Up Against It - M. J. Locke [130]
“What killed him?” Aaron asked. The medic gestured at the entry wound. “He was shot once in the belly with a semiauto biotic.”
A biotic? Jane tasted bile. Aaron clenched his fists. Biotics were one of the nastiest hand weapons developed in the last century. The bullets contained an exploding head that on penetrating their target released disassemblers tailored to liquefy anything organic that had a high-enough water content—organs, muscles, connective tissue. It left the enveloping skin alone. The end effect was to convert a human body to a skin bag filled with bones and goo.
Biotics were outlawed everywhere, because under conditions of dense enough biomass, there was a slight chance that the bugs would get splashed onto bystanders while in their brief active phase, and start a chain reaction that could take out a lot of bystanders. They were a favorite weapon of terrorists.
“Probably a Glock-Prime Five Hundred Short-Slide—that’s the most popular model. Minimal blood loss,” the medic went on, “but”—a shrug—“not much you can do if you aren’t on-scene with the right cocktail of neutralizers at the instant of impact.”
“How long…” Jane cleared her throat. “How long ago was he killed?”
Detective Duran said, “It’s difficult to tell. Disassembly wipes out the traces that we could use to pinpoint the time of death—it messes with body temperature and obliterates postmortem decomposition.”
Aaron answered, his voice thin and sharp. “I sent him to retrieve the archives about two hours ago. He was coming straight here from the office.”
“During the ‘Stroiders’ blackout,” Jane noted. That had cost him his life. “It would have taken him ten minutes or less to get here, and how long, Aaron? Perhaps another five or so to remove the archives?”
“I’m not sure…”
“Maybe five,” Tania broke in from wavespace. “Maybe a few minutes more. He wasn’t used to doing it.”
Detective Wilkes checked something in her waveface. “That would give a time of death between about three-twenty and three-thirty, then. He was clearly set upon while he was here. What exactly was he doing?”
“Removing two archival drives for examination,” Aaron said. “As I explained to Chief Fitzpatrick earlier, we had evidence of a break-in to our computer systems during the feral sapient’s attack. I sent Marty up here to pick up the archives before they were brought back inwave. Tania, which were the units in question?”
“They don’t show up on my waveface, but if I am visualizing your positions correctly,” she said, “they’d be over there. Behind Jane.” Tania gestured toward a bank of drives that glittered on one wall. They all turned and looked. Dismay settled in Jane’s belly. “Where the smashed equipment is now?”
Aaron demanded of Detective Wilkes, “Were any loose data drives found in here?”
“You mean these?” Detective Duran drifted up beside her partner, carrying two clear, labeled bags filled with biocrystalline data drive fragments. “Looks like the murderer stole whatever components were removable, and smashed the rest.”
Jane looked at Aaron. So they had nothing.
“Has his fiancée been notified?”
Detective Duran’s eyebrows rose. “Not yet. Who are his next-of-kin?”
Aaron provided the information, while Jane kicked over to the medic, who, with the help of Detective Wilkes, was putting Marty’s body in a shroud.
“Is the—Is it safe for me to touch him?” Jane asked.
“It is. We’ve thoroughly neutralized the toxins.”
“Then I’d like a minute.”
“Of course.”
The medic and officer stepped back, and Jane alighted beside Marty. She studied his distorted face—closed eyes, tan freckles, smoke-pale lips. If Benavidez had not fired her, would she have sent Marty on this errand?
A terrible fury stirred in her.
“Good-bye, Marty,” she said. She took his hand. It was a collection of fluid and splinters, jarringly cold to the touch, even through the membrane.
For the first time in a very long time she was free—free to follow