as a switch in their circuitry, just like she'd urged him to. She had looked forward to it. It was what she had worked for, and she had worked so very hard. But it was one thing to accept the Central Authority as a package, a benevolent dictatorship, dismissing the dubious activities of its agents at the fringes as unpleasant and inconvenient, a necessary evil, an inevitable consequence of a greater good. It was another thing entirely to embrace wholeheartedly those dark figures lurking in the shadows.
He had never really known her.
But he loved her so deeply. Was he that shallow?
They were all staring at him. He thought of the wild-eyed figure on the recording. They were worried he was unstable, that he could become that crazed lunatic. He had just given them some evidence. Not for the first time she had made him lose control.
'I'm sorry. I'm very sorry,' he said, slowly and carefully rising from the seat. 'It was a shock. It's been a long time.' She had been right to warn him she was here. And she had warned them too. That tone in Julia's voice was unmistakable. Alizen knew there could be trouble.
'Darren, I suggest you stay here and make a start on that computer,' Paize commanded. 'See if you can get it back on our side. I think Julia should accompany Mr Fenton and me. That leaves you on your own. I'm not happy about that but I think it's the best solution. Do you have any objections?'
Fenton couldn't imagine Brozmam admitting he was afraid of being left alone. Sure enough he nodded his assent.
'Good, watch out, Darren. Mr Fenton, please follow me.' Paize was clearly concerned about leaving Brozmam on his own yet he was committing Julia to guard him, Mark Fenton. They were taking no chances. But were they protecting him or protecting themselves?
Paize marched across the room, Fenton followed, Julia a few paces behind. He knew the ever-present pistol was trained on his back. A doorway appeared out of the gloom. Paize too drew his gun before reaching for the door control. The door slid open to reveal a darkened corridor disappearing into the distance. Paize fished a compact torch out of his belt and scanned the blackness ahead of him with its powerful beam. A number of side passages disappeared off to the right. He led the way.
'As you'll have guessed from that window we're at the circumference of the station,' whispered Paize, like a tour guide to a sacred site, reverential but affable, his words quietly echoing around the walls. 'Those doors to the right lead into the bowels of the station. You should be under escort at all times, for all our sakes, but if for any reason you get separated don't go off the main corridor. You could get lost for days in the substructure.'
'I thought we were at the core,' responded Fenton softly, 'I thought that was where Brozmam and Javer had brought me. I thought everything was at the centre here. Isn't that where the radiation shields are?' he added, worried.
'Most of the accommodation and facilities are at the centre,' said Julia, 'but there are some observation bays at the surface. Dr Dezlin has an office and as you saw there's a lab; that's where the incident happened, that's where we found the bodies, so it made sense for us to set up there. Also, because of the power drain it's very cold at the core. It's getting colder by the minute, icing up. Nobody would last long down there. The circumference at least gets the sunlight. The radiation shields are still functioning up here, that's another one of those strange inconsistencies. Darren and Paul took you to the centre because they assumed that's where we'd be. I brought you out of there while you were unconscious.'
So, they had been at the very heart of the labyrinth when they were attacked. Was that where Graeme was skulking now, in the cold and darkness? He had to find him. If anyone had the answers he would. They were running out of time. Why weren't they looking for him? Should he take it on himself to find him? He glanced back at the dark, forbidding passages, thought briefly about making a break for it. No, they'd shoot him down before he could make it. Besides, he had to see their other evidence first. He had to see Alizen.
It was hard to believe she was here. It had been so long since he'd seen her and the coincidence of the three of them, Alizen, Graeme and him all being involved was staggering. But there was no coincidence. Alizen was working for the SSD. They must have chosen her for this investigation because she knew Graeme. But did they know the whole story? Was there any part of it left to tell? Did she still love him? If she did then perhaps she'd volunteered to come. That made sense. She'd want to know what had happened here, what had happened to him. And her presence explained how they had known Graeme had told him about this place. He'd told her everything Graeme had said to him all those years ago and now she'd told them. No, there was no coincidence her being here. But what about him? Why was he here? Somehow Graeme had involved him. But how? Why?
They had been swallowed up by the blackness. Paize's beam swept the gloom ahead, his body picked out from the darkness by the light streaming over Fenton's shoulder from Julia's torch behind him. It was cold even up here, close to the edge. He was shivering in the undersuit, condensation billowing from his mouth. Or was he shivering because he was on his way to meet Alizen?
He was on his way to meet Alizen.
He had to be calm. It didn't matter. It shouldn't matter. It mustn't matter. There were more important issues here than some meaningless schoolboy crush he should have
grown out of long ago. But should he have grown out of it? Was it meaningless? He'd thought about that a lot. He couldn't forget her. He'd tried and tried. It was no good. It was like a fractured bone that refused to set properly, refused to mend. The memory was a vital part of him. She was part of him. He'd accepted that now. He knew he was a fool but he was an unrepentant fool. His life was directionless, pointless and empty but his love for her still burned intensely, the pain an acute reminder he was still alive. The emotion was real, its reality had meaning, gave him meaning so how could it be meaningless? It was the most vivid, the most enduring emotion he had ever known. It held him back but perversely it nurtured him. It was all over for him. His emotional life had crystallised on someone he could never have, someone he shouldn't even want. He'd never love anyone as much as he had loved her but at least he would have the memory, he'd always have the memory of his love for her. It had been the most important thing in his life. It was the most important thing in his life. It defined who he was. Where would he be without it? Emotionally dead? Could he even exist at all?
Paize stopped outside a door marked Auxiliary Medilab. He rapped harshly on it with his fist.
A pause. Fenton's heart hammered.
The door opened. Alizen stood behind the other woman. She didn't look any older. Her blonde hair was different, it had been shoulder length before, gently curling at the end but now it was cut closer, shorter, more functional but still devastatingly feminine. It framed that beautiful face, the face with the gleaming brown eyes, eyes that blazed intelligence but laughed mischievously. He was lost again, drowning. She was wearing the black SSD uniform, a blue flash beneath the logo. She looked slim and fit but then she'd always exercised. He never did. They were so ill-suited.
She was holding a gun, a doctor holding a gun. She was pointing it straight at him.
'Mr Fenton, Dr Danielle Bainz and I believe you know her assistant, Dr Alizen Retta.'
The other woman was moving forward, stepping into the corridor, holstering her pistol and reaching out to shake his hand. Reluctantly he turned his attention to her. Forties, dark hair, short, plump, SSD uniform, blue flash. He found himself listlessly shaking her hand. Alizen was moving forward through the door, the gun gone. They had embraced before, but that was a long time ago and in very different circumstances, could it be appropriate now? He didn't want to offend or embarrass her, or embarrass himself. She made the decision for him. She offered him her hand and he was shaking it, the contact wondrous yet terrifying. Then it was gone.
'Mark,' was it sorrow or anguish in her voice? 'I'm so sorry.'
He was about to react, to ask why, why was she so sorry, but suddenly she was distant and professional. 'Please open your mouth.' He found himself instantly obeying. She was so close. Her perfume was different. He was suddenly horribly conscious of how terrible he must smell after the journey, how dishevelled he must look. His hair was too long. Her deep brown eyes filled his vision. He could feel her breath on his skin. His must stink. They were close enough to kiss. Her hand reached up to his face as she leaned closer. Something slipped into his mouth: something unpleasant, painful, sharp, dry, hard and bitter. It scraped away at the inside of his cheek. A confused moment of half remembered deja vu and then the swab was out and she withdrew. She turned, walking into the lab, her back to him, her body snug in the black uniform. She reached a bench of instruments. He watched fascinated as she worked. A tone rang out. She turned to face them.
'Double match.' There was a sad resignation in her voice.
'Double match to what?' demanded Mark Fenton.
'Mortuary?' asked Danielle Bainz.
'Mortuary,' confirmed Darvad Paize. He shone his torch down the corridor revealing another door. It was marked Storage. Bainz walked towards it. She triggered it. It opened. Watery amber light bled out of the frame. Then there was the smell, something rotting. She stepped inside. Paize motioned with his gun. Reluctantly Fenton obeyed, crossing the short distance to the door and stepping through. The others followed.
The mortuary was makeshift. Shelves and racks had been pushed together, expensive looking equipment and supplies were carelessly piled against walls and stacked in corners to make room for the plastic sheeted mounds Fenton knew were the corpses. There were eight, seven littered about the floor in two unequal columns, the eighth on a table at the head of the two rows, like an altar in a temple, a sacrifice on a dais. There was a trolley by its side. He felt his gorge rising. Why did he have to see all this? What could it achieve? The smell was nauseous. He wanted to retch.
'Here,' said Dr Bainz in a bored voice, 'we have the entire staff of the station with the exception of Dr Dezlin.' She motioned at the first heap: 'Jon Molveks, stabbed above the right eye, depth of 500 millimetres, width of 250 millimetres, death more or less instantaneous. We haven't recovered the weapon, there was no sign of it. Did you want to see the body?' The question was thrown away as if she expected he would, that it would be mildly diverting, of some academic interest. Sure enough she started to bend down, reaching for the shroud.
'No. I don't want to.' He glanced back to the others at the doorway, appealing to Paize. 'I don't have to, do I?'
'There's no need for Mr Fenton to see them all,' stated Paize, to Fenton's relief. Bainz straightened up, grunting in surprise but Alizen's face had a look of sympathy about it. She was used to this reaction. He remembered the drink they'd had, the night after she'd started her first dissection. He'd been intrigued but repelled by it all. He'd been curious what her feelings were. They hadn't known each other long and she'd been guarded. He'd only spoken to her about her work a few times since. She'd never been keen to talk about it. He'd admired her intensely for it, respected her always. He'd desperately wanted to understand, empathise with her, but deep down he knew it was a great divide she smiled across. Her work was her world and he could never belong to it. Breen's lyrics had hit a raw nerve.
'Jayson Gordon,' continued Bainz walking up the row, pointing out another mound. 'Burned to death. Nasty. Curiously enough no sign of collateral fire damage where we found the body but there's no evidence it was moved.' Christ. This was Alizen's world.
'Sara Wikman,' another cadaver, 'crushed to death. Again, no evidence of what the crushing agent was. Michael Edo, spontaneous and absolute failure of all internal organs. No obvious explanation.' She had reached the end of the first row and the sheeted body on the table. Abruptly she turned and started to walk back towards Fenton, along the other line.
'Andrac Wikman,' she pointed to yet another covered corpse, 'lethal dose of radiation, again no obvious source detectable, no collateral damage. Lyn Thorley, massive internal haemorrhaging, consistent with exposure to a vacuum and finally,' a slight pause, as if this was the icing on the cake, the personal favourite, 'Stev Len, lungs filled with earth, good quality loam. Soil under the fingernails and in the hair, fine dusting all over the body, ground into the pores. Death consistent with being buried alive. Needless to say there's no earth anywhere on this station. Anywhere else, anyway.'
'It's, it's insane,' breathed Fenton.
'Quite,' agreed Dr Bainz, 'but the most curious aspect, the really strange thing,' Alizen looked sick, 'is the other body.'
'You need to have a look at this one, Mr Fenton,' said Paize.
Bainz turned and walked back up the rows towards the table at the end. Fenton found himself following meekly, his legs feeling alien, soft as if they were melting, dissolving into liquid. The smell was terrible. She reached the top of the table, the head of the corpse. The trolley next to her was covered in medical instruments. She motioned Fenton to stop where he was, by the feet. The others solemnly filed past him and the shrouded form, making a small semicircle, an audience, around Dr Bainz. He gulped in fear. He guessed this was routine for most of them, except him. He had not seen many bodies. He could count them on one hand.
With an almost theatrical flourish, as if drawing a curtain, Bainz pulled back the sheet, exposing the head, the face.
>
There was a lot of damage to the top of the skull, just above the hairline. There had been an attempt to clean up the worst of it but the hair was still streaked and matted with dried, caked blood. Part of it was missing, blown out. Mercifully the hair and ruptured skin had fallen back, half obscuring the glistening remains of something dark and ugly. The hair was thick, brown and long. Sightless fish eyes stared up at him.
It was strangely familiar, like a distorted face in a broken, buckled, fractured mirror.
It was the face in the mirror.
It was his face.
With a gasp of uncomprehending horror Fenton realised he was staring at his own corpse.
Part Three - Dark Investigations