KILLER PLANET

They walked to the garden before the astonished gaze of the Eleutheria members. The gravitaxi descended and the back door opened before Martha. Fabio expressed some bewilderment on his face.

“Did you order Richard to open the gravitaxi door?”

“No,” Martha replied. “I thought it was you.”

“It’s strange.”

“It seems that by giving him a human name you have developed his artificial intelligence.”

Martha entered the cabin.

“Surely,” Fabio said vaguely, circling the gravitaxi.

He saw Richard’s expressionless face and knocked on its window. The robotaxi turned its face as the window glass slid down.

“How are you, Richard?”

The robotaxi watched him with a puzzled face. Martha’s door descended and closed in silence.

“My name is TXRT435643B, Sir.”

Fabio preserved his impassive face, while looking out of the corner of his eye at Martha’s alarmed expression.

“From now on I want to call you Richard,” said Fabio.

The robot’s face swung heavily, victim to what appeared to be a malfunction.

“My name is TXRT435643B, Sir.”

“There is no problem TXRT435642B. Could you lift my access door?”

“As your Lordship wishes.”

The robotaxi made unintelligible sounds. The sound of the motor increased and Fabio lowered his gaze in search of a solid object. He stepped back and took a cobblestone out of the way and slammed it into Martha’s window just as the gravitaxi was rising. He had already inserted his arm, so he clutched his fingers to the metal base of his gravibike. His other hand gripped the handle of his door. Martha screamed, feeling the icy wind from the sky above Nickel Harbor.

“Traveling to the stratosphere! Traveling to the stratosphere!” the robotaxi repeated as the ship crossed the air traffic lines without checking its way.

Fabio saw the tiny lights of Nickel Port below, and to his right the illuminated mantle of Titanium City, before being dragged into the cabin by Martha, just before a gravimotor collided with his door, the which was taken out into the air like a wood chip carved out by a carpenter’s chisel. The gravitaxi leaned due to the weight decompensation and Fabio instinctively stretched out his limbs to avoid falling into the void. He felt Martha’s weight behind him.

Having lost its gravitational qualities due to its aerodynamic decompensation, the gravitaxi remained afloat for a second or two due to its inertia before precipitating itself into a vertiginous fall.

Fabio turned on the controls of his gravibike, which disengaged from the robotaxi, but, just before it took flight, its controls went out.

“Inoperable system,” the robotaxi announced in a soft voice.

The robot made inarticulate sounds again and rotated their heads several times. Suddenly, following some command of her program, her structure separated from the rudder of the damaged gravitaxi and turned to Fabio.

“Edward!” Martha yelled.

“Death is imminent,” he said quietly. “My duty is to avoid unnecessary suffering to humans.”

“Edward!” Martha shouted.

“Death is not imminent,” it said quietly. “I must not avoid suffering for all humans.”

Her hand pressed on Fabio’s arm, who emitted a cry of pain as he felt the burst of his capillary vessels. Martha reached for the fire extinguisher and hit the robotaxi’s arm with it. The prosthesis bent over and released its prey. Fabio then hit the head or central sphere of the robotaxi. Just then their ship hit the roof of another robotaxi that exploded into pieces.

Fabio, Martha and the robotaxi rose for a brief moment to immediately collide against the internal walls of their gravitaxi, which were flooded with the invisible safety gel. Fabio lost his balance and felt his body slide through the hole in the missing door. As he felt the imminent void he felt lost for several seconds. The certainty of his death did not intimidate him, but filled him with an overflowing sense of tranquility. He realized that he would finally meet his creator, until he felt a hand clinging to his arm. Instinctively he thought of Martha, but looking up, he saw the half-emerging structure of the robotaxi among the already hardened mass of transparent gel.

“Richard protects you ...” the robotaxi muttered before turning itself off.

The emergency parachute went off at a height of four thousand meters, as well as the cyber alarm. Immediately all the air traffic lines stopped to make way for the slow descent of the damaged robotaxi.

Before making landfall, Fabio was received by the gravifirefighters, who towed the gravitaxi to Titanium City Municipal Hospital, where a team of paramedics was waiting for them. While they were healing Fabio’s wounds with ointments and magnetic waves, two nurses dissolved the gel in the car and rescued Martha, who claimed to be in a perfect condition.

“Do you already suspect someone?” Keiichi asked after greeting them.

“This robotaxi was supposed to be a high-security model,” Martha agreed. “At least, that was what engineer Montblanc guaranteed me. He has worked for our company for almost thirty years.

“I will contact Neptune’s investigative division.”

“I already called my father to file my complaint.”

There was a buzzing sound and Martha took a few steps away to answer an interstellar call.

“What happened to the two cars that were affected by our ride?” Fabio asked.

“The first car only had a dent,” the inspector reassured him. “The second was totally destroyed, but luckily it only had a robotaxi as a driver.”

“Thank God!”

Martha returned with a broken face.

“I am afraid we cannot question engineer Montblanc,” she said. “His body was found with his head dematerialized.”

“It would be best if we keep this incident a secret for a few days,” Fabio suggested.

Keiichi sighed impatiently.

“Three days,” Fabio insisted.

“Okay,” said Keiichi. “I will tell the media that it was due to a lost meteorite.”

Next morning Fabio entered Mrs. Grave’s Bed & Breakfast “The Original Martian”, where Mrs. Grave poured tea from a Plutonian teapot into a cup in the hands of Inspector Keiichi. Both were propped up on separate leather sofas.

“I apologize for my delay,” said Fabio. “Inspector, Mrs. Grave. Can I have a seat?”

“Please, Monsieur,” said Mrs. Grave, “you are only a few seconds late.”

“I bet Inspector Keiichi arrived 5 minutes early,” Fabio said, taking a seat; “I strive to adapt to Martian manners.”

“Isn’t your friend a funny guy?” Mrs. Grave smiled. “Tea?”

Fabio nodded and Mrs. Grave poured him a cup of tea.

“I do not regret the tragic end of your Neptunian comrade, Monsieur,” said Mrs. Grave. “Suicide is an act of cowardice that I cannot sympathize with.”

“We suspect that Doctor Philippe was murdered,” said Keiichi.

“Impossible,” said Mrs. Grave before drinking from her cup of tea. “He was an arrogant man, a liar and a ... ”

“A murderer?” Fabio asked.

Mrs. Grave’s mouth remained open for a brief moment. Almost immediately she seemed to realize her error and composed herself ignoring Fabio’s comment.”

“I would say a thief! He didn’t pay his last phone bill.”

“Can I see that invoice?” “Keiichi asked.

“Of course.”

Mrs. Grave got up and left the room.

“Maybe we can track down the people Doctor Philippe was dealing with,” Keiichi whispered.

“Does Mrs. Grave have an alibi?” Fabio muttered.

Keiichi checked his notebook.

“Two men, his tenants, saw her arriving Thursday night at 10. Doctor Philippe died at eleven, according to the forensic report.”

“Did they see her arriving or did they see her ship?”

Keiichi reviewed his notes.

“Her gravimotor, I’m afraid.”

Fabio got up and looked towards the window.

“What about the third tenant? There are three tenants in this house, judging from the toothbrushes I saw in the main bathroom.”

“Her name is Whitney Rush.”

“Yes,” Fabio agreed, remembering the Gloucester maid. “I’ve seen her.”

“She works for the Gloucester family, where she often stays overnight.”

“And I suppose she didn’t stay here Thursday night.”

All of a sudden, the afternoon newspaper was thrown out by a small printer set up against the wall. Fabio picked it up and read it.

“That’s correct ...” Keiichi agreed. “Do you suspect her?”

“He wasn’t sick at all!” Fabio exclaimed.

“Who?”

Fabio showed Keiichi the newspaper front page:

«SOUSA, THE 20-MILLION POUND PLAYER. TRIUMPHAL RETURN OF THE MERCURIAN CELEBRITY»

“But it would be foolish to blame him, Inspector.” My logic has often been overwhelmed by the vanity of show business.

“What is the main suspect?” Whoever can attack another person, today or tomorrow.

“The devil doesn’t take a snake with his hands, unless It’s biting him.”

“Is that a proverb?”

“I just coined it,” said Fabio. “All proverbs were coined once, weren’t they?

Mrs. Grave came in with a phone bill, which she handed over to Keiichi with a haughty face. Fabio immersed himself in reading the newspaper:

“DOCTOR CAICEDO CLAIMS TO BE THE VICTIM OF A PLOT.”

Beneath the title he discovered a photo of Doctor Caicedo, Severus, and Lord Gloucester, all three smiling before the camera.

“I have underlined Monsieur Philippe’s phone calls,” said Mrs. Grave. I hope the police department will honor such debt.

“Could you come with us to a meeting at the Sports Center,” Fabio asked, “next Saturday at 9 pm, Mrs. Grave?”

“I’m afraid I won’t be available for you.”

Fabio frowned in disbelief.

“Mrs. Grave ...” Keiichi interjected. “I’d have no choice but to summon you to the Martian Research Office.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Grave smiled. “All commitments must be canceled if law requires it. I’ll be happy to accept your invitation, Monsieur.”

Suddenly Fabio grabbed onto Keiichi’s forearm.

“Doctor Caicedo!” He exclaimed. “But of course! He is the next victim!”

“The serial killer?” Mrs. Grave asked in horror.

“Call the prison now, Inspector! Wherever that wretched is confined!”

Keiichi looked at Fabio in a daze.

Sir Weyden strutted in a bathing suit on a series of Mercurian marble blocks next to a thermal pool, when Martha, wearing a summer miniskirt and a Venusian cotton blouse, entered, escorted by Frank. Sir Weyden launched himself into the waters of his pool, unleashing, already submerged, his irritation at the untimely visit. A few hours ago, he had received a sidereal call from his Neptunian agent, who briefed him about Fabio and Martha Saint-André. Thus he confirmed that Martha was one of the heirs of the Proust corporation, owner of the sidereal gravitational company L’Otriche, also owner of the robotaxi company Richelieu. More relaxed, Sir Weyden emerged from the pool, grabbed a towel from a nearby chair, and dried his body as he examined the delicate shapes of his visitor.

“What beautiful legs!” he said.

“Thank you.”

“Does your husband often let you out alone in that outfit?”

“We are not a patriarchal couple, Sir Weyden,” Martha replied.

“What do you want to ask me today? I suppose that’s the reason for your untimely visit.”

“You are a smart man.”

“I know.”

“What did you do on Thursday night, Sir Weyden?”

Sir Wyden whistled a Martian tune as he dried his hair.

“Not so fast!” he said. “Let’s go inside for a drink.”

Sir Weyden dressed in a white silk robe and led Martha along a corridor to a large room with a neat pool-billiard table. Frank distributed the synthetic ivory balls and Sir Weyden hit the cue ball. 1 and 2 fell into the mesh pockets on the table’s sides.

“Excellent!” Martha exclaimed as she sneezed.

“Is Madame all right?” Frank asked.

“I’ll be fine,” Martha said. “It’s just a cold.”

“No wonder,” said Sir Weyden, “I found out that you were walking alone, in the middle of the night, through the streets of Nickel Port, after an unfortunate argument with that hubby of yours.”

“Do you have disposable tissues, Frank?” Martha asked.

“In the first drawer of the shelf behind you, Madame,” Frank nodded.

Martha turned on herself and walked to a wooden cabinet. She opened the indicated drawer and found a box of disposable tissues, and next to it an organic plastic package of disposable syringes. Martha contracted her eyebrows and opened it fast and secretly.

“I am waiting for your answer, Sir Weyden,” she said.

“Oh yes ...” Sir Weyden replied. “I went to a cabaret show.”

“With Lady Weyden?”

Martha kept a syringe in her leather belly wallet.

“No, I didn’t go out with her.”

Martha took the wooden cue and struck the spheres once more. Ball number 3 fell into another pocket.

“I can’t give you her name unless you want me to destroy my marriage.”

“A man was killed at that hour,” Martha said as she hit ball number 4 with the cue ball. Ball 4 swirled and curved over the green velvet before sinking into one of the holes in the table.

“Philippe was his name, Doctor Philippe. Do you know him?”

“Hardly,” Mister Weyden said as he watched Martha hit number five with the cue ball, which hit six and seven. Both spheres sank into diametrically opposite holes.

“He used to work for Lord Gloucester,” he added. “He used to dwell in Mrs. Grave’s den.”

“Do you understand now why we need your courtesan’s name?” Martha asked.

Martha hit the spheres again. Ball number 2 fell into a pocket.

“Nicole Pollard.” Sir Weyden looked mischievously at Martha. “A professional masseuse. Its commercial name is Rola. Do you want her mobile number? Or should we meet in a ménage à trois?”

Martha smiled contemptuously. The cue ball hit thirteen.

“Do I surprise you?” Sir Weyden replied.

“I was just wondering, what would you do if you find out that your wife is carrying another man’s embryo?”

“I would request a degenetization,” Sir Weyden replied, rubbing with blue chalk the tip of his pool cue.

Martha opened her eyes in disbelief.

“Unless you have an unintentional embryo miscarriage,” she replied.

Sir Weyden hit the cue ball. The balls rolled on the board without falling into the nets.

“We rarely discuss our personal affairs on this planet, Martha,” said Sir Weyden. “We respect privacy.”

“I can see that.”

Martha stood up.

“It seems the Socialists were right,” she said. “We live in a community where the biggest lie determines the merit.”

“It’s your turn.”

“I give up,” Martha said. “You won.”

“This is no fun at all.”

“I didn’t come to amuse you.”

Sir Weyden’s face turned pale with anger. His eyes lit up and Martha thought she was going to be assaulted, perhaps raped.

“Frank will guide you to the exit,” said Sir Weyden, regaining his usual coolness.

“I’m sure I haven’t forgotten the way back to the front door.”

“I just want to be sure that you won’t take any of my belongings.”

Martha got pale and looked at Sir Weyden defiantly at the petty humiliation.

“I’m so sorry!” said Sir Weyden. “Don’t take me wrong, please. I know that you are an heir to the Proust family emporium and, as such, you don’t need to steal in order to get your livelihood. But detectives have the bad habit of taking private objects in the belief that they will be accepted as evidence in court.”

“Thanks for your time.”

Sir Weyden smiled and focused his gaze on the spheres still resting on the green cloth table.

Martha walked towards the exit escorted by Frank.

In a cell of Titanium City Jail, the naked body of 56-year-old Doctor Caicedo was lying on the floor over a pond of blood. His throat had been cut in two. Flash lights from a forensic inspector illuminated his contracted mien.

A guard covered him with a plastic bag. Fabio and Keiichi walked away behind Mister Wilson, the bald and chubby warden of the penitentiary. He filled several forms with a pencil over a clipboard as he walked through corridors crowded with prisoners.

“I’m afraid we won’t even find a suspect,” Keiichi said to Fabio, “crimes like this are quite common in this prison.”

“Do you have any camera recording?” Fabio asked.

“I’m not sure,” Mr Wilson said. “It’s obvious that the man committed suicide.”

Mister Wilson signed one of his forms.

“I wouldn’t be so hasty.”

“Listen, Mister,” Mister Wilson said, turning around. “I really appreciate your help. But I’m the one who has to remove the dung of society. This friend of yours was a murderer. He started to feel remorse. He cut his throat twice. Clear as water.”

“Did he have any cell-mates?”

“Not as far as I know.”

Keiichi stared at Fabio.

“Can we speak to your guards, then?”

Wilson hesitated.